#still a crime we never saw camp jupiter

[reddamselette]

tw: depersonalization, feelings of lost identity (just in case bc. yeah), child soldiers

please for the love of the gods, proceed with caution. like genuinely

Jason pursed his lips, his gaze falling to his hands as he threaded his fingers together unsure of what to say, how to say it, if he should he say it. Years of restraint and forging and discipline weigh on his shoulders, clawing at his back, all the while chaining him to the ground he found himself suffocating under.

Even as he glanced at Reyna who stared at him expectantly, her eyebrow raised as her hand rested limply, lazily on the handle of her sword, