Newbie Patrol (John Wright)

Caleb stared into the book Trivia had given him, memorizing spell after spell and the incantation used to cast it. Many of them sounded like they could be Harry Potter spells, which worked out perfectly because that's pretty much who Caleb considered himself to be now; he wore glasses, he was an orphan, he felt totally out of place in the camp, and there was more than one person on camp ground who thought that a weak person like him was better off dead than disgracing the name of Camp Demi-Blood.

Caleb didn't care all that much, though. Since he'd been claimed as the first son of Trivia in a while, people were scared of him, like now that he'd had a cool little spellbook he'd get back at everyone who'd ever once been mean to him. He'd come to the hill to get away from that. He liked watching the cars pass by from just outside of the Roman Arch. Many of the campers would have taken this opportunity with no one around to make a run for it, whether into town or back home to their families. Caleb had no money to buy anything in town, and his only family, a complete group of strangers, was on the other side of the country.

Caleb sat down on the cool, hard ground and hugged his purple jacket closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, having heard a noise. He looked around and grabbed his spellbook, leafing through the pages until he found a protection spell. Crap, it was too advanced. Caleb stood and drew his Roman longsword, made of Imperial gold. In the moonlight, it glistened. Caleb had never used it in his life, but he was ready.

The boy kept jogging along the highway, he had been going since the other end of San Fran. Hours later he was still going, as the sun started to his the horrzion in front of him. His legs felt like lead weights, his arms feeling much the same. He kept running knowning with evrey step he was growing closer to the camp. The real reason he hadn't stoped was because of what he kept repeating in his mind over and over. I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight. The Navy SEAL motto, or one of them. He had read Lone Survivor, a book of four navy seals. And how only one made it out of the mission alive. He kept thinking of the hell they went though and how they were almost all dead yet never stoped fighting, and never complained. So he kept thinking subconciously, 'these guys went though HELL and back, and i'm just getting tired from running. NO! I'm not going to stop! I WILL NOT STOP!'The motto of the SEALs is something he lived by. His dream was to become a SEAL, he knew there was allot of preperation between then and now.

John came to a soft stop, making sure to breath from his nose and out though his mouth. His breath visible in the very cold weather. He took out a crudlly drawn map on a diner napkin. He knew... or thought he was close to the enterence at this point. His music was playing, 'You don't want to be like me' by Twiztid. He smiled as the words came to his mind, he looked down to his light blue jeans. His grey tennis shoes, and red Carnival of carnage t-shirt. It was by far the best ICP aulbum. Not to mention the design was awesome. He knew the Roman gods were real, but always tried not to think of them. He knew almost nothing of them, and what he did know did not inspire... much love towards them. He sighed and forced the thought out of his head. He looked around, sighing. Nothing. He started to jog again, as his legs and arms almost scremed no. They were like lead weights at this point. He kept moving though.

John than heard a sound that was forever burned into his mind. The sound of a sword leaving it's sheath. He spun on a dime and pulled out his knife, it was tied to his right leg by his knee. He forced himself to calm down, than scanned the area. Nothing. Though he was sure he had heard it. It had sounded just like how Joe and Nick sounded as they would always draw there weapons in combat. He put his knife away, his paranoia flaring again. It happened too often, though it was one of his most powerfull weapons. For when he get paranoid he channels it differently than most. He uses it to his advantage, using the heightened sences and adreniline rush. John sighed, and scanned the area once more.

His eyes passed over the enterence of the camp, though it looked like a hill. When he saw movement, his head snapped back to where he had seen it. the knife back in his hands in seconds. He glared at a hill, and he started to slowly move closer. He didn't know what was happening, he just knew something was there, hiding. He didn't want his back to whatever was hiding there. As he got closer he saw that the hill seemed to be getting more transparent. This didn't help his flaring parinoia though. He saw a figure with a sword, the hill gone now reviling a arch. He glared at the boy, forcing a calm. He edge closer, "friend or foe?" He spoke these words just as he tensed ready for the other kid to try something. If the boy said 'friend' John would bark for proof who the boy to lower his weapon. If it went that way he would sheath his own. If it didn't well, he was ready for a fight. If anything he was hungering for one, this morning his best friend. His brother (he concitered Joe as such) had passed away. The anger had starting to build, now just showing. John glared at the boy with hatred, hoping for the word FOE to be heard. He wanted a fight, he craved it at this point. The words of ''People are strange" (by twiztid) missed by John.

