"The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to." Carl Sandburg
The rain is torrential.
The sky above holds back a tidal wave. However, for all that it contains, it still fails to completely prevent the waters from leaking through. And leaking, as in, letting through a downpour that prevents a line of sight any further than a few yards at maximum, though it's difficult to tell whether that range is dictated by the rain, or the extent of a Hunter aura's glow in the dark. Artemis, however, is inclined to believe the situation is the former, due to her quite vast prior experience.
However, also from prior experience, she can confidently state that nothing of the situation makes sense, for multitudes of reasons. For one, she's in New York, of which such heavy rain is rare. Moreover, it's winter still - the spring showers shouldn't have arrived yet. It should still be snowy. Though, it snowing ten feet behind her, due to the last point. The last point, that renders other points irrelevant, really: her location, beyond being New York, is more specifically within the borders of Camp Half Blood.
Yet a maelstrom of rain punctures through the weather barrier like a barrage of bullets.
What is going on?
She turns to Thalia behind her. "GET INTO THE BIG HOUSE!" She yells. The Huntress is certain that her effort is futile though, in the midst of the oppressively loud splatters and the roaring elements. That thought is confirmed by her lieutenant cupping her hand behind her ear, and the lack of appropriate voice accompanying the movement of the dark lipsticked mouth.
Still, Artemis yells again, but this time also gestures for the Hunters to move towards the main building of the demigod camp. That action gets the message across properly this time, hopefully, judging by Thalia's nod. After some further hand communications, all six of her followers quickly jog off to the left to find Chiron (and adequate shelter).
Her intentions had originally been to arrive much earlier. Well before midnight, at the least. After dinner. But the current time - several hours past 12 AM - serves to show the power of angry weather.
Of monstrous, uncontrollable, weather.
She surmises that the rain that punches through the barrier is not really any better than the sleet outside that falls outside of the boundary. Not even marginally.
The raging blizzard outside Camp Half Blood is not merely isolated to New York - it stretches from where it began near Mexico all the way to Kansas, brushing a swath of snow across the entire eastern half of the United States of America.
When she'd heard Aeolus's forecast, she'd known they wouldn't be able to escape the weather by fleeing west. The travel distance was simply too great from where they'd been; her Hunt would have been bogged down long before they'd left the range of the storm. The closest and best option for shelter was Camp Half Blood, about a day's and change worth of hurried travel away.
Her estimate had been off, and they'd still been slowed down for the past half day - and now that she's arrived, Artemis isn't even sure the current conditions of the camp are better than holing down in some mortal city. She'd come here thinking it would be free of detrimental weather of every sort, not to trade snow for rain.
The rest of the storm-grade clothing that had yet to fail her quickly do so in the new environment. Despite the hood of her silver jacket, the wind-angled rain soaks her raven locks to the point that it feels as if she dunked her head in water. A misstep soaks her boots with groundwater, revealing that the innocent looking puddles are at least two feet deep.
The water level of the canoe lake she bypasses has also definitely risen, and the pier appears to float on the surface of the lake, on the verge of being swallowed by a few more droplets. The flooding of the creek that both feeds and diverts from the lake makes the surroundings of said running bodies of water a swampland. Artemis can only imagine how much worse the creek within the forest is.
Finding her way through is thankfully much simpler than she expects. The older form the Goddess of the Hunt has retained for quite a while now is more ideal for facing the various obstacles in her path, without frivolous divine enhancement. Longer legs, more leverage, and all that jazz - like how she bounds over the muddied earth around the creek and the creek itself, heading for the cabins. Her landing causes a mighty splash that hits up to her thighs, but the black water resistant material of her leggings definitely deals with that better than the prospect of extended exposure from wading through.
Even as tokenly irritating the situation is, however … the weather puts her in an oddly reminiscent mood. It reminds her of the old days, when her father and her uncles were fully responsible for the shifts in nature, and the massive cataclysms that sparked whenever they raged.
But they've calmed and settled over the millennia - so what force is behind this storm? Both of the gods possibly responsible for the sweeping storm, as far as she knew, were denying responsibility. In fact, Father and Uncle Poseidon both seemed at the verge of blows the last time Artemis tuned in to the chatter on the weather radio frequency. The fact that the blizzard is outside both their own direct control and the influence of Aeolus does not settle well with her relatives.
The goddess of the moon weaves between a cabin adorned with drooping poppies poppies and a garishly pink doll house. Before she knows it, she's standing before the doorway of her cabin, its silver light pulsing weakly in the deluge of water. Instinctively, she pushes open the door and enters, ready to escape the tormenting weather.
As Artemis steps in, her aura bathes the room and sheds light unto vaguely familiar furniture. When was the last time she'd been in this cabin? How many times had she even entered here? The silver cabin had always been more a refuge for her Hunters while she undertook more dangerous solo hunts, that she was unwilling to bring her cadre along for. Nonetheless …
Out of the corner of her eyes, she detects a flicker of movement. She turns to it sharply, yet nothing's there. Merely dancing reflections - a play of light that triggers memories best left forgotten.
Join us, Milady!
A copper skinned girl laughs delightedly at her, silver circlet braided in the girl's hair twinkling in the candlelight. Her dark eyes are glittering, singing with joy.
Artemis staggers backwards into the doorframe, freezing in place on the threshold. Oh, her dear lieutenant. No, no, no …
The others playing cards with her also smile, happy to see their normally reserved and cold leader happy. A redhead, smirking as she tosses down pair; a good-natured groan from the blonde as she folds over her cards; the last cackling as she reveals a winning hand.
