Jul 19, 2021 4:37:45 GMT -5
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Jonathan had never been anything like his father, Vulcan. He never hid, wasn’t introverted, or had a difficult time making friends. It was quite the opposite. Making friends was easy, although making enemies was easier - especially being in the first cohort. He wasn’t a craftsman, no, he was a warrior born to fight. That’s what he had always wanted to be, out on the battlefield in the midst of blood splatter and fist throwing. If he had been able to choose his parents he probably would have chosen the god of war instead of the god of the forge. But, he couldn't. He had no choice in any of this. No choice in being the son of Vulcan, no choice in being a demigod, no choice in living at Camp Jupiter for years.
The smell of something burning filled the space he occupied as he stepped into the barracks, his t-shirt - or whatever was left of it - hanging loosely around his torso. It had several holes, showing a bit too much skin for his liking. If only he could find a way to make his clothes fireproof and not just himself. He was only training for half an hour when he got distracted and lost control over the fire engulfing his arm. Within seconds it darted up to his biceps, eating away at the fabric of his purple camp t-shirt. That was his fifth one this month.
Wondering if he would be given another this month he walked to his bunk, grabbing a blue sweater out of the trunk at the bottom of his bed. The worst case was that they would force him to wear one of those ugly orange shirts the Greeks were wearing. The blond shuddered at the thought, content with the thought of running around half-naked instead or even borrow Rhi’s clothes… although, they would be a very tight fit.
Without further consideration he tossed his half-burned t-shirt behind him, hoping it would land on something that vaguely looked like a pile for trash. A muffled sound told him he didn’t hit the trash but instead someone standing or walking behind him. Turning around he knitted his brows together in slight confusion before raising them in surprise. “Oh,” he exclaimed, his lips slightly parted as the sound left his mouth.
Jonathan had never been anything like his father, Vulcan. He never hid, wasn’t introverted, or had a difficult time making friends. It was quite the opposite. Making friends was easy, although making enemies was easier - especially being in the first cohort. He wasn’t a craftsman, no, he was a warrior born to fight. That’s what he had always wanted to be, out on the battlefield in the midst of blood splatter and fist throwing. If he had been able to choose his parents he probably would have chosen the god of war instead of the god of the forge. But, he couldn't. He had no choice in any of this. No choice in being the son of Vulcan, no choice in being a demigod, no choice in living at Camp Jupiter for years.
The smell of something burning filled the space he occupied as he stepped into the barracks, his t-shirt - or whatever was left of it - hanging loosely around his torso. It had several holes, showing a bit too much skin for his liking. If only he could find a way to make his clothes fireproof and not just himself. He was only training for half an hour when he got distracted and lost control over the fire engulfing his arm. Within seconds it darted up to his biceps, eating away at the fabric of his purple camp t-shirt. That was his fifth one this month.
Wondering if he would be given another this month he walked to his bunk, grabbing a blue sweater out of the trunk at the bottom of his bed. The worst case was that they would force him to wear one of those ugly orange shirts the Greeks were wearing. The blond shuddered at the thought, content with the thought of running around half-naked instead or even borrow Rhi’s clothes… although, they would be a very tight fit.
Without further consideration he tossed his half-burned t-shirt behind him, hoping it would land on something that vaguely looked like a pile for trash. A muffled sound told him he didn’t hit the trash but instead someone standing or walking behind him. Turning around he knitted his brows together in slight confusion before raising them in surprise. “Oh,” he exclaimed, his lips slightly parted as the sound left his mouth.
[attr="class","THREAD1TAG"]Primrose F. Wilson
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