Well.

Hey guys.

Proof that I still exist and am not mortally ill, huh.

Killing myself for not posting anything. I seriously despise my mother for taking my computer away (and yes, I'm not even supposed to be using it now either).

So I finished the Olympians series recently (D'X It's over!!!) and honestly I just love love love those books. They're so funny. So I thought, 'Hey, there's still a free character here. I'll just fast-forward the time, write my own plot, and try my hand with a new character.' Worked out pretty well so far.

Oh, man, I can't WAIT to write more of this (so says I, who actually half the time can't manage to write anything… T_T okay, ignore that).

Saturday morning, I asked my chauffeur to drive me to the park to rollerblade. I don't know about you, but there's nothing that waked me up more than fresh morning mist whipping across my face while I'm zipping around on rollerblades. Especially because I go incredibly fast and can't see a thing past a yard in front of me.

Lucky there aren't many people around Central Park at 6:30 on a Saturday morning.

I rode in the back of the gunmetal limo, pressing the window button up and down and back up and back down again. Window buttons are just entertaining, the way they let things like air and noises in and out.

When we got there, I told the driver to be back in an hour, then threw open the door and jumped out, hitting the ground rolling. I was a little wobbly at first, and I almost ran over the black metal trash can, but that's what happened every morning. Soon I was whizzing along the paths.

I laughed at the terrified face of a mom pushing a baby stroller as I brushed by an inch away from said stroller.

Ten minutes later, a panicked bleat ended my experiment of how long I could manage to skate with my eyes closed. When I looked, there was a guy standing frozen in the path a few feet away. Of course, at the speed I was going, there was no way I could avoid hitting him. I just had time to shrug before we collided.

So that was why my dad insisted I wear my helmet and kneepads.

Sitting up, my head spinning with one of the wheels on my skates, I examined my surroundings. I was ready to apologize to whoever it was I'd just run over and maybe offer something for consolation, but he was already scrambling to his feet. Before I could say a word he trotted away through the mist.

I blinked.

Trotted?

My curiosity took over. I replayed the scene in my head. He had had curly dark brown hair, two bits of which were formed into large points, and wore shaggy faux-fur pants… whoa.

I definitely had to have a pair of those pants. I hoped they came in different colors.

Immediately, I got up and skated after him, as best I could over the grass. Maybe I should've taken the skates of first, because the wheels got sludgy fast. I frowned. Pulling one foot out of the muck I had created, I continued determinedly on.

Eventually, I started seeing colored lights through the fog. Suddenly, a voice blasted through the air like a foghorn; club music playing underneath.

"Whoooooooooohooooooooo!"

As I pressed forward, a group of shapes started to appear. When they grew clearer, I recognized one of them as the guy I'd crashed into.

"Hey!" I called, waving my arms to keep my balance when another of my feet got mired. "Curly! Where'd you get those pants?"

He turned, as did his companions, and his face was filled with horror. "You followed me?"

I nodded. "Duh. I want your pants."

"You want me… but I'm not – I mean, these are original."

I examined his friends, all of whom had the same hairstyle, not to mention the same pants. "Obviously they're not," I pointed out.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…"

"Listen," I told him in a persuading voice, "I can pay you. Whatever you want. I just need to have a pair of those pants."

His eyes glazed over slightly, and he mumbled a few things like "Styrofoam," "plastic," and "enchiladas." His friends muttered to each other.

I waited patiently while he fantasized, but then he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Why not?" I huffed, crossing my arms.

"Uh… they're…" He thought for a second. "For club members only."

"Club? What club? This club? Fine. I'll join. Can I have my pants now?"

"You can't!" he blurted.

"Watch me." Balling my hands into fists, I stomped past the group into the 'club'. Ignoring the fact that my foot got stuck yet again and I almost fell flat on my face, it worked pretty well.

I kept walking, despite their protests behind me, into the party.

Suddenly I bumped into a monstrously tall man wearing a striped child's party hat and a T-shirt splattered with paint balls.

"Whoa!" he boomed down at me. "Hey there, little half-blood dudette. Come to join the party?"

I put my hands on my hips and glared up at him. "It's not nice to call people halfbloods." It got on my nerves when people mentioned my Swedish blood.

He blinked, taken aback. "Wha – wait, who's your parent?"

"My parent is Devin Roebling, of course."

"Oh." He nodded like a bobblehead with a loose spring. "The rich dude. But, like, he's mortal, right? What about your other parent?"

"Mortal?" I seethed. "Of course he's mortal. Everyone dies. And it's –"

"Hey, whoa whoa whoa. I meant who's your godly parent. Gods aren't mortal. If you were mortal you couldn't see me."

He turned away with a look on his face that said, "Okay, I'm avoiding you now," and left to join his invisible buddies. When he turned, he revealed a lower body that was horse rather than human.

I gaped after him, finding my voice only when Pants Guy trotted up next to me.

"Centaur!" I shouted, pointing after the guy.

He sighed. "Well –"

I whirled to face him, the fine blonde hair flowing out of my helmet whipping my cheek. I patted it down to make sure it didn't frizz, and gave Pants Guy a closer look.

