A/N: Just so you know, this story will be continuing. And sorry for the slow update, things have been a bit hectic.

Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 13- For the Very First Time

Percy's POV

"So, care to explain why everyone now thinks we're going to be an item?" I asked while Miranda and I were heading back to our apartments.

"One, because we are, and two, because the spending handled by Praetors, Consuls, and Censors are handled through the Legion." Miranda replied, her striking eyes meeting my own, "I would never be able to find a scandal that way. At least I was useful here, and there was another advantage to my actions."

I narrowed my eyes, thinking through everything. Miranda associates with Senator of NRLC. . . . who could benefit? Maybe she'll get promoted if she's close to me, but I doubt it. The press? Nah. I sighed, giving up, "What?"

"Auralius Scott. The Freethinker."

My mind snapped into focus, "Oh."

"Yes, he'll want me to spy on you." Miranda smirked, "So, when's the dinner?"

"Tomorrow night." I smiled, "I'm reserving a room there so the Times won't be all over us, if they show up at all. Although it is a five-star restaurant, so I doubt they'd be let in."

"Then you should start arrangements." We arrived at the two doors, then Miranda leaned over a kissed me, full in the lips, "Good night, Perseus."

An hour later, I could still feel the warmth of her lips on mine.

4/24/2017: Percy's POV

"Congratulations." Mrs. White said as we walked into the Senate chamber, "A team of my lawyers are currently accusing Pro-Quaestor Jenkins of various charges, but the core of the Fundamentalists is still united. We may have won this trial, but they didn't lose."

"I am grateful that you are sharing this wisdom with me, ma'am. But why, may I ask?"

"I am willing to move you up a few ranks in the NRLC, should you do something for me." White replied. You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.

"What is the "something," ma'am?"

"You have been shielded from Tuft's attacks by your lack of attachment to any particular business." stated Mrs. White, "But many of the companies supporting the NRLC do not have that protection. Tuft's -and the Fundamentalist's- friends in business are putting pressure on them, demanding for debts to be repaid."

"You want me to pay them?" I asked, and took the silence as affirmative, "Yes, ma'am, and may I suggest something?"

"You may."

"I set up a bank account between you and I. Containing a large amount of money that could be withdrawn from when needed, should the Fundamentalists managed to freeze the bank accounts of an NRLC member." I replied, "As a safety net, and to remove some of the pressure Tuft can put on the NRLC."

"Your terms on such an account?" Mrs. White asked, interested. I have the money, I make the rules.

"First is that there's a cap to how much can be withdrawn by anyone who isn't you or me. Say, fifty-thousand denarii. Second, it's in the New Roman Commerce Bank." I held up my hands forestalling any protest, "I know, I know, the Fundy's have some influence there. But, the NRCB is pretty deep in debt to the Olympus Bank. I'll level it and transfer my account to the NRCB as well. You know they'd bend over backwards to get their hands on the Ouroboros account. I think they'd even tell me which companies I could pressure the most."

Mrs. White narrowed her eyes, as if refining her opinion of me, "Very well. I accept your terms, on two conditions: One is that you tell me the balance of your bank account and other assets. The other is that you disassociate yourself with the Ms. Lytvyn. Her patron is Auralius Scott, an influential Freethinker."

It took all my willpower not to burst out laughing, but I couldn't stop the smile, "Don't worry about Miranda, ma'am. I've known her for a long time, and her joining the Treasury was part of a plan between the two of us to expose any Freethinker scandals with money. She will be feeding Scott and the Freethinkers false information, while doing her best to spy on them for us."

"And how certain are you of this?"

"Without a doubt." My smile grew even wider, "She has been an ally of mine for a long time. In the Greco-Roman Games, Miranda and I were the finalists at the knife-fighting competition and Scott was in the audience. It was all part of a plan to make her even better as a potential successor to the Freethinker, and he ate it right up."

Mrs. White sighed, like she made a decision she didn't want to, "Very well; Get to work, the Senate meeting starts as soon as the tribunes are elected."

"Of course, ma'am." I headed out of the Senate chamber while Mrs. White took the lead in the NRLC. My phone vibrated, telling me I had a message. It was from Jonas, and a list of all the companies the Fundamentalists were trying to eliminate. Okay, then.

I jogged over to the HQ of Ceres' Cupboards, opening the door. "I have an appointment with the head of financing. Ouroboros."

