reflection ● jason grace

Jason wants to marry her (gross)

"You're leaving?" Daria asked in disbelief. "Tomorrow?"

    Atticus was ten now; Daria seven. Daria was working on her sword-fighting, still figuring out if there was a difference with veritas in her right hand or her left. Atticus sat on the grass, watching her, yelling out tips, but when he told her the news, she lost her grip.

    "Apparently," he clicked his tongue in heavy annoyance. "Anna was talking to mum and somehow managed to convince her to live out her dream of being in the real world. And dad just does whatever she wants anyway. I just wish we didn't have to leave tomorrow." He looked her in the eyes. "Are you going to miss me?"

    Daria sheathed her swords and walked out of the grounds before anyone could yell at her. "Of course I will."

    "Good." He blew brown strands of hair out of his face. "Sometimes I wish my grandparents were more powerful gods, instead of Janus and Auster. Then we wouldn't be able to leave."

    "Yeah, but," Daria tried to comfort him. She still didn't want one of her best friends to leave, but she had seen what being the son of Jupiter had done to Jason. Everyone expected too much of him all the time; it was heartbreakingly difficult on her Jason. "You would get hunted all the time."

    "But I'd be able to defend myself," he put his arms behind his back and leaned on them. "I wonder who your mother is."

    Daria shrugged. She wasn't super worried about it. People had come up with assumptions of course, from Ceres to Pluto, but as long as she had her swords, she was happy. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

    His typically fierce green eyes softened. "Any moment might be our last," he quoted.

    "We will never be here again," she finished. It was from The Iliad. She would never be able to read the book without thinking about him. This was her first real loss; her father, Lupa, she had been too young to know the finality of goodbyes. "Goodbye, Atticus Blake."

    His lip curled up in a smirk and he took her hand to kiss it. A Roman version of poetry. "Goodbye, Daria Jackson. May we meet again."

    "He's leaving?" Jason asked from his spot beside her. Ever since both Leila and Ryan had taken over the praetorship (turns out both Anna and Oliver were retiring to go to college together. Who would've thought?), it was just the two of them and Dakota, who had joined their partnership a year ago. "Aww."

    "You could act better," Dakota commented dryly, taking a sip of his Kool-Aid. No one knew why he drank it; he had just come to camp that way. "Or even, you know, a little bit."

    Daria rolled her eyes. "You're so annoying, Jace."

    Jason shrugged. "Think about it as training. You have to be ready for anything. Like bam!" He held up a finger gun, a cute (annoying) little thing Ryan taught him.

    "Dude," Dakota complained with wide eyes. "Don't do that!"

    It was more than that though; Daria was ready for loss, it was one of the first things they taught here at camp. Her relationship with Atticus wasn't much, but it was poetry, the most important thing in Daria's life.

She didn't know much about love, glances that Leila shot Ryan, Dakota offering her Kool-Aid when she couldn't get a maneuver just right. But she loved poetry and she loved Atticus, and neither of those things were dead.

"You're quiet," Jason murmured as Dakota leaned over to say something to his sponsor, Lilian.

"I guess," Daria started. She was about to give some excuse before Dakota grabbed their attention again.