The hair, the pants, the trot…

"And satyr." I thought for a second, and my face fell. "Dang. That means no pants."

He laughed, half relief, half wary. "My name's Grover."

"So what's going on?"

"Erm…" Grover fidgeted. "Out of control centaur party?"

"And what was he…" I processed what he said and forgot the questions the centaur had raised. "Centaur party?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, "but we've almost got it under control, so you can just, um, leave and not worry about it."

"Leave? Right! I'm gonna ride a centaur and you can't do a thing about it!"

I tore off, my skates still getting sucked into the mud. Eventually they stuck so deep that I yanked my feet out, continuing through the squishy ground without even socks. The grass and muck was cool as I ran over it.

I saw a shape forming through the mist. Another centaur. When I was close enough, I coiled my legs like a spring and launched myself through the air.

Landing square on his back, I surprised him into rearing. and grinned as I held on. The ground-covering leap was the only thing I had ever really learned from all those ballet lessons.

The centaur took off, galloping wildly through the party. He knocked quite a few of his friends' drinks out of their hands as he barely weaved and dodged through the crowd. They snorted in indignation as we shot past.

I peered around his shoulder, and the huge amount of speed exhilarated me. I let out a huge whoop, my voice ringing high and clear and being torn to shreds by the wind.

At the sound, the centaurs all raised their heads.

The centaur I rode continued galloping aimlessly, and I laughed. Suddenly, the thunder of hooves began to grow behind us. I turned.

A huge group of excited centaurs ran behind us, yelling spontaneously and wordlessly.

"Ah, man," I muttered. Causing a centaur stampede definitely would not go over well with Grover and his satyr buddies.

I pulled on my mount's shoulders, wondering if it would have the same effect as tugging a horse's reins. He shouted something in Greek that I didn't pay attention to, and slowed, rearing on his hind legs and prancing a few feet until I let go. I felt mud spray my back as the stampede behind us dug their feet into the ground to stop in time.

When I turned, they were staring at me in puzzlement, wondering why the party game I had started had ended so abruptly.

Grover hurried out of the group, panting. He ran up to me, grabbed my hand, and half helped, have hauled me off the centaur. I stumbled down onto the boggy ground, almost impaling myself on his horns on the way. Then I got my balance and turned to him, grinning.

He stared at me for a moment. "Whose kid are you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "About that. Could you explain it to me?"

Grover fidgeted.

"Tell me! What's with this 'Who's your parent' crap?"

My hair staticked upwards. Grover's eyes went slit-pupilled.

"It's not 'crap,'" he said softly, his voice terrified. "Let me explain."

I tapped my foot. "That's what I've been waiting for."

He started walking, and beckoned me to follow. "Okay. You know the Greek Gods?"

"Yeah, duh. Greek is like the only class I ever really get."

He sighed. "They still exist."

I blinked at him. "No way. How?"

"They've always existed," he told me, choosing to look at the treetops instead of at my face. "It's just, they're connected to Western civilization, so they've always been moving around. From the Greeks and Romans to the rest of Europe, like Britain and France, and now it's here."

I blinked again. "Wow. That's awesome. So what's with the parent thing?'

"Well, you remember how the gods always ran around having kids with humans?" I nodded. "They still do that. Their kids are called demigods, or half bloods. How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"You must not be the child of a very powerful god, then," Grover said, nodding. "If you were, you probably would have died in a very unpleasant way by now."

"Unpleasant?" I asked. "Like how?"

"Monsters eating you, monsters tearing you apart, having an 'accident' with a tall building or a moving vehicle…"

I wrinkled my nose. "Oh. That unpleasant."

He nodded. "That happens to a lot of heroes. They go on a quest and die young."

I thought for a moment. "So how do I find out my mom?"

"You may not," he said with a shrug. "Your parent needs to claim you. Although, with the system Percy set up a few years ago, she should have already. Maybe she did and you just didn't know it."

Another satyr trotted up, his hooves squishing in the mud, his legs dewed by the mist. "Grover."

Grover turned. "Hey, Lynden."

"We've got the centaurs under control and leaving," he reported, glancing at me, "and Chiron's here to help clear up."

Grover nodded, his face almost unreadable. "Okay. Thanks, Lynden." The other satyr trotted off, and he looked down at me again. "Come with me."

I shrugged. "Okay."

Again he stared at me. "Doesn't your dad tell you to avoid going with strangers?"

"Yeah. But I figured, you, well, tried to save me from an out of control centaur, so why not."

He turned away and headed for another stand of trees, with me trailing after.

Passing an old oak, he trailed his hand over its trunk and sighed briefly, before continuing.

What was that about?

Oh. Satyr. Nature. New York City. Right.

Wheee!

I love this character. Fun, is she not? I'm just now realizing that I still haven't named her yet… oh well. I'll get working on it. Can't be that hard, right? I was thinking Clio or Nefi (short for Nefertiti, don't ask, please). But I don't know right now.

Oh well, later guys.