This was babysitting, and Wolf was very unimpressed with his lot in life. For one, he was a second cohort Centurion, so why on earth was he in charge of cleaning out the Greek cohort barracks to get any straggling or still sleeping campers to go to marching drills? Most of the Greeks had been here for at least a month now; they all knew what was required of them by now. The legionnaires may have been lenient at first, but the Greeks were expected to fall in rank and file just like the rest of Camp Jupiter. They wouldn't be getting any sort of special treatment just because they were Greeks. If they were going to seek refuge in Camp Jupiter, then they best fall in with the rest of the legionnaires. It was only fair considering the level of protection the Romans provided them, not to mention the free food and a roof over their heads. The Greeks had their own barracks, for goodness' sake.

Wolf knew that clean up / babysitting duty was rostered so all the Centurions had to take turns to do it, at least until a consistent level of finding the Greek barracks empty at 5AM. The son of Trivia so hoped that day would come soon; even though his turn was only once every ten days, that was still one day too many. Surely if the Greeks could survive a cross-country trip, they could manage to not miss the loud bugle every morning? Surely they would understand what it meant? Surely they would heed its call knowing what punishment awaited them if they didn't?

With an ugly expression on his face and a cold light in his eyes, Wolf rounded the corner and entered the Greek cohort barracks. He was not going to be gentle about checking for any late campers; he most certainly was not going to walk around checking every bunk bed like some sort of counselor. He was a Centurion, he had far more important things to be doing than this. He'd even face the ramifications of his curse - literally anything was better than this. Impatient and aggressive, in the mood to pick a fight, Wolf sent out a pulse of magic into the barracks. It ruffled loose papers and blankets on beds that weren't made, and would be enough to jolt a sleeping camper into sudden alertness if there were any in there. The usual ink-black feathers appeared on both of Wolf's arms, and he eyed them with disgust before folding his arms across his chest. It was worth it, he told himself, before pushing the matter out of his mind as he looked for movement stirring within the Greek barracks.

WORDS: 451 | TAG: Sophie Marigold