"Some days it storms, some days it shines. That is how flowers grow." Pavana
A shock almost-sky blue liquid trickles down Artemis's throat. It tingles and tickles - but the oh so familiar sensation no longer burns like it had a few hours ago.
She wishes everything else could be so easily desensitized.
It's her, what? Eighth … maybe twelfth glass? Nah, she's long past that. If anything it's in the thirties, more likely the forties. It takes at least two dozen shots of most mortal alcohols for her to begin even remotely feeling intoxicated, and she's definitely feeling it right now.
Though this recipe … hm … the rest of the contents of the martini glass disappears, gone with a single swallow. This recipe seems more … potent than the average. Low thirties.
The goddess blearily stares righ- … no, left, out through the window she's sidled up against. Nothing new to see. The city lights twinkle as vehicle after vehicle pass by. The vaguely lightening sky further outshines the already sparsely visible stars. The supermoon peeks out from behind a few clouds, ever nearing the horizon, radiant and full.
And just beyond the slightly frosted window, the transparent visage of deathly pale young woman stares back at her with bloodshot silver eyes.
She turns back to her table. Her glass is full again. Father above, she's so out of it she didn't even notice the attendant refill her drink. It had been in her hand, too.
At least she didn't have to call for another one herself. Far too much trouble to, tucked as deep as she is in the corner of the dimly lit bar. Artemis is fairly surprised that she's the only one left. Then again, there's far less reason for most people to get sloshed in the middle of March. And, after pulling out a few golden drachmas, the patron was more than happy to let her stay past happy hour and attend to everything she asked for.
The goddess shakes her head as static tingles in her stiff legs and interferes her thoughts. She pulls her legs up to rest beside her, and lets go of her drink to in order to rub some feeling back into her sleeping thighs.
Tap tap tap goes another drachma on the table, loosely bounced about by her other hand. A few inches away, a clear crystal sits bright and innocent on the dark stained wood of the table. Or rather, almost clear - the prism contains fluid light, the colors of the rainbow braiding into itself and refracting ad infinitum. Such a pretty weaving …
She wants to - no, needs to talk to someone. But even having thought about it for … how long? Ah, who cares. Fact is, there's no one to call. It had been in forethought, to keep this device and a drachma on her since her capture, for emergency scenarios. Yet …
Artemis contemplates the shallow depths of her drink. For all the family that the Olympians are supposed to be, she can't imagine going to any of them. Father would never understand, and she isn't comfortable approaching either Uncle. Hera would never help - not that she ever did, that jealous bint - and Demeter is just plainly too uselessly ditzy to talk with. None of the others were worth more than a minute's consideration, either. The gods in particular were too big-headed and ridiculous, especially her brother (if he could still viably be considered an Olympian). The exception in regards to being an idiot, Hephaestus, was too emotionally stunted, not to mention unfamiliar. And the the only goddess she could trust and respect to have a decent talk with is Athena - but Artemis also doesn't know her well enough to want to share any intimate information.
Wait. She remembers someone that hasn't been on her mind in decades. Aunt What'shername. It takes a moment for the goddess's slightly fogged mind to remember properly. Aunt Hestia. Artemis hasn't talked with her in at least a century, but she's trustworthy and kind and probably has good advice. Always happy to take care of family, at the least.
She reaches out, and her hand flops sloppily beside the crystal. The goddess frowns, then tries again. This time, her touch activates the device, and it looses a painfully bright rainbow towards the ceiling. If memory serves the goddess correctly (despite her inebriated state), she's supposed to say the name of who she wants to call?
With her system as poisoned as it is, the drachma slips from her hand before she throws it. Searching for where it rolled off to without falling from her seat is more difficult than she would like to admit. Eventually, though, the gold coin makes its way through the multihued array of lights.
"Hesst-iia." The goddess frowns slightly and pinches her leg. It's too undignified for her to speak with a slur in her speech. "Hestia." She corrects, before mumbling under her breath to exercise her voice.
The rainbow flickers, then changes. Her frown deepens when an unfamiliar girl in a far too intensely yellow shirt appears over the Iris-Message. Artemis might not have paid much attention to how Hestia chose to present herself in recent times, but this definitely wasn't her. The girl's eyes do not hold the comforting flickers of the hearth, and her clothes were not of earthier tones.
"Sorry, your call got redirected!" the girl bubbles. Her head bounces when she smiles, sending frizzy white hair flying to and fro. "Hestia's having her guru teatime with Iris right now, and that takes priority! Would you like to leave a message? Actually, no, I won't remember it, and there's nothing to write with around here. Is there anyone else you would like to connect to, Lady Artemis?"
