CHAPTER    FIVE
FINLEY  BRIGGS

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There were a lot of misconceptions about Finley Briggs (in Finley Briggs's humble opinion).

First, of course, was that she enjoyed being referred to as Finley at all. Actually, she tried to go by Finn over her real name. The problem was—Romans didn't respect Finn much. And even if they did, they were still too serious and stringent to grasp the concept of nicknames. So, everyone here called her Finley.

There was only one person who actually listened to her requests of going by Finn, but he was also the last person Finn wanted to think about.

Another common fallacy about Finn had to be that she was just like her father—lazy and drunk. Which. Harsh, okay? Finn might not show that she thought those comments were harsh, but that was only because she grew used to them after nine years in the legion.

(You would think after nine years here she'd fit in with her peers at some point.)

The point was, Finn was not addicted to alcohol, contrary to popular belief. Her fellow Romans thought just because Finn had the rare gift of turning any drink to wine, copiously drank aforementioned wine, and constantly stumbled and slurred, that gave her a "drinking problem." Apparently she was "an addict."

She wasn't. She just liked fun, which apparently none of the other campers understood.

Sometimes, though, Finley Briggs was a little bit of her father's daughter: She enjoyed a good bit of partying, a larger bit of wine, and basically every form of theater out there. She had a slight twinge of purple to her eyes—which most people didn't notice, because even the thought of directly meeting Finn's eyes was unsettling. It probably had to do with the insane gleam also laid in them. Finn didn't really think it helped that she naturally looked a little crazed when she got too excited about something. Or that, when she felt that immense ecstasy, she accidentally made everyone else feel ecstatic as well.

Finn could admit—all of that was true. Unfortunately, Camp Jupiter did seem to know a good bit about her. Not that really they tried, but it was kind of hard to ignore her when she'd been living with them for nine years. Some facts about her tended to come about, whether it was willing or not.

Finn was just glad that was the only stuff they seemed to know about her. If they found out anything deeper...

She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about a lot of things. She downed another gulp of wine, in hopes that maybe the intoxicating feeling will take her mind off of everything else.

(Yes, Finn had promised Hazel she'd be sobered up for war games. But no one ever believed her when she said that. Sobriety was to Finn as sanity was to Octavian.)

((But she probably should stop drinking for today. It would be kind of embarrassing if she performed worse than the newbie during war games.))

(((Although, the newbie was kind of insanely powerful. Finn doubted she could be better than him, even if she tried.)))

((((She rarely tried at anything in the first place.))))

Back to the newbie:

At first, when Finn saw him stumbling up the highway with the old lady in his arms, Finn had thought he might be a god in disguise. Even though he was beat up, dirty, and stooped with exhaustion, he'd had an aura of power. He had the good looks of a Roman god, with sea-green eyes and wind blown black hair. Finn wasn't personally attracted to him or anything, but she knew the same couldn't be said for the other campers eyeing him up and down.

Back near the highway, Finn had ordered Hazel and Frank not to fire on him. She was surprised they listened, because no one tended to take Finn seriously, but she could be logical when she wanted to be—She thought the gods might be testing them. Finn had heard myths like that: a kid with an old lady begs for shelter, and when the rude mortals refuse—boom, they get turned into banana slugs.

Finn was okay with being on her peers' bad sides, but the same couldn't be said for the gods.

Then Peter had controlled the river and destroyed the gorgons. He'd turned a pen into a bronze sword. He'd stirred up the whole camp with talk about the graecus. He'd been announced by Juno as a son of the sea god.

Overall, he was a freak.

Finn adopted him into the gang of misfits in an instant.

Like everyone, Peter seemed a little hesitant of Finn. But unlike everyone, he tried to hide his wariness. Finn enjoyed that, despite how many side-eyes he sent her way. She also enjoyed how the gossiping words of the Roman campers finally shifted away from the topic of Jason Grace. She couldn't stand to hear his name one more time. Just Peter's existence alone saved Finn from airing out the whole camp with an act of mass hysteria.

That probably sounded dramatic, but her father was basically the god of drama. So.

To put a long story short, Peter had been both right and wrong in what he said—You must've really known him. Sure, Finley Briggs had known Jason Grace ever since she was seven. Sure, there may have been a time there where Bacchus's daughter didn't absolutely abhor Jupiter's son. Sure, perhaps in that time, Finn got to know the guy a little better than most.

But she was just a kid back then. A foolish, stupid kid.

