Post by Mattie Densen on Mar 29, 2015 20:29:24 GMT -6
The form of Mathias seemed to be nothing but a mere blur to the average camp go-er. It could almost be said that was his usual, running around the camp. Mathias wasn’t exactly the best runner, with him being so tall, and with a few minor complications from a game of rugby that went sour. Pulling muscles was no fun, and years after, the knot in his leg still jolted him with pain on occasion. what was it he knew besides running, or maybe a few bakers tricks. He was on the run since he was a child, whether it was mythological meanie out for the blood running through his veins, or a schoolyard bully out for his pride. Lately, is was more running from authority. The baker’s typical shenanigans were not looked upon highly at the Roman military camp. The worst was when he juvenile actions were ignored in favor of things ‘too serious for him to understand.’ Of course, Mathias had done his share of stupid things but he pulled his weight as well. There wasn’t much conflict with him not doing what he was supposed to, but rather what happened ‘behind the scenes’, when the blonde was off-duty. Unlike the workplace, no one had simply realized that the best resolution would simply putting his hands on deck more frequently.
Mathias darted behind what looked to be the barracks, his back pressed to the mortar walls of the quarters. He had little idea of which cohort they belonged to, for any voices inside the building were silent. Likely they were off around Camp Jupiter stationed somewhere. An exhale of relief left the golden-haired boy, his shoulders slumping forward. Raising a hand to his forehead, Mathias swept away a stray bead of sweat from his hairline. A wide smile cracked over his slightly tanned face, his breaths slowing to a normal tempo. Exhaustion wasn’t the right word to describe his feeling, as it certainly wasn’t the case. Mathias had grown accustomed to manual labor, between lifting weighty bags of flour and baking supplies, to carting around lawn mowers and toting around three large canines at a time during the humid summertimes. Summer jobs were truly the worst. The cons of having a baker for the mother weren’t quite close to the pros, work was often only a short-term commitment, whereas being a man who could cook was a serious hit in the dating department.
The sound of a guard muttering something under his breath disturbed the jittery Mathias, a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. How could he be caught now, the aftermath of his grand and spectacular escapade. The boys’ tall figure darted from behind the cohort barracks whilst the guard had his gaze fixate elsewhere. My the time the golden-clad legionnaire even caught a glimpse of his ruffled golden locks, he was meters away. Brown shoes pacing across the Northern California valleys of Camp Jupiter, Mathias caught sight of nothing but endless verdant. Each passing second blurred into the background, Mathias losing track of the time himself, as the wind whistled behind him.
The faint California zephyrs ruffled Mathias’ spiked golden locks. Getting his hair to lie flat across his face was a challenge in itself, the pull of gravity not effecting his messy hairstyle. A spritz of hairspray and a brief tousling with the fingers was enough to shape his hair to its standard look. His beach-blonde hair was enough to deceive someone he that he hailed from the Golden State, rather than Denmark, at least until he spoke. His accent was enough to disprove that theory, seeing as it was atypical for the region, and European in nature. An old friend had a joke about the reason for Mathias’ excessive patriotism, him not wanted to be associated with a Californian native.
That was true to an extent, the axe Mathias wielded was clipped with a small charm that ended in the Dannebrog, the Danish flag. Perhaps the only way to truly irritate Mathias, was to call him or his flag ‘Swedish’. He’d been into more than enough scuffles considering his age, not much managed to chip away at his jovial morale. The son of Jupiter was often amiable, save for a few completely specific circumstances.
The approaching cyan of the Little Tiber appeared fast, catching the blonde off guard. He skidded to a halt, the soles of his shoes skidding beneath him. The blonde tumbled off to the side, his knees colliding with the lush green grass, knocking him away from the riverbanks. Mathias made no real effort to move, seeing as he was far enough from the river banks to accidentally splash in the sacred waters, known for negating any blessing a Graecus might carry over. Camp Jupiter was home turf for Romans like himself.