The Huntress's brow furrows. "What?"
"You already paid, so I gotta send this call somewhere! No refunds, you know? Company policy. But then it's also bad business to just take your money like that, so…" the strange girl elaborates. She leans in, analyzing Artemis with big black/gray/white eyes. Strange. Hypnotizing. "Anyways, maybe you want to leave a message?"
There's only the barest pause for a breath to listen for a possible response, and then the girl's aggravating voice continues. "Wait, didn't I already ask that? No? Maybe? Ah hell, probably best not to anyways, my memory's pretty sketch. So is there anyone you wanna redirect to? Surely you gotta have someone in mind?" Another second's wait. "Maybe there's someone we can find in your call log!"
What? Artemis opens her mouth to protest, but it's too late.
"Very short list you got here," the girl comments as she pulls a file from thin air. "And our logs go back a thousand years! Then again," she peers off somewhere beyond Artemis's view, "Gods don't really use our messaging service. Yours is like … actually, no, it just is the longest log out of the Olympians. Weird. Anyways! Let's take a look."
Artemis facepalms, before draining the rest of her shot. She is simply not drunk enough to deal with the fool's incessant chattering.
"Oh. Wow, all received calls, four in three months, and all from one person. And - cool, look who it is! Do me a solid and tell him that Fleecy says hi!" The girl waves with far too much excitement as she delivers the information. Even after as the visual imprint of a far too vivid yellow shirt has faded from her rainbow screen, Artemis is clueless as to what just happened in the past minute.
Like, it was … What? … Who? Whatever, she'll deal with it. She refills her glass, and then tips up her drink again.
A defined, tanned, and above all glistening wet torso pops into frame.
Artemis manages to restrain herself from choking on her cocktail. Still, some spittle unwillingly splutters out. Blushing, she quickly snabs a napkin to clean up the slight spill she made. It's convenient, as it helps distract her and averts her eyes from the … display, and by the time she glances back she sees the whole of Perseus Jackson, not merely his toned chest. She can certainly still see what she saw moments before, as he's standing about only wearing a swim trunk with a towel over his shoulders.
"Luna!" exclaims the demigod, not seeming the least fazed about how exposed he is. "I was planning to call you soon! What's up, how's things going?"
"W-why are you - you even wet?!" Artemis stammers, doing her best not to look at Percy anywhere besides his face. "And get dressed!"
"Oh! Sorry, I thought it'd be better to just accept the call sooner than wait a while to clean up. Didn't think it would bother anyone. And what was the other thing? Oh! I went for a morning swim, since senior year's kinda been stressful recently. Keep getting behind because I still keep getting sidetracked by helping demigods get to camp or fighting off a few monsters. At least I have all my credits for graduation already - don't have to worry about any of that crap." The Son of the Sea quickly wipes down the rest of his upper body before beginning to dry off his hair. "And it's not like I've never gotten wet before, y'know. Before I was a demigod, at least. It would've been very strange when I went swimming and didn't get wet. Also, it just doesn't feel right not getting wet when swimming, y'know?"
Percy reaches somewhere out of sight, grabbing a purple shirt that he quickly dons. Artemis manages one final peek at his abs before relief (disappointment) floods through her.
Father be damned, her emotions are already too turbulent at the moment to have another storm added to it on top of everything.
What does she say now? Artemis wasn't expecting any sort of this encounter anytime soon; it was definitely the work of something beyond Tyche that she'd used her 'Luna' appearance as of late. She doesn't even recall how their last correspondence had ended. With the amount of alcohol she has consumed, her mind is far too fuzzy to recall concrete details.
Speaking of alcohol …
She reaches for her glass again.
"Hey, is that a blue drink?" asks Percy, peering closely. The sunlight at his location reflects off his eyes as he leans in for a better look. "Wait … is that alcohol?"
"Memento Mori." Artemis recites the drink's name. "A house special."
It's not the first time she's been at this establishment, wishing that the name - the phrase - actually held true. The bar she's at is ancient. Minor immortals and monsters for have run the bar for centuries, moving from one wealthy city to the next with the rest of civilization's fire.
One way or another, she always found herself nursing the drink once a century.
"..." Percy frowns, observing her quietly. Artemis takes that moment to sip some more of the blue liquid, before looking back out the window. The moon is leaving her, only the barest sliver of silver still above the horizon. "Are you ok, Luna?"
