arrays | yours in demigodishness

"I don't see you showing off your mad dance skills," she retorts. Really, Leona has some grace when she wants to. She rarely wants to, except when fingers get hammered, but that's beside the point.

"Exactly! There's, like, bears and things out here! Why would you leave a poor, innocent damsel in distress in the middle of the woods, all alone with no way out? What kind of a knight are you?!"

"This isn't the time for that," she huffs. Does she even have mad dance skills? Probably not. Fran doesn't think she's ever tried to dance. She tries to not blush in embarrassment at just the thought.

Her brow twitches, and she can't figure out if she's amused or irritated. Both. Definitely, probably both. "Are you trying to call yourself a damsel and me your knight?"

"Correction: it is always a time for that." And if she had music, Leona would prove it. Oh, well; Fran's loss.

"And no, that is totally not what I'm saying! I'd have a way cooler knight than you."

"Except for now," Fran argues, sticking to it. Her lips purse. Why? Why did they send the two of them together? Why would the gods do this?

And then she shoots Leona a look. "You might think so, but I'm sure you just called me your knight."

Coughkilljoycough.

"Look, Fran, if I were in your shoes, I'd totally want to be my knight, too," Leona says reasonably, keeping her eyes on the woods ahead. "And no offense, but I could do so much better."

"If you were in my shoes, you'd want to hit yourself, too." There is no way that Leona would ever want to be her own knight. That would require actually doing something for the sake of someone else.

Fran glowers at the other girl. She doesn't want to admit it, but it kind of hurts. Really hurts. She's not like Percy or Jason. Not as tough or strong or great, but she doesn't think she's terrible. "Nobody's stopping you from it then."

"You're kidding, right? Dude, if I were in your shoes, I'd totally be swooning over me. But I guess I can't really blame you for wanting to hit that," she says cheerfully, unaware of the change in Fran's demeanor. It's pretty normal for her to scowl in Leona's general direction; how is she supposed to tell something's different?

Fran's never really wanted to kill anyone before, but she can hear her father in her ear's - and she can't really tell if it's actually him or if she's imagining it - and Mars is telling her to Leona over the head.

She takes a deep breath and ignores the voice and ignores Leona. "I don't want to - what does that even mean?"

Leona rolls her eyes. Really, she shouldn't be surprised. "Man, are you sure you're not from the 1800s? It means - Actually, never mind. If you don't know, don't worry about it. If it's still bothering you when we get back, I'll show you how to use Urban Dictionary."

Seriously, who could believe this girl? Exactly how sheltered was she?

"It doesn't bother me now. You bother me," Fran mutters. She should calm down, not let her get under her skin, of course. This is about their mission, not about them. Even if Fran finds Leona annoying like no other person she has ever met, what they have to do is ultimately more important than her feelings.

"We're wasting time."

"Whatever you say."

Continuing onward, she asks, "And who said talking while you walk is wasting time? You would rather walk in complete, utter silence?" How boring. Leona should've brought some headphones; then she could at least turn on some good tunes while they do this stupid fetch quest.

It's like she's completely incapable of being able to stay quiet for more than a minute at a time. And what's wrong with silence, anyway? You can get in some good thinking time when everything is quiet? Well, not completely quiet. Nature doesn't just turn itself off.

"We're not talking. You're being irritating. There's a difference."

She can't help it; she rolls her eyes.

"Words are coming out of my mouth. Last I checked, that is the definition of talking. Or do I have to get you a regular dictionary, too?"

"See, irritating. You're still doing it. Is there something in that brain of yours that tells you to keep getting under people's skin?" It's supposed to come out as a snapped question, but it ends up ending in a more curious tone.

Maybe she was just dropped on her head as a baby.

Wow, rude.

"No, just you, Franny. You're special."

Some days, Leona wonders if Fran is actually serious or if she's making jokes in a really weird, roundabout way that isn't actually funny. Other days, like today, it's pretty clear she's just not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Or belt, as it were.

yours in demigodishness

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