There were very few things more entertaining to Mateo than to piss other people off. At the bottom of that list were stuck up snobs and fellow Romans, then people in his own cohort, then the Praetors. What perhaps very few people knew was that there was one person even higher than the Praetors on Mateo's list, and that was his very own Centurion. He didn't know what it was about her that thrilled him no end whenever he did anything to irritate her. Perhaps it was because she always rose to the occasion, threatening various bodily injuries when they were both just legionnaires, to inflicting chores as punishment when she became a Centurion. Regardless of whatever psychology went into it, the bottom line remained: Mateo so dearly loved poking the proverbial dragon in the eye, and said proverbial dragon went by the name of Astrid Hawke.

One of the easiest things about Hawke was that she was a creature of order. She was fairly predictable - he had, after all, lived with her for years. He knew her routine day in, week out; month in, year out. It obviously didn't help that their lives didn't have all that much spice considering they were confined within Camp Jupiter's boundaries for most of the year (well, everyone else was confined; Mateo liked to skip the fence more often than not). And so it was that he knew some asinine mortal game was going to be the biggest thing in Hawke's calendar despite not being able to attend it, and he also knew there was one particular garish hoodie amongst her collection of garish hoodies that would be the star player of her day.

Said garish hoodie was currently being worn by a very smug male demigod lying under his covers, who was now pretending to wake up at the snap of his correctly-pronounced surname, because of course Hawke would know how to say it properly with the accents. The girl was crazy for correct everything. He'd nearly earned himself a verbal lashing once for coming in late to a Latin tutoring session, before he'd sworn them off forever. He'd been young and innocent back then. Apparently Hawke had remained the same - if anything, she was more hawk-like about his mistakes, and just basically him in general.

"Inside voice, Hawke," he admonished, rubbing blearily at his eyes and running a hand through his hair, completing the charade. With a put-upon sigh, Mateo slowly moved to get up, rolling over to the side of the bed before finally pushing the covers away to sit on the edge. Continuing the act of nonchalance, Mateo's voice was tired and casually conversational as he said, "C'mon, I'll help you look for it. Where did you see it last?"

WORDS: 461 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

The ability to keep a poker face came naturally to the son of Laverna, so he was still in full I-woke-up-like-this mode as he got up, dragging his limbs along to Hawke's bunk and running another hand through his hair, succeeding in making it more ruffled as he went. Her jab about him sleeping all day was met with a pointed yawn, clearly ignoring her opinion on his sleep schedule and hopefully waylaying any potential lecture he could possibly receive about his lack of effort in his duties. It wouldn't have mattered too much to Mateo, anyway, he'd heard it all about a thousand times before, from his Praetors but also from Hawke herself. He had long since learned to tune them out when they got into that mood.

Wrinkled. Hawke was worried about her hoodies being wrinkled. Mateo's mouth dropped open to comment about how wrinkles were the least of her hoodies' problems, when Hawke moved forward, passing him slightly - always needing to lead, Mateo didn't understand how anyone could put up with her competitiveness - and he caught sight of the glint of the industrial piercing in her ear. It had become a fascination for him to spy on what colour she decided to wear on whichever day. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud to anyone, of course. Mateo liked to put it down to knowing what other people held most valuable; after all, everyone had something, most had multiple somethings, and it always paid well for a thief to know which things were worth the most. It was not at all because there was something hot about the metal going through Hawke's cartilage.

Slightly distracted, Mateo finally pulled his attention away from the arrow piercing - silver today, his (favourite)... a shiny colour that glinted in the light - to contribute to the conversation in case Hawke caught his look at her ear. "No, I didn't see anyone," he answered truthfully. He was being completely honest; it wasn't like there was a mirror where he could see himself going to her bunk, after all. His answer (and his worry about her noticing his momentary delay in responding) turned out to be inconsequential as Hawke ignored him to fly on ahead to be the first to reach her bunk. Disgruntled, Mateo grumbled, "Not everything is a frigging race, Hawke. Calm down, people might think you're overcompensating."

