Greetings, mein peoples. It has been a while, a while indeed. Long story short, Life gets busy, and time is a bitch. Naturally, I am still working on stuff. The plot will be... similar. Slower, a bit different, and hopefully up to code. I could post chapter 2 in... a week? if yall want, or I'll do it whenever. Anyway, hope you enjoy, lmk what you think.
Regards -Somerandomguy23
Fights happened.
Fights happened in relationships. He had heard it what felt like millions of times over the past couple days, from damn near everyone he saw. It was… healthy, not agreeing on everything. You shouldn't agree on everything.
Mom had said so. Paul had agreed. Piper had tried to reassure him as such. Hell, even his dad had sent a little note.
Yes, fights happened, and when there was a fight there was bound to be some hurtful words, and accusations, and nerves hit. He knew that, just like he knew Annabeth hadn't meant half of what she said, and he hadn't either. Not fully.
He didn't want to think about it.
He didn't like the concept of getting drunk. From all that he heard it dulled the senses, slowed reflexes, fogged the mind, ignoring the thing that had been Gabe. Outside the walls of either camp, that was at best a big risk.
A risk he was taking. Alcohol was supposed to dull pain, and with every venomous word ringing in his ears he was in quite a bit of pain.
He was being dramatic. He knew that. But after taking a trip through hell on the chin, maybe he had the right to be a bit dramatic.
The thought brought a wry grin to his face. Gabe, war, death, Tartarus he held strong, and all it took was a fight with his girlfriend to get him drinking.
Soon enough he would muster up the guts to apologize, even if he was almost positive she wouldn't do the same.
He knew she would be sorry though, somewhere deep inside. Pride was certainly a devil.
It wasn't something he had to worry about now though, so he shoved the thoughts away and motioned for another drink.
The bartender didn't take long, pouring the strongest stuff she had with a covertly flirtatious flourish.
He brushed it off. They had already done this song and dance a dozen times, not that she knew that. The Mist was a wonderful thing, and the reason half of their stock was wiped out. This stuff really wasn't made with demigods in mind.
Rum, whiskey, bourbon, he'd had it all. Even moonshine, which was probably his favorite so far. That was probably only because it actually seemed to have some effect on him, but regardless.
So he was probably a dozen shots in of moonshine alone, who knows how much of the rest, with the lightest of buzzes to show for it. That was fine, really. In the unlikely case he did get kicked out, there were always more bars.
The slightest movement in his peripheral caught his attention, and just like that he was studying the patrons of the bar.
It wasn't a classy place, calling it anything other than a dive bar would be overselling, and its clientele reflected that.
Leather clad bikers, old couples, broke college students, and every down-on-their-luck kind in between. Certainly not a place he would touch with a ten foot pole in any other circumstance. Certainly not a place his mom would want him to be in any circumstance. But she understood.
He hadn't been completely idiotic in his choice of establishment though. The quieter atmosphere would make it leagues easier to spot monsters than a club, and there were far fewer women here to attempt flirting with him. Fewer single women anyhow, most all the bikers had arm candy of some kind.
In fact, ignoring the bartender, he could only see three- no, four women in the whole building not crawling in a bikers lap. One barely in sight tucked against a booth with a bottle of something, and triplets at the bar, watching him intently.
Even slightly dulled as he was, that was enough to put up red flags. The club attire, matching leather miniskirts and mesh tops, did not help their causes.
They were too… normal to be monsters though. Too bland, though that sounded slightly cruel. Simply, there was nothing special about them that would give away their status. Probably just triplets that got kicked out of the club for whatever reason. It could happen.
They noticed his gaze, moving in eerie sync to leave their chairs and swarm him.
Water whipped and curled, traveling from empty glasses till it hovered by his ankle. Just in case his observation was proven incorrect.
They didn't notice, or at least didn't seem to, each taking their posts and trapping him in. One in the seat to his right, one on his left, and the last effectively trapping him in his seat.