"Of course." the teller said, tapping a few things on a computer, "Go to room fifty-three, on the second floor. He is currently in a meeting with the NRCB, but will be with you shortly."

"Thank you." I climbed up the stairs and located room fifty-three pretty quickly, opening the door and stepping inside.

"What is the meaning of this?" A middle-aged man demanded. He was in his late fifties, wearing an exquisite suit and had a name-tag identifying him as part of NRCB. A Freethinker puppet. He was glaring at Matthew Turner, the head of financing, who was currently sweating behind his own desk. He's in trouble.

"I am sorry, sir. I do not know."

"Please, do not allow me to intervene. I am here at the request of the Senate, to monitor the economic state of New Rome. As Ceres' Cupboard is a powerful company that could greatly affect the market for food, and as New Rome is currently in a recession, I will be listening to this conversation." I pulled a chair from the side of the room and sat down in it.

"This is highly irregular, Mr. Turner." The man, who I saw was Benjamin Walker, complained, "But, continuing, you owe the NRCB over ten million denarii. Should the payment not be forthcoming, the bank will seize your company's accounts and property, forcing you to close."

At this point, I interrupted, "I will settle the debt in its entirety. As per your loan contract with Ceres' Cupboard, a third may party may act as an intermediary between any demanded payments. By the consent of Pro-Consul White, a major shareholder, I have been appointed to be that third party. Do you disagree with this decision, Mr. Turner?"

The head of financing shook his head quickly, "No. Your appointment is approved and validated. I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Walker that this meeting is over. The debt will be settled."

Mr. Walker scowled, but stood, "Remember the payment is due today, at twelve o' clock."

He left the office with a briefcase in his hands.

"Quaestor Ouroboros. I saw the articles." Matthew said, turning to give me his full attention, "Let's cut the crap. What'll this cost me, and what's your rate?"

I held up my hands, "Nothing. I'm not even asking for you to repay me the money. I have plenty more, if you've heard the stories of my families account. Pro-Consul White and I had a deal, and this is my side."

His eyes widened, and he smiled so widely it nearly reached his ears, "Thank you so much, Quaestor. You have my word that Ceres' Cupboard will continue to support the NRLC."

I smiled back, "You're welcome. Now, I need to catch up with Ben Walker and ruin his day at the next company, too."

"Of course. Send him my regards!" Matthew called as I went out the door, walking quickly. Walker, luckily, had been held up at the reception desk, which let me catch up to him. All I had to do is flash my rank -Quaestor- to the receptionist and she let me out.

I walked quickly and quietly, staying behind Mr. Walker as he headed towards his next target. We soon came upon Baker's Constructing, who handled a good deal of building in New Rome. This lobby was a lot smaller and less impressive, but then, Baker's Constructing didn't own any shops, and this was their only building. Mr. Walker got tied up arguing with the receptionist again while I slipped past, having seen where the head of financing's office was -a woman by the name of Rachel Demolles.

"You aren't Mr. Walker." She commented, "What are you doing here?"

"Check your email." I replied, "Mrs. White sent me."

Rachel nodded, typing a few words on her computer then opening the email Jonas sent her. Her eyes widened, "Okay. Let me guess, I have to sell my soul for this?"

I smiled back, "Something like that. Ah, Mr. Walker, please join us."

Mr. Walker came in and sat down across the desk, "Mrs. Demolles, I must inform you that unless the outstanding payment is met, the NRCB will be forced to-"

"It will be, Mr. Walker." Rachel replied, "As Quaestor Ouroboros has been named the third party intermediary and all forms are in order, this meeting is over. You may leave."

Mr. Walker was livid, getting up and slamming the door behind him.

"Sorry, gotta run." I grinned, "I'll have the money to you on time, don't worry."

There were six other meetings after that, and by the end, Mr. Walker looked ready to kill me. Once they were done, I headed for the New Roman Commerce Bank -the NRCB.

"Hello, sir." The teller said, a middle-aged man with dark green eyes, "How may I help you?"

"I would like to pay off a couple of loans." I replied.

"Of course, sir. Fill out these papers for each loan and come back when you're done."

I nodded my thanks and began referencing my phone for each of the eight companies, entering the amount owed along with my status as the intermediary third party. This as political as discussions in the Senate Chamber, just in a different way. However, after the trial and now this I wanted to take a break from politics for a while. I just had to hope trouble came my way before I had to go looking for it.