C'mon, Milady! New round.
Artemis steps forward-
No.
No.
NO.
The vision shatters, and the false Hunters splinter apart into a rich sanguine nothingness.
She pulls away, slams the door shut, and turns to flee. She's too hasty - the door crashes against its frame, but her rigid hand betrays her and refuses to loosen its grip from the door handle. Artemis wrenches her still rigid hand off and dashes away, but the unintentional counter-force pushes the door back open. The door swings ajar, and the rain blows in - more trouble for her Hunters to clean up later.
But the ghosts that escape from their prison and chase Artemis away agitates her far more than any residual concern for her followers.
I pledge myself to-
She runs against the rain.
An quartz crystal stands resolute. She watches with her hunt as tears stain the formation a rich purp-
The elements makes negotiating the usually clear path upwards far more difficult. She slips every few steps because of slipstreams or loosened soil and stones.
-tracked it down, Milady. By your will.
Still, Artemis can't escape her recollections. The watershed is fighting against her, pushing her back into the grasp of the vile carnival of past delights turned nightmares.
SHHH! Quiet, dunce, you're scaring th-
Her ankle snags, twisting and warping.
At second glance, it's still nothing. But with a third, it's evident the lump is a young girl, in need of aid. Someone is to die for-
She is already too far to be able to identify whatever obstacle she injured herself on by the time she realizes she's limping.
-upid male, ruining the hunt. Enjoy life as a ja-
But Artemis persists on, hardly aware of the physical pain.
-ew World, Milady!
The Hunt's excited anticipation is contagious, and she can't help but laugh and smile with her crew.
But a leg is giving out on her, she's losing speed.
Also, the mortals apparently believe your brother is the center of the universe now!
Her laugh rings out hearing the report.
What else, Ce-
Both legs, actually. And her arms, and her eyes. She's been run too ragged over the past few days, ensuring her Hunt's safety passing through the storm.
-st time, my Hunt. Constellations.
Moans all around, but they gather nonetheless-
Spent too much of her powers shielding her followers from the worst of the blizzard.
-ady, why do they fight so?
Even I will never understand just how horrible, foolish, and futil-
She can't stop now. She's not far enough away. She can't stop now. She's not far enough away. She's not- she's not-
-can see the stars, my lady.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, don't die, don't die, don't …
Artemis trips over a sudden ledge she didn't anticipate. Trips, maybe, or her legs have finally decided to give up. She falls, splashing with a whumph unintelligible compared to the endless rain. Her body pinions her arm beneath her, and she submerges halfway into the shallow but overflowing pool of water on the tiled flooring of the mess hall.
She's dying.
She turns her face sideways and stares across a crack in the ground as far as her glow extends. Her immortal body already begins repairing itself, but her mind - her soul - has no such benefits.
Be strong for her.
Despite her exhaustion, the goddess struggles to her feet and stumbles to Table 8.
Oh, Zöe. From almost the very beginning of - of everything … the goddess shudders.
And now forever lost to her. Almost 3 millennia of dutiful companionship, to almost having a trusted equal … oh, Zöe …
Artemis fails to swallow an all too violent sob, a half cry of pain she didn't know she had in her, an expression she never thought herself capable of producing.
The father of all monsters roars, but for all intents and purposes she's not even aware of the sound. Too much of her is preoccupied, sensing each of the deaths of her followers defending Olympus.
To her everlasting shame and dismay, most of the new recruits perish, along with a none too few amount of the old guard.
She winces as impossible apparitions of her Hunt appear around the table, feasting joyously.
To the 50th consecutive victory against Camp Half Blood!
Around them, the campers glare at the Hunters' celebratory toast.
Pushing herself back, she steadies herself on the benches as she moves away. She can't stay here, at this table. She hadn't expected coming to Camp Half Blood to be such a mistake.
The world is going to end, we have to go find them! We need to help!
They're hunted by ORION! Is your powers fry your brain too?
Bonus! Then we get to kill him too! Let's GO!
She wants to call out to them - but she's not actually physically present - it's not going to end well - there's no way it will end well -
She barely makes it back to the head table, collapsing into a seat.
If she could deal with it on Mount Olympus, she can deal with here.
Just need to avoid the danger zones as best as she can. It should be easier to do so here - there should be fewer.
Screams. So many screams. The sensation of her heart being rent in two, over and over and over and over again as massive arrows do the same to all of her dear sisters within sight.
Oh, Hades below, it still hurt so bloody much.
Artemis's head droops down, and she cradles it roughly with her arms. The rain if anything is even stronger than before, and there's no roof to shelter her in the pavilion. But she can't muster up the energy to protect herself from the storm's deluge.
At least, this way, she can hide her weeping from the world.
This way, she can believe she's still steady enough to go on. That her treacherous memory, filled with poignant aromas and sentimental happiness, is not poisoned. That she is still capable of facing them, that she can still continue. That she's still sane.
She can't sleep. Won't sleep. If she does, she'll actually dream, despite her divine status. Dream about everything, everything that happened, and no nO NO NO NO-
No time for this.
There is a dim light, approaching steadily. It flashes slowly as it passes between the columns that frame the pavilion, alternatively creating silhouettes and shining through to shed light upon the tables.
The goddess sits up straight, despite her muscles' protesting groans - she can't be seen like this. Settling herself, Artemis focuses her eyes through the rain and darkness. The torchlight bobs, and the boy's glasses reflect an intense gold.