He was to focused on the boy. His backpack feeling as though it was getting lighter, it felt as if his arms and legs were coming too. He knew it was adrenilen, prepering the body for the fight he so craved at this point. His knuckles white, from gripping the knife too hard. His knife was in the shape of a standered combat knife the armed forces were given. He was quick not strong, so a knife was perfect for him. He tensed and bent his knees ready to pounce on the boy. Even though it had only been seconds since the words had left his mouth demanding to know where this boy stood on a fight or not. Even in those few seconds, so much had changed in John and his disspazition. From the boy trying to find the camp to a boy now craving a fight to released the hate and anger that had built up inside him. The thought of 'maybe he is a camper' had popped up into his mind. But he dissmissed it, he wouldn't be swayed from the path he wanted to take. The path that lead to there blades clashing. The two strangers fighting.

Caleb backed away as an angry looking boy approached. He had his spellbook tucked under one arm and his sword held with both hands. The boy looked average, despite the murderous look in his eyes and the hollowness in them that said he'd obviously seen some things in his life that he wished he could unsee. "Friend or foe?" asked the boy tensely. It was clear that the boy wanted Caleb to proclaim himself as the enemy. A few options went through Caleb's head at that moment. Tell the boy that, yes, he was the enemy. Charge at the boy without answering. Or run away without answering. Instead of doing any of those, Caleb nodded and took a step back. "Friend," he answered quietly, lowering his golden sword. He released the weapon and it turned into his uncle Richard's bracelet before it hit the ground.

"Do you need any help?" Caleb was almost sure this unhinged demigod was going to attack him out of rage or something. This is how Caleb had acted when his father died...before he'd been hospitalized. And this is how he would have acted when his mom died, had it not been for his dad's voice inside his head. Normally, voices inside a person's head make people go crazy, but that voice kept Caleb sane.

Trivia? Caleb asked his father. Did you know? Did you know that it was Trivia? Did you know I was a demigod?

For a few seconds, Caleb's father didn't reply. Then he whispered an answer so soft that Caleb had to strain to hear it inside his own mind. Yes.

Caleb nodded and clutched his book closer to his chest. If this kid attacked, he'd have to resort to Harry Potter spells and pray that they work, because most of the spells he did remember were way too advanced, and he'd most likely be killed before he found out how it worked.

Don't think that way, soldier! That wasn't Caleb's dad, but rather the imaginary drill sergeant that gave Caleb "pep talks" everytime something bad was about to happen or when the boy had pessimistic thoughts.

Caleb didn't reply; he'd had enough of the voices in his head. Hearing them was one thing, but replying to them was a whole different story. "I take it your new? We should go find Lupa...she'll know what to do. She's met us all at some point in our lives." Caleb told the boy hesitantly, so as not to worsen his mood.

"Friend" said the boy. John tensed his muscles so much that his body started to shake. He was using some of the pinted up rage, by doing this he was just spending some of the anger which seemed to be endless in the mind of the teen. He put his knife in it's sheath, he would not attack someone who proclaimed to be a friend. Espacilly if they lay there weapon aside. He sighed, and just stood there breathing. The words of 'Story of our lives' playing by Twiztid. He briefily wondered if he had just clicked Twiztid songs to play. Music was something John liked and cared about, it was like part of who he was. He glared at the boy one more time, giving a very claer message. 'Cross me, and your a dead man.' He was still unsure of this boy, and the rest of the army Joe has said they had. He closed his eyes, listening to the music. Trying to get into the sway of it, trying to hide the anger from his mind. Trying to replace it by any other emotion. He put on a face you usually see a soilder wear as they move on from a fight. He was just that, a soilder. Sure he wasn't fighting for a country. What he was fighting for was his life, his own survival. John took one more breath. Keeping his emotions in check, at this point.