Looking back, Finn would sort of prefer being a foolish, stupid kid over a lazy, drunk alcoholic. Now all of her life was fucked up. She didn't know how things got so complicated, but usually wherever Finn went, insanity followed—So, she guessed it made sense.

Finn wasn't even just talking about Jason, either. More than anything, honestly, she was still caught up on what Peter had told Reyna in the principia. The camp being attacked on the Feast of Fortuna... An army... Death being unleashed...

Gaea.

Finn knew who Gaea was all too well. Simply, she was the earth goddess and the oldest goddess of all. Right now, she was in a deep sleep, but she hated the gods and their children so much that—and here's where Finn's personal knowledge came into play—she was seeking revenge on Mount Olympus a second time. She was stirring after the Titans' defeat last summer. Finn even knew some giants were being reborn.

Actually, Finn knew a lot more than she let on. She'd been aware of Gaea's plans from the moment she was born.

But who wanted to think about that?

Like Finn did with most things, she preferred distracting herself from the deeper parts of her life. That was precisely why she found Dakota Winney after Hazel shooed her away. Neither of them actually expected Finn to "get good for war games," but both of them knew Peter's conversation with Hazel's brother would probably run a lot smoother without Finn there. He despised Finn's abrasiveness, but Finn found it too hilarious to stop.

Nico di Angelo was the son of Pluto, with powers of death so strong it creeped everyone out, and yet it was Finn who creeped him out.

Finn found it more comical than anything. That's why she wasn't upset with Hazel, and instead happily made her way over to Dakota. He was her closest half-sibling—and the only other child of Bacchus in the Fifth Cohort—who could almost match Finn's love of partying. Almost. Being centurion had definitely made him a bit more prone to rule following than Finn. He always held that over her head, along with the fact he was one year older than her—I'm still older, Finley!—at the age seventeen.

Finn cared about the age thing more than the centurion thing. In all honesty, she was grateful for the centurion thing. Finn hated the idea of being in such a large role of responsibility, so Dakota and Gwen (Fifth Cohort's other centurion) being in their positions meant that Finn didn't have to be a centurion in their wake.

(For a moment there, Finn worried she would be chosen as centurion. Besides J*son, Finn had the longest residence at Camp Jupiter, in terms of the Fifth Cohort. Not that it necessarily meant the position of centurion should automatically go to her, but it did mean she had the most experience out of all the candidates—Especially since J*son moved all the way up to praetor, because of fucking course he did.)

Part of their job as centurions meant they had to take role for their cohort at muster, which tardiness was unacceptable for. The Fifth Cohort had the nicest centurions in camp, but even they had to punish those who were late. Roman punishments were harsh: scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush, cleaning the bull pens at the coliseum, getting sewn inside a sack full of angry weasels and dumped into the Little Tiber, sobriety—the options were not great.

That was precisely why Finn opted on heading to muster early with Dakota. Dakota didn't mind, because he wanted her to anyways. Since she was the only child of Bacchus (that they knew of) who could quite literally turn liquids into wine, Dakota always asked her to secretly perform the task for him. It had to be discreet, because if the Roman higher-ups found out a centurion was drinking as much as Finn, he'd be in serious trouble. So Finn shifted his Kool-Aid into wine with a simple wave of her hand so that no suspicion arose.

Did that make her demigod Jesus? Or was thinking that sacrilegious to the gods?

Actually, it was probably sacrilegious to Jesus, too. Finn needed to shut up. And repent, probably.

Inside camp, the final horns blew to signify that the cohorts needed to start roll call. By the time Dakota and Gwen began, Finn saw Peter had finally showered and changed. He was standing off to one side with a couple of guards. Peter's hair was wet from the baths. He'd put on fresh clothes, but he still looked uncomfortable. Finn tried sending him a friendly salute for support, because he was about to be introduced to two hundred heavily armed kids.

Frank had joined Finn in line, after throwing his usual awkward, cheesy smile her way. The grin wavered a little though, and Finn had a theory it was because Hazel had yet to show up—and Nico, by association. She wasn't blind to Frank and Hazel's attraction to each other, she just didn't care much for it. Finn didn't care for most things, though, so neither of them ever seemed too bothered.

Besides, right now with the legion fully assembled, their odd situationship seemed so inconsequential.

