01: Try Vicious, too Nauseous


When Annabeth was awake, she felt like drea-...

—Oh, wait, no. Her stomach suddenly churn and she scurried her mouth to the floorboard, vomiting. Vomited a hella lot for a bonny girl that was forced on a strict diet courtesy of her beloved aunt - oh, and there's also that unscheduled hobo eating program. How can see forget?

She gagged, eyebrows knitted together as she wiped her mouth with the heel of her palm to erase any traces. Annabeth's eyes was reeling with pain as she rub her sour and now empty stomach, keeping her attention to the liquid mess she committed on the use to be sizzling porcelain floor. She was ashamed by this, and tired, and her throat was burning, and there's definitely something wrong with her spine.

In the back of her head, the thought of her whereabout made small part of her consciousness fidget nervously as paranoia started to kick in. Quite understandable too, seeing her daily record for abduction nowadays. But alas, the majority of her mind was sluggish, still very much a puddle of mud in the depth of a flooded jungle. Her body reek of toasted muscle and fried skin. Unfamiliar clothes itched her very being and she hated it.

On further inspection, she realized she was wearing a hospital gown. Gown that only the sicks would wear.

Annabeth breath hitched and she tousled out of bed, neck frantically whipped around to inspect her surrounding. She checked extra on her body also, dusting herself of any suspicious looking thing that may attach.

The woman's stormy grey eyes soon squinted, directing themself to the nearest source of light. They found opened square windows lining up on her left in a wide circular room, red curtains swaying as morning breeze sneaked in - that oddly, seems familiar. This little detail quickly shattered her asylum suspicion, even if the IV's attached to her arm nudged her to think so.

Wherever she was, it wasn't the house for the sicks nor the crazies. But it was bright, bright enough to make her wince and burned the essence in her retinas. Natural and non-natural light have seeped through by various means, like the windows that she had mentioned earlier. A grand lit chandelier dangling from the ceiling also contribute to the lighting. From the looks of it, it was made from pure gold - ceiling a colourful paved mosaic to complete the sky looks (she took a wild guess and said that the chandelier suppose to represent the sun and mosaics as the unseen stars). An expense she's all too familiar with.

The room itself was spacious, the wall and floor was painted to the colour of eggshell white with two giant silver wardrobe perched in the corner, an oval mirror stood tall dwarfing her height grounded between the two furniture. And there's also bookshelves. Dozens of them facing her, forming a perfect half circle giving the room a very personal library-esque feeling. Of course them being bookshelves, they were littered with many books. Books that she suspected was primary talking on the subject of ancient craft, ruins, and architecture.

Where Annabeth was first wake up - in a puffy king's sized bed big enough for four with its own yellow canopy - she was bewildered. Now, standing on her own two feet, having her own mind screeching to a halt - she could see, sense, and felt everything. From the milch of dust on the bookshelves, to how her reflection was perfectly captured on the mirror if she was to be situated on top of the bed.

There's no doubt about it, this room was her's alright.

(Emphasise on was).

Annabeth sighed and ruffled her now frizzled sleep-deprived hair out of frustration, golden lock tickling the crook of her neck. A thought entered her mind and she openly groaned. If this was anything like last time... well, there's no dilly-dallying it—she was doomed.

The blond, again, fervently looked around. Drinking in all the little changes that she catches - like that added geography book that she was sure doesn't belong to her and that tiny crack on one of the window's glass - probably resulted by incompetent ball throwing if she have to guess. She search for a secret passage way, to make possible road for her escape. Her mind raced a hundred miles an hours and know, just know, she was trapped.

Annabeth lived in this room since she was born for Gods' sake! if there was any secret road hidden somewhere, she would know, and only she would know. So yeah, definitely no escape for her this time around. Hell, she should be grateful - she was lucky they never caught whiff of her in like... two years. Living on the street with no real meaning other than playing a psychotic version of Hide and Seek.

