halfbloodhill_logs | Covering Bases (Open)

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Covering Bases (Open)

Who: Hermione Granger and whomever happens to cross her path
What: Training/practicing her magic
Where: Near the lake
When: Sunday, August 4th, early evening
Why: Because after the hectic changes that occurred over the last week and a half she doesn't feel like angering any of the other gods

Of course she was secretly smug about the fact that she'd followed the rules this time. She hadn't incurred the wrath of Hera. She did feel slightly sorry for those who had been punished though.

On the other hand, this just pushed Hermione further into the mindset she often waffled on; was she there to learn, or there to make friends and push boundaries? She knew she belonged at Camp because she was a demigod and she knew she was there to train and protect not only her family and others in her home town, but herself.

Her magic was powerful. That much she also knew. Over the last three years that she'd been attending Camp she'd grown stronger and better than she had been as a 13 year old. But she also knew she still had a long way to go. Fire spells and the creation of illusions were impressive, sure, but if she settled for mastering only a few skills where would she be?

She waited until later in the day when the lake was more or less cleared out save for maybe a few of the other campers. They weren't a huge concern though. Not anymore. She was just going to mind her business for once and settle in to recite her incantations and focus on her magic. She's doing her best to keep one eye on her form and one eye on the area around her to ensure nobody sneaks up on her.

Yeah, good luck with that, Granger. It doesn't help that by now it's pretty well-known among her group of acquaintances that she always comes to the same spot.

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She had a feeling that Ron was overprotective of her, but she never knew to what extent and she never would even dream that it was for any of those reasons. She knew that Ron was very protective of the family that actually stuck with him, but she never bothered lumping herself into that category. She was merely something familiar and that was understandable. In her world, she came to accept that it was okay if he wasn't as close to her as she felt she was to him. It was natural. Instead she settled for their friendship that consisted of her bossing him around and scolding him, and him pushing her and challenging her. Sometimes though? Sometimes that backfired horribly such as this case.

As soon as he grabbed the bow and his pocket knife though, she balked. She stumbled back a tiny bit out of the range of the bow, gawking at him in disbelief.

"What, now? You must be joking!"

He was trying to make a point. Maybe it was in the worst of ways-- not in the kindest of ways-- but she had to see. He didn't know what brought it on. Perhaps the memories of the last time people knew her routine. Perhaps it was knowing she couldn't really through but one good punch at a time. And maybe it was just needing to know.

The hand that held the pocket knife went instinctively to steady her before dropping uselessly to his side. His expression didn't change from the serious, set look he had on before.

"Of course I mean right now," he said with an exhale, "you don't get to choose when you fight, do you? Or who? So let's do it." Because he wouldn't try to hurt her, that much she had to know, but he was also confident in what he knew about her.

"I'm not always going to be around, Hermione," he fumbled with a breath, "I've seen you. You're awful. So you've gotta learn someday because there's gonna come a time--" He swallowed and shrugged. He'd long since realized he may die in a monster battle one day, or she might. Or anyone. He knew and expected it in the war against the Titans just last summer. Maybe that was why this was so important. Regardless, it didn't stop him from treating it like he didn't know the fate of a demigod.

She didn't even seem to notice that his hand moved, focused on what he was trying to tell her. On the one hand, Ron was right. They never got to choose when or who they were to fight. She couldn't fault him for pointing out a simple fact that she sometimes tried to ignore so that she could give herself more time. On the other hand, she really, really disliked being backed into a corner, literally or figuratively. When she was faced with sudden pressure, she often found that she struggled with a bit of performance anxiety. She knew what she was doing in theory, of course, and she could manage perfectly well in a controlled setting or during Capture the Flag. But there had been a few times she went out in the world and fought monsters, fought in wars, where she had narrowly escaped and only because of sheer luck.

She bit down on her lower lip as her hands fidgeted at her sides. Though she wasn't ADHD like her companion, she did have some nervous tics that arose on occasion.

"But...we don't even have our armor or anything! I'm not doing this right now." She tried to back off again, though her eyes lingered on the bow in his other hand. She could stand to get better with her aim. "And I'm not that awful."

Unfortunately for her, they both had the same stubborn streak. Especially him. Really, her not having ADHD as a demigod was worrying. It made him hate her less from before , well, just a smidge. She'd always been a show-off Still gripping bow and pocket knife he rolled his eyes.

"How many times are you going to have armor when you're out grocery shopping?" Ron shot back, quirking a brow, "and you're dead awful." At least compared to him.