"Lady Artemis," Jason Grace greets neutrally, bowing his head respectfully. At least, that what Artemis assumes he says, as she is lipreading in substandard conditions.
The first thing she notices is that despite the rain, the pontifex maximus's clothing is mostly dry. The usual purple Roman t-shirt (despite his defection), with a white trim - probably for status. Jeans, free of water until the cuffs. A careful perusing look reveals the cocoon of air that shields him from the storm. Now it's evident why the torch still burns, even though his shoes are soaked.
Artemis blinks in surprise as an explosive gust smatters droplets on her front. She wipes her face clear, then realizes she no longer feels droplets running down her face. The rain, she looks up to note, has ceased to land in the mess hall. Moreover, the dull all-encompassing roar she'd been desensitized to has been diluted to a mere backdrop. An extension of the The Son of Jupiter's power over the wind, to use it to block the rain - although it seems odd that Jason has no control over the rain itself.
The boy calmly sloshes his way to the tub-sized bronze barrier before the head table, disturbing the wind-stilled water. With a deft stroke, he leans down and clears the basin with a burst of wind, before reigniting it with his torch. The action magically spreads, and in a series of muffled poofs, the other torches along the columns surrounding the mess hall also light in pleasantly warm hues.
"Sorry about the water." Jason moves around the brazier and slides into the seat opposite of her. Artemis shifts a bit, surprised to hear his quiet voice so clearly after so long in the deafening storm. "But there wasn't a better way to make this" - the demigod gestures around them - "happen. But I imagine you would prefer this."
"Yes, thank you." Her words are stronger than she imagined they would be. "To what do I owe this pleasure, half-brother?"
The demigod winces ever so slightly. A bolt of lightning strikes the earth not too far away, and the surrounding flames flicker as the following thunder resounds. "My apologies. Recognizing our relation as half-siblings is simply … odd. But never mind that - I wish to discuss sacrifices to you, Lady Artemis."
The goddess mulls over her words. "I was not … aware of any need for this."
"I've already made all the arrangements with all the other Olympians and othees, and I'm still getting to all the mail and correspondence from even more gods. Hermes even set up a magical mailbox at the Big House just for me. It's so backlogged, even when I take stuff out it refills instantly." Jason's eyes surreptitiously flicker up and down, reading something from her stiff body language. His eyes tighten as he gets to the point. "But even with all that mail, I have yet to receive any form of message from you. And I also couldn't find you at Olympus last solstice, so …"
He trails off, so Artemis rubs the bridge of her nose, almost yawning before she catches herself. She's unsure whether she welcomes the distraction or not, and as moody as she is she definitely can't smite him on the spot. For one thing, Father would definitely be furious with her, along with all the other gods coming to the forefront because of the High Priest's efforts. And again, he was only trying to do his job. It wouldn't be fair for her to attack him when it was only his first approach. Maybe if he came back to annoy her again …? "How did you know I was here?"
"I sensed a god's presence approaching camp. I didn't know it was yours, but my senses woke me up. When I got to the Big House, I found Thalia, and I think you know the rest from there." Jason looks at her evenly. "So, even though I think I know your answer, from your lack of trying to communicate, I believe it best to get your confirmation. Is there any shrine, any sacrifices you want?"
No. She's had enough shrines over the years, and they all turned into places where everyone begged and pleaded to her for things she couldn't or wouldn't fulfill. Artemis can't conceive of why any other immortal would still want such pettiances. Worship is worthless - those who don't believe in the Greek Pantheon will never be converted, and those who do worship already believe in the existence of gods. Worship now served no purpose beyond inflating ego, which was absolutely pitiful in the context of how little worship would be received.
Artemis supposes she can understand minor gods wanting to get a proper taste of worship for their efforts, yet their desires are still pathetic. To be fair, not as pathetic as the other Olympians, who surely should realize the patheticness of their aspirations for grand shrines and sacrifices once more. Though that sentiment is likely giving her 'peers' too much credit.
And … sacrifices? … There have been too many sacrifices in her name already.
Sacrifices made by those too dear. "No."
"That's done with, then," Jason affirms, and Artemis nods. "By your leave?"
The Huntress almost dismisses him on the spot, but a moment of curiosity gets the best of her. Despite fatigue wearing her down to her bones, she asks the question that presented itself from the moment she arrived. "Why is the camp barrier malfunctioning?"
The boy, half ready to leave, grimaces. It seems he expected her to dismiss him, as it is very late in the night. Nonetheless, He settles back into place, sending ripples across the surface of the pavilion's 'pool' once again. "How much do you know about Percy and Annabeth?"
Oh.
Well, skata.
The truthful answer, as of more recent times, is that she knows far more than she should.
So naturally, she lies through her teeth. "Little beyond the obvious. What of them?"
Even through the lens of the boy's glasses, Jason's eyes visibly convey how troubled he is. The tone of his voice is equally exhausted and frustrated. "They've been together for almost two years now, though technically only one with what Hera did to Percy. They had a massive fight, from what Piper told me, but she didn't tell me why. Just that they fought. I do know they've been having some issues recently, butI don't think there was ever anything this major. Hades, I don't even know why Percy and Annabeth were even here to begin with, since as far as I know they're both supposed to be at school. Maybe some camp recruitment?" The Son of Jupiter shrugs helplessly.
Despite her fatigue, Artemis connects the dots, and she's dumbfounded by her conclusion. "The Son of Poseidon is responsible for the blizzard that has been blanketing about half the country for the past few days? Because of a fight with his partner?"
Artemis fails to comprehend how the demigod achieved creating a disaster of such magnitude and scale, let alone his ability to maintain it for multiple days.
Jason cringes. "Well, when you say it like that… but essentially, yes. The camp's weather barrier holds back as much as it can, but it's not enough. It's been raining here since the very beginning, and the only people happy about things are the naiads."
"When exactly was this fight?!" Artemis can't recall the last time a demigod pulled off something of this scale. Not even the London Fire or the San Francisco Earthquake are close, compared to the sustained effort this blizzard would require.
"Two days ago. He stormed off to the coast." The Son of Jupiter shifts uncomfortably, clearly wishing to depart more than before. "No one was able to find him the first day, and then no one was willing to try anymore after the weather took a turn for the worse. Even I can't find him."
The goddess's gaze hardens, her silver irises steel. However inadvertently, she's back at one of the few exact locations she's been trying to avoid, places filled to the brim with memories she's doesn't want to remember. The Hunt's normal hunting routes. Olympus. Even Camp Half Blood, despite however little she spent her time at the demigod haven.
But the gods be damned to Tartarus, she's wanted an excuse to see Percy since that night.
Well, then, but also since he'd spontaneously Iris-Messaged 'Luna' two weeks after that night to see how she was doing. Artemis remembers it only vaguely, despite how recent the call was - it had been relatively short, but sweet and engaging. Enjoyable beyond comprehension, really, as the most defining detail she can recall is that she'd been very distracted. She'd needed to revert appearance to what it had been during the solstice, and then spent the majority of the five minute call worrying if Percy would notice anything wrong.
Regardless of the mishap, and how little she remembered of the actual call … Percy's attempt to keep in touch with her had astonished her. She hadn't expected to make that much of an impression in his life - mortal life, especially demigod life, after all, was extremely short. Why would there be any time for such a small moment in his life? He didn't have the time to consider and ruminate over every experience like she did. Mortals burned fast - bright, perhaps, but fast.
Yet he'd taken note of her, and went out of his way to contact her, remembering her name and spending a drachma. A touching move, from a male. Perhaps the act had been something natural to Perseus she'd never known, that he was overly friendly and social and did this consistently with everyone he met. Although she doubted that - nonetheless, even if that was the truth, the boy's - no, man's compassion had been absurdly poignant.
And now, again, perhaps as unintentionally, he'd piqued Artemis's attention, Percy has brought her to him and fulfilled her wishes, even if at a cost she hadn't been willing to pay.
Well, she pays the price right now. And that is all the reason for her at the very least get what she desires. The goddess has a certain male to hunt down.
After a moment's hesitation, she sharply extricates herself from the bench and stalks off towards the end of the mess hall, opposite from where she had arrived. She's rejuvenated enough energy from her rest to move at a steady pace again, even if a bit more sedate after her previous … sprint. She has enough strength for this. Hopefully.
Even if she burns out, it will be worth it.
From behind her, Jason calls. "Lady Artemis?"
"You're dismissed," she states, not even bothering to look back at the boy. She pauses for a moment, staring down the dark hillside that drops off to the coast. She magnifies her aura's light, until it's far brighter than she can ever recall it being before. Then, with a slight intake of breath, she confidently steps past the screen of wind that the Son of Jupiter had placed around the pavilion.
The storm drenches her in a second. Moreover, despite how blinding her radiance felt a step before, it's choked down faster than a speeding arrow. The rain is somehow worse than before - despite her efforts, her aura is about as bright as when she'd entered camp. Perhaps it's a sign that she's approaching the Son of the Sea's location? An optimistic, and, for the moment, unquantifiable hope. It is at best an approximate, though, if her only tactic is to push towards where the storm feels stronger.
But it's the only idea she has right now, besides the general knowledge she received of 'he's at the coast.' It's no doubt impossible to use any conventional form of tracking him down, as any relevant scents and tracks wears away quickly in such heavy rain (not that she knows his scent - not at all, totally telling the truth - didn't memorize any such detail two months ago - that would be ridiculous). And the possibility of tracking Percy through the perception of his immortal heritage/powers is also nullified by the rain - now that she's looking for it, Percy's distinct imprint floods her higher senses through the sheer presence within every single raindrop.
Behind her, the torchlight extinguishes.
Now or - now.
Artemis is far more careful on the trip down. It's a challenge to not rush, as there's a good inch or so of runoff that constantly pulls at her feet to drag her faster. But before she knows it, she's at the coast. The culmination of the high tide (not the highest, that was tomorrow with the new moon) and the storm has left little of the beach shore to stand on, and each step sinks deep into the wet sands.
The rain is feels marginally more intense, but for all Artemis knows, she may only be imagining the slight difference in strength. Thus, little to do but choose a direction to explore. She turns west, circling a half worn dune. Another bolt of lightning flashes, and she pauses as the thunder rolls by.
Sighing away the shivers in her spine, the goddess begins to move forward once more. Then, six different alarms blare in her head. Instinctively, she turns around and immediately spots a raven haired, disheveled lump of a human being snoring away right behind her.
Or at least, she assumes he's snoring. She can't hear anything over the dense plitter-platters of rain on ocean and sand.
How … just how … did the campers not find him? If she was feeling fair, she'd recognize that Percy probably hadn't been literally right there just down from the Mess Hall at the very beginning, and that they might've given up on searching for him after the first day, but …
No. Father above, demigods were brain dead idiots.
