#Percy hasn't met a situation he can't crash through

[whispersinthedawn]

Fluttering Fireflies 3

It probably said something about Apollo, or at least about Artemis’s understanding of Apollo, that the god’s first action after parting from her was to perch himself in his casual chariot, put on a pair of Hephaestus’s far-seeing, anti-glare, anti-moisture, anti-rocks, heat-detecting sunglasses, and settle in for a glimpse of his newest obsession.

Um.

Attraction.

Person of interest.

Person he wanted to befriend, possibly befriend.

Whatever sounded less creepy.

Or stalkerish.

Cause he wasn’t being a stalker.

He just … waited for the new god to pop his perfectly shaped head out of the water, dialled up his sunglasses until he could peer beneath the waters, and then tracked the god’s path throughout the week.

But he wasn’t creepy! He never followed the god. Apollo remained right where he was, perched in his chariot, and allowed his own perfect vision and Hephaestus’s sunglasses to do all the work.

And he definitely didn’t eavesdrop on the god’s conversations until he heard his own name mentioned, which as everyone knew, was just asking for his attention.

No, no. Apollo drove the Sun chariot around, composed music, created art, listened to prayers, inspired a few mortals, healed some other mortals, guided some lost sailors to shore, and allowed one of his manifestations to laze around doing nothing but reading books and observing the scenery for some much needed mental relaxation.

And then he heard his name.

Being the friendly, charismatic guy he always tried to be (it wasn’t nosiness no matter what Artemis said), Apollo promptly materialised on top of the boat.

“Hello,” he beamed.

A glass broke against his face.

He blinked. People … didn’t generally throw entire glasses at him, no.

“You surprised me!” the beautiful, dangerous god Apollo might have possibly fallen for cried out.

“Not more than you surprised me,” Apollo pointed out genially while brushing fragments of glass off himself.

“What are you doing here anyway?” the other god demanded, narrowing bright green eyes that might have been inherited from Poseidon but sparkled with a vivacity all their own.

“Heard my name,” Apollo said shamelessly. “It sounded urgent.”

The god peered at him suspiciously. “You don’t look like any of my uncles, but who can say with shapeshifting.”

“I’m Apollo,” Apollo interrupted before the guy could start listing all the gods Apollo couldn’t be.

“I just wanted a little less sunshine,” the recipient of Apollo’s attention said without any consideration for who he was talking to.

“And that made you pray to me?” Apollo cried out, trying terribly hard to sound excited.

Something broke on the other side of the boat. Though Apollo supposed the vehicle wasn’t tiny enough to classify as a rowboat. A yacht perhaps? Terribly small in comparison to anything Apollo would own, but then again, he supposed young gods didn’t have centuries of offerings to call upon.

The young god in question heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry for throwing the glass at you,” he apologized with a disarming smile. “I was surprised, but that’s no reason to take it out on you. My only excuse, I suppose, is that I’m on something of a mission.

“What mission?” Apollo asked, bubbles of excitement rising up his oesophagus.

The young god winked. “A little sneaking, a little breaking. Maybe a little theft.”

“I’d love to help,” Apollo enthused.

And didn’t regret it even when he had to stomp out all the noise on the boat, act as a portable lie detector as the gorgeous, vibrant, ruthless god beside him interrogated his way through the boat, and set up a heat haze that threatened to evaporate the Oceanid pretending she hadn’t stuffed a sheaf of papers down her throat.

“Now,” the unrepentant son of Poseidon said. “I hope you know why I’m here. Because if you don’t, then I’m really going to start wondering just how many people you’ve cheated.”

***

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