Mateo ignored Hawke as she began rifling about in her own space, because apparently her own bunk was subject to the same high bar she had set for everyone else in their barrack. Mateo had half a mind to hand her a ruler as his offer to 'help', but ultimately decided to just stand there as though looking over her hoodies, before shrugging and nodding along with her. "Yeah, guess you're right, it's not there," he replied, not sounding the least bit concerned. Still with the same casual air, as though he hadn't just wasted Hawke's time by doing absolutely nothing, Mateo then continued on, "Might as well get back to my nap." And in so saying, the male demigod smirked at Hawke briefly before turning on his heel. As he walked back in the direction of his bunk, he pulled his arms up over his head and shifted side to side as he stretched, the movement causing the 'Hawke' emblazoned on the back of the stolen hoodie to taunt its rightful owner as its thief walked away with its prize on his shoulders.

WORDS: 578 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

Hawke made some comment about his hair - it was a weak comeback, not worth him remarking on, even though it was completely untrue because Mateo absolutely did not style his hair. Mateo was not vain in the least, and he cared far too little about far too many things to care about his hair. Sure, he may like making it look okay, but that was only so that no one - like Hawke - would rag him about looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. Besides, looking good often allowed him to flirt a bit, but usually when he was in a mood, which was often, his hair was the least of his priorities. He just rolled his eyes at her before looking over the hoodies again.

The slightest of smirks blossomed on his lips as he watched Hawke practically talk to herself about how hoodies didn't just walk around by themselves. Half of Mateo was tempted to just strike a pose, lift his leg up on the bottom bunk and reach up in some direction so she could see the back of her hoodie on him, but Mateo had a better idea, and he was patient enough to see it through. He wordlessly waited a few more seconds, a slightly mischievous glint in his eyes, but Hawke had clearly lapsed into pondering other places where her hoodie might have disappeared to, or other potential perpetrators of the theft. And so it was that Mateo went on his merry way back to his bunk.

It didn't surprise him very much that Hawke had missed the glaring logo of her team on the front of the hoodie - she had her one-track determination to find the thief, and besides, he'd deliberately gotten up at a bit of an angle so it wasn't immediately obvious. His satisfaction at her finally realising he'd been wearing it all along was completely worth the infuriated shout of his surname hurled at his back. Mateo knew it was only a matter of time before Hawke retaliated, but the easy smirk on his face only expanded into a full-grown grin as she sped past him to charge at him like a raging bull. How very Hawke; she'd never been one to attack someone from behind.

The crash of their bodies to the ground was loud, but Mateo's laugh was even louder. The fury in her eyes was so worth whatever bruises he'd be getting on his back later. The mention of him stretching out her hoodie with his body made him laugh even harder, before replying by flexing both his arms, fists curled beside his head and enjoying the feel of the fabric stretching over his muscles. "Your observation skills need work," he commented brightly, before turning his head to look up at her from another angle, pulling his flexed arms in up and in front of him to really irritate her. The potential scandal from their precarious predicament didn't even enter Mateo's mind, and the male didn't bother to try to dislodge the daughter of Victoria from around his midriff. For one, he was sure she had the advantage and she wouldn't let him win in the least, and for two, he could appreciate a view from his current position. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

WORDS: 551 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

The metal in her eyes as she leaned forward and told him to shut up was even more hilarious, despite the fact that she could quite seriously injure him. The danger of her anger didn't phase Mateo in the least, and he only grinned up at her smugly. The fact that she hadn't told him off for his comment meant she had been cornered with the truth, a rarity considering the son of Laverna often dealt with lies. Gods, should he rebrand? For sure, his win against Hawke in this around meant adding two tally marks under his name on the little scoreboard he kept on the wall near his bed. It had been between his bunk and hers, but that had been before she'd made centurion. Still, it remained on the wall, and while Mateo no longer bothered to update it as often now that Hawke wouldn't see it first thing whenever she woke up or last before she went to sleep, Mateo figured today's victories were worth carving.