A small chuckle left the maw of the carefree son of Jupiter. Mathias placed his well toned arms behind his fluffy blonde head, disregarding the few pieces of debris that were caught in his locks. Blinking his cerise optics, his gaze was turned upwards into the pale sky, watching the subtle, but certainly present movement of the fluffy ivory clouds. Of course Mathias was grinning, not often was there an occasion that he wasn’t. Life was short, especially for kids like him. Not just demigods, but kids of parentage like his own. Himself, Mathias Densen, son of Jupiter. He could be sniffed out from miles, whether it be from monsters or other demigods. While he had no idea what the monsters though he smelled like, he had heard he smelled like pastries and cheap cologne. Sexy.
Mathias darted behind what looked to be the barracks, his back pressed to the mortar walls of the quarters. He had little idea of which cohort they belonged to, for any voices inside the building were silent. Likely they were off around Camp Jupiter stationed somewhere. An exhale of relief left the golden-haired boy, his shoulders slumping forward. Raising a hand to his forehead, Mathias swept away a stray bead of sweat from his hairline. A wide smile cracked over his slightly tanned face, his breaths slowing to a normal tempo. Exhaustion wasn’t the right word to describe his feeling, as it certainly wasn’t the case. Mathias had grown accustomed to manual labor, between lifting weighty bags of flour and baking supplies, to carting around lawn mowers and toting around three large canines at a time during the humid summertimes. Summer jobs were truly the worst. The cons of having a baker for the mother weren’t quite close to the pros, work was often only a short-term commitment, whereas being a man who could cook was a serious hit in the dating department.
The sound of a guard muttering something under his breath disturbed the jittery Mathias, a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins. How could he be caught now, the aftermath of his grand and spectacular escapade. The boys’ tall figure darted from behind the cohort barracks whilst the guard had his gaze fixate elsewhere. My the time the golden-clad legionnaire even caught a glimpse of his ruffled golden locks, he was meters away. Brown shoes pacing across the Northern California valleys of Camp Jupiter, Mathias caught sight of nothing but endless verdant. Each passing second blurred into the background, Mathias losing track of the time himself, as the wind whistled behind him.
The faint California zephyrs ruffled Mathias’ spiked golden locks. Getting his hair to lie flat across his face was a challenge in itself, the pull of gravity not effecting his messy hairstyle. A spritz of hairspray and a brief tousling with the fingers was enough to shape his hair to its standard look. His beach-blonde hair was enough to deceive someone he that he hailed from the Golden State, rather than Denmark, at least until he spoke. His accent was enough to disprove that theory, seeing as it was atypical for the region, and European in nature. An old friend had a joke about the reason for Mathias’ excessive patriotism, him not wanted to be associated with a Californian native.
That was true to an extent, the axe Mathias wielded was clipped with a small charm that ended in the Dannebrog, the Danish flag. Perhaps the only way to truly irritate Mathias, was to call him or his flag ‘Swedish’. He’d been into more than enough scuffles considering his age, not much managed to chip away at his jovial morale. The son of Jupiter was often amiable, save for a few completely specific circumstances.
The approaching cyan of the Little Tiber appeared fast, catching the blonde off guard. He skidded to a halt, the soles of his shoes skidding beneath him. The blonde tumbled off to the side, his knees colliding with the lush green grass, knocking him away from the riverbanks. Mathias made no real effort to move, seeing as he was far enough from the river banks to accidentally splash in the sacred waters, known for negating any blessing a Graecus might carry over. Camp Jupiter was home turf for Romans like himself.
A small chuckle left the maw of the carefree son of Jupiter. Mathias placed his well toned arms behind his fluffy blonde head, disregarding the few pieces of debris that were caught in his locks. Blinking his cerise optics, his gaze was turned upwards into the pale sky, watching the subtle, but certainly present movement of the fluffy ivory clouds. Of course Mathias was grinning, not often was there an occasion that he wasn’t. Life was short, especially for kids like him. Not just demigods, but kids of parentage like his own. Himself, Mathias Densen, son of Jupiter. He could be sniffed out from miles, whether it be from monsters or other demigods. While he had no idea what the monsters though he smelled like, he had heard he smelled like pastries and cheap cologne. Sexy.
