The Warrior and Hunter

Archery was traditionally a marksman's sport. Lots of waiting, aiming, and suspense. At least, something like that, according to Andrew's dad. Andrew had shot a bow when he was very young, but it wasn't nearly the same as his modern day routine. Typically, he liked to practice on live targets. But, finding a monster in a camp full of demigods and surrounded by a magic wall was as hard as you might expected. Hitting a domestic animal wasn't an attractive alternative either; at least not commonly. Andrew Johnson; man who kills a deer every day. What an attractive headline that would be.

"You know, some people's wolves would go and get the arrows and be a pal." Andrew said, to the wolf who was sitting beside his legs. Her position, as always, was strong and ready and her glare was sharp enough to cut steel, or even, celestial bronze. One might think she was just a beautiful sculpture with how still she was. Andrew raised his bow, and entirely neglected the "marksman" part of it. Shooting fast was just as important as accurately. Of course, a noise startled him, and his arrow went offside about a foot, hitting only the edge of the target.

The wolf, whom had just let out a brief howl, almost looked slightly amused now. Andrew sighed. "Yeah, no, you're a stud." Andrew sarcastically declared to his wolf. "I bet that slight howl would stop even Apollo himself in combat." Netha didn't show much reaction still, but Andrew stepped forward to reclaim his arrows. He grabbed them all, save for the one that was so far offside. "You think you could do better?" Andrew asked, which reclaimed Netha's unamused look, and placed an amused one on Andrew's face.

The stare off lasted more than it really should have, and shortly after, someone else entered the range. Andrew glanced at him, he didn't get the impression he was into archery, but surely enough, he was covering his bases. "Unless someone's shooting from really far away, I think it's clear." Andrew said. Ironically, he wasn't being sarcastic. In this camp, you never knew what the hell was going on.

"Y'know, if you use a big weapon, I hear accuracy isn't so important."

"Bigger people usually use bigger weapons. If David was large enough to beat Goliath with a stick, he probably wouldn't have used a sling." Andrew remarked, his tone was always without a serious tone in the world when it came to strangers. Of course, Andrew didn't like swords, axes, or polearms. He liked his small and quick weapons, he felt his odds were much better if he could be at a distance and attack quickly. Not dying was a good way of life, Andrew figured. It'd worked out pretty well so far.

The boy's arrow was pretty lopsided, which caused Andrew to shoot Netha a look. But her own smile was already formed. He knew how to read her like a book, but that wasn't always a great thing. "You're kidding." Andrew replied. The tables were turned, he was now the one who wasn't amused. Netha knew he was a great shot, but would never give him the credit for it.

"I hate to use you as a demonstration." Andrew remarked, looking a way to notch an arrow. "Sorta." Andrew said again, with a shrug. "But my friend is insisting that you're a better shot." Andrew pulled the release back and let his arrow fly. It wasn't dead center, which was regretful for him, but it did hit the bullseye.

"Yeah..." Andrew replied to the other boy. "I also think that water might be wet." Andrew tossed his words out carelessly, a typical symptom of his daily activities. Andrew didn't make friends easily, his bond with Netha was cemented to a point where he didn't need other people in his life. Those who did stick around were generally more worthy than he was. Andrew notched another arrow, and released it just as quickly, this time it hit the dead center. A pleased look appeared on Andrew's face, but upon further inspection, Netha was still unchanged. "You're no fun." Andrew muttered to her.

"Not for nothing, this trade can suck worse than a Roomba on steroids." Andrew said. "Back straight, arms bent, don't compensate for the wind unless it's bad enough. If you like your fingers, keep them clear of the head and fletching. If not, I think they make fake ones now." Andrew finished. Netha and Andrew's head both now cocked to the boy, waiting for a response to the insult or the advice.

Andrew watched the arrow whisk and hit his own. This kid was as flashy as Abigail, and Andrew wasn't going to let it fly. Literally, he wasn't going to let his arrows fly like that. "Tsk tsk tsk." Andrew cooed to him. "I'd rather have a smart-ass mouth than a dumb-ass mouth." He challenged. He removed an arrow from his quiver, Spinning it around his fingers for flare. He was lucky, considering half of the time he dropped it, and this time he didn't. The expression on Netha's face was solid, but she was thinking about what it might look like if he dropped it.

"My name is classified, and yours is hard to pronounce." Andrew bluntly said. He notched the arrow, and let it fly. It repeated Ptolemy's performance, and pierced his arrow, nailing the bullseye. "We're even in arrows. I'm impressed by your patience more than your archery. I'd like to consider myself able to trigger even the most patient."

