Rick is Zeus and I'm just a muse playing with his demigods.
Warning: might contain a tiny, tiny spoiler of House of Hades, but you really have to squint to see it.
Salvation y Damnation
The streets of Los Angeles weren't riddle with homeless people, however Nico knew perfectly that if anyone saw him lying in that alley, with his back on the wall and with his hands on his belly, no one would stop to help.
He just shadow traveled from New York when a Manticore came into view. With the tiredness of the travel on his shoulders he did all he could to defend himself, but the creature gave a last slash before it died, leaving 3 stripes on the young demigod's belly.
That's why he was there, sitting in that gloomy alley, trying; in vain; to calm his nerves. The young Di Angelo could feel the dark aura surrounding him, and the sensation in the pitch of his stomach telling him that the panic was winning the battle; that same sensation he had before a bony hand of a rotten corpse came from the earth to please his commands.
Nico tried to breath as deeply as he could without making his wounds worst, seeing a decomposing face wouldn't help his situation.
He tried to weight his options; he could call the chariot of damnation, but he didn't have any Drachmas; or shadow travel, but he didn't have the energy to even try; and he would dream of asking someone to take him.
With a resigned sigh he put a hand in the left pockets of his fans and draw a little plastic bag. Inside of the bag there were little yellowish squared; some broken, with crumbles of the ones that didn't survive the travels.
Ambrosia. Nico's last hope, and what he was dreading the most at that moment.
The son of Hades looked at the bag with apprehension while his bleeding pulsed through his wounds. The last time he introduced one of those squares in his mouth the smiling image of Bianca haunted him for days.
Which one would torment him this time? When his mother and Bianca took him to the carnival and ate candy-covered apples? Or just a simple memory like dinner at home with Bianca teaching him how to eat spaghettis? Maybe the day that they tried to make pancakes for his mother and Bianca let him eat one of each batch?
Every memory seemed more dreadful than the last. Ironic isn't it? That the son of Hades, terror amongst demigods, was haunted by the ghost of his past?
Resigned he opened the bag trying not the smear it with blood, picked a square of Ambrosia with his fingers and place it in his mouth. Immediately he felt the heat spread from his center to his extremities. He chewed slowly, helping the substance to do its job, and trying to discover what was the intriguing flavors that invade his palate. It wasn't caramel covered apples, neither the pancakes, nor the Di Angelo's secret family recipe sauce.
He took another square when he saw that the bleeding had stopped but his wounds where still open. The same flavor flooded his mouth.
It was something sweet, something he remembered more accurate than the others; something recent, but Bianca and him didn't have a big sweet tooth. It had a flavor of something plain, like a cake, with frosting and it was… blue? Definitely something blue. In spite of his insistence of buying happy meals for the dead, Nico didn't eat that much junk food, why the food would be blue?
The taste took over his body and memories; it was something that calmed him while his wounds healed. He could feel an image lurking on the corners of his mind, trying to come out. It had something to do with… with… why on the underworld he couldn't remember?
Then it hit him, like a hit on the face. The lights of the city from the fire scape stairs, an open window of a messy room, the weird sea smell that came from it, the hand of a friend inviting him to come in, sitting in the small kitchen of the apartment, the piece of blue cake in front of him, the smile of the sweet woman that smelled like a candy shop; besides him he could smell the persistent smell of the sea, a pair of green sea ayes, and a sincere smile while they exchange funny stories, the welcoming sensation to stay; even knowing he couldn't.
Percy was his new Ambrosia memory; Percy was his new torment.