No, I'm not. Artemis rubs an eye, then smooth her hair back. "I don't … I don't want to talk of it."
Again, silence. Or, near enough silence - the barest ambience of the deathly quiet bar, and the vaguest hint of noise across the call.
Artemis hates these Iris Messages so much. She wants nothing more than to talk to him, yet so much of it is a fabrication. It's falsehood after falsehood, whenever Percy asks for her to tell him more about herself; and only pretense of understanding of his life when he discusses mortal issues she at best only comprehends. For the most part, discussion of academics and school and family - anything quintessentially mortal - was difficult.
She wants to learn more. Even staying away from the cities of man for so long, she can't help when her curiosity is piqued by the various developments. Artemis has always been inquisitive, but how could she ask questions to matters 'she' should know about? How could she learn more about the only man she wants to know better?
Just to complicate things further, she scarcely recalls what details she's given about her 'life' as Luna. She hadn't devoted enough thought to for earlier calls, and the vague fragments of who she pretended to be are muddled by alcohol. What information did she has she even given out about her persona?
Of course, those topics hadn't been solely what the previous calls had been comprised of. Beyond the call she'd received before seeing him at camp, the demigod has called her thrice more.
Whenever he did, they discussed things beyond the artificial, superficial, and personal. Things like philosophy, because of his Government and Psychology classes. Living for millennia really let her cheat on some of the topics in those little arguments. Or the differences between the mythological world and the mortal world, because that was a subject she could comfortably enter, even if her perspective was vastly different. Hobbies and interests were also another safe topic - though she'd refrained from mentioning hunting, saying horse-riding instead. They'd even talked about various arts and musics - she'd never considered artwork from the internet or movie score music until he'd described some of his favorites. They were recent innovations, after all, the former especially so. And books! She keeps track of literature - a book is always nice when resting in her tent. Even if Percy didn't particularly enjoy reading, Artemis was surprised to learn he enjoyed The Great Gatsby and 1984. She's looking forward to hearing his thoughts on The Stranger.
Of everything she wants to hear about, she wishes he'd talk more of books. They're the biggest link she has to the mortal world and understanding how mortals think, and a mortal's deliberations on texts she's pored over would be magnificent. The few thoughts he presented have already recontextualized her own understandings of the relevant stories.
She'd never expected such insights from him. She'd never expected how original and new he is, compared to all of the people she's met in the last millennia.
After all, she's never truly seen how an actual mortal thinks. A radically new perspective of a fairly mature male, especially compared to that of frankly very similar young girls century after century. Girls who, more and more as of recent, do not truly understand how truly blessed their lives were compared to that of ages past.
Talking with percy was simultaneously like a sweet release of breath, and a duty heavier than the mountains. Both a relief and a burden.
It was wonderful. It was torture.
… It is wonderful. It is torture.
Artemis desires the calls so desperately, but she can't help but hate them too. Every call is an upwelling of emotions from both ends, that, unfelt at such a degree for so long, feels foreign.
Percy shifts uncomfortably - Artemis has been silent too long, lost in her thoughts. "Lemme just -" Touching the surface of the projection, the Iris Message flickers, before bending to his will. It follows him as he drops down to the ground, to sit slouched against some wall to better address Artemis. "Do you still want to talk about something else?"
She nods slowly. "Yes. But ..."
"Hm?" Her correspondent straightens and scoots back. Artemis watches as his right hand idly traces something on the ground.
Deep breath. "Let's … let's ... just talking. Nothing …"
"Sensitive?" the demigod questions, and Artemis can't help but reflect how much more intuitive he is compared to before. To when he'd yelled at her, not even knowing who she was.
"Sure," Artemis agrees, finishing the rest of her drink. "Like …" She fishes through her mind for some simple and shallow question she's heard before. "If you could have anyone as a dinner guest, who?"
Percy stifles a chuckle, and his eyes sparkle. "So, icebreakers?"
"What? It makes you think, doesn't it?" retorts the goddess. She'd heard similar questions many times before, amongst h-her - her followers. "You think of the next one then."
"Yeah, I think I can do better," smiles Percy, clearly trying to take no offense despite her prickly attitude. "Hm … someone to eat with? I suppose … does it have to be a dinner guest?"
"What do you mean?" Artemis glances at him suspiciously, through a fog of intoxication. The amount of alcohol she'd consumed - scratch that, she's consuming (she drinks another mouthful) is really making her mood unstable.
"What about being the guest of someone else's dinner? Like, I'd honestly want to drop in on a god' meal than invite them to eat with me," Percy explains. "Or just, even, y'know, having a meal. Nothing big and fancy, just food."
