A/N
I don't know why I wrote this instead of updating. Sometimes you just have to put shit on a word doc and write as much as you can, even if the result is like this.
Tyche needs to help me ASAP
Thalia's fucking beat.
Her hair's mussed, scuffed beyond its usual messiness and her skin's caked in splotches of dark crimson, marked with scratches and scrapes that run deeper than your run-of-the-mill wound, oozing out fresh blood that drips down her arm. Dirt sticks to these sticky solutions, mixing impurities into her half-mortal blood, but she can't be bothered doing much at this stage.
Her muscles ache and her head's screaming louder than any other part of her body for some idiotic reason. It isn't like she'd actually used it during that fucking fight. She'd just kept swinging the lump of metal called a spear around and whacked Kronos around for a bit.
"Hot towel?"
She grumbles and weakly reaches for the steaming rag most people claim to be 'hot towels' but really are little more than tablecloths soaked in hot water when she has the most pleasant surprise - the towel isn't shit. It actually makes her comfortable enough to open her eyes, and her gaze lands on the boy who stood over her with a pair of metal tongs in one hand and a tray in another.
His eyes take notice of her open wounds, roaming across her bloodied skin, and his eyebrows briefly knit together before settling back into a relaxed position, as if his expression hadn't changed at all.
"I see you didn't take on Achilles' curse." He mentions, casually enough. "Too much of a risk?"
"I don't even want to know how you knew that, stalker." Thalia's done with her towel and he reaches down to take it from her outstretched arm, disposing of it with a flick of his wrist. It disappears into thin air, though such a sight isn't much of a spectacle to a demigod of her experience at this point. "But sure. I'm not willing to burn my skin off with that acid shit."
The boy nods. "Wise. A mortal anchor is not easy to find."
Her head snaps up suddenly, jaw clenched and eyes filled with blatant hostility.
"Pardon me. I didn't mean to offend." He bows his head and smiles gently, almost sadly, but his eyes are relievingly enough absent of pity. "I have seen many warriors perish, for ties must be nigh unbreakable to survive the Styx. Men have been swept away by the polluted waters of the river, their love unable to anchor them to the living realm. I am glad you did not share the same fate."
"What, you think I don't have anyone in my life?"
"Certainly not. But there will always be a possibility of dying. Lady Styx is fickle, as most immortals are." He sighs, almost tiredly. "As they always are."
Thalia grunts in agreement.
And just then the elevators to Olympus ting! and the bustling crowd packed into the small space come crashing out, loud and boisterous in their cheers, though half of them must be empty in substance. Their victory has been hollowed by the loss of their loved ones, but it is a victory nonetheless.
"I see your friends coming by. I do hope you all will be on Olympus again someday, under better circumstances." The boy smiles and begins to take his leave, tray suddenly stacked fully with steaming hot towels, predictably for the other warriors who have participated in battle.
"Hold on." Thalia begins, and her newfound partner stops in his tracks, turning to her without an ounce of annoyance nor curiosity, just a simple content look on his face. "What's your name?"
"My name is Perseus, Thalia." Perseus then bows and disappears into the crowd.
For a moment, Thalia sweeps her gaze across the crowd in an attempt to find the boy. That is, until she realises she doesn't actually remember what she's looking for - his features are a mystery to her, even though they'd talked for at least a solid minute or two.
Must've been her memory.
Then, just as she's about to convene with the Di Angelos and Annie, a thunderous sound strikes across the halls of Olympus, and immortals start to flock towards the throne room, so Thalia and her friends follow suit. The mass of demigods trudge toward the massive chamber, some still awestruck by the magnitude and the intricacies of the design even though it's likely not the first time they've been here.
Fourteen lights flash into the room - twelve summon themselves into great thrones of great size, and the last two spawn by the hearth, one a child and the other a full-grown man. Twelve Olympians and the eldest spawn of Kronos have appeared in front of their legacy, though their battered forms present them in less than ideal condition.
"You have done well, demigods," Zeus begins. "And as payment for your deeds, the Gods have decided to reward you for your efforts. Now, since we didn't have much time to work with, we'll be making this rather short today-"
And then they keep droning on and Thalia can't bring herself to pay attention. It's a constant stream of inviting cabin leaders out, and a couple of kids who did a ton of work, and everything that makes Thalia's mood more solemn by the second. They suffered losses - heavy ones, with no real firepower, and it was all but hopeless when Prometheus had come with that dumb jar of his.
Thank fuck she hadn't opened it.
"...Thalia Grace!"
She's snapped out of her daydream by the thunderous call of her name and she stumbles through the crowd in front of her to appear the Gods that tower over her, even as they are seated within their respective thrones. Their power radiates from their bodies, almost overwhelmingly, and it seems as if they're scrutinising her with every look and glance, sending chills up her spine.
"She has done well, her deeds on par with the greatest Heroes of the past and, to some extent, our own. It is not just anyone who could have slain the Titan Lord, and her reward should be just as fitting. Are there any who might challenge this notion?"
None speak, though curiosity is plain in their eyes, surveying the girl before them, an unknown quantity. Some eyes narrow but their mouths do not open; others simply watch on, with little emotion visible in their features. Ah, Gods. Sometimes so out of touch with even the most basic of human nature.
"As such, we Gods offer-"
"My Lord, if I may?"
Zeus is interrupted - interrupted! - by some unknown source, and half the room cringes and braces in anticipation for light to fill up the room and smoke to sizzle with the char of burning flesh. But they are only met with a raised eyebrow from the King of the Gods, who looks curiously in a direction, almost aimlessly, until their eyes catch onto the entity he is gazing upon.
Perseus, Thalia thinks.
"Yes, Perseus?"
"I'd like to have a discussion among ourselves regarding the matter. Not that she is unworthy of what you are about to suggest - but there are some… details I'd like to address."
Most of the room - namely, the demigods - are understandably dumbfounded at the survival of this bold figure, who stands with Zeus almost as an equal, speaking with respect but not necessarily with idol-worship nor reverence.
The King deliberates for only a moment before nodding. "Very well. We will hear what you have to say. Meeting adjourned for a… brief recess."
His form glows and the mortals avert their eyes as one by one the Gods follow suit, until there are only few left who opt to simply leave the room normally, talking amongst one another in hushed tones - presumably about the sudden interruption by this mysterious figure.
Perseus is left with three immortals; Hades, Hestia and curiously, Artemis, all clustered around the Hearth, seemingly chatting amiably amongst one another, though he seems to scold the youngest Goddess, leaving her abashed - Artemis, embarrassed! Truly, he is an enigma.
Then a scream is heard, and all heads turn to the wood-fire, which roars and sparks and engulfs the Gods aflame, taking them to somewhere unknown and leaving no trace nor evidence of them ever having been there at all.
Annabeth rocks up to Thalia's side, with Grover and Rachel and Nico and Bianca.
"What the hell was that?" Nico asks, trembling, though Thalia has a feeling it's more out of excitement than anything else. Seeing a swirling flame engulf shit has its charms.
"Some form of transport. I've never seen it before."
If this was anything like the sirens again, Thalia would probably have to blindfold, deafen, and scald her friend's tongue to get Annabeth to get her curiosity under control.
"Nothing we can do about it now. Let's hope they don't throw some bullshit at me when they come back."
(Bullshit was thrown.)