Artemis stands there above Percy. The moment stretches on as she regards him. However torturous the bullets of water are upon her sore body …
What in Hades does she do now?
…
The demigod is still laying there, murmuring in his sleep. Not only that, but the damned Son of the Sea is effortlessly dry. Truly effortlessly - she has no doubt he's fully out of it, and still demigod remains free from any of the side-effects or consequences of the mayhem he's caused.
…
Holy - BLOODY - FUCK, screw it!
The goddess kicks, left leg swiftly snapping forth like a whip. Her boot connects to his calf hard enough to outright snap the average mortal's bones like a twig.
When in doubt, violence is an answer. Oh, it's not the right one (at least, most of time), but it certainly is one. And always oh so satisfactory.
Vaguely, she senses the incoming wave behind her brew larger than any previous wave so far. Nimbly, she leaps inland to the rockier shore, only just slipping out of range from the crashing sea. Her landing sticks badly, and she winces, falling on her right knee.
The last time Artemis felt this exhausted, physically and mentally, was after the fight against Typhon. But, movement in her peripherals - no time for thoughts as she tenses in anticipation -
"-ing schist, what in the-" splutters Percy, spitting out sand as he rises from the draining tide. "Gods that hurt."
The Huntress relaxes slightly, breathing slowing down as her heart settles. She'll wait for the Son of the Sea to finish whining. So infantile, still rubbing his leg even after the wave had probably healed him.
Two or three minutes later, Artemis wonders if she's overestimated Perseus. He'd taken a moment to assess his leg, but then just relaxed. No visible concern as to what had caused the injury to his limb, or desire to (at minimum) scope out his surroundings. All things considered, it would only take rotating his head a few or so odd degrees around to see her.
She coughs to get his attention, forgetting the surrounding environment drowns out her voice.
Yet Percy hears her.
"Oh - uh, uhm, who are you?" He turns, stammering, rubbing his head in embarrassment. It's easier to see through the sheets of rain, and she can hear his voice clearly at a conversational volume. It seems the Son of Poseidon is, now that he's conscious, dampening the storm around them - like there's a bubble, surrounding them and draining away the force behind the raindrops.
After so long in the intense, roaring weather, she's failed to realize that the water that lands on her now is almost a pleasant sprinkle, and the 'ambient' noise is now truly ambient.
Regardless of how enjoyable the change in pace is, Artemis resists the urge to roll her eyes. Is it his obliviousness, or the results of changing her form around? "Pray tell, Son of the Sea, why do you not know who I am?"
"Well I definitely don't recognize you, even if I haven't really been around camp recently. And if you got into camp, you're not a threat. You are glowing silver …" The penny drops. "Oh. Lady Artemis."
The short bow that Percy performs catches the Moon goddess off guard. It's minimal - at best a quarter of a full bow. Absolutely insulting in terms of proper conduct, yet even the attempt of formality throws her off kilter. She finds the gesture to be far too … awkward?
Somehow, it's a transgression from the behavior she's come to expect from him, however admittedly few times Artemis has interacted with Percy. Stranger even that she would expect other mortals (and even lower-class immortals) to acknowledge her with a reasonable degree of respect.
For the life of her, she can't decipher why the action distresses her so very much. "No need for that, Perseus."
The demigod frowns. The movement of the facial muscles places the wear and tear of his condition into sharp relief under her light. "Uhm … no need for what? Lady Artemis?"
The last usage of her title and name is tagged on hurriedly, as if to keep from offending her by his manner. Ironic, considering his form of address irritates her beyond comprehension.
Instead, as evenly as she can state: "Bowing. The formalities."
Because you didn't do it at the solstice, she wants to add. Because you didn't do it when you Iris-Messaged me.
That had been a trial, ducking away from her Hunters and changing to alter her age and features to what it had been when she'd been Luna. Though … as troublesome as that had been, she now often finds herself wishing for another call. So much so that her body retains Luna's age of 16 over her previous 'average hunter age' of 12 to make any necessary appearance change more convenient.
And she has yet to receive another call.
Oh, why does she feel like this?
Because it somehow feels more natural - more right - without.
"Sorry, what? Why?" Percy's brow furrows, eyes squinting at her in abject disbelief.
She waves her hand to the side dismissively, despite her inner turmoil. "Humor me, Perseus."
The reserved look Percy gives her is alien and strange. His cautious attitude, so unfamiliar, prickles away uncomfortably at her very soul. "As you wish."
And with that token, confused acceptance, the short-lived exchange falls flat. She is left with naught, just to stare at him - and it's not a pretty sight. His clothes are severely disheveled, jacket only half on with dry sand paradoxically clinging to his shirt and jeans. His reddened eyes and discolored eye bags along with his slumped posture are too telling of his exhaustion. Even his normally more lively hair falls flat, as if the rain actually affects it.
"What?" Percy snaps abruptly, no doubt because of her intense inspection. Artemis's eyes dart away from his unkempt visage, especially his accusing gaze. But glancing back, his eyes immediately soften into something much more close and familiar but still somehow disheartening, especially along with the grimace that follows.
"My apologies, milady. I'm just a bit … tired," he supplies, nodding minutely to himself. "Tired, that's it." He stifles a yawn. "On edge."
The goddess relaxes, fully focusing on him once more. Indeed, he looks as bad as she currently feels, ready to collapse into the sand. For all intents and purposes, she understands that he and Annabeth are close. Nonetheless, she had not anticipated him being in such a terrible condition. Did such an argument really destabilize him so much?