"Which god or goddess?" she asks. His hesitance to actually answer the question draws her interest.
"Well … actually, I don't think I'd want to eat with any god except Father. Goddesses … pretty much the same, too. I would say Hestia, if I didn't already do that. Maybe Artemis?"
If the goddess in question had been drinking at that moment, she would've spat everything out. "I think you need to elaborate on that."
"Heh. Yeah, that might sound a bit strange. Well, I really haven't seen gods eat anything besides ambrosia and nectar at parties, or Mr. D eating grapes and drinking Diet Coke. And Diet Pepsi that one time. But then most of the gods don't like me, or I'd rather not eat with, so there's only Father. Like, I can't even imagine Hephaestus needing to eat." Percy shakes his head to dispel the image. "And the same goes for most of the goddesses. Only Hestia do I feel would be kind enough, but, as I've said, I've already eaten with her. Still do sometimes at camp, actually. So the only goddess I could think of that tolerates me enough is Artemis, and I'm actually a bit curious as to whether she eats along with her Hunters during meals, so..."
That is a sobering thought. That means she needs to drink more.
"So I guess my dad or Artemis? I think that's good enough. And - how about you have to answer your own question too?" Percy prompts.
She thinks for a few seconds, mind burning through names. She really doesn't have any interest in spending that sort of time with anyone. But then again … no shame in mentioning it (if only because she is intoxicated at the moment). "You."
"Aw, cute," Percy jibes with a tiny lopsided smirk. And is it her eyes deceiving her, or is there some red on his cheeks? "I'm touched."
Well, Artemis is at least very sure her own face is flushed. "What's wrong with that? We've only been in each other's presence once, and talked over a distance. It would be nice to meet in person again!"
"No, no, I get it, I get it," Percy says, smile growing larger. "Seriously, though. Touching. Should I change my answer to being you, then, too?
Oh, how little he knew. "What are you trying to say?"
"That's a good point. We'll see each other again at the Summer Solstice, won't we? Why not meet up? We can always plan for something then."
And just like that, she's pulled into spending the Solstice with him, with a completely unknown agenda. Even inebriated, she knows it's time to steer away. "How about back to now?"
"My turn to make a question?" At her nod, he continues. "What about … hm. What about, would you want to be famous?"
"And that's any better the question I asked?" scoffs Artemis, somewhat delirious.
"Hey," shrugs Percy, "Less cheesy for sure."
Artemis hmphs, trailing a finger over the rim of her glass. "I have no interest in fame." Her head had been big enough in the olden days. She'd gotten almost as cocky as her brother because of … nonono. And in the modern day, she's known well enough as it is. It isn't like she could directly say that, though. "What's so great about being famous? There's too many expectations that come with it."
There is nothing like being held up to the impossible standards of millennia past. Forever.
"It's not like you need to meet those expectations," counters Percy. "Isn't there a good number of people who are famous for just being themselves?"
"Hm? Then instead of being believed to be someone they're not, they're pigeonholed to be the same person forever. I imagine you enjoy it when it happens to you, Son of the Earthshaker, Defeater of Kronos, Hero of Olympus? Any other title I might be missing? One of the Seven? Gaia's Ba-?"
"Touché," interrupts the demigod, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Yeah … point made, not so fun. Though people are already starting to stop caring. Old news and all that. I'm not that popular. So, your turn for a question again, then?"
If they're playing a question game, she's going to at least take advantage of it. Now for something she's always been curious about. "Do you have a hunch as to how you'll die?"
"Huh."
Artemis takes amount to take in the various emotions that play across Percy's face. Surprise into reluctance, then suspicion and finally trust.
"After all the stress demigod life has given me, I wouldn't be surprised to die in my sleep. Something anticlimactic and ironic," admits Percy readily. "Especially with the prophecy schist done with, I can imagine dying peacefully and not to some huge calamity. Don't even have to imagine what it would like to be, dying in some fight. It's honestly something I've thought about a little before."
The goddess fiddles with the stem of her glass, then raises it to call over the bartender again. What a depressingly hopeful statement. But as for her … well, what could she really say? "I can't imagine how I'd die, honestly."
"Really? Nothing?" Percy cocks an eyebrow at Artemis's slow nod. Death is not the end - not for her.
"Well, aren't you special?" he teases. She only shrugs in response. "My turn again, then. Hm … if you gained a single thing overnight, what would it be?"