He was keenly aware of her chest pressing into his back, and the hands that trailed slowly down his chest. He caught them before they could get any lower.
"Lookin a bit lonely, handsome." The one to his right purred, leaning forward and flaunting her cleavage.
"Need a little company?" The one behind him spoke in turn, almost like both shared a train of thought. Suspicion bubbled to the surface again, but annoyance quashed it out.
"I have a girlfriend." He drawled, barely keeping a far crueler retort from spilling out.
"She doesn't have to know." Lefty countered, "How could she keep such a hunk of man all to herself anyhow?"
"Awful greedy of her." The one behind him piped up. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck, sending an unpleasant chill through his body. Maybe not monsters, but pushy as Hades.
"I'm fine, thanks." Whatever they said next went through one ear and right out the other, his attention drawn to a cry of outrage and the sound of a table being bumped.
At first glance the lone woman had stood up, drunkenly stumbling and crashing into more than a few tables. The second glance at her face and the silver clothes she wore though…
Artemis, giggling and stumbling and slurring nonsense, was probably the last person he expected to see, especially in a place like this. Not only did he assume the goddess had at least a similar view on drunkenness as he did, but for her to be drunk here?
One of the bikers standing from his seat caught Percy's attention, and even with a glance it was clear what he was after. Rather, who he was after. The chill of dread curled down his spine.
He downed the last shot in a heartbeat, pushing through the trio and heading on an intercepting path with the goddess.
With a quick lunge he narrowly kept her from hitting another table, pulling her close enough to likely kill him should the situation be any different.
She fully leaned into him, chin poking just above the center of his chest. She was older than she usually was, or rather she looked older than usual, around his age give or take a couple years.
The Mist weaved and twisted with his will and blurred focus, and with a beat of silence it was as though they were never there.
Thin, remarkably soft fingers fingers took his chin in an iron grip, forcing his face down till his vision was almost entirely filled by Artemis' quizzical expression.
"Perseush?" She slurred curiously. He let her get her fill of studying his face, or maybe he just wanted to get his fill of studying hers. The steady flush of her cheeks, the slightest hint of aristocratic cheekbones that oddly reminded him of Zeus, the pale pink tint of her lips…
"Yes, Lady Artemis?" He gently extracted himself from her hold, which required a lot more force than he expected, and gently took hold of her wrist with a silent prayer he wasn't about to get vaporized, "What are you doing here?"
She offered no resistance or protest, stumbling behind him as they made their way towards the door. His mind scrambled for a plan, and for some answers.
"I come to Olympush as I please!" He could hear the affronted expression on her face, and the words hit right as they stumbled out of the bar.
"You aren't-" She pitched. He spun on his heel to react, sweeping her into a bridal carry before he could even think about it. The action drew a burst of giggles from her, and he lived to see another minute at least, "You aren't on Olympus."
Her face scrunched in his peripheral, and his eyes followed hers as she dramatically twisted to study the environment.
It was quiet, far too quiet for a New York street, and empty. Maybe the barest flash of life turning a corner, but nothing more, and just as possibly being his eyes playing with him.
He has only seen it like this just before the Battle for Manhattan, and that was because of a god. The cause of this still eluded him. Well, for a moment.
The Fates were certainly an unexpected sight, one that had him frozen in the middle of the street. They stared, and he stared right back. Artemis didn't seem to notice them, lost in toying with his hair.
They kept weaving, though he could feel all of their eyes locked on him as they did.
And in a blink, they were gone. A cold breeze whistled through the streets as the dread from the bar returned, almost twofold. Something was going to happen, and he didn't want to deal with it while lugging a drunk goddess around, so he set a faster pace.
It wasn't all that far from his mom's apartment that his head began to swim. The world only seemed to get colder, blurring at the edges of his vision and spinning ever so slightly.
He tripped, though managed to save himself and Artemis, who let out a loud squawk from the drop. The sound made his skull ache, and the piercing giggle that followed even more so. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
His legs stumbled beneath him, only just saving him from an inelegant kiss from the fire escape as he climbed as fast as his body and the one he was toting would allow.
