rob strange ☠ ares (backformore) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2013-01-24 20:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | rob strange |
Who: Rob Strange.
What: Watching this go down.
Where: Camp Half-Blood
When: Backdated to Wednesday morning, January 23rd, 2013.
Warnings: Violence, language, Rob being a terrible father, the usual...
Gods aren't kind to their children. All gods, from all pantheons – there are no exceptions, least of all Rob Strange. He'd been a cruel father even before he became Ares, a firm believer in violence and discipline before he was the God of War. That much hadn't changed, and if anything, the god made it worse. Rob wasn't just a bad father, he was a mean one. He either ignored his children or set them up for failure. Created reasons why they were disappointments to him, and punished them accordingly. Yet none of his punishments had ever amounted to something quite like this.
Rob never would have thought that he could despise one of his children more than he did Tawny or Topher, but that was only because, until recently, he hadn't known Xander Christopoulos was his son. Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon and Ares' least favorite demigod, was his own flesh and blood – the Fates must have loved that, laughed about it until their sides were sore, but Rob wasn't amused. Xander was an upstart who didn't know his place. Who didn't seem to think that threatening his father, the God of fucking War, would end in anything other than his complete and total annihilation. But there were rules about these things. So much could be broken with might and blood and fire, but not these. Xander was Rob's son. He couldn't attack him directly.
Indirectly, however, was another story entirely. Indirectly and in such a way that he would be crippled – not in body, but in other areas Rob could really give a shit about. Xander's weaknesses were pretty limited, considering he didn't have any other family outside of the Stranges (which he didn't want in the first place), but Camp Half-Blood? That was his home, his refuge. So Rob sent a witch to whom no rules applied to destroy it. Straddling his disguised chariot, Rob watched from the hilltop as the Sullivan girl broke the enchanted barriers, obliterated the dragon, led her troops into a place that had never seen a battle quite like this one. The camp was unprepared, and Rob was satisfied to watch it burn.
It didn't matter that this was the only place every son and daughter of Ares had ever found security in a world that wanted them to die as soon as they were born. It didn't matter that by destroying this place he was making an enemy of his fellow gods, if they deigned to walk the earth as he did. Rob was a cruel father, crueler than his own ever was, and he was a god. A god with no father, no mother, no uncles to hold him back. In this life, Ares was the first generation and the only generation of divinity, and for once, he listened to the myths. The father was always overthrown by the son, killed by him, made obsolete. That was going to change, starting now. No son – or daughter – of Rob Strange's would stand up to him without falling right back down, hard, and with broken bones.
His children would live in the world as he shaped it. But they needed breaking first. As did the world.