Quickie drabble-type thing. Lil' hints of Percabeth fluffiness for the deprived fandom, if you squint. Plus some Daddy!Percy adorable-ness. And a mind-changing tirade against the stereotype of monsters being incapable of any emotion besides hate or bloodlust or whatever, but you probably don't care.
Me no owny PJO.
O-o-O
Hungry, you think as you crouch in the shadows of a slimy alleyway. So hungry. You have been hungry for days, but your recent hunts have been unsuccessful and if you don't eat soon you will starve and have to go back there. You hate there. It's dark and cold and you feel like you're being churned in a—what do humans call it?—washing machine, only instead of being filled with soap and fabric, you are swallowed in a sea of claws and teeth and various other unpleasant body parts as your fellow monsters are knit back together. You have been there far too often for your liking.
You hate that term—monster. In the old days, you were called a beast. Monsters were the men locked in the human prisons or executed by their demanding laws. You were better; you were feared, respected, a challenge for even the greatest of heroes. Now you are reduced to stalking a smelly apartment building and scrounging in Dumpsters. You miss those blessed days when you were remembered.
Your eyes flit to an apartment in the building across the street. One of the windows is open, and the most delicious smell is wafting out. Demigod—a powerful one, too, and full-grown. The black-haired man is lying on a couch, his feet propped up, tossing a pen in the air and catching it over and over as he stares off into space. The scent is so appetizing it makes your mouth flood with saliva and venom. You know you should stay away, because as powerful as he is he would surely be able to send you back there with no effort, but you find yourself scrabbling across the street and up the fire escape until you are just under the open window. The fragrance is so overwhelming that your jaw aches, and you want more than anything to spring through the open window and tear at this man's flesh, but just then a door clicks open and you shrink against the wall, claws and wings curled tight.
"Daddy!" a little girl's voice yells, and you panic, leaping from the fire escape and swooping back to the safety of your alley. When you turn around, the man is scooping up a girl of maybe five or six, swinging her around before letting her short little legs hug his waist, her arms grasping his neck. You shift your weight, because this child smells just as appealing as the man, and it would be so easy to shoot through their open window and slay them both. You could have a feast—so grand you might never be hungry again. Your muscles tighten in preparation to spring.
"How was your day?" the man asks, touching his nose against the girl's and making her giggle.
"Oh, don't get her started," comes another voice as a woman walks into the room, and you resist the urge to howl because the smell is driving you mad. So much demigod blood, so close. "I've only just gotten her to stop talking my ear off. It seems she had an eventful day," the woman continues, wrapping the man and the girl in a little hug before vanishing down a hall.
Go, now, your instincts command you, because the man and girl are no longer facing the window and you know you could kill them both before the woman had time to make her way back. You shift your weight forward, preparing to take flight.
"Guess what? I got to do finger-painting today!" the little girl says, holding out her multicolored arms.
"I can tell," the man laughs, ruffling her dark curls. "Did you do anything else?"
The girl's shoulders slump. "Well…Miss Spangler said I need to stop writing my letters backward. But I don't know how," she whines, "it gives me a headache."
"You'll learn," he promises. "Tell you what. Let's go in the kitchen and get this paint off you, and then we can play Chutes and Ladders, okay?"
"Okay!" she chirps as he carries her out of the room.
You realize you are now slumped against the alley wall.
You missed your chance. Your meals are gone. For a moment, you want to hit yourself, but when you close your eyes all you can see is the man laughing with his daughter.
You sigh and start digging through the trash.
O-o-O
Okay, so I admit I have no idea what kind of monster that was. It was…I don't know…the love child of a harpy and Edward Cullen. *shudders* Terrifying.