4/24/2017: Percy's POV

I walked down the streets of one of New Rome's less-safe districts with my hood pulled up and axe in hand. The Judges had told me someone was selling a rather large amount to Greek Fire today, and that the original buyer had died. It was my job to kill the seller and make sure as many hats were on the floor as possible.

No one approached me -thugs were a common sight in New Rome, and no petty thief would try to pickpocket someone who killed for a living. Soon, I reached the position and wandered about, discretely waiting for my target while looking like I was searching for a particular house. The bomb-maker was a tall, blond man with a largish nose and grey eyes pushed a little close together, causing an end result of a mix between slimy and creepy.

And there he was, walking into the square with a hood pulled up and wearing grungy black jeans. He's good at blending. Just not good enough.

I continued wandering as he was approached by an elderly man with greying hair in maroon robes. Who wears robes? Or, who wears robes and buys large amounts of explosives?

As I kept walking -gradually orbiting the pair- I caught sight of something in the man's left hand. Looks like a Bible, almost. The Book of Chaos? This is getting weirder by the second.

Deciding not to kill the pair of them until I could figure out exactly what was going on, I followed them out of the public square we were in and deeper into the twisting streets until we all ended up in what was generally recognized as the worst area of New Rome to be in. Not even the NRP dare venture here.

But the two kept going, until they were in front of a warehouse filled with crates of Greek fire on the edge of the district. After a few more minutes of talking, they both walked inside. I did the same, sticking to the shadows that -with the help of my powers- would hide me from sight unless someone was concentrating and expecting to see someone.

"Thank you for this, friend Richard. It will greatly aid the Children of Chaos in our holy journey." The elderly man smiled like a proud grandfather, resting his hand on the seller -Richard's- shoulder.

"As long as I get paid, I'll get whatever you want." replied Richard, in a tone that implied he didn't care about the old man's cause. That he shrugged off the hand also gave that impression.

"Now, how are you sure this shipment will remain safe until Monday?" The elderly man asked, his tone becoming more serious.

To answer that, Richard instead turned to the side and cupped his hands in a shout, "Hey, Burns! Get in here!"

I kept watching as a big man came in, with a huge gladius strapped to his back, "Yeah?"

Well, they wanted hats on the floor. I stepped out of the shadows and started running. My axe swung up and embedded in Richard's neck before I spun to face Burns. His gladius slammed into the shaft of my axe and sent me staggering backwards.

"Get in here!" yelled Burns as he raised his sword again. Six more goons ran into the warehouse, wielding an assortment of gladii and pila.

I grinned under my hood, bringing my axe and summoning a short glaive. I wouldn't want anyone recognizing Shadow, after all. They all ran at me together. Surrounding me before attacking was their first mistake, as my glaive swept across one's chest and knocked him out of the fight while my axe knocked aside a gladius. The fighting after that, though, was brutal. Burns and his friends knew how to fight dirty, and proceeded to do just that. But they were still outmatched in skill, as my glaive became an iron blur of pain while my axe kept forcing them to jump back from wide, powerful strokes.

The weird guy with the robe was staying back, and appeared to be praying to someone. Another goon fell under my glaive, his arm nearly sliced off and his throat brutally cut. There were three left facing me, including Burns himself. Shadows detached themselves from the edge of the room and impaled him while we were fighting, then I dispatched the last two in a similar fashion and turned to the weird guy.

"You may kill me, but the Children of Chaos will persist! Our god is all-powerful, all-knowing and infinite! Your pagan cults will perish as he cleanses the world!" the elderly man said. This continued on for a while longer, before I got tired of his fervor and stabbed him.

I was about to leave when an idea popped into my head. After all, why wait for a crisis when you can make one?

A jury-rigged timer was attached to the wooden panels of the crates before I started jamming the dead goon's weapons between the door handles that led out of the building -effectively locking it. Then I left, jumping into the shadows and coming out in my apartment.

4/25/2017: Percy's POV

I nervously knocked on the door of Miranda's apartment, dressed in my finest suit -not that I had very many- and carrying a single rose in my hands.