"What, no witty comeback?" he taunted, eyes as sharp as his smirk. She may have thought she was a force to be reckoned with, a threatening picture with her hands in fists, but Mateo only calmly pulled his arms up to rest his head against his open palms. Not only did it make him appear completely nonchalant, but it also served to stretch the fabric of the hoodie some more. Mateo idly wondered if Hawke would start spitting fire. He would pay to see that.

There was a weird pang in his chest as Hawke started to stand, the weight around his midriff disappearing along with her proximity. He put it down to not having had as much of a reaction as he'd hoped - she had, after all, gone ham on him for longer with a lesser offense than stealing one of her most prized possessions. But Mateo wasn't going to react like he'd wanted more. He was the coolest cucumber in the jar. With a shrug, he fluidly pulled himself up, still with that irritably smug expression on his face. "Good luck getting a new hoodie from me," he scoffed, his voice light and casual as he moved to remove the stolen clothing while continuing his way back to his bunk.

In one smooth movement, the hoodie was pulled over the male demigod's head, and he emerged from under it with his hair even wilder than before and his upper body bare. In another step, he reached the side of his bunk, and he spun on his heel to shoot the hoodie back at its owner. "Oh, and by the way," he remarked conversationally as he threw himself backwards on his own bed, eyes sparkling in the shadows, "I trained in that. Now you'll smell like me, just like you've always wanted. You won't be needing a new hoodie." Mateo waggled his eyebrows suggestively, before rolling over to lie on his stomach. His next words were muffled by his pillow as he continued, "Sleeping all day, pfft. I'm a Roman legionnaire, Astrid Hawke, how dare you doubt my dedication to responsibility."

WORDS: 522 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

The poor comeback about silence being better sometimes was only met with another smirk. It was true, Mateo himself preferred to stay shut up a lot of the time, although in his case it was actually because he often didn't care enough to invest the time for a witty reply. His braincells would have just been wasted on people who didn't matter. Hawke was always a different matter - except when he was in a mood - and apparently she herself also seemed pretty incapable at controlling herself whenever he got involved and messed up her day. He was just about to make some retort about her making him shut up when she stood up and he missed his moment. It was probably only a good thing - thinking about it, the comment would have sounded weirdly flirty, and Mateo was definitely not trying that with Hawke. He was pretty sure he'd have something much bigger than a knife in his gut.

A flutter of his fingers over his shoulder even as he turned away was his response to the threat of the invoice being sent his way. "Whatever you say, Hawke," he replied, the end of his sentence warping as he yawned in clear disregard for what she'd just said. "If you think you can make me cough up the Denarii, I won't try to stop your dreams. Everyone should have one. I believe in you." His bed was calling him now that his prank was completed; he had trained today, and actually put in far more effort than usual to really get Hawke's hoodie dirty. If he was lucky, he'd have ruined her mood for a solid week. Idly, he made a bet against himself as to how many times she would bring this up during the week. Safest guess was about twenty times. He would have to make a bit of extra effort to be near her as often as possible just so she was constantly reminded of his crowing victory today.

His face was turned away from her with his chin resting on his pillow and his eyes half closed, but even when Mateo couldn't see her, he could hear the grin in her words as she taunted him about wearing her clothes. To be perfectly honest, he had gotten a couple of snide looks from people in the Ludus when he'd rocked up wearing Hawke's hoodie, but most everyone else had just rolled their eyes. Their rivalry had been well-documented since the moment they had met, and had even accidentally included others in their crossfire. The son of Laverna only rolled his eyes, but as her voice neared, Hawke clearly walking towards him as she talked, he only turned in his bed to look at her, resting the side of his head against a propped up hand.

Did she really think he'd be concerned by people gossiping about the possibilities of his love life? Mateo had never cared about other people's opinions, and his carelessness when it came to girls had landed him in hot water a few times, mostly when he'd led them on - by accident, he thought they'd get the hint once he actually stopped talking to them - and his old flame found out about his new flame, or vice versa. As with everything else in his life, Mateo just couldn't find it in himself to care about any of that, so Hawke's pointed teasing about people thinking they were dating was only met with another smirk.