"Do you need any help?" He was exugsted, the adreniline leaving him and making him feel worse and more drained than to begin with. "No." Was his simple reply, it wasn't that he didn't need it. He just wasn't willing to take help from this boy. Even though they were 'family' as all gods were related or something similar and stupid. He regaurded this kid with no greater emotion than comtempt. He could care less about this kid, he was nothing more than a stranger, and after losing his brother Joe and his other friend/brother Nick he felt more alone in the world than ever. But instead of breaking down and wanting attention like so many so when this happens to them. John just hardened, doing the opposite of what most do. Becoming detatched from his own race. Well humans anyway, he didn't care about 'half-bloods'. All he cared was that him and a select few were hunted by monsters. That was it. "I take it your new? We should go find Lupa...she'll know what to do. She's met us all at some point in our lives." He took it Lupa was the leader of the army of sorts.

The way he said that though kind of got John. It sounded like some weird voodoo type crap. 'She's met us all at some point in our lives'. He just nodded, he made sure his shouldres were back, back was straight head forward. Arms at his side, and feet pointed forward. Making him look more profecinal. He always tried to get the posture of a soilder down, he was pretty damn close. By now his mood was slightly better, "who is Lupa?" His voice carried a dangerious edge, but it was to be accepted he couldn't flip from angry to happy. He was still rage filled, but was keeping it under controll. He looked at the boy in a way that said 'lead the way'. He relaxed a small bit, and followed the boy with the odd looking book. "So this.... army. How does it function?" He knew it wasn't an army, but sounded VERY close to what the exact defination of army was.

((Sorry it sucks, my bad.))

Caleb was starting not to like this kid. All demigods had been through something hard in their lives. Caleb had lost both of his parents, having them die without him there to hug them and cry over them, not even getting the chance to say that he loved them before the Fates took them away. And the worst part is that it was his own fault. He pushed away the people he loved, it was a defense mechanism of sorts. Still, Caleb didn't give anyone crap about it. His mother died little less than a week ago, but he didn't take that out on anyone. Caleb had long since learned that good moods did more for a person than bad moods did.

Caleb shook his head at the mention of an army. "We don't have an army. At least...not that I know of. When needed, the Mars kids will form a militia or something, but I'm pretty sure there's no army. Lupa is one of the camp directors, along with Bacchus. She comes to us when we're kids and sees if we're worthy enough to come to camp. If not, then we're most likely killed, or so I'm told. We're both obviously here, so we've proved our worth somehow." He was careful not to add that he was claimed, in fear that he'd come off as bragging to this already crazy kid.

"Come on, this way," Caleb held his book in one hand, and in the other he used his re-generated sword as a faint flashlight, the illumination from the moon bouncing off of it and providing a slight circle around him. Caleb led the boy into the forest towards Lupa's cave, trying to keep up a conversation along the way. "So you're interested in the Military? My dad was in the Air Force, and my uncle, he's a demigod, is in the Army." The small half-blood looked around him for monsters. He could already see a clearing that would lead to the cave. "Almost there," He hadn't even looked back to see if the guy was following him, and he still wasn't turning around.

Caleb reached the cave and knocked on the wood three times with his sword. Come in, Caleb, said Lupa's voice in his mind. Great, another voice in his head, just what he needed.

"Hey, Lupa," replied Caleb easily. A few days ago, a talking wolf would have creeped him out, but now it was as easy as talking to a mortal or a demigod.

Hello, Caleb. Who is your friend? As Caleb entered the cave, Lupa rounded the corner, a pitch black she-wolf on all fours.