Then again, that is a stupid question. A really, really, stupid question, as her light and the surrounding storm so reveals. Well - "Have you considered the source of your exhaustion to be the storm you dredged up from the depths?"
"Huh?" He looks at her blankly, and it's all she can do not to either turn him into a forest critter or gut him with an arrow. Or both. Her fuse has long since burned to a nub, and it's some unknown wistfulness that's keeping her tolerant. Just. Barely. Something about it being Percy, that his obliviousness is tolerable, despite everything. For now.
Artemis tightens her jaw subconsciously, before arching an eyebrow and shaking her head in exasperation. "Do you … do you even know what you're doing as of this moment? Do you still fail to realize the extent of your powers?"
The Son of the Sea takes that moment to gaze at the natural disaster around him. The goddess takes that opportunity to move in slightly closer to better gauge his life force.
Holy …
The idiot had set off a storm that was still draining away at the essence of his very soul, yet he still had a decent chunk of his power left to spare. Scratch him knowing his own limits, does she even know how truly strong he is? The last demigod of equivalent power was probably Hercules. Regardless of how much of a bastard that minor god was, you couldn't deny his ridiculous strength.
Yet Percy … just, what? Artemis simply fails to comprehend. When Percy had taken the burden of the sky, his life force had been far less. And even then she'd originally thought he'd been well-rested at Mount Othrys, due to his strength and vigor matching that of a far above average demigod at the time. At least, before she noticed how exhausted he was. Moreover, while his current power is about five times that several years ago, he is arguably far more burnt out now. Just how many times did his power multiply in so many years?
"This was done by me?" At Artemis's nod, Percy shakes his head in disbelief. "Wha- I didn't even notice - realize - I didn't even mean to!"
"Yet sometimes emotions get the best of us," she mutters softly. "What happened, Perseus?"
His sudden wary gaze, however slight that that particular emotion comes across, jars her.
She's taken her previous anonymity for granted, she realizes. It had been merely a taste, essentially one meeting, for the span of an hour (and another five minutes), but … the ease that she'd been able to communicate with Perseus, posing as a complete stranger - without the baggage of being the Goddess of the Moon and Hunt - had been incredible.
It was a subtly revolutionary special dimension to the bond she now shares only with Percy - that Luna shares with Percy - freedom. Freedom, as in no baggage from the very reputation of being Artemis. Baggage, from a role she needs to play that she never consciously realized restricts her until now.
… and …
That tiny little epiphany is heartrending.
She can't even remember the last time when she she wasn't simply going through the motions, or a conversation she shared with anyone that wasn't full of pretense or duty. Everything, locked by precedent or falsehoods or high society political empty niceties. Even within her tight-knit group of Hunters, she's constantly withholds information. In present day, she's done that even more than ever before. What had originally been a close sisterhood has deteriorated into a half-distant relationship between mistress and servants.
Even Zöe had become relatively distant over the centuries, however close she'd initially been after her tragic beginnings. And Artemis isn't sure if it's the result of the actions of those close to her, or her fault to begin with. She can't tell which is worse.
And, and after millennia of routine distancing … the only breath of fresh air Artemis manages, no, managed to steal - her single opportunity to be real and genuine, interested and engaged and feeling the full range of emotions that she hadn't even been aware she'd ever lost - is because of a farce.
The evidence is laid out, all too bare and irrefutable before her. She sees it in Percy's distant gaze, his slight frown, his folded arms, and his rigid stance. So, so different than the open and bright and trusting personality she met during the solstice and conversed with over Iris Messaging.
She sees it in her own ragged breath, her worn heart, and her torn soul.
What fact was worse? Was it achieving some form of happiness previously unachievable by pretending to be Luna? Or was it her current torture from being Artemis, who she was?
And if - if she feels true, real, as Luna - what does that say for her normal, her usual life?
Artemis forces down her troubles to focus on what is more immediately important - Perseus. She swallows, mouth dry from apprehension.
"If nothing else," she begins, "You mu-"
"A-" Percy interrupts, finally answering. "A… disagreement." Percy's response is tight and unyielding. Behind him, the ocean churns in concert with the demigod's visible turmoil.
Artemis, in search of stability, sits down on the last of the grass before the sands of the beach. The demigod follows her example, sitting back into the dune from which she roused him from.
Deep breath.
Artemis sighs, loosening the tension (or at least, her own). "The storm must cease, Son of the Sea." Her voice barely carries over the diminished sound of rain.
"I don't even know I started it!" he retorts in a snap. "How do you expect me to stop it?"
Despite her exhaustion, she all too easily senses the emotions he conveys instinctively. It's in the inflections and nuances of his voice, and the unconscious physical language of his body. Hurt. Apathy. Contempt. The essence of the desire to strike against everyone and everything else for the wrongs done to him. On the verge of being unhinged, broken.
"Either way, you must stop the storm." She continues undeterred, regardless of Percy's mood. She needs to stop this. Unlike the cabins, there's definitely someone to witness her lose control again. And this particular person she can't polymorph or kill, she doesn't … doesn't want to polymorph or kill. What options are left? "It is not fair for half of the country to suffer because of your disagreement."
"But! But!" Percy gestures wildly. Artemis almost smiles at how cute and amusing the frustrated movement is, despite the undercurrent of anxiety. "What in Hades has fairness done for me?"
Artemis cocks her head, momentarily considering the demigod.
"Why in Hades should I f $&ing care?"