"Thing?" This time, she just takes the entire drink mixer from the bartender, who happily allows her to do so. She's able to drink at her own rate, he can stop coming back so often, and everyone 'wins.'
"Like, ability. Super power? Guess it could be an object." Percy attempts to clarify his question. "How about this: if you could get any one thing, what would it be? Literally anything."
Artemis measurably pours out her drink yet again, considering his query. She doesn't really need more powers. She can't think of one that she wants, either. Well, no. She can. But it … that would be worth the cost. And as a goddess, there isn't much she can't acquire. But she can't afford give another non answer again, it would be too suspicious. She sighs heavily.
No powers then. Objects? Even her Hunters, quasi-mortal as they were, were very possessive with their earthly possessions. Perhaps she should make up some trinket? "Jewelry. Something simple, but elegant and high quality. Unique."
"Really?" Her correspondent is taken aback, incredulous at her answer. "I thought you didn't like any jewelry stuff. Like, I don't remember ever seeing you wear any."
"No, I don't," she assents, "I don't like the weight. But if it was good enough … maybe something small. A pop of color? I don't know. Never thought much about it."
She hums, mulling over her answer as she stares into her drink. She tags on one last requirement. "If it was perfect, then yes. I don't know what it would be, but if it was perfect, I would wear it."
Jewelry is always a distraction, going out and about and doing athletic activities. She'd simply never needed or wanted any accessories - she doesn't need them to look good. But there'd always been a spark of curiosity as to whether she'd ever find a piece she'd want. The liters of alcohol she's consumed by this point is plenty of fuel for that little thought. "What about you?"
"I actually really miss my invincibility. I did tell you about that, right? Y'know, from the Styx." He ruffles his hair, and pushes himself to his feet again. Percy gestures to his general bodily area. "I barely had it for like a year, and it sure as Hades was tiring, but it was so nice to be untouchable when fighting. It was almost like being a god, without all the baggage."
He shrugs, amending his answer as he begins walking to some unknown destination. "Well, beyond the tiny little problem of my Achilles' heel. 'Course, power always comes with a price, so I guess that made sense? But something like that again - or better than that - would be nice."
She contemplates his words. With his own frivolous confession out for consideration, her mentioning the desire to be able to raise the dead would've sounded less silly. Only a bit less silly - the prospect of hers is even more impractical than his. Just relatively less.
It really is strange. She'd never spent an extended period of time with someone truly mortal - her Hunters - her Hunters … never really had such a preoccupation with death. So Artemis never really understood just how much of a mortal's thoughts - or Percy's thoughts - revolves around life and survival. There is an underlying urgency and tension to his words - always, 'in the case I die.'
A constant fight for survival, to avoid the permanence of the end.
But she would never be able to comprehend mortality herself, immortal as she was. A barrier she can never overcome … She sips at her drink to help mull over her thoughts. Wait a second - even if she wasn't that familiar with mortal cities and the like … "Just a quick question - not part of our game - where in the world did you find an open swimming pool in New York City on a Sunday morning, with no one around?"
"Oh," laughs Percy, "I was gonna argue that that wasn't fair, but that is kinda a fair question to ask. I kinda have a copy of some of my stepdad's keys to school, just in case. Since he knows about the whole demigod thing, he understands that I should probably have some, just in case. I think you can figure it out from there. I'm heading to his classroom right now."
They both fall silent, and she's left to listen to the echos his flapping flip flops. Her mind returns to a phrase he used in his previous answer. "Follow up question - what were you implying about invulnerability and gods having baggage?
"I guess that's another question that doesn't count?" Percy sighs in jest. "Well, you already know about me choosing not to be immortal. Even the reas- even why I chose not to be. But even without her in the picture, what about everything else? I still want to live, well, a normal life, or as normal as it could be. Dying's a part of that. And what about friends and family? And well - like, I already have a friend who's basically immortal. Dam, it's going to be weird being older than Thalia in a few years. Wait - no, I'm already older than her - wow. It's going to be the strangest thing in ten, twenty years.
"And don't get me started on fighting - schist, I don't want to do that forever. If anything, I might end up like Eurytion - he runs a ranch, don't get me started on that. Like, gods be damned, I've had my time already. My shtick is done. I don't want to be stuck forever - you know, it's probably worse than being famous, being immortal." He genuinely sighs this time. "Immortality is a curse, not a blessing."
That question … led to very uncomfortable places. Places she doesn't want to talk about. She blurts another question, completely unrelated. "What are you most grateful for?"