"You're grasping at straws, Hawke," he said slowly, still with complete nonchalance. At her next words, though, Mateo rolled back over briefly and leaned an arm to where his jacket had been abandoned on the other side of his bunk. With another flick of his risk, he sent the garment flying at Hawke in much the same way as he'd thrown her own hoodie at her. The smirk widened as he said, "Gods, was all that just a lead up for you to wear something of mine?" Barb delivered, Mateo turned so he was lying on his front again, limbs akimbo in his normal sleeping position. "Don't worry, that one smells like me, too. I haven't washed it for a couple of weeks."

WORDS: 704 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

Mateo only watched passively as Hawke decided to agree with him about making him pay up. He had very little doubt that she was probably planning something; Mateo liked to think that she always took significantly longer to come up with a revenge plan. There was no way she'd already thought of something so quick... right? No, it was best not to look suspicious just yet - maybe Hawke would become overconfident at his placidity and try too early to reenact her revenge. Maybe she would fail terribly and Mateo could just watch from the sidelines as she fell flat on her face. He would sidestep whatever she'd planned then laugh coolly at her face, before moving on with his pain-free day. Calculating eyes studied her face for any familiar tells, even as he kept the rest of his own expression politely disinterested.

When it was clear that Hawke wasn't going to try something just yet, Mateo felt he could relax enough to turn his back on her. That was when she decided to hit him with a jab about washing his smell out of his jacket, and his jaw ticked as he wondered if he would show his hand with his reaction. On one hand, it wasn't as though the jacket had any real sentimental or monetary value - it was pretty beat up, obviously well-worn. It was something he'd had for years. He didn't even know where he'd gotten it. Probably some time in early high school, his name patched and sewed on to the back by someone else - he hardly knew how to fix a rip in his jeans, much less actually sew something. Maybe it was a gift from some girl he didn't remember; they always liked to give him things, as though he couldn't take the things he wanted. Either way, it had joined his regular retinue of clothes, and he would probably be a bit peeved if Hawke did shrink it.

He would call her bluff. Reacting in any other way would only show his attachment to the jacket, and that would be showing his cards. Mateo was nothing if not a good gambler. The son of Laverna rolled again in his bed for the third time so that he was looking at Hawke again, elbow sunk in his covers as his palm cradled the back of his head. Apparently she wasn't going to let him get away with ignoring her. "It'll fit you fine, you know," he commented, shrugging a little despite his odd position. "You don't have to shrink it to make it fit. Besides, I'm sure it'll look hotter that way." One corner of his lips rose in a half-smirk, now playing her game and taunting her back. If she wasn't going to back down, then neither was he.

The smirk was still on his face as he watched her put their jackets away, but his eyes had hardened in suspicion. Was Hawke really going to try to get some revenge now? He supposed it wasn't completely off-brand for her - she did always like to win. Sins of the mother and all that. His eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of a reward, not in the least bit trusting whatever she was about to do next. The sight of the familiar laurel leaves manifesting between her palms only caused his eyes to narrow even further. Laurel leaves were her favourite go-to payback - the number of times he'd gotten to morning drill late because his bed and clothes and shoes and socks had sprouted trees-worth of leaves overnight had been very memorable. She'd gotten him for being late every time, too. His revenge had been sweet and well-enjoyed.

Even now, he didn't trust her in the least with the little crown she'd made for him, but Mateo would take the risk. He was more than a little curious as to what she would do, anyway. It had always been that taste of danger that brought him back every single time to irritate Hawke some more. Slowly, he pulled himself to a sitting position, eyes still watching her face for a tell while his hands readied themselves slightly to catch whatever she was planning on throwing at him. "I'm going to pretend you're not being suspicious at all," he said, the tone underlying his words clearly showing that he was very suspicious of her motives. "If you're going to choke me with it, let me kindly remind you of the last time you tried that." He'd accidentally ingested laurel leaves during one of their earlier spats; suffice it to say it did not end well.

