By the Light of the Morning - Open -

[Eugen Danner]

BY THE LIGHT OF THE MORNING

Open thread
Participants: Eugen Danner, Arthur Drake

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The morning flooded over the California horizon. The Fields of Mars gleamed with California sunlight and the grass glimmered with dew that reflected it. In the early hours of the morning, before the camp awoke for real, the serenity of the scene gave no impression of the rough and often bloody contests that was going to be held there in but a few hours. The Legion and its legionnaires cherished sleep; a few yet found their feet braving the morning fatigue, guided by errands, restlessness or morning routines. Some of these early birds could be seen jogging across the field, no doubt basking in the absence of people to get in the way.
Eugen, however, was only there for a short walk.

With his hands in the pockets of his navy-coloured jacket and with an in-ears cable sticking out from his cotton pants, Danner stepped foot into the fields not really knowing what or who to expect. This morning, his concerns lay elsewhere. What they were, only he knew. Could be the uncertainties of a Senator not sure on what path to tread. A son unsure of his mother's love. A man worried about his lack of sleep of late. What was certain was: his facial features practically emanated the doubts he felt, put them on display for every and any observing eye to see. He suddenly came to a gentle stop, stuffing the headphones in his pocket while digging into the turf with his polished leather shoe. The music sounded like shrieking alarms.

[Arthur Drake]

The Fields of Mars. Camp Jupiter's very own battlegrounds where wit, tactics and strength separated those who left with their heads up high, from those who left relieved of their pride. The war fought here on this day, was slightly different. It lacked weapons and blood... typically, but there was a certain violence to it. One where all parties involved needed to lay it all on the line, and to the victor, the spoils. Out of the many places to conduct his extra-curricular activities, this was his favourite. His winnings, he dedicated to his father, in Lands bearing his name. Today had been a good day. His training had gone well, and business was booming.

Art stood before a Legacy of Apollo. A new customer, at that. These ones were always fun. Masters of the spoken word and prideful to no end, armed with the knowledge that they shared a similar bloodline with the trader before them, but in the belief that as a son of Mars, this demigod was liable to be just another meathead or, at least, have the Sun God's traits dulled. Drake had always found it amusing to see their figures deflate over time. Early on they were always so imposing, it was adorable. Chest out, arms wide, 'I am the top dog', their posture seemed to say. A few minutes of light conversation in however, and their shoulders would begin to droop by the by until, by the time the transaction was finalised, they practically ran off, their wallets and self-worth on the lighter side. Arrogant men always did need to have their egos checked every now and again, and what better person to do it than the good Arthur Drake? That's right, he was doing the world a favour. Wink, wink.

As this particular victim ran off, with the goods he'd intended to acquire in hand of course and delivered at fair price no less, this son of Mars reached into the inner pocket of his Versace jacket (an Italian brand with Medusa's face for a Logo was, naturally, a favourite among New Rome's High Society, and what would a Drake be if not fashionable?), and retrieved his trusted black book. Jotting a few key details of this particular deal down, the man proceeded to breathe in a loaf of fresh morning air and revel in his newest victory, before storing his memory aide back in his pocket.

A quick glance around in enjoyment revealed a newcomer, not too far from him. "What seems to be the problem, officer?" - his words, though clearly spoken in jest, were laced with a sense of imperiousness and boastfulness that fit rather well into a would-be Kingpin's persona, but were rarely seen on this stoic demigod's features. Eugen Danner, a long time friend, was one of the few who would witness these traits on a regular basis.

[Eugen Danner]

Eugen looked at Art and nodded faintly. The son of Mars was in many ways his closest friend and his oldest rival; his counterpart in the underbelly of their semi-divine society. Sharing many similarities and insensitivities, the two had grown up together in the Upper Echelon of New Rome and had eventually ventured out to make names for themselves, albeit in two altogether different lanes. This, however, did not stop the occasional collaborative project or periodic favour - bitter as asking the other for help always was - but theirs was far from a tell-me-your-problems sort of deal. The roots of their alliance ran deep, but was also marked by a competitiveness that was every bit as unhealthy as motivating.

Instantly straightening his posture, Eugen flashed a faint smile that did not stick. "Oh my," he said emphatically, clutching his chest in a not-so-convincing way of responding to Art's jestful question. "Arthur Drake, as I live and breathe."
Danner walked over and elected to humour the boastful Mars-born a bit. Whatever had weighed heavy on the Senator was now diminished in its proportions, partly because Drake had a way of demanding people's whole attention, but also because Eugen wasn't about to let feelings leave exploitable openings. With all his bases covered once more, the feeling of having regained control was extremely satisfying. Thanks were in order and the conversation hadn't even begun, but genuine and outspoken thankfulness wasn't in any of their repertoires.

Having observed Devereux's previous exchange, and having an idea of what he was about, Eugen soon deducted that the reason for Arthur's early rise had been a lucrative one. "With all that gold in your pocket, one might mistake you for a son of Mercury," Danner said, gesturing toward his friend's expensive jacket.

[Arthur Drake]

The corner of Arthur's lips would sketch a smile as he heard the response aimed at him. The man before him was famous for giving as good as he got when it came to these little vocal sparring sessions, ever since they were children. The son of Mars would raise his hands up to roughly eye-level, and begin drawing small circles on the air with his extended fingers aimed at one another, before the two hands separated and lowered alongside his torso: a sardonic bow from what appeared to be the Victorian era.

Not even bothering to hide his previous actions with the demigod that had just bolted out of the gathering with his head down, the man would offer Danner a response, his tone as tranquil as ever: "Who knows? Your father might've taken a shine to me. I mean, that I've kept you out of trouble this long is nothing short of miraculous, after all." With a wink and and a couple of chuckles, Drake's eyes would focus once again on his friend, no doubt sizing him up, something Eugen would've long since been accustomed to. Linking Eugen's stare to his jacket, the man would adjust its position and remark: "What can I say? Life's been good to little old me."

After another round of short-lived silence, this time it was Devereux's turn to go on the offensive and take control of the situation. "So, then. What brings a venerable and forthright Senator to my neck of the woods, I wonder?" Like most of the duo's chats, this was an esoteric debate where what isn't being said is every bit as important as what is, and every word is meticulously thought out and designed to test and probe for the faintest sign of give. Not unlike two lions of the same pride, this little back-and-forth between the two was every bit as serious as it was playful: a predatory dance they'd performed their whole lives that had become a ritual neither could quite forego. While there was no question that each would place his own life in the other's hands without hesitation, slipping here would no doubt affect their standing in their own little ever-changing hierarchy: the race for alpha status. This, was the duo's own twisted way of reminding themselves and the other that he who fights by the sword, dies by it.