"My mom," Percy replies immediately. "I wouldn't be here without her. And I don't just mean her giving birth to me, because she sacrificed so much for me up until I learned I was a demigod. And even after that. No contest." He slows for a moment and squints in thought, before shrugging and resuming his walk. "I feel like I'm forgetting something important ... anyways, you?"
Damn. No hesitation. And for herself? What does a goddess have to be grateful for? "I am … I am most grateful for my abilities. I don't know who I'd be without them."
"Wow. Philosophical. You are what you do? Something like that? What abilities are you talking about? Mist manipulation?"
What? She pushes back into her cushy seat, trying to remember what he was referring to. She'd done a few tricks when they'd 'first' met? Artemis waves her hand dismissively. "Something like that."
"Mhm…" Percy stops before a door, but waits expectantly. Eventually, when it becomes obvious she's not going to explain more, he speaks. "Let's do a fun question."
Suddenly, Percy stretches his arms up, yawning, and Artemis pretends she's not looking at his abs as his shirt rides up. A few pops sound out as he bends and twists his back, and the flexing of his muscles appear very appealing. When his arms finally droop back down and he readjusts his shirt, the goddess quickly fakes interest in her empty cocktail glass. What is wrong with her?
"When's the last time you sang to yourself? Or someone else, for that matter?" The Son of Poseidon chuckles nervously. "I'm not the only one that does something as stupid as singing to myself, am I?"
Sing to herself? With her brother, it was impossible not to have found some music that she liked after so many centuries. But singing? There's no place for it during hunting, since it scares away game. And she only does so is in private. Oddly enough, she can't even recall even singing absently in the past few decades and some. Not since … the 20s? "Well, I don't, so maybe you are that stupid," she teases half-heartedly. As for the second part … "And I don't like singing to others."
"Hey - it's a lot more interesting to listen to underwater, ok?" protests Percy as he pulls out a jingling ream of keys to unlock the door. "Not my fault other people don't hear it the same way. It sounds so much different."
Artemis shakes her head. "And to others?"
"I think the last Camp Half-Blood campfire counts for that."
"Fine." She swirls the mixer, relishing the sloshing sounds of the liquid. What to say …? "Do you rehearse what you say before you talk with someone?"
"Hm? Not really. Only for really important things, but besides that I prefer to go with the flow." The demigod unlocks a door and enters a room, and then sidles into a plush armchair behind the front desk. He settles in, then gazes back through the mist straight into her eyes. "For the first few calls with you, actually."
She's falling into froth of the emerald sea of his eyes. "First few? Why'd you stop?"
"Because exactly planning out a conversation doesn't really work out sometimes," he admits freely, looking away in embarrassment. "The first one doesn't really count because you were busy with something, but I could tell you were a bit uncomfortable with the stuff I was asking about the next two times. Never intentionally tried to get to know someone before I planned on talking about certain stuff. It didn't work out, and I've always been better at improvising anyways, so no loss. Did you rehearse before calling me?"
"... No." If she'd thought through things long enough to be able to plan on what to talk about ask for the very moment, she'd have been sober enough to not call in the first place. "I don't usually call people at all."
Or rather, she doesn't call people at all.
"Eh. Maybe the problems are because of the long distance thing. It's different only talking and not actually doing stuff together, isn't it?" Percy offers for an explanation. He winks. "But hey, we're still trying, aren't we?"
She quickly downs the rest of the cocktail to avoid looking at him. The flush of blood in her face is because of her drink. The flush of blood in her face is because of her drink. The flush of blood in her face is becau-
"You ok there, Luna?" Percy's concerned expression swims into her vision.
Sigh. Artemis rubs the bridge of her nose. Calm. "I will be."
"Feeling better?" he asks hesitantly.
Huh?
… Oh.
And all the good cheer that's built up comes crashing down. Just when she finally forgets about all her problems, along comes the storm …
"Not anymore." Her mutter comes out as a bitter accusation.
Percy's sharp glance makes her insides wither in regret. She has barely a moment to consider her words and how badly she misspoke when Percy's acerbic voice makes her shiver. "Shall I go then?"
What? Artemis is clueless on how to respond - she wasn't prepared for Percy's flip in mood. Her hesitance is a moment too long, though.
"See you another time then." His hand sweeps through the mist.
"Wait!" Artemis's cries out, extending her hand. A silver light emanates from the gaseous substance that sustains the call. The change stops Percy's motion in its tracks, and through the slivers of somewhat connected mist left, their eyes meet. Muddled as her senses are, she's unsure what she finds in his eyes. Sadness? Bitterness? Resignation? And … and what does he find in her eyes?