WORDS: 768 | TAG: Astrid Hawke

Mateo's careful and calculating eyes watched as Hawke study the leather jacket, trying to glean information about how much it was truly worth to the male demigod. He saw her look over his name on the back, and could practically hear the cogs turning in her brain. Hawke wasn't stupid - she would know just by the quality of the leather that Mateo did quite care for this one, as much as he cared for his clothes, anyway. But he wouldn't change his reaction, nor would he rise to her bait, even as she looked back at him and taunted him about making it fit more snugly. Who even used that as a phrase?

Mateo only shrugged, lazy smirk unfurling. "You didn't tell me you were planning on taking my jacket with you to bed, Hawke, I thought you were just going to wear it around camp? If you were wanting something snugglier, I have another hoodie but it doesn't have my name on it - smells like me, though." His eyes lowered until he was looking at her through slits, the playful sparkle in them sharp and obvious. It was the look of a cat playing a game with a mouse, and only time would tell who would turn out to be the predator and who the prey in this scenario. Both of them had always fought to be the winner in practically every situation they found themselves in together, and this afternoon was no different. A tug-of-war of wills that would be fought for years to come or until one of them got caught in a real battle and didn't make it out - which was likely considering their heritage.

He was still suspicious of her true intentions as she tried to defend herself. To be honest, he didn't think the medics would forgive him either, even if he would be the victim. The son of Laverna was quite sure the pair of them had tried the patience of every medic in their legion, and the medics would more likely put their collective foot down and tell them to deal with their own injuries. It wouldn't bother Mateo in the least, of course, but he did wonder if it would bother Hawke, if only because she was supposed to be a responsible adult Centurion now.

"Don't lie," he scoffed, still not leaning forwards or coming any closer to the laurel crown, "Lying is my forte, remember. Just admit you wanted to stuff the entire bunch down my throat; I've already made my peace with it." The crown was dropped on his lap and Hawke backed off with her hands up in the universal sign of surrender, but Mateo still didn't completely trust the leaves. As far as he knew, though, Hawke's ability with the laurel didn't allow her to inject some sort of additional poison on it, nor would she be able to manipulate it to slide down to his throat if he put it on his head. Gingerly, Mateo picked it up with gentle fingers, studying it from a few angles before deeming it safe. He still watched Hawke closely as he put the crown on his head, tilted at an angle like the rebellious little prince that he was.

If his eyes could have narrowed any further, they would have, but Mateo knew he would have looked like he was a blind man squinting against the sun, so he didn't. Instead, he just ensured his face was devoid of any expression as Hawke shed her gym top - something he hadn't fully noticed she'd been wearing until she wasn't anymore - and pull the jacket across her body. Mateo gritted his teeth; was this payback for him being shirtless and wearing her hoodie? He didn't know when their pranks had turned like this, and he wasn't sure if he liked or hated it. On one hand, of course he liked it because he was a male and he wasn't chivalrous and Hawke had always been hot, but on the other hand, there was a higher likelihood that he was going to get distracted just like she planned and it wasn't good because he couldn't let her win.

He shouldn't react. He really didn't want to. But like a moth to a flame, Mateo stood and walked slowly towards her, stopping only when he was right in front of her. His eyes were drawn to the sparkle of the piercing on her navel, and with slow movements, he reached up both hands to catch the zip of the jacket. With gentle fingers, he slowly pulled the zip up, still trying to remain expressionless, even though his eyes reflected how much he was affected by their proximity. "You'll distract whoever you're training against," he said lowly, his gaze finally meeting hers. There was no longer a smirk on his lips. "If you get blood on my jacket, I might be a little less forgiving." The buzz of the zipper stopped as it reached just below her collarbone, and the heavy moment was broken as the corner of Mateo's lips quirked, one hand pulling gently on a strand of blonde hair before turning and walking back to his bunk.

WORDS: 865 | TAG: Astrid Hawke