Soon the door opened, showing the stunning beauty Miranda was when she wanted to be: Gold earrings with sapphires sparkled, matching her eyes while a bit of dark eye-shadow matched a short, black dress that mixed elegance and sexy in a way only she could. Her blond hair was perfectly styled, held by a crescent-shaped pin, soft and sweeping past her shoulders. Soft, black gloves went from the tips of her fingertips to her elbow, but would have to go a bit further the short sleeves that came from her dress. All in all, it reminded me of just how lucky I was to have a date like her. Her red lipstick matched the rose that was now tucked into her hair, under the crescent-shaped pin.

"Di immortals, Miranda. You look . . . well, I would say stunning, but that doesn't hold a candle to you." I said. Smooth or what?

"Just shut up and give me your arm, Ekdikisi." Miranda replied, and I did just that. "You would not believe how much Auralius spent to make sure I looked like this."

"That's the mark of a true politician." I smiled, "Getting your enemies pay for dressing up your date."

Miranda let out a quiet laugh, "That is certainly true. So, regal me with something I can give to Scott."

Together, we entered the elevator and I was about to hit the button for the lobby before a truly excellent idea entered my head, "Politics will have to wait until we get to stairwell . . . I really hope someone's waiting for us in the lobby."

With Miranda slightly mystified as to what was happening, I hit the lobby button before pulling us out of the elevator and heading for the stairwell, where we could shadow-travel in relative secret.

"Hold on tight, Ms. Lytvyn. I'd hate to have to explain to Auralius how his protégé ended up in China." I said, once the door shut behind us and plunged the stairwell into darkness. We both disappeared, stepping out of the shadows at the bottom. Miranda, prepared for the trip, didn't even have a hair out of place as she looked at me coolly.

"And what was that for, Mr. Ekdikisi?"

"Well, we should see in a few seconds." I dodged, before opening the door to the first floor and peeking out. As I suspected, there was a reporter from the Times at the bottom. "Here, take a look."

Miranda, having cottoned onto my line of thinking at this point, also saw the reporter, then smirked when the elevator opened and he rushed forward with a microphone -only for the elevator to be empty, "Clever. I like it."

"Now let's go before he notices us." I suggested, before opening the door fully and striding out with the most beautiful women in the world at my side. There was a chariot waiting just outside -more of a carriage than a chariot, really- but one should always spend the most money on the first date -because for all you know, there might not be a second. In which case I would be an idiot with a thinner wallet, but that's beside the point.

I helped my date into the chariot -not that she needed any- before climbing in the other side and lacing our fingers together. "Domus Pretiosarum Epularum, if you will."

The driver flicked the reins, sending us off at a speed that was fast enough to get to our destination quickly, but not fast enough to be very rocky or blow hair around. After all, he was a professional -the equivalent of a limo driver in the mortal world.

Soon enough, we pulled up in front of the restaurant itself, the name made of gold inlaid on polished marble above the entrance. On the inside, the marble soon gave way to darkened spruce, with candles to provide lighting -one didn't go to the House of Expensive foods with a large group. Usually, it was couples.

Almost as soon as we stepped inside, a man dressed in the fine uniform of the House's employees came up, "Do you have a reservation, Mr . . .?"

"Quaestor, actually. Quaestor Ouroboros and Ms. Miranda Lytvyn." I corrected, "I believe we have a private room?"

"Yes, I believe you do." replied the man, quickly checking a booklet before leading us to a back room, "Just in here. When you are ready for a server, please press the button right side of the table."

"Thank you." Miranda replied, both of us walking through the door while the employee closed it behind us. Ever the gentleman, I pulled out Miranda's chair for her before taking my own seat. Looks like you were right in teaching me manners, Mother.

"So, Quaestor, would you mind telling me something I could give to Scott?" asked the daughter of Nemesis, looking over a menu.

"That really is a complex question, Ms. Lytvyn." I replied, before gently taking the menu from her hands, "I ordered the food beforehand. I also have to tell you something Mrs. White won't kill me for."

"Well?"

"Fine, Miranda. You know me too well." I smiled at her, but she wasn't fooled.

"Quit stalling, Perseus, and tell me." she shot back, but I caught the undercurrent of playfulness that held the entire conversation in it's grasp.

I sighed in mock defeat, "The Fundamentalists are putting pressure on the businesses that support the NRLC."

"And . . . ?" Miranda prompted, "I do not believe you would tell me this unless the situation was already brought to a close."