The first four cohorts, each forty kids strong, stood in rows in front of their barracks on either side of the Via Praetoria. The Fifth Cohort assembled at the very end, in front of the principia, since their barracks were tucked in the back corner of camp next to the stables and latrines. Because of this, Finn was able to spot Hazel and Nico finally running in. They had to jog right down the middle of the legion to reach their place.

The campers were dressed for war. Their polished chain mail and greaves gleamed over purple T-shirts and jeans (which Finn refused to put on, because their jeans never suited her). Sword-and-skull designs decorated their helmets. Even their leather combat boots looked ferocious with their iron cleats, great for marching through mud or stomping on faces.

In front of the legionnaires, like a line of giant dominoes, stood their red and gold shields, each the size of a refrigerator door. Every legionnaire carried a harpoonlike spear called a pilum, a gladius, a dagger, and about a hundred pounds of other equipment. And if you were Finn, a little bit extra holstered around your thigh. Just walking around in Roman armor was a full-body workout.

Hazel and Nico jogged down the street as everyone was coming to attention, so their entrance was really obvious. Their footsteps echoed on the stones. They ran past Reyna, who was cantering back and forth on her pegasus Scipio—nicknamed Skippy, because he was the color of peanut butter. The metal dogs Aurum and Argentum trotted at her side. Her purple officer's cape billowed behind her.

"Hazel Levesque," she called, "so glad you could join us."

Hazel knew better than to respond. She was missing most of her equipment, but she hurried to her place in line next to Frank and Finn and stood at attention.

Just then, Dakota was calling her name—the last one on the roll—because he was lead centurion.

"Present!" Hazel squeaked.

Nico joined Peter. The Lares were the last ones to fall in. Their purple forms flickered as they jockeyed for places. They had an annoying habit of standing halfway inside living people, so that the ranks looked like a blurry photograph, but finally the centurions got them sorted out.

Octavian shouted, "Colors!"

The standard-bearers stepped forward. They wore lion-skin capes and held poles decorated with each cohort's emblems. The last to present his standard was Jacob, the legion's eagle bearer. He held a long pole with absolutely nothing on top. The job was supposed to be a big honor, but Jacob obviously hated it. Even though Reyna insisted on following tradition, every time the eagle-less pole was raised, Finn could feel embarrassment rippling through the legion.

Reyna brought her pegasus to a halt.

"Romans!" she announced. "You've probably heard about the incursion today. Two gorgons were swept into the river by this newcomer, Percy Jackson. Juno herself guided him here, and proclaimed him a son of Neptune."

The kids in the back rows craned their necks to see Peter. He awkwardly raised his hand and said, "Hi."

"He seeks to join the legion," Reyna continued. "What do the auguries say?"

"I have read the entrails!" Octavian announced, as if he'd killed a lion with his bare hands rather than ripped up a stuffed deer pillow. "The auguries are favorable. He is qualified to serve!"

The campers gave a shout: "Ave!" Hail!

Frank was a little late with his "ave," so it came out as a high-pitched echo. The other legionnaires snicked. Finn may or may not have been apart of that bunch.

Reyna motioned the senior officers forward—one from each cohort. Octavian, as the most senior centurion, turned to Peter.

"Recruit," he asked, "do you have credentials? Letters of reference?"

Finn remembered this from her own arrival, even if she'd just been seven back then. A lot of kids brought letters from older demigods in the outside world, adults who were veterans of the camp. Some recruits had rich and famous sponsors. Some were third-or fourth-generation campers. A good letter could get you a position in the better cohorts, sometimes even special jobs like legion messenger, which made you exempt from the grunt work like digging ditches or conjugating Latin verbs.

Peter shifted. "Letters? Um, no."

Octavian wrinkled his nose.

Finn wanted to shout at him. Peter had carried a goddess into camp. What better recommendation could you want?

It was certainly better than seven-year-old Finn's recommendation. All she had was another seven-year-old boy, this one with blonde hair and a lip scar, who boldly stepped forward to vouch for Finn. Despite all the eyes pointing their way. Despite everything.

Finn urged to down more wine again.

"No letters," Octavian said, forcing regretfulness and hiding a tone of amusement. He loved reminding recruits they were less important than he was. "Will any legionnaires stand for him?"

"I will!" Frank stepped forward. "He saved my life!"

Immediately there were shouts of protest from the other cohorts. Reyna raised her hand for quiet and glared at Frank.

"Frank Zhang," she said, "for the second time today, I remind you that you are on probatio. Your godly parent has not even claimed you yet. You're not eligible to stand for another camper until you've earned your first stripe."

