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⠀⠀ ⠀ WINTER IN New York was never pleasant. Cold, gray, and harsh, winter wasn't one of the more favorable seasons. Medea liked winter, though. She liked training in the blunt cold, forcing her body to warm up and accustom to the harsh weather. Even though the Apollo cabin, and Chiron himself often tried to get her to stop, for her own health. Medea usually ignored things like that. Training is exactly what she was doing when her eyes locked on a metallic ball moving shakily through the sky above; before plummeting into Camp Half-Blood's lake.
⠀⠀ ⠀ Medea was well-aware of who was in that chariot. Annabeth and Butch, hopefully with the return of Percy Jackson. Ah, yes — the camp's hero, who had randomly gone missing one day. She knows she sounds bitter as she thinks about it, but Medea does like Percy Jackson. He is strong, he is a storm, he has kleos. It oozes out of Percy Jackson, weeps from his pores. Percy Jackson has enough glory to carry generations. Maybe she'd even consider them friends. When no one wants to train with her, because of how violent she is, Percy does, and he doesn't hold back. Well, he did train. Before he went fucking missing.
⠀⠀ ⠀ Like everyone else, Medea begins to make her way to the lake. Albeit slower, she still flicks her sword back into the snake cuff on her wrist, and starts her trek. Even in the cold winter weather, Medea wears not too many layers of clothing. A dingy Camp Half-Blood shirt, cargo pants that are a little too tight on her bodice, and a hoodie. She wears Converse, but they're high-topped combat boots. Her frizzy dark brown hair is piled into a bun at the crown of her head.
⠀⠀ ⠀By the time Medea manages to shove her way to the front, she has noticed one thing. Percy Jackson is nowhere to be found. She could tell by the disappointed aura hanging in the already gloomy air, the lack of cheers. The retrieval mission was not successful. However, instead of Percy Jackson, there's three new demigods instead. She doesn't look at them closely off the rip, her eyes going to Annabeth first. Annabeth's stress is visible on her face as she speaks with Will, and Medea decides to interrupt that. Dealing with Will is a pain in the ass for any and everybody.
⠀⠀ ⠀ "Yo, Annabeth," Medea says as she steps forward. The crunch of her boots against the sand is loud, and whomever may be in her way moves immediately. Annabeth's gloomy-eyed gaze turns to her, and she tries to assemble somewhat of a greeting smile. Medea and Annabeth aren't friends; they know each other a decent amount, have interacted a bit for years. They got closer during the war if anything, when Medea was the only one from the Ares cabin to show. Clarisse shunned her for that, until she received her father's pride. "Medea," Annabeth replies, knitting her brows, "I already know what you're gonna ask. No Percy. He wasn't..." For once, the daughter of Athena is short for words. ⠀⠀ ⠀ "I know." Medea says, and her head tilts. She isn't good at comforting people. "Wanna train later?" It's all she can offer, and it seems to help. Annabeth sniffs; a momentary display of weakness, and nods. "Sounds great." Medea guesses she'll go easy on Annabeth today. She's satiated but their conversation, although she doesn't know why she began it in the first place. Medea already knew Percy wasn't here; maybe she needed a verbal confirmation.