I nodded, waiting for the appetizer to arrive, "I managed to pay off their debts, although I would suggest you not tell Scott that. I'd rather have Macintyre try to force those businesses to close, but it's your choice."

Then a man quietly walked into the room, carrying two small plates of salad and fancy glasses of water -with lemon, of course. We both carefully spread the napkin over our laps, Miranda somehow being able to turn even that small action into a picture of grace. I had the funny feeling that the napkin was just for show -the Miranda Lytvyn I knew wouldn't let anything get on her dress. So I'll just have to do my best to emulate that.

There wasn't much of the salad to begin with -it was only an appetizer, after all- but we both ate it while casually discussing plans to discredit the Freethinkers and eventually take over the world. You know, the usual first date confab.

Soon, the salad was finished and -knowing neither of us would appreciate a three-hour dinner with dozens of dishes- the next course was the main course: Veal with a side of oysters, accompanied by a bowl of fresh figs. For a fact, I knew Miranda liked all three, but I was somewhat nervous about the bottle of 1904 Château d'Yquem I ordered with it.

Thankfully, the bottle of wine just raised one of Miranda's eyebrows while the server poured us both a glass and left us the bottle.

"This could not have been cheap." Miranda said, taking a careful sip of the wine. So this is your first time drinking too?

I shrugged, "Only the best for Ms. Lytvyn. Never let it be said that I can't show you a good time."

"Indeed." replied the daughter of Nemesis, cutting into the veal while I took my first sip of the fine wine. It burned a little going down, but had a mix of flavors only a true wine connoisseur would appreciate. Pity I'm not one of them.

We kept talking as the meal was carried on, the bottle of Château d'Yquem taking a beating as the two of us got more used to the slight burning it gave. The veal, oysters and figs were really quite good -as expected in this level of restaurant.

"So, have the Freethinkers told you anything?" I asked, trying the oysters and discovering I liked them. Not what I expected, not at all.

Miranda shrugged elegantly, "They told me what to ask you. Mostly along the lines of the Faunus Registration Act. Some wanted to make covert inquiries about your recent whistleblowing, whether it would continue onto the Freethinkers or stick to the Fundamentalists -or even the Centrists. If you're changing targets, I'm supposed to dissuade you, or encourage you if you're staying with the Fundamentalists."

"Hmph. You'd think a bit of honesty in the politics would be a good thing." I replied sarcastically.

"Honesty is like all other things: Good in very strict moderation. All other things but money, that is. I would be hard pressed to find one who believes anything less than buckets of money are good things."

"It's the golden rule: People with gold make rules. And everyone likes making rules."

"True, true." Miranda acknowledged, taking another sip of wine, "Why do you think there are so many teachers? Because everyone wants to control the rulers."

"You could certainly pencil me into that line of work." Both of us let out tipsy laughs at that.

But Miranda, of course, needs to have the last word, "Do you have anything on paper about that ambition?"

I threw my hands up in surrender, "You win, I can't think of a sentence to use scissors in."

Meanwhile, the server entered with the dessert -Chocolate-Bourbon Tart. A grand misnomer, really, the "Tart" was really quite sweet, and the bourbon only added a light smoky flavor -perfect to create depth to the truffle-tasting chocolate dough.

Both of us took a slice, enjoying the treat in less important discussion than before. Almost like we were a pair of rich people on a date, not a ruthlessly beautifully manipulator and a criminal -who had already been executed- plotting to take over the world.

That, of course, found its way into the discussion as tongues were well and truly loosened.

"Why Perseus, I glad you think so highly of me. I wouldn't want you forgetting how I weaseled my way into the Freebees without the money you flaunt." Miranda replied, her voice only a little slurred by the drink.

"Maybe we should continue this elsewhere. Can't make fools of ourselves, after all." I said, grabbing the half-full bottle of wine and offering my arm to my date, "We can drink the rest of this in the apartment."

"Why not?" Miranda took my arm and we left together, going back outside to where the chariot-carriage was still waiting. We traveled at a respectable pace through the city, eventually arriving back "home.".

"Hey." called the female driver, who held out a bottle of champagne, "Congratulations, I read about you to in the paper. Here, take it."

Hesitant at accepting something that I had no idea of the origins -and from someone I vaguely recognized-, I nonetheless took it, "Thanks."