Andrew didn't react the usual way he would have when the demigod patted his face. Andrew was typically very defensive, but the attitude his one had, was at least respectful. He caught himself keeping an eye on the demigod who was pacing away. The interaction was interesting, to say the least...

It was then that Netha snapped him back into his smart-ass reality, as she growled towards the son of Ares. Andrew's blank look turned into a grin. "She doesn't like when people touch her human." Andrew said, his voice was somewhat coy. Netha wasn't going to pounce, but the defensive nature was a flattering reminder to Andrew that he was never without his best friend. "As nice as your touch is, I'm not the boss of her, you know."

Andrew's expression turned from interested to unhappy, the second he insulted Netha. The reaction was even more angry from Netha, as she inched closer, her growls becoming more deadly. Last time she attacked someone, Chiron sat Andrew down for a very uncomfortable subject. At the end of the day, Andrew made it clear. No her; no him. Andrew stepped forward now, the time for jokes was done. Well, one more, anyway. "I get it, that's the only spear you're waving around for people."

"Listen up, she's a lady." Andrew said, bitterly and angrily. "Your jokes? They gotta stop at me. You take it to her, you take it too far." Andrew stepped forward again. Realistically, Ptolemy was much larger than him, but when Andrew was angry, he lost his sense of reason. "You gonna apologize to the lady? Keep going, and you're gonna see how dirty my hands can get."

Andrew let his feet carry him back, but Netha capitalized on the newfound distance, placing her form in front of Andrew. The glare she carried was unchanged from the beginning of the conversation. "Yeah, who's 'they' in this situation? You?" Andrew pressed, but slightly less hostility was in his voice. Netha's presence in front of him was reassuring, like seeing a familiar face after a first day of school. Only, that first day involving a ton of arguing.

"Sheesh, here I thought that I was the worst counsler in this camp, and then you came along." Andrew raised a brow. It was true, Andrew really shouldn't be the leader of his cabin. He challenged the former leader during a petty argument, and Netha won it for him. No one challenged him after that, not while Netha was still around. "I'll still show you how dirty my hands can get." Andrew pressed forward with the innuendo. "But, be weary. You guys use your weapons and run. The lady and I? That's just half our job."

"What can I say?" Andrew shot back. "It's not my fault she's just so damn fierce." Andrew challenged. There was virtually nothing that could be done to make him feel apprehensive towards Netha. Her friendship meant the world to him. So long as she was around, he would never feel unloved, even for a moment. Andrew held back for just a moment. "Let's try not to make this time get us kicked into Chrion's office." Andrew whispered to Netha. They shared a stare for a moment, before Andrew sneaked a pet of her head. He then followed Ptolemy.

"Swords?" Andrew nearly scoffed. "You call me cute and then bring me to swords?" Andrew repeated. There wasn't a good way to say it. Andrew hated swords. He'd only ever held one twice. "What part of your hands are getting dirty exactly? The blade is feet away from the handle."

Andrew took a moment to think about just how he'd gotten himself in this spot. He woke up that morning, got breakfast, and shot some arrows to avoid having to pointlessly kill an animal to practice. Then a stranger walked by, and this happened. His wit was enough to easily match Andrew's. Not a lot of people carried that wit. Of course, Ptolemy didn't carry just wits. He also carried weapons and looked like he knew how to throw a punch. To hail mary a punch, even.

"Shouldn't be called hand-to-hand if it ends with my foot in your ass." Andrew replied. He was slightly ticked. Most people left something to pick on, something to get under their skin with. Ptolemy knew the game, and wasn't doing any such thing. At least, except for the spear.

Andrew raised his fists. He didn't have good odds here. But, the bad odds were a lot better than they would have been in a sword fight.

Andrew wasn't much of a fist fighter. As a kid, he'd seriously struggled with Mike Tyson's Punchout. After that, he'd decided he's just do what they did in Hollywood to win fights. Cheat. Of course, that usually implied some preparation time. Right now he had none, but he did have a lovely wolf to save him if things got too out of hand.

His hands were in defensive style, but the first punch nabbed Andrew in the side of the head. Andrew flicked his head back, and didn't even have time to think of something witty to say before a fist his his side. He stepped back, he was pretty sure there was some blood coming from his face. His head snapped back to Netha, who was seemingly judging the fight. Just like having your parents watch you blow the lead in a little league baseball game. At least he'd be better at fighting if he'd played baseball.

Andrew's head snapped back from the momentary distraction. He did have something in mind. But it was too early. Andrew went for a punch, directly to Ptolemy's face. He just had to hope the son of Ares lacked defensive skills.