Camp Jupiter, Third Cohorts

Prompt: "What is this supposed to be?" "Breakfast in bed!" "Is that a pancake or concrete?"

Word count: 604

No Pairings, don't own

Almost titled: Why Paul Blofis is never allowed to supervise the making of pancakes ever again

Enjoy, friends.

Of Pancakes and Concrete

.

It was no secret to anyone who had ever met little 6-year-old Estelle Blofis that she loved her older brother Percy to bits.

He, in her words, was the "bestest and nicest and coolest brother in the world!"

(Of course, Estelle's mother found this to be all too hilarious, and snapped photos of her two children together left and right. Blackmail for when they're older, she would say.)

It was an early Sunday morning, when little Estelle decided that, yes, to thank her brother for taking her to the park the day before, she was going to make him breakfast in bed. Or more specifically, her brother's favorite blue pancakes.

Waking her daddy up, she excitedly told him her plans.

Her father, Paul Blofis, had no objection to said plans, because hey. They're just pancakes. It's almost impossible to mess up pancakes.

(...right?)

Yeah, see, this was where he was proven wrong. Half an hour later, after painstakingly following the recipe card to the dot, the pancakes were finished.

Estelle was positively beaming. She felt so proud that she (with her daddy's help) managed to make enough pancakes for the family! She was sure Percy was going to love them.

Paul on the other hand… Paul was bemoaning at the state of his kitchen. Flour everywhere, the counter stained blue… raw eggs had somehow, someway, settled themselves in his hair.

Around this point was when Sally walked in. Hair down and not quite awake, she was in a middle of a yawn when her eyes fell on her daughter. She took one look at them, still in their pajamas and covered in flour, then promptly swallowed her yawn and ran off to get her camera, barely hidden laughter ringing through the room.

Estelle, bless her 6-year-old mind, took this as a cue to grab a plate of pancakes, forks and knives, and march her way into her big brother's room.

Paul could only follow.

Bumping open the door with an arm as the other delicately balanced her previously made pancakes, Estelle's eyes only brightened further.

Her brother, Percy Jackson, was sitting cross legged on the blankets, looking expectantly at her.

(Later, Paul would ask him, "How did you know she was coming?"

Percy, in turn, would raise an eyebrow, and say, "you two were making so much noise it was impossible not to.")

"Percy!" Estelle exclaimed, holding out the plate of pancakes towards her brother. "Look!"

Percy smiled, reaching for the plate of blue pancakes. "Oh?" he asked. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Breakfast in bed!" was the instant reply.

"Breakfast in bed, huh?" came a different voice.

"Mommy!" Estelle exclaimed.

"And you made pancakes?" Sally asked, stepping towards them, camera now in hand. "All by yourself?"

"Daddy helped!"

Eyes lighting up, Percy grabbed the fork and wasted no time shoving a piece of pancake in his mouth.

Sally smiled, readying her camera.

Almost immediately, Percy's expression changed. Nose wrinkling and eyes watering, he swallowed with obvious difficulty.

Sally's camera went off.

Paul, who was standing by the door, stilled. Did we mess up pancakes? he thought. How does one even mess up pancakes?

"Estelle," Percy said, eyes finding their way to his step-father. "Was that pancake, or concrete?"

Sally bit her tongue, trying very hard not to laugh.

Paul's face blanked, and put his hands up in surrender. This wasn't my fault, he seemed to say. This really, really wasn't my fault.

But out of everyone, it was sweet little Estelle who broke the tense silence. "What's concrete?"

And Sally's camera went off again, capturing her husband and son's perfectly stunned faces.

-Fin-

AN: Welp. If anyone knows anything about me is that I do love my minor characters. Feedback, anyone?

- Mei