The past hour whipped through his mind in slurring detail as he struggled to find the source of his failing body, only to come back frighteningly blank. He forced his worry behind, and focused on his path. Two more floors and he would be safe.
Two more floors felt like it might as well be Tartarus itself, with each push and pull of climbing up the stairs seeming to magnify the force pressing down on them. Still, he pressed on. Up one more floor. What the hell did he drink?
His legs wobbled beneath him, arms threatened to drop his charge, and his balance sputtered. The red metal of the fire escape looked all the more tempting as it stretched up and seemed to reach for him.
Still, he pressed forward.
There was no saving himself from hitting the floor, not after what had felt like hours that it had taken to get there and spilling through the window. Artemis let out another ungraceful squawk as they thumped into the carpeted floor.
With another raucous round of giggling she rolled onto her back, laying still as he pushed on. Get her in bed, save his skin tomorrow when she was lucid.
It was closer to a drag, really, but he managed to nudge her onto the bed, and that was that. He paused to collect what remaining strength he had, hoping that the couch was within his limits for the sake of his body tomorrow, and gently pushed off the mattress.
A hand latched to his wrist, iron-like grasp barely registering in his mind before the world spun, though it had nothing to do with whatever was coursing through his system.
The mattress hit his back with a thump, springs squeaking slightly as he processed what happened. Artemis didn't give him the chance, grip still tight around his wrist as she rolled to straddle him.
"Wha-" Even before the finger sloppily pressed against his lips, whatever he meant to say felt slow and just as slurred as her own words.
"Shhhhhhh!" The gleam in her eyes made his stomach turn uneasily, "'Dite a'ways says it's fun."
His heart thrummed faster, and he reached for the offending limb for seconds before it too was in her grasp. He futilely jerked against the hold, and it merely tightened impossibly in response.
"C'mon Pershy, males love thisss." She purred. Far smoother than her drunken state should allow, she forced both hands above his head. A flash of silver illuminated the room for a beat, and he yanked harshly at the feeling of cold metal. It didn't yield, biting into the skin of his wrists till he stopped pulling.
"Artemis what are you-mmph!" Warm, soft lips slammed into his, cutting his words off. He froze beneath her and struggled to wrap his mind around the turn of events.
Cinnamon seemed to fill his senses, a coying heat that barely even registered in his mind in the wake of the fact that Artemis was kissing him. In seconds he forced his head to the side, breaking the kiss and gasping for a breath he hadn't realized he missed.
She didn't miss the opportunity that turning his head gave her, turning her sloppy assault to his neck. He couldn't fully suppress his gasp when she nipped at the skin, nor the shudder that racked his form when she grinned.
Her hands traveled down his front, raking across every bit of muscle they could find. Shoulders, chest, abs, finally coming to a stop at the waistband of his jeans.
"Relax, have some fun." She slurred, hands catching on fabric and drifting lower, and lower, and lower…
The night was alive. Lights of all sorts flashing and advertisements beaming. Lights that felt far too bright and piercing and revealing and made his eyes burn. Lights that seemed to highlight every flash of red or silver far too well.
Bodies filled the street, all at once too many and too close and filthy. Bodies that slurred and crashed into him. Everything and everyone and he was itching with filth that crawled on his surface yet penetrated down to the bone.
Jeers and honking and yelling and whistling and taunting flooded the street, tried to flood his senses. Tried to pull the teasing from his ears.
A shoulder smacked into his, and he whipped to face it.
"Watch where you're going, dickhead." The man warned. For a half-instant he could've sworn it was a woman, a very familiar one that made his heart stutter in his chest.
His hand lightly pawed at his chest, whether to soothe the panicked fluttering within or something else entirely he wasn't sure.
With every step, the numb returned. Instinct took charge. He sunk deeper into the recesses of his mind.
He didn't know where he was going. It didn't matter. Didn't know why he didn't call Blackjack. Didn't matter.
