Ooh, and now, the plot actually begins!!

Disclaimer: It wasn't in my birthday gifts this summer, so I'd saaay. . . not mine.

Kisses,

{--Inky--}


She's sitting at his kitchen table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper when he comes in, school blazer flung over one shoulder, tie loosened, dress-shirt wrinkled, and a friend in tow. He leans over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the intricately detailed sketch of an old warehouse.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"Drawing," she says, obviously, one had fisted in her hair, the other guiding a pencil smoothly over the heavily smudged paper.

"Well, duh," he snorts, and pulls the picture away from her as soon as her pencil lifts.

He flips the paper, looking at it from all angles, screwing up his nose until she laughs and snatches it away.

"You suck at drawing."

She sticks her tongue out at him. "Like you're better. I think it might be an outpost for the Undergrou—" She breaks off and stares at the teenage boy standing at the door. He turns to follow her eyes.

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "Oh, yeah, this is, um—"

"Grover!" She is across the room in two bounds, arms flung around Grover's neck, which almost throws him off balance. His arms windmill to right himself, and then he hugs her back. "My favourite satyr!"

"From school," Percy finishes uncertainly, watching the two whisper frantically. "Satyr?" Both ignore him.

Her forehead crinkles and her eyebrows draw together; she's confused. It's not a look he sees on her often. Grover notices, but doesn't offer until she asks. She understands, the protocols of secrecy that bind them both and seal his lips clear to her.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," Grover says.

"With understandable certainty. I can believe that. But there obviously wasn't a very thorough search."

"You stumbled out of that battle bloody and delirious, mumbling about the sea and Brooklyn! Our party was convinced that you hadn't made it far, especially since tons of," he pauses to shoot a look at Percy, and hastily rephrases, "them followed you, and you never came back." She frowns fiercely at his explanation.

"Let me guess; these theories are evil spawns of Rachel's twisted psyche?" She steps back, still frowning.

Grover scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. "She may have. . . mentioned. . . a few, but we all agreed. And not under her influence!" he adds when she opens her mouth angrily.

Crossing her arms, she mutters, "Sure, sure, I bet. Manipulative hag," under her breath. Percy hears and chuckles and Grover pretends that he didn't hear, though he has to fight to hold in a smile.


Oh, Annabeth.

That gosh darn Rachel just pisses you off, huh?

It's all good, I don't really like her either.

Homewrecker, she is.