The goddess wonders whether the fact that he is so outrightly disrespectful means something. Trust in her, or that he is that wounded?
She's crazy, she shouldn't be thinking about that. Focus on the problem.
She can leave, let him fend for himself and possibly crumble into a stereotypical twisted and selfish boy that she expects of males. It doesn't that an oracle to know that will likely be the path he will take. Or, she can intervene, help him in his moment of weakness. Pull him back up, support him and allow him to be the respectable man he has been. That he can be.
That he will be.
But how?
The answer comes to her, and she abruptly rises to a crouch. Her silver aura dims, before flaring even brighter yet.
She holds out her left arm, twists and replants her body. The goddess lines up her right hand with at a position approximately next to the inside of her left elbow, plucking something imaginary from thin air.
"Wha-?" Percy starts, before falling silent and pulling out his pen. Smart man.
Standing, she draws her arm back, and a bow, with its string taut and nocked with an arrow, shimmers into existence in her grasp. The Son of the Sea draws his sword in response - oh, Riptide, oh Z-Zö- … no time for that.
Because sometimes, violence is the answer.
Maybe it's only a temporary solution. Maybe it's unhealthy to physically let it out and risk injury.
But here and now, it'll distract him from his demons.
…
It'll distract her from her demons.
…
Artemis inhales.
Tightens.
Steps back, soundless against the storm.
Exhales.
Releases.
Sweeping his sword, Percy deflects an arrow while perfectly placing himself between her next two immediate shots. Not her best work, but those were mainly to distract and feel out while she learns how much she needs to compensate for the force of the wind and rain on her shots.
The following three shots are on exactly on target this time, forcing Percy to dodge, delaying his approach as he draws ever closer. But then, strangely he flares his wrist, and his watch gleams.
Before the next volley lands, a beautifully crafted shield she had no idea he possessed spirals out to protect him. All her arrows glance off, even though she placed enough sheer power behind her bolts to puncture through conventional celestial bronze.
Behind Percy, another wave crashes, and she's forced to retreat as half-random blobs launch themselves at her in the dozens. A blink of the eye later, and a horde of arrows slices forth. The burst of luminescence simultaneously cuts apart Percy's projectiles and disorients the demigod.
Her opening to attack. Artemis leaps away from the blind slice of his sword, then plants her foot within his guard. Using him as a platform, she jumps upward to rain silver down at him while launching him back to the ocean. By the time she lands, she at best cuts into his leg - he's so fast in his element - but the wound is swiftly healed by the sheer volume of water surrounding them. But he's already charging back, so she launches an absolute wall of arrows that forces the demigod to fall under the waves, and soon enough she's left standing there with more arrows primed at the sea.
…
Is she smiling right now, doing this?
The question is rendered immaterial when the following wave moves further towards her than naturally possible. While she's swift enough to pedal backwards away from the crash, Percy flies forth from the water to slash at her.
The flash of gleaming bronze light from Riptide is beautiful - as if her lieutenant had returned from the stars above, just to wink at her.
The demigod looks furious - it seems more arrows than she thought had landed, as his shirt is in tatters. The shield is put away, and he holds the sword two handed. She can't escape - he's too close.
Artemis catches the heavy blow with her bow, bending with the force of it until she parries it, before rebounding and body slamming him back with all the strength she has left. Percy staggers from the unconventional strike, and the goddess uses the time to shift gear. She can't gain range advantage anymore - the bow in her hand breaks into two and melts into knives, and she braces herself for the close quarters confrontation.
Swipe. Suck in her gut, follow through, slide by.
Turn, parry, sidestep, jab.
Duck - trip him, slice down.
Jump away before he takes out her legs.
Flip a grip as he stands, throw -
He avoids, but slide in, sweeping kick, knock him down again;
Snatch her knife, roll into a crouch, bound away from his grab.
Turn around. Breath. Pause.
Mutual assessment.
Reengage.
The goddess loses herself in the duel. Her advantages, agility and godly resilience, are matched by Percy's water enhancement and longer reach. Despite her best efforts, she can never fully get into the right range to gut her opponent, while he can't match her superior, experienced footwork.
It's a dance; interplay and mirrors. One attack begets another, cause and effect in a perpetual cycle. Blades swirl past each other, and clash together before separating. The steps are rhythmic, electric, drawing the partner further along before forcing them back.
There. An opportunity, a hole in his attack. Feinting, she glides under the edge of Riptide and cuts a deep wound into his forearm. Unexpectedly, instead of holding onto his weapon, Percy simply lets the sword fly away and uses the opportunity to literally drop on top her. The reciprocation of her earlier unorthodox tactics - he's trying to even the exchange; his weight lands awkwardly on her leg, and he utilizes the moment to actually peel a knife from her grip before tumbling away.
But it's too late, his effort is futile. There's no time to form another knife, but it's no longer necessary to. Even though his landing on her leg seems to have damaged some muscles or twisted her ankle, she's eliminated his advantage. His longer range is gone, and it's as easy as bullseye from a twenty meters to exploit the demigod's inexperience with a knife.
A few more exchanges later, and he's almost on his knees. He holds the knife he stole half-heartedly up, as if it could possibly ward her away. One final bound, and Percy drops to dodge - she tries to adjust, but then her leg fails her, and he's trying to scramble away. Giving up on her footing, also falls, using the momentum to snatch her blade back with her left hand before tucking the point of the other beneath his chin.
Victory.
Artemis freezes.
Except … Riptide's bronze blade is mere millimeters from entering her chest.
