It Was Dead When I Got Here -(Deimos)-

[Aria Hale]

Aria jumped up so she could sit on an up-turned trash can in the dark side-streets of Manhattan in an area where most would want to avoid. But this was the sort of environment she grew up in. She had her two knives and her gun if she needed them. Idly, she tapped her heal against the side of the trash bin. Phobos had dropped her off here, saying he had things to attend to. She figured with the wake-up call little attack on Camp Half-Blood he’d mentioned, it wasn’t such a surprise that he might have a few details to hash out. It really was just like gang warfare back home just on a much bigger scale. And just like back home, she was not included in the planning. She was to sit to the side until time to go, then do what she was told without question.

Not that she really complained in this case. She had only just met this Phobos guy and she did owe him a great deal after he saved her life and all. So she would not question his authority, would play the proper role of lower-rank member. It was her job. And with how Camp Half-Wit had betrayed her, she was more than happy to do it. So she stayed where she was and waited obediently for her leader to return.

Of course, that wasn’t saying she couldn’t have a little fun with practice in that time. And a small overturned, spilled garbage can off in the distance worked perfect. She hopped down from the trash can she was sitting on and carefully collected a handful of little pebbles and other small projectiles and climbed back up to her seat. Folding her legs under her, she played the role she had most often played back in Detroit: sniper. One rat snuck out when it thought the coast was clear to return to the food. She narrowed her eyes and picked one rock from her stash, aimed, and threw. With a smack, the rock hit the creature square on the head and it fell over in a tiny heap. Another rat came out stupidly to investigate and joined its friend. Aria smirked. It wasn’t a gun or a bow, maybe, but it was still a way to use what she was good at. Regretfully, something she did inherit from her useless father. Not that she ever planned to thank him. She’d sooner use it to shoot him than to thank him. Actually not a bad idea come to think of it. With that happy thought, she waited patiently for her next target.

Word Count: 439
Tag: Deimos!