"What?" His one word bite is paradoxically sharp and clear, despite being hazy and crackly across the damaged connection. His hand remains in the midst of his side of the Iris-Message, blocking half of her view of him, still ready to dismiss the call away.
"Stay," she begs quietly. "Please."
Slowly, his eyes still locked on hers, he withdraws his hand. With a circular gesture atop his end of the Iris-Message, the video call smooths over. Everything sharpens - his jaw is locked in place, and his face is resolute and unforgiving. Above all, the demigod's eyes are flinty, absolutely furious.
It, honest to Father, frightens her. It frightens her even when she eventually sees that his gaze is not wholly directed at her. That his anger is not focused only on her.
It's a minute of excruciating silence as they stare at her, before Artemis realizes that she needs to be the one to speak first. "I apol - I'm sorry."
"For what?" Still, his words are tense.
"I … I shouldn't have emptied out my emotions on you." She pushes her half-filled drink to the side, sets her hands in her lap, and forces herself to meet his gaze.
It's another ten seconds until he finally relaxes (though not fully), looking more melancholic than anything else. "It - you didn't say very much. I'm sorry too. I overreacted."
No, she didn't. But … "It still wasn't fair for me to do that."
"Me too, though," admits Percy. "I just - it's just … I want to help. I want to be here for you and help you. That is …" he takes a deep breath. "If you want it." He pulls out his trademark pen and begins spinning it between his fingers. "But it didn't seem like I was. Even with our talk … you're still focused on whatever's troubling you. You're bullshiting your questions. I'm not really helping."
Despite all the alcohol she'd consumed, and the lengthy conversation she's held with Perseus, the numbness of recent events still reverberates through her soul. The reason why she's at a bar, and not with her Hunt, will not leave.
"So you're still hurting, and you didn't want to talk about it. But at the same time, you aren't really into what we were talking about either," Percy elaborates. His eyes are now distant, mourning. "And at that point, it's probably better for me not to be here."
"I can't help you if you don't want help, or to talk." He's tapping his pen on the table before him now, clearly agitated. "Like, it's fine if you want to sort this out yourself. But then you don't need me. And if you want me just to be here - well, don't - don't just try to talk some empty crap. I don't want to waste anytime on shit that doesn't help."
"Annabeth and I broke up over this, did I mention that?" He laughs bitterly. "No, I didn't. Only that we broke up. Been through Tartarus together, but … we can't talk about anything properly anymore."
"I - I'm sorry," she repeats again. Artemis wipes something from beneath her right eye. "I …"
"Oh, it's not that bad … we get along fine. Just … with everything, there's some trust issues. We can't say as much to each other as we used to, and it … it just messes with things." He sighs miserably. "Who knows. Things change, we might get back together - maybe? We need space right now."
"But that's enough about me, yeah?" Percy smiles halfheartedly. "Just - communication is the most important thing. Right now, it's about me being here for you. If you just want a friend - well, I'll gladly sit here for as long as you need, even if it's in complete silence and I'm just watching you drink. But-" He lowers his head into his hands and rubs his eyes. "And if you want to just talk about anything, to distract yourself - fine. It's not healthy, but since when did demigods care about healthy habits?"
The demigod lifts his chin, and his eyes open, gaze boring into hers. "But if you feel like talking … actually talking … well, I'll be waiting, forever and a day."
"Your choice - you tell me."
It's an ultimatum. Percy's not - he's not threatening anything, per se, but Artemis knows this is a point of no return. There's something - trust? - on the line. Some invisible line that she doesn't know if he's crossing, or she's crossing.
Oh, Father … she should talk about it. She … she needs to talk about it.
Milady … milady, please.
"One … one of my," Artemis chokes out.
Let me … pass. I'm ready … I'm ready to see them again.
"One of my close friends died." She blurts out, and waterworks she couldn't imagine that she had contained for so long bursts out. She's still dealing in misleading truths … but this is more than she's admitted to, ever. "I've known her for so long."
They're … they're waiting for me, milady ... Dorothy. Phoebe. Celyn.
She rubs her eyes desperately, trying to clear away the tears. Percy doesn't say anything, but Artemis is glad that he's silent. She's not sure she would finish if he interrupts.
"It's not - it's not that I haven't had people close to me die before." Artemis laughs, and even to her own ears it sounds deranged. "Be-because that sounds so much better."
Slowly, ever so slowly, she slouches forward into the table, too distraught to hold herself up. "With everything in the last few years, so many of my friends have died," the goddess quietly weeps into her arms. "And so many more died in the Second Giant War."