"No prob." Julia Scott smiled to herself as she left the pair of demigods behind -if they drink it, Auralius wouldn't even consider adopting that bitch Lytvyn and her inheritance would be secure.

I shook my head, that driver probably just had one of those faces. Once inside, I called the elevator while turning back to my date, "Remind me to get rid of this."

"Will do." was her reply as we stepped into the small metal box. Actually, an elevator would be perfect to kill someone in. No room to run and hardly any to dodge. Good thing we're alone.

"Your room or mine?" I asked as we got out.

"Mine. At least it feels like a room."

I laughed, "You have a point, mine might as well be rented out as office space."

Miranda fumbled with the key a little, before accidentally dropping it, "Looks like I had more wine than I thought . . ."

"Eh." I replied, kicking the keys under the door, then grabbing Miranda's arm and creating a shadow on the door itself. We walked right through, coming out on the other side. "Know where I could get some glasses?"

"Cabinet left of the sink." Miranda called, moving a smaller table to a sofa along with a pair of candles. Quickly cottoning on, I flicked the lights off and brought the half-finished bottle of wine, the champagne also coming along for the ride before I tossed it onto a different chair.

I poured us both a glass of wine, quickly kissing Miranda and sitting next to her before the audacity of my actions could catch up to me.

"So, what do we do now?" asked my date, taking another sip of wine

"I have no idea. Twenty questions?" I replied, not meaning to be taken seriously.

Miranda, on the other hand, took it seriously, "How about, instead of an object, who your latest crush was?"

Uh-oh. "Sure. Do you want to start?"

"Why not?" Miranda took another drink of wine, "Male or female?"

"Female."

"Hair colour?"

"Blond."

"Eye colour?"

"Blue-white." I smirked, knowing I was describing Miranda.

She sighed, "Not me, Perseus. Before me. Let's start again: Male or female?"

"Female."

"Hair colour?"

"Black."

"Eye colour?"

"Silver."

"Age?"

This time, I was the one to take a gulp of wine, "Six-hundred and five, I believe. She aged well."

Miranda considered her next question, "Species?"

"Mortal."

"Occupation?"

Damn, she got me. "Tutor."

"The French girl, Joan." correctly guessed the daughter of Nemesis.

I sighed, "Yep. My turn, now. Male or female?"

"Female."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised, "Hair colour?"

"Black."

"Eye colour?"

"Black."

"Age?"

"A few thousand years, at least."

Goddess, then? "Species?"

"Mortal."

Not goddess, then. "Occupation?"

"Hunter."

Ah. "Build?"

"Big. Strong. Dominant."

I sighed, "Height?"

"An inch or so taller than me."

"Living or dead?"

"Dead."

Ok, so that narrows it down to a few hundred. Not Zoe, definitely, and probably not anyone Orion killed. "I give up."

"Phoebe."

I took another gulp of wine, "That's a surprise. I never thought you and Phoebe even knew each other."

"The Hunt brought me to Camp. Phoebe was the one who found me, rescued me from a rapist actually." Miranda drained her glass, as if drowning out the memory, "I lived with them for a few weeks, before they went to Camp and dropped me off. In fact, they gave me this."

She reached up into her hair, taking the crescent-shaped pin out and watching as it morphed into a bow.

"I've seen that before." I said, trying to remember those years ago, "Hephaestus' junkyard. Zoe said it was cursed."

Miranda shrugged, "Phoebe gave it to me. Said they raided it a while back."

She poured the rest of the wine into her cup -barely a mouthful- before drinking it.

"Sorry for your loss, then." I said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that I, or at least the Pack I was working with, was probably responsible for it.

Miranda sighed, "Don't be. It wasn't your fault, Perseus."

"All the same, I need a drink." I reaching out, grabbing the champagne bottle. My better sense warned me not to open it, but I was too tipsy to care and popped the cork anyways, "Cheers."

We both drank deeply, before leaning into each other for a kiss. That kiss soon turned hotter, until the champagne bottle -and my shirt- were lying on the table, forgotten. It was a long time latter before we slept.

A/N: Yep, that happened. Bit early in their relationship, but Percy definitely made a mistake in having figs and oysters and his first time drinking. Mix that with whatever's in the champagne and how attractive they find each other and, well, you know. Hopefully, I won't have to explain the birds and the bees to y'all.

I would put "Please review, follow . . ." here, but I was a little bored of typing that . . .