Not a friend, Caleb told Lupa in his thoughts. "Well...I don't really know his name. He was coming into camp when I found him." Caleb frowned, knowing he'd just admitted to breaking curfew. Lupa, however, ignored it. "This is Lupa," Caleb told the boy, still staring at the wolf.

"We don't have an army. At least...not that I know of. When needed, the Mars kids will form a militia or something, but I'm pretty sure there's no army. Lupa is one of the camp directors, along with Bacchus. She comes to us when we're kids and sees if we're worthy enough to come to camp. If not, then we're most likely killed, or so I'm told. We're both obviously here, so we've proved our worth somehow." He knew this boy didn't like him, which he found great amusment in. He scoffted making it clear where his stand was on the subject of the 'gods' was. "Ahhh yes Mar's kids, and please tell me which make-believe go.... which god would Mar's be?" He had pulled out of his first 'question/remark' he had no wish to fight a kid who called himself friend. He just sighed, and kept walking. The boy made a flashlight (sort of) out of a sword. On most days John would have been laughing asking how it worked. This wasn't most days, now he could care less if the world blew up around him. He felt depressed, horrbily so. He spat angrly into the gournd, "damn it's wearing off." He muttered. He took concertia. It was something to help his ADD. Usually he got somewhat hyper, and depresed. His thoughts and actions very clouded and unpredictable.

John looked up, making sure to stay out of the soft glow of the boy and sword. He looked up to the leaves, which were no pitch black. Sarcasticly smiling he nodded towards them. He was color blind. Or to be spacifec, red-green color blind. He still saw colors, but allot liked the same and confused him. Blue/purple, red/green, brown/green ect.. ect.. So walking though woods at night, always made him feel happyer for he knew he was going to be eluded by the joy it brought most to watch the chaning colors. "Come on, this way. So you're interested in the Military? My dad was in the Air Force, and my uncle, he's a demigod, is in the Army. Almost there." He nodded, "yes. I wish to be a SEAL. The navy's branch, who are the best of the best in the navy. Only surpassed in skill by the Delta force. Given there name from the terain they fight on and excel at. Sea, air, land."

He just let the words of 'Wat ta dead like' flow in to his ears. Whut the dead like? They like the psychopathic sh*t. If they see the hatchetman then it's underground legit. Is what the dead like?
And they takin' nothin' less. Keep it underground for life is the dead's only request. He mouthed the words, not singing. That'd be like lighting a flare screming 'i'm over here'. Sort of. He followed the boy into a cave, there were a few charis. Ad when seemed to be a fold up table in the corner. When the hairs on his neck stood up, you know? The feeling you get when someone is looking at you, and you don't know it? He spun around, to see a wolf. A WOLF! He had seen several in his life, just none that weren't bnehind a think think piece of glass. He kept very very till, not moving at all. He knew running was stupid, wolfs would probally run a mile in the time it took him to run a quater. He first thought that the boy had betrayed him, and he was litterly going to feed him to the dogs. In a flast, the rage was back. All he could do was glare at the boy, if looks could kill. This boy would be dead. Several times over.

"Well...I don't really know his name. He was coming into camp when I found him." John didn't let his brain process the words, he was to focused on the wolf. Seeing if it would leap and attack him. It was a female, and seemed strong (in a wolf sence) with a dangerious edge a steel one. "This is Lupa," It took him a second to under stand what the boy had said. Not because he was slow, in a thinking sence. No it was because he refused to believe that this kid acctually meant that this... this WOLF was there leader. He began to think there were several big things Joe had not told him. Like the people here were INSANE! "Ya nice to meet you Lupa" sarcasim dripping off every word. He had only spoken to get the boys attention. To look him in the eye and show just how much he wanted the other boy dead. This kid was about to sick a wolf on him. He knew he was dead, if that happened. So? Why not go out swinging and with a few sarcastic remarks? He waited for one of the two to move. Ready to rip his knife out. In a fight the stupidest thing you can do it make the first move when your out gunned. It was close to suicide. Well.... close.