iv.
oklahoma territory, us, 1859
Percy stalks into the saloon, wiping the dried blood from his face, and crashes down on one of the barstools.
"Hit me with a whiskey." He says to the bartender. It's not a question.
"One Coffin Varnish coming right up." The grisly-looking man says, nodding once at Percy.
The bartender busies himself fixing him a cup of the deep brown liquid. Once finished, he sets it down before Percy. Percy wraps his hand around the cold glass and raises the drink to his lips.
"You look pretty roughed up." The bartender remarks as he drags a wet rag over the bartop.
Percy is quiet. He only shrugs, idly swirling the whiskey.
The man carries on. "Castellan again?"
Percy scratches his chin. "Bastard was asking for it."
"Ain't he always? Never keeps his damn trap shut."
Not even seconds later, the doors swing open, and in walks Luke with his posse.
"Speak of the devil." The bartender mutters.
Luke's band disperses throughout the saloon. A few of his men begin to throw darts, while some commandeer the billiard table, and three more approach the bar with Luke.
Luke tips his hat to the bartender. "Beers. First round on me for all these gents."
"Yes, sir." The bartender says.
Luke sits down at the bar, turns, and sneers at Percy. He takes a puff from his cigar and exhales, blowing smoke directly in Percy's face. "Well. Jackson."
"Howdy." Percy deadpans.
"Come here to lick your wounds?"
Percy doesn't say anything, just takes a long swig of whiskey.
"Just get out of here." Luke snarls, slamming his hand on the bartop.
"Public place, Castellan. You can't make me go anywhere."
"I'm tired of your smart mouth. Go join your family. In the cemetery."
Percy clenches his fist. "You'll regret saying that."
Luke smirks. "I'll pay the gravedigger."
Percy jumps to his feet, whipping his gun out. Luke saying these things directly after their brawl at the general store is like a blow to the gut. "Let's have a shoot-out. Then we'll see if that cocky smile is still on your face."
"That might be your last mistake." Luke says, then turns.
"Put those bottles in a line on the table." he instructs two of his minions. "Jackson and I are having a shooting contest."
The minions do as Luke says. Percy and Luke both get their weapons ready.
"Ladies first," Luke says, gesturing to Percy.
"Oh no, you go first."
Luke shrugs. "What the hell." He kneels down so he's eye level with the tabletop.
Luke hits the neck of the first bottle. It's a pathetic shot, really. A highly unskilled amateur would scoff at it.
Percy snorts. Luke scowls.
"Your turn, Jackson. I bet I won't see you do any better."
Percy doesn't crouch down like Luke did. He fires and manages to nail the bottle on the far left. It shatters onto the floor. Nothing impressive, but a far cry from Luke's failure to even fully break his bottle.
"I'm not so bad after all, now am I?"
"Don't even–"
"Is that really the best you boys can do?"
Luke and Percy both spin around.
Standing in the doorway is a woman. There's a Colt revolver strapped to her hip and golden curls tumble down her shoulders.
"An infant shoots better than you fools." she drawls.
The saloon descends into whispers. Percy has never seen this woman before, but evidently, she's made a name for herself here.
Luke doesn't appear to recognize her either. "And who are you, lovely young lady?"
She pulls her gun from her hip and cocks it. "Lovely young lady?"
"Do you even know how to use that?" Luke asks, moving to take the pistol from her hand.
The woman aims the revolver at a lantern hanging from the ceiling on the far side of the saloon, about thirty feet away, and pulls the trigger.
The glass bursts into pieces.
"Does that answer your question?"
"Anyone could make that shot." Luke says, though his impressed expression doesn't match his words.
She aims her gun again and fires. The bullet goes clean through the top of one of Luke's minions' hats. The man, Ethan, yelps and whips his hat off to inspect the damage.
Percy lets out a low whistle. "Damn, miss. You're a good shot."
The woman grins. "You should see me with a rifle." she says, then smooths her face. "You two gentlemen need to stop fighting like children and get your act together. It's a pathetic look for you both."
A wide smile spreads across Luke's face. "Care to go to the dancing saloon with me, miss?"
"Excuse me? No. I'd rather go out with a troll." She snorts. "And the troll probably has better manners than you."