But he paused and scowled. "Admit it, you know I'm right," Ron said," I've instinct for this and you're my best friend. Really think I'd say it if it weren't true?"

Edited 2013-08-06 08:11 (UTC)

All right, so he had another point. That didn't mean she was going to break down and admit he was right. She was still right, too, and he wasn't proclaiming her to be a genius yet.

"You've instinct because you're one of Athena's kids," she retorted. She had always been very slightly envious of Ron's athletic ability (or anyone's really.) It wasn't as though she wasn't coordinated and couldn't hold her own, but it didn't come to her as naturally as it did other children, mortal and demigod alike.

Before she could change her mind, she suddenly reached forward and snatched the bow out of Ron's hand, backing up and looking upward in a challenging stance. "I don't know. Sometimes you say some really awful things."

"Yeah, so?" He retorted, shrugging a shoulder, "it just means I'm more right, you know." Why she was jealous he'd never know. He was good with creating things, strategy, and beating people up with stuff. He didn't have any magical ability beyond being dyslexic and ADHD. No magic fire, no spells. Nothing. So it wasn't like he had anything extra to help.

Raising a brow when she took the bow, Ron didn't move from his position. He figured she wasn't likely to shoot him with in an arrow straight to the face, but he did get caught on what she said next. "S'never without good reason," Ron grumbled. After all, he did try hard not to say the things he used to before they became friends. Sometimes insensitive? Cetainly. But he never really realized it when he said it. And he really did always try to make a point-- even if, you know, those points were really insensitive. He's just not good with emotions and people.

"So that's almost like cheating," she shrugged back. "It doesn't make you any more right than me." Sure she was smart and she had a head full of useful and useless facts and she could create spells and enchantments, but she still couldn't properly wield a sword if her life depended on it.

She examined the bow, obtaining an arrow and loading it onto the bow calmly. He was right; se wouldn't shoot him in the face with an arrow on purpose. Accidentally...well, her aim was a lot better if she just focused. She suddenly stopped though upon hearing those words. "How is any of that for good reason?"

"No it's not," he retorted, fishing for the right words, "it's me using my natural talents. You're good at school, I'm good on the field. It's the same." That was her own fault, really, it's not like he isn't trying to teach her.

Taking a step back out of precaution, Ron frowned and flicked open one of the blades on the pocket knife that didn't turn into his sword as a tick. She always had good form, but good form didn't mean anything when you had five seconds to noch and go. He was studying her before she stopped and his eyes went from bow and arms to her face. "What do you mean?" He responded thickly, "Pointing out you'll shoot someone in the eye like that is a good reason. So's telling you about learning to use a weapon."

"It's not the same when we're in a place where you have the advantage." Granted, that's probably how Ron when he was in school with Hermione. The playing field was never even for the two of them.

Her eyes are fixed on that knife in his hands but she'd made sure to perfect her form with graceful lines and strong angles. She did her best to avoid his eyes then, focusing on the tip of the arrow instead. "Never mind, Ron. " It was silly to bring up some of the insensitive things he'd said over the past and even the insensitive things he still says. "I'm not going to shoot eyes out."

"Funny that," he commented, "now you can see how the rest of us feel." He scowled unhappily, giving her a pointed look. Because at least he didn't purposefully try to be better than her.

He wasn't going to stab her with it. He just flicked it open and closed, watching. Strong lines and grace didn't matter much if you couldn't do this faster. He frowned. "Not never mind, go on," he said easily, moving to point to one of the markers out in the lake, "right then. Prove it. See that? You've three chances to hit it square in the middle. Fifteen seconds to nock the arrow and shoot."

"That's hardly my own fault!" she exclaimed. He'd struck a nerve, and he knew it. She was aware of her need to constantly be better than everyone els and her ambitions. That still didn't make everything her fault.

She knew he would never hurt her on purpose. If there was anyone she trusted her whole life with, it was Ronald Weasley. However, she's not stupid enough to look away either as she held her stance with the bow, adjusting the arrow a bit. "Never. Mind." She settled for glaring at him before whirling around to face the markers. She grappled with the arrow a bit, fixing it to adjust it properly and promptly firing it toward the lake. She hit the marker, but on the very edge of the square.

"Fifteen seconds?"

"Course not," he returned, though in part disbelief, "can hardly blame anyone else then, can you?" Because it made them even. Better at opposite things.

Frowning slightly, Ron rolled his eyes at the way she seemed to glare at him like he killed her pet or something. He decided to put the matter aside for the moment, but that didn't mean he would bring it up later. She needed t owork on this more.