"I- I- I just wasn't prepared for another to die." A single misstep, and another of her Hunters downed by a monster. Oh, Martha, Martha, Martha …
Rest … rest well, Martha. Thalia - take care of things.
She raises her head, desperately wiping at her face. Through teary silver irises, she searches expectantly for some response from Percy.
He falters, though. "What … what can I say?" Percy leans forward, drawing closer to Artemis. "This is just how demigod life is, thank the gods for that." How did he sound so sarcastic yet endearing? "Shit … what can I say that you haven't already thought of? I don't think I can say anything that you haven't already told yourself, Luna … fuck. Gods - what do you want me to say? To do?"
The goddess sniffs, and pulls a napkin from a dispenser to catch some of her tears. "Anything," -hiccup- "nice to hear."
Percy sighs despondently. "Oh, Luna …" He looks absolutely and adorably clueless, but he continues nonetheless. "They - she? They wouldn't want you to be unhappy. They probably went to Elysium. You might see them again there …"
She chokes a sob, and he trails off. The demigod's words definitely hadn't helped - she knows they wouldn't want her to be sad. And in all likelihood, they all went to Elysium. But she definitely would not ever see them again …
Percy surprises her, stuttering through some almost eloquent speech before his voice dies away. "Shit. Talking … I'm not good with that. Talking alone never helps, it's never just the talking. Just - just being there helps. And I … "
Dies away, before coming back stronger than before. "I wish I could be there for you right now. I am, sort of, yes, but I mean there with you. Physically there and all. You look like you need - um - you look like you need a hug, and -"
The phone on the desk he's at rings, and he jerks back, frightened by the sudden noise. After a quick look at Artemis, then the number, he picks it up. The loud excited babble is impossible to make out. It's obviously important, though, and positive, judging by the Percy's brightening expression.
It somehow doesn't bother her that he's distracted by a different call.
Somehow, in less than thirty seconds, Percy's said enough.
He didn't say anything the goddess hadn't already conceived up, but she's spent her tears, weeping out her pain. It still hurts, but … somehow, in so few words, she thinks things will be better again. And she wishes he was actually present, there with her too.
She's not quite happy … merely feeling almost pleasantly burnt out. Satisfyingly empty. Cathartic.
Her face is still wet though. Artemis turns towards the window to use her reflection to help clean up her look. Through the transparent plane, the lightening of the sky is obvious. She can't see the sunrise itself, but the rich pastel colors thrown across the clouds and buildings in contrast to the long shadows behind them draws her attention.
The same light that Percy's been under for quite some time already. Who, speak of Pan, drops the phone carelessly back into place as he rambles away at her. "I'm so sorry, Luna, I got to run," rushes out of his mouth as he leaps out of the chair. "My mom's at the hospital, you called and then I forgot it was so close to her being due and Paul's been trying to f-"
"Due?"
"Yeah! Damn, I forgot you didn't know, my mom's having a baby!"
Her jaw slacks. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go - go celebrate life. I'll …" she swallows on nothing but air. "I'll be ok."
Percy's piercing gaze sweeps through her, even as he impatiently bounces in place. "No. Not yet."
Artemis straightens, shocked as he plops back down. "But- no, you're getting a sibling, don't waste your time with me, hurry and go, what are you doing?"
"Oh, lovely Luna." Percy's confidence is back, clear and calling. "Why would my time with you ever be a waste, Moonbeam?"
A wet laugh escapes the goddess. "Don't be asinine! This - this can wait. I'm, I'm already feeling better. You've helped. A lot. Thank - thank you." She hides her face behind her hands and blushes.
"Hm … you're sure. Well, no, still, I'll call you soon," Percy promises. "Tonight."
His smile before he breaks the connection warms Artemis more than a fire ever would.
The rainbow projection collapses, and she falls back into the cushioning, fatigued.
… oh, what now, then?
She pockets her prism, shifting in her seat. Surreptitiously, she glances at the innocent looking glass of blue liquid, on the table a mere foot to her right. Her pale hand snakes out … and pauses, shaking.
No.
It's time to be strong again. Though …
*cough, sniff, sniff.
Strong can wait until after she freshens up.
The last sliver of the supermoon slips away before the dawn, and Artemis disappears with it.
Author's Note
Do not ever consume more alcohol than you can tolerate. You cannot tolerate the amount I described that Artemis consumed. That amount will lead to alcohol poisoning, long term health damages, and/or premature death.