She felt rather nostalgic, the memories slowly drifted in as she left her gaze linger a tad too long, standing still on the same place and then... too late, she was stuck. Annabeth relived that happy moments, her mother's sincere smile practically plastered itself in her head. She'd yearn for it, reaching for it in the depth of her mind and maybe, just maybe she could-...

—Reality slapped her on the face.

Her lips clamped shut, she mentally kicked herself for being so sentimental.

You have your mission, Chase. They mused, attention solely on a ball of yarn as they threaded. Do it right and everyone's leave.

Everyone's leave, it echoed. She prayed to Gods she was on that equation.

Annabeth hugged herself, shivering, and dared to slowly walked to the shelves. Bare feet colliding with the hard, cold floor as she dragged her stubborn limbs on a trout. She didn't get far though, collapsing on her knees before she could even goes an inch off from her bed.

She huffed, annoyed. Holding her head as dizziness rushes in.

The room moved in circle, rocking along the waves as everything's creaked like the ship she was held captive on what felt like eons ago. The similarity was jarring and she forced herself to stand, hand lingering on her abdomen holding anything that lefts within. Her ankle popped as she wobble like an infant to their parent's open arms, ditching the tempting books' cover and choosing to retreat to the bed instead. Her palm resting on a modest wooden drawer, balancing her fatigue form.

She plopped unceremoniously to the gigantic comfy bed, making the springs inside squeaked handling her added weight. Annabeth sighed, opting to sit cross-legged on top of the mattress, her image daintily reflected on the silver—no, platinum mirror.

Her grey, sullen eyes looked back. She looks like, for a lack of better subdue curse word, crap. The hair that should imitate a Princess' curls was a nest for a group of rats. Well, speaking metaphorically of course. There's no rats but she felt like it. And her tunnel of vision, the organ you called an eyes, was swapped with that of a bat. Bat wasn't blind, but they still have horrible eyesight you know. Oh, and even when she was sure she has hibernate for decades, eye bags still appeared and made the skin on her face look just like that of a panda. You know, blotch of black and white on a sickly, grey, skin?

My Gods, what the hell? Annabeth cupped her face in disbelief. Was this the side effect for jumping aboard the treacherous plane (or in her case: ship)? Comparing her body's parts to that of animals? She's losing her mind, wasn't she?

The pen moved in response, as if saying: "You totes lost it, girlfriend!"

—Wait, what?

Annabeth quickly glanced to the side, then gaped, don't believe in her sight. There, lying innocently on top of the drawer as if it wasn't the Devil's spawn from Tarturus, was the ballpoint pen she'd so adamantly stole from You-Know-Who. It rolled, closing in on her as if ordering her to take it.

She didn't take it.

In fact, she throw the damn thing to the mirror. It cracked, forming into uncounted spider webs as the pen come in contact. The pen fell, rolling to the floor by the bestow of gravity, clicking itself on and off as if moaning in pain. Not minding the expressiveness of a lifeless object (more like denying), Annabeth has no regret.

But suddenly, without warning, she was thrown off guard once more. The double-doors leading to where she was was swung open with a loud 'bang!' and her younger, butt cousin and clumsy partner in crime swing in. She jumped at his sudden, tuxedo-clad appearance, not having the time to wonder what the hell was he doing here nor notice how the pen materialised itself in her hand.

"Annabeth! Cuz'!" Said Magnus the sidekick. "You need to scram! Fast! Gorilla is here!"

Then he elaborate, flat-faced jabbing a thumb at the door. "Oh, and Aunt Thalia too, I guess."


A/N: Wow, 2 favs and 8 follows. That's a lot for a prologue! Thank you so much guys! This totally risen my spirit! Yeeeeeah, adventuuuuuure. Writing adventuuuuuure.

(Obscure YouTube reference is obscure).

And see? We have Magnus appearing! Still wondering about that crossover section thing but, oh well. You guys would review for this, right? Also fav and follow too, right right? Make me jump in joy in my room like a nutjob, right right right? Ahem, please.

Okay then, I'd just wanna say that.

PS: Do not own the PJO, or HOO, or MCatGoA series. None. ...Sadly, hiks.

Bye till next time!

Ciao.