Frank looked like he might die out of embarrassment. Finn realized she couldn't leave him hanging.

Everyone heard a slurred, "Aw, shit," before Finn stumbled forward. Despite how much she didn't want to, and despite how little she cared about anything going on around her, Finn decided to be nice for once.

"Uh, Frank means that the new dude saved both of our lives. And Hazel's, I guess," Finn nodded. "I've been a full member of the legion for nine years. I'll stand for Peter Johnson."

"Percy Jackson," Hazel coughed.

"Percy Jackson," Finn corrected herself.

Frank glanced toward Finn gratefully, and Peter—wait, no, Percy—even looked a tad touched, but the other campers started to mutter. Finn's reputation could probably consider her ineligible. Most of the Romans assumed she never knew what she was talking about. Others still feared her from what they heard about Finn's "act of valor" that got her off of probatio and earning her stripe. She was a drunken daughter of Bacchus, and a member of the disgraced Fifth Cohort. It didn't matter if she'd been here for nine years—she wasn't doing Percy much of a favor by giving him her support.

Reyna wrinkled her nose, but she turned to Octavian. The augur smiled and shrugged, like the idea amused him.

Why not? He probably thought. Putting Percy in the Fifth would make him less of a threat, and Octavian liked to keep all his enemies in one place.

"Very well," Reyna announced. "Finley Briggs, you may stand for the recruit. Does your cohort accept him?"

The other cohorts started coughing, trying not to laugh. Finn knew what they were thinking: Another loser for the Fifth. She ignored them though, only made direct eye contact with her brother. Maybe if she sent puppy dog eyes his way, he'd be unable to say no, because she was his little sister.

Frank pounded his shield against the ground. The other members of the Fifth followed his lead, though they didn't seem very excited. Dakota finally caved at Finn's expression, and exchanged a pained look with Gwen: Here we go again.

"My cohort has spoken," Dakota managed. "We accept the recruit."

Reyna looked at Percy with pity. "Congratulations, Percy Jackson. You stand on probatio. You will be given a tablet with your name and cohort. In one year's time, or as soon as you complete an act of valor, you will become a full member of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, and defend the camp with honor. Senatus Populusque Romanus!"

The rest of the legion echoed the cheer.

Reyna wheeled her pegasus away from Percy, like she was glad to be done with him. Skippy spread his wings. She was one of the few who could ride an equine animal. Horses were for officers only, or barbarian cavalry, not for Roman legionnaires.

"Centurions," Reyna said, "you and your troops have one hour for dinner. Then we will meet on the Field of Mars. The First and Second Cohorts will defend. The Third, Fourth, and Fifth will attack. Good fortune!"

A bigger cheer went up—for the war games and for dinner. The cohorts broke ranks and ran for the mess hall.

Finn winked at Percy, who made his way through the crowd with Nico at his side. To Finn's surprise, Nico di Angelo was beaming at her.

"Good job, Briggs," he said. "Didn't think you had it in you—standing for him."

One of the guards had given Percy his probatio nameplate. Percy strung it on his leather necklace with the strange beads and ring.

"Thanks, Finley," he said. Finn swallowed her grimace at another person calling her Finley, opting to shrug with forced nonchalance instead. "Um, what exactly does it mean—your standing for me?"

Finn's careless smile was stilted on her features as she threw an annoying arm around Percy's shoulders. "I guarantee your good behavior."

"You guarantee my good behavior?" Percy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hazel and Frank shared looks at the irony. Finn's grin grew wider, more genuine.

"Yup! I teach you the rules, answer your questions, make sure you don't disgrace the legion."

"And... if I do something wrong?"

"Then I get killed along with you," Finn cheered. She ruffled Percy's hair before retracting her arm around him. "Hungry? Let's eat!"

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BAILEY YAPS..

WELCOME TO FINLEY POV!!! I love her so much my heart is full

I just really adore how her pov is clearly just like her (unserious, avoidant attachment style, doesn't like to delve too deep in things). Just like how Sylvie's POV is just like Sylvie (emotional, worried, goes too deep into things). Finley obviously has some unmentioned turmoil but Why would she want to tackle that right now when she can chug wine?!?!?

Psa: This story isn't me promoting alcoholism or underage drinking btw 😟 I know Finley's whole deal seems fun and lalalala but that's just bc it's Finley avoiding being Finley

She's a mess but she's my mess <3

Jinley lore goes hard Did you spot it