"Loosen up. Feel and see at the same time, sort of the trick," he mumbled before giving a nod, "fifteen seconds. You've only two tries left."

"...well," she faltered briefly, stumbling on her words. "Ron if you would just try a little harder..." She knew two things about that phrase. A.) It was useless. They'd had that discussion for ages, too. And B.) It was a statement that was probably going to anger him because she knew he was trying. She knew he tried his hardest but sometimes she felt maybe it could have been just a little more.

She huffed in irritation, trying not to lose her composure as she reset. For as often as she went about correcting everyone else, she hated being corrected herself. She especially hated it when it came to Ron because it was just admitting her flaws. It was a reminder of the first Capture the Flag game all over again where she'd realized she only possessed magical skills and had run off in tears to hide deep in the forest. After that she'd started to learn a variety of weapons, but the only one she had any real grasp on was archery.

"I know how many tries I have left!" she snapped, lining up again and firing off the second arrow. It hit the mark again but still off center. She was definitely thinking too much about the theory and the trajectory rather than feeling the pull of the bow and the dynamic of the arrow itself.

That certainly was the wrong thing to say. Especially as he tensed and glared at her unhappily. "Don't you start," he said icily, "you've no idea what it's like." It was colder than his usual tone with her because he hated this. Or the idea that he didn't try. He did, every day. Sure, he'd kind of just stopped when he got too frustrated-- because nothing worked. And here she was acting like it was some sort of easy fix that he could do like that. It was just like every adult and teacher before who acted like it was him-- and maybe in part it was when he got too frustrated-- but he tried his damnedest along the way.

The tension didn't leave his shoulders as he let out a breath. He wants to not talk, to just walk away and leave her there, but he struggles with it and instead clenches a hand. "Stop thinking about it so much," he said, frowning, "try again before I start counting your time off now."

She immediately regretted it at least, but she doesn't hurry to apologize. Instead she shut her mouth and gave him a muted stare. He was right; she didn't know what it was like to have all of the complications that came with ADHD and dyslexia, but at the same time he didn't know all of the problems that came from having her amount of brilliance. Neither was a great option, in her opinion, but it was an argument they could have another day.

She was much more wary now that he was tense and annoyed. She still chose not to speak, following his instructions and only briefly opening her mouth to protest before closing it again. One more chance...she only had one more chance to prove that she knew what she was talking about and Ron was being ridiculous. She steadied herself, taking more than her allotted fifteen seconds before she fired the last arrow. It sailed through the air and sank into the marker, just a bit off-center but closer than her previous attempts. It was enough for her though and she turned toward her best friend, giving him a smug look.

"I told you. I can handle it just fine."

Because being brilliant was such a bad thing. He knew he could probably give her a run if he wasn't as bad off as he was-- or if he really cared so much about English, science, and history-- but he was. So he could read Ancient Greek with ease and repeat people back to them, normally in their own voice, but that was it. So he stared her down, easily enough. Because she didn't know what it was like and never would.

Folding his arms he scowled as he watched her. At least she seemed to be listening to him. Finally. But he winced slightly when she shot and still managed to be somewhat off. So when she turned to look smugly at him he gave her a look. Shaking his head, he moved to pry the bow from her hand and grabbed an arrow. In a matter of seconds he set the arrow and shot-- not bothering to watch as it sailed through the air and hit its mark dead center.

"You took longer and you were still off," he said easily, "even the slightest bit off in a monster's armor and you'll be dead. You've got to see and do. All this theory and perfect stance isn't gonna do you much good when you go slow and still miss."

The smug look slid off of her face. She knew it wasn't perfect and yes that bothered her, but it was still enough to prove her point, wasn't it? Obviously not. She set her shoulders, suddenly tense herself, as she let him take the items from her and shoot with ease. Instead of responding, she'll murmur a spell under her breath to retrieve new arrows. Magic was her strength. Physical combat was his. She was embarrassed nevertheless but she wasn't going to show it. The ease he had frustrated her, and the fact that he was in the power position suddenly frustrated her, too. It was a major flaw of hers and something she tried to work on, but it seemed like it was only Ron who could unnerve her this badly.

"I am seeing and I am doing!" She ground out, clutching onto the arrows she'd just summoned. "I didn't come out here to practice this."

Slinging the bow over his shoulders, he rolled his eyes when there was suddenly magically more arrows. Folding his arms across his chest, Ron's eyes trained on her. The more she tried to force her point the more she put his point more at center focus. She was, inevitably, proving him right.

"It shouldn't be the only thing you practice," Ron shot back, squaring his jaw. He waved a hand towards the marker. "You know just as much as the rest of us celestial bronze's the only way that actually works. But you've always been hiding behind your damned magic. Even when we were kids. You hate being worse at something than someone," he continued, leaving that to hang, "so practice. 'Cause the first time you can't rely on your magic you'll be dead. You'd be brilliant if you just practiced. Instead you go and run from the one thing you're half-bad at. What do you expect, eh?"

She was talking herself into a corner and she knew it.

"It's not the only thing I practice. I practice with my own weapons at least twice a week." But definitely not as often as she practiced her magic. She wasn't in the Arena as much as some of the other campers, rather spending time learning about the celestial bronze and analyzing what her best options would be should she choose to forgo the bow. She took another few steps back as though he'd just struck her across the face, very unhappy with the way the conversation just flipped. There wasn't really any way to deny Ron's accusations without looking foolish, but she there wasn't any way to agree with him without looking equally foolish.

"And what are you going to do the first time you can't rely on strategy and pure physical combat alone?"

"Twice a week. For what, an hour? The rest of us do it every day for hours and you know it," he said calmly, pulling a face. He knew she was just trying to get at that she did it at this point. But comparitively it wasn't enough. He has to snort at her remark though and raise a brow. "Then I'm dead anyway, aren't I?" Ron said, "Celestial bronze is the only thing that can really kill a monster. So if it's not working then I'm either decapitated or they're invincible. I don't need magic to defend myself-- not that I've much choice."

How he could still be calm at a time like this Hermione failed to understand. Didn't he realize what he was still implying? All she seemed to be hearing was that her magic wasn't good enough. Even though, rationally, she knew celestial bronze was the only material strong enough to kill monsters, she wanted to believe she could make things work strictly with her natural gifts. If she tried hard enough, if she was clever enough...there had to be a way around it.

"Well I do. Why can't you understand that?"

"I understand it just fine," Ron said roughly, "but you're the one ignoring the facts." Scowling down at her, he shrugged a shoulder unhappily. Slipping his hand into his pocket he breathed out. "So what happens when you meet a monster you can't defeat?"

"I'm not ignoring facts!" She hated when he was unhappy with her (even though it was fairly often.) They always managed to work through it after a few hours but when he was really upset? She never knew how to deal. She turned away from him so he couldn't see the expression on her face before mirroring his shrug.

"I don't know. If I can't defeat it with magic, then I'll pull back and re-strategize."

That just earned another snort. It didn't even warrant a "you are" or any such thing. Instead he kept his eyes on her and tried to focus. It was difficult because beyond buzzing anger- -well-- why was it like this anyway? He hated when she was mad at him and it wasn't even intentional.

Still, he had to scoff and speak up, "So in other words wing it, eh?"

A pause.

"S'a good thing you've me around."

Edited 2013-08-07 06:38 (UTC)

She didn't even give him a verbal response. Instead, she turned her back on him completely and began to walk away. She had a feeling he would follow her since she was heading for the main area of the camp, but she wasn't going to speak yet.

How dare he. How dare he say such a thing to her. She wasn't a damsel in distress that constantly needed his protection! Didn't he see that he needed her more than the other way around? Hermione had always been a compassionate girl, set to be a protector of the people like her mother and ready to fight those who attacked those she cared about. As she got older, she later came to the conclusion that one of the reasons she was so drawn to Ron was the fact that she could sense it; she could sense his loneliness and his bitterness that came from jumping between families. She could sense his anger and frustration for not being able to do his school work correctly. And she knew she could sense it because she felt the same things.

It always got under her skin when he made comments like that. It wasn't that she didn't trust people, and it wasn't that she didn't want to have close relationships with people. It was simply that she often times took on everything alone so that she could keep people safe. Why should Ron risk his neck to protect her when she was more than capable of surviving? Sure, it wasn't as polished of a plan as one crafted by an Athena kid, but she was clever. She could make things work in her favor.

If Ron was watching her back close enough, he might notice the movement of her shoulders. When she first started walking away, she had been tense and upset, ready to lash out and maybe punch him in the shoulder. As she continued to walk though her shoulders began to slump into defeat and shame even though she refused to look back and see if he was still there.

Yeah. It was a good thing she had him around, but at the same time it terrified her to know that he was almost too loyal to her. She didn't know what to say to him though, arms moving to fold over her chest in a protective sort of manner and eyes trained on the ground.

"...dinner's soon," she said quietly, but that was all she managed before she stopped speaking again and continued walking.

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