The smile slips from Luke's face. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Did you say no to me? I'm Luke Castellan. I can take out anyone. I'm the most feared man in this town."
"You're kidding yourself." Percy says, rolling his eyes. "Do you get yourself off on these crazy fantasies?"
"You've got no right to talk like that to me, but I'm leaving you alone for now, Jackson. Just know, I'll get you one of these days. I'll have you at my mercy."
With this, Luke walks off, relighting his cigar.
Percy peers at the woman. She looks mildly interested. Perhaps she was somewhat intrigued by his and Luke's exchange. Or perhaps she just thought they were acting like schoolboys fighting after class.
She's quite pretty. More than pretty; she's a knockout. Percy knows men who would leave their wives and children for a chance to be with a woman who looks like the one in front of him.
Percy takes a breath. He may as well ask. "I know you've just rejected Castellan, but would you be interested in going dancing with me?"
She considers this. "Are you asking to pull one over Castellan, or because you actually want to?"
"I think you're one of the most beautiful and talented women I've ever met. You show a fierceness that a lot of women try to conceal. It would be a shame to not humbly ask you to spend time with me."
"Alright, then. I would be honored to go out with a handsome gentleman like yourself."
Percy grins. "I'm Jackson. Percy Jackson."
"Annabeth Chase."
He offers his arm to her. Annabeth takes it, and they set off. Percy's skin feels like it's on fire where Annabeth's touching him. He's never felt so instantly drawn to a person. He wants to be close to her all the time and frankly, this desire scares him. While the only priority of most other men he's met seems to be getting women, he's never cared to find a wife. But now...
The dancing saloon is a short walk away, so Annabeth and Percy soon arrive. The saloon is loud with voices. The air is warm. A few musicians strum on banjos and guitars, while another plays piano. The dancing tune is merry and energetic, punctuated by stomping feet and clapping hands.
"Shall we dance?" Annabeth asks, trying for a British accent but failing.
Percy chuckles. "I would be thrilled. Just don't attempt an accent again."
So they dance. Percy doesn't know how exactly to, but he moves his body in rhythm to Annabeth's and the music, and it's enough.
After several songs and one small mishap of Annabeth losing her balance and falling into his chest, (They stood there, in the middle of the floor, staring at each other while they tried to catch their breath, and Percy had never felt more attracted to anyone than he had to her at that moment) Annabeth's face is flushed bright pink.
"I've never had more fun my entire life!" she cries, throwing her head back as she laughs.
Though he knows it can't be possible, Percy has the uncanny suspicion of having been in this very same position before. Dancing in a crowded room with a wickedly beautiful woman, a little drunk and so alive.
Percy could stay in this moment forever, but it must come to an end. Hand in hand, he and Annabeth slip out the back door into the cool evening.
"I should get home. It's getting quite late." Annabeth says. Her voice is soft.
"I'll walk you."
They stroll along in the direction of Annabeth's tenement in silence, until Percy clears his throat.
"So, Annabeth Chase, what brought you out west?"
"What brought you out here?"
"I'm like a tumbleweed, never settling in one place. The world is out there to see."
"Ah. You have an adventurer's spirit."
"You could say that."
"My feet are awfully tired. Can we stop to rest?"
Percy shrugs. For more time with Annabeth? He'd do just about anything.
Annabeth sits down on the curb, swinging her feet out in front of her. Percy lowers himself beside her. The stars speckle the night sky above them, twinkling, bright.
"Can I try on your hat?" Annabeth's smiling, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"My hat?"
"Actually, never mind. You probably have lice."
Percy makes a face. "That wasn't very kind to say."
"I'm simply being careful. You probably haven't bathed in weeks. I mean, you're a cowboy."
"I'm not a cowboy. I'm a cattle rancher."
"So you're a cowboy."
"You say that like it's an awful thing to be."
She shrugs. "My husband was a miner."
Oh. "Husband?"
"I'm, uh, a widow." She murmurs, staring down at her skirt.
Oh. "My condolences."
"He died in an accident in California. We never struck gold, and he was a foolish man, thinking we could."
"You're not originally from here, then."
"Yes. I was born in Boston."
