— VI. PERCY & DIONYSUS: DISPLACEMENT —

Sometimes, Percy really hated the gods.

Not for all the abandonment stuff — that was a given, at this point — but for the dumbass things that happened to him because of one quest or another. So yeah, there was Percy, on a quest to retrieve one of Dionysus' (many) thyrsus-es. Thyrsi? Thyrsus?

One of the pinecone sticks.

But no, it's not just an easy "One of my maenads stole one of my sacred thyrsuses, go get it back from her," because nothing is easy when Mr. D is involved. No, instead of just finding the thing and taking it back, Percy ended up traipsing through some abandoned temple that a really old dryad said would take his future or something to find a stupid fucking stick he could have just made with a random tree branch, pinecone, and superglue.

But no… apparently super glue thyrsi "aren't sacred enough" and "Peter if you bring me back a stick I'll smite you."

As if.

The god hadn't followed through on any of the other threats he'd made, so it wasn't like Percy was actually worried he'd get smitten. Smote. Whatever the correct tense was. Words were hard.

But what was harder? Finding Dionysus' stupid fucking pinecone stick.

He'd been wandering around the dark temple for the past who-knows-how-many hours, occupied (thankfully) by only squirrels, bugs, and a weirdly large amount of lizards. No maenads. No satyrs. No monsters… and that meant nothing to fight.

Look, Percy was not known for his dedication to searching every nook and cranny of a long-abandoned temple. Percy was known for his battle prowess, and water powers, and probably other things. Not patience. Not thing-finding.

Gods, Percy really hated the gods.

Or maybe just Dionysus.

"Fuck Dionysus," said the brilliant son of Poseidon in one of Dionysus' own temples. The following muttered rant was interrupted by an incensed howl, ominous crash, and something very heavy slamming into the back of his head.

— ◯ —

Percy woke deliriously to echoing voices singing somewhere not-quite nearby and a foot unrepentantly jabbing into his side. He swatted at it in irritation, and from above him came a merry laugh… not one he recognized.

Within a second, Percy pulled Riptide from his pocket, uncapping it and turning quickly to his back, swinging his blade at the person standing above him, only to be met with the same foot stepping onto his wrist, pinning it, and a pinecone being shoved into his face.

Percy blinked blindly at the sudden light, and reached with his other hand to bat the pinecone away, only to be met with yet another foot on his wrist. "Pinecones?" Percy wheezed, confused.

"Hello, trespasser!" the guy who'd laughed said in very old Greek. "What are you doing in our home?"

"Your home?" Percy asked in the same language, "I'm not in anyone's home. Dionysus sent me to this temple-thing to find a thyrsus he lost."

"Now, I think I would remember sending you out somewhere," the man said, though he and the other person who'd stepped on him moved their feet. The man only moved to step Riptide's crossguard, forcing Percy to drop the weapon before offering him a hand to his feet.

Percy took it. Annabeth would have called him Seaweed Brain… but the guy only helped him to his feet and let go, one of the other people stooping to pick up Percy's sword.

"Hey," Percy complained, half-heartedly reaching for his sword. "That's mine." His lack of idea of what was happening and the very large amount of potentially-armed people in the room made Percy reluctant to pick a fight, especially an unnecessary one.

"It might be yours," the guy said, "but you tried to attack me in my own home, and I don't tend to appreciate that. You'll get it back if you leave."

"If?" Percy repeated.

"People like it here. Strange people, especially," the man turned to look pointedly at Percy's clothing, and — somehow for the first time — Percy noticed the lack of clothing the guy had. As in, he had a leopard skin pelt wrapped around his waist. The women around them were wearing dresses straight out of one of Chiron's Greek history lectures, at least for the most part… and Percy was in jeans and a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt.

"I'm not—"

"Anyways, if you're found to be a threat, my friends aren't particularly fond of threats, and if you're a friend, then…" he spun around, arms spread wide and one hand holding a gods-damned thyrsus, "join the dance!"

"Wait did you — earlier, did you say?" Percy stammered, "You're Dionysus?"

"The one and only! Creator of wine, purveyor of fine arts, and someone very interested in showing you a good time," the man laughed joyously, draping his arm over Percy's shoulder with a truly lascivious grin.

"Did you just proposition me?" Percy sounded horrified as he blurted the question in English, staring wide-eyed at the possibly-probably-Mr. D. "Did you just proposition me?" he repeated in Greek, "Why did—"

"You look like you've never had a good time, hun," the man murmured, "and I like giving good times."

"No!" Percy practically whimpered, shoving Dionysus' arm off his shoulder, "no good times. None. Whatsoever. Never."

The son of Zeus shrugged and moved away. "You know who to ask," he said, sounding entirely unaffected. He moved out of the hallway Percy had apparently gotten stuck in, wrapping his arm around a willing maenad and kissing another on the cheek. "Come, let me show you my home, as you didn't make it very far by trespassing" the apparently-not-a-god Dionysus said.

"What?" Percy whispered to himself, "why is — what? Mr. D?"

Where the fuck was he now?

— VII. UNDECIDED —