Huh.
The remnants of a wave bubbles up to them, enveloping them in a half foot of water. She's on her left side, propped up on her left arm, her right arm under his left and with a knife at his throat. But while on his right side, his left arm is across his body, holding himself up so his own right hand is free at his waist. His hand, with a whitening grip holding onto the handle of the sword threatening to critically hurt her.
The blade returns to the owner. While clearly hurt and tired - the cut she'd made mere moments ago was only half healed - part of Percy's mistakes must have been faked. Looking for an opportunity to ditch Riptide, then bring it out again for a surprise. A bait, forcing the match into a semblance of a draw. Perseus would always die if she landed a lethal blow, while no such wounds would truly be fatal to her. Or at least, only temporarily.
Nonetheless …
She looks up from the leaf-shaped blade, and their eyes meet.
Perseus is laughing at me.
His sea-green eyes glint in the silver light, and the most cocky little smirk tells the entire story.
Around them, the drizzle is now all encompassing, no longer just their diluted bubble in the storm.
Hopefully that means the storm is gone. That he's been exhausted. She's too weary herself to care to check. Too weary to do anything more.
A rivulet of water makes its way down her cheek.
Artemis slowly pulls her knife away, then minutely exhales in relief as he mirrors her action. Her voice comes out raspy. "Better?"
She's moving to stand, and he's about to speak, but the leg Percy yanked gives, and Artemis topples forward. Surprised, Percy can do nothing but drop his pen and go with the flow of the sudden weight.
Oh.
Artemis blushes as she's put face to face on top of an equally reddened Percy. Her center of gravity is on the other side of his body, so she flushes even more as she rolls over him, before completely giving up on moving any further.
She's truly run out of fuel. After constant stress, this is her respite.
"Better," Percy pants in agreement. She's too drained to even turn her head to look at him, but his voice sounds … loose. Happy. "I needed that."
The awkwardness and strain from their previous conversation flees, leaving only a pleasant buzz of emptiness behind. She's not sure how long they lie there, silent and gazing up into the darkness.
"Thank you, mila- Artemis."
All that's left is catharsis.
"You … you are welcome."
Just him and her, in their own little world.
Lethargically, her hand drifts toward his hand.
Percy pulls himself up into a sitting position. Artemis pulls her hand back. Some undesired emotion swells up within her. Anger? Disappointment? Confusion?
"I should get back," he says quietly. The drizzle peters out completely. "Too many things to do."
Artemis closes her eyes and enunciates a single sound. "Hm?"
"See how Thalia's doing, I guess. Resolve certain … certain disagreements," the demigod elaborates. From the shifting pressure and weight, she's pretty sure he's stood up. However, it doesn't disappear, nor can she hear him splash back into the camp.
"Get everyone prepped to lose in Capture the Flag to the Hunters again, I guess?" he tries to joke.
The goddess opens her eyes to see his hand before her to help her up.
…
She accepts it silently.
…
Percy groans quietly as he pulls her up. When he lets go, they both lurch. Before she slips once again, the ever so gallant demigod steadies her by holding her arm. Artemis doesn't even have it in herself to blush anymore as she gazes almost passively at him. It's an alien sight and sensation, seeing a male now inserting himself carefully under her arm to better support her weight.
Yet … how it feels is a completely different story.
"Did I really do that much of a number on you?" He asks under his breath.
"Tch. I'll be fine." She tries to wave him off, but almost collapses again when he extricates himself. This time what prevents her fall is his arms around her waist.
Can she embarrass herself any further? She sighs, happy and miserable. As comfortable as his embrace is … "Just help me back over to the beach."
The short distance takes an age to travel, but eventually they arrive. She finds it in herself to stand stably on her own, and stares out over the much more tranquil sea.
Beside her, Percy pulls back, silent.
There's nothing to say.
…
After a minute, he turns to leave.
For some reason, she speaks. Voicing her own issues, Artemis supposes, however guarded.
"I don't think the Hunters will win this year," she whispers, nearly choking over the words. She's not even sure Perseus heard what she said.
Try as you might to avoid reality, you can never avoid the consequences of trying to avoid reality. And when it arrives … it returns with the might of the Master Bolt.
Artemis does the best she can to divest her face of liquid. Rain, that is. Though if there had been any tears mixed in, they were gone too.
Though he isn't. She hasn't heard him leave. She can't look at him.
One final touch on her arm. She's unsure if it surprises her anymore.
Turning oh so slowly, she takes in the demigod's tentative smile. It's hardly even there, she's hesitant to even call it a smile. But there's the same tinge of melancholy to his otherwise sympathetic eyes - the acknowledgement and understanding of the emotions that her previous words had contained. An effort to convey remorse and sorrow, to grieve with her and comfort her.
He steps in closer - his other arm rises, as if t-to approach, and, and - em-embrace her. Closer, closer, clo- … stopped.
He's far too close and far too far, even as his hand is still on her arm. He squeezes gently before drawing in a breath.
"May I …" Percy stops momentarily, searching for his words. He takes another deep breath. "Permission … permission to join your team, Artemis?"
Expressing everything and nothing at the same time. What a wonderful contradiction …
Her shy nod receives a more confident, a more true smile in return.
And then he's gone.
As she'd expected, she hears every step resounding in the darkness. The sounds of each and every splish and splash he makes as he departs - the sounds fade away.
Artemis faces the sea once more, towards where the moon lies beyond the horizon.
…
The new moon brings the high tide.