"Annabeth Chase, a Yank. I wouldn't have guessed."
"Oh, don't tell me you're a southern sympathizer." Annabeth sighs.
"No. No. As far from that as one can be. I'm a New York native. I voted for Frémont."
She raises her eyebrows. "You certainly don't act like a northerner."
"Well, I wouldn't get far out here acting like a Yankee."
"I suppose that's right."
"What do you think of the war?" Percy asks. He knows that war isn't exactly the sort of thing you're supposed to talk about with a lady, but Annabeth is no polite society lady. She has opinions. He wishes all women were allowed to think and vote as they choose, but of course, law forbids it.
"I think war's long overdue." Annabeth says.
"What do you mean?"
"They've been making compromise after compromise for years, since before you and I even came into this world, just trying to prevent conflict, but it was always inevitable. We've got maybe three years before the south begins to secede."
Percy nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Makes sense. There have been rumblings about secession in Carolina. I wouldn't be surprised if they finally left. And honestly, I hope they do."
"I want to travel back to the North and fight in the war. I know that as a woman, I would have to disguise myself if I wanted to join a regiment, but I want to be a part of it."
"I respect that."
The sound of boot heels on the ground makes them both look up.
"Well, well. Jackson."
Luke steps out into the road, his face cast in light from the dying flicker of a streetlamp. Percy's heart sinks. It seems all too fitting that Luke would interrupt them.
"If it isn't Percy Jackson and that lovely young woman from the saloon. You two look comfortable."
Luke moves away from the light, cloaking himself in darkness. There's the telltale click of him cocking his revolver.
"Go to hell, Castellan." Percy says, standing up. Annabeth stays close to his side. Percy doesn't doubt that she could defend herself, but she's got to be a little scared. It's nighttime and the streets are always filled with ruffians at this hour.
"I expressed my interest in that woman, and you turned around and went dancing with her." Luke sounds very angry and very drunk.
"I'm not an object to be stolen." Annabeth says, her voice unwavering.
"Don't speak. Nobody gives a rat's ass about what you've got to say."
Percy takes his own revolver from his belt holster. "Shut the hell up."
"Make me."
Luke shoots. Percy ducks out of the way, pulse leaping. The bullet flies harmlessly to his right.
"How could you–" Annabeth gasps.
"Jackson, I'll aim for your heart next time. I'm so sick and tired of you gallivanting around like some cowboy crusader just because you saved a couple Cherokees from a Yankee soldier out for blood."
Percy inhales sharply. "I saved countless lives that day, including yours. You'd do well to remember that."
"I ain't got to remember anything."
Percy steps forward. "You know what? I'm sick and tired of you acting like the best goddamn thing since the revolver was invented. This whole town is sick and tired of you and your gang of bandits parading around like we should all worship the soil your boots touch."
"Shut your mouth, Jackson."
Luke fires again. Percy manages to jump out of the way just in the nick of time. Annabeth cries out.
"Luke Castellan, leave Jackson alone or I'll…I"ll shoot."
She points her own revolver at Luke, a hard, defiant look on her face. Percy thinks he's never seen any woman look quite as beautiful.
A frown contorts Luke's face. "A lady shouldn't even be in the possession of a weapon like that. Just because you're a widow doesn't–"
"If you dare speak ill of my husband–"
"BE QUIET!" Luke roars over her. He stumbles towards her, his steps wild and uneven. Percy can smell the liquor on him from several feet away.
"Don't you try to come near me." Annabeth says, backing away.
Luke pulls out his gun. "I like you. You're a spirited one. I'd like to have my way with you."
Percy dives for Luke. "Castellan, if you lay a finger on her–"
"What are you going to do, Jackson? Call for the sheriff? Chiron's asleep."
Still smirking, Luke pulls the trigger. The bullet narrowly whizzes over Percy's head. He's about to breathe a sigh of relief when he hears a pinging noise come from behind him. It takes another moment for the error of the situation to register.
The bullet ricocheted off metal. Its path has been redirected straight at him–and Annabeth.
A second too late, Percy dives for the ground, screaming to Annabeth to get out of the way.
Her mouth opens in shock just as the bullet sinks into her back.