All that seemed to matter was moving, and so long as he was moving. He didn't even know why that was so urgent in his mind. Everything felt weird. He felt weird.
There was an odd shake in his hands that he couldn't seem to stop, almost goading him into doing something.
Advertisements flashed on digital billboards, each one flashing bright colors and adding fuel to his mounting headache. Was New York always this bright?
His temper flared, and the nothing in his chest was gone in an instant. Water whipped with his singleminded rage, his frantic pulse thrummed louder in his ears.
Glass shattered, and screams followed. He blinked, mind whirling to understand what happened.
Darkness fell over the square as he walked, only slightly bothering to hasten his pace. Keep moving. Ignore the screaming, the shouting, the sirens in the not so distant distance. Keep moving.
The streets were quieter here, if only just. A bit further out, and quieting the further he went. All the better. The lights and the chaos and the filth made his pulse race and his mind ache.
The silence though, allowed the numb nothingness to overtake him again. He wasn't sure if he preferred it or not.
He wasn't sure when exactly he had stepped foot on the train. The slightest hint of mildew seemed to have been in his nose for as long as he could remember. Didn't know how he made it aboard either. He had no ticket, no cash.
He forced the stale air into his lungs, and then back out. It felt thick, wrong, artificial in some strange way.
With more control than he'd had all night- or maybe morning would be more apt of a word- he forced himself into the seat beside him, only just managing to push another breath out and close his eyes.
"You okay there, dude?" He jumped, heart stuttering in his chest and eyes scanning for threats.
The morning darkness was gone, with the bright orange of sunrise painting most anything in sight. He must have passed out. The thought made his stomach inexplicably twist.
He jolted from the feeling, forcing himself to focus on the stranger before him.
She peered back from behind round glasses, with something resembling mild concern in her eyes. Or maybe it was curiosity, really, gods know she had no reason to be concerned for him.
Unless she knew who he was. Unless she was concerned about him, not for.
Suspicion made his eyes run over her features again, so much as the slightest imperfection making the hair on his neck stand on end.
Some kind of test maybe? A setup? A plot to get him killed? By who? Athena? Ares? He had no shortage of beings that wanted him dead, certainly. Dead or compliant.
He didn't risk taking Riptide from his pocket, whatever it was would be watching his every little twitch. What really mattered was just what monster they'd send and expect to actually kill him.
"Hello? Am I talking to a wall?" She pressed. His fingers twitched to react, to turn the damned thing mocking him to dust. Still, he waited.
Her hand finally shot out, fingertip barely reaching his shoulder before he moved, heart shooting into his throat.
His body reacted in a blur, and before he even realized he made contact her elbow was broken, a jagged spike of bone protruding starkly from her skin.
She reeled back in shock, not even a beat of silence before a scream of pain ripped from her throat. He watched, waited for her to dissolve into dust or transform into some ghastly creature while he waited for the next monster. She did neither.
A hand violently yanked his shoulder, turning him to the next offender. He slapped the approaching fist away, elbow slamming into the other's throat with a crunch.
The man stumbled back, eyes wide as saucers as he weakly pawed at his throat, before finally collapsing to the floor.
Percy whipped around, ready for the next, only to find no one. At least, no one not cowered against the walls of the train recording him. Hand to hand sparring wasn't Jason's worst idea.
Instinct lashed out, and his hand smacked a projectile to the ground. A wallet. The marksman cowered further into the wall.
Shouts and screams and pleads came all at once, overwhelming the cabin with a loud cacophony. Far too loud.
His hands clamped over his ears in feeble defense. Anger and power swirled in his chest like a deadly cocktail. Too much and he couldn't think and-
"Shut UP!" The world flipped and spun with a thunderous boom. Passengers screamed and the awful sound of rending and grinding metal pierced the ringing in his ears and threatened to split his head in two.
Gravity meant nothing as he bounced. Off the ceiling, the walls, the floor. A burning, sharp pain ran down his side, and he barely felt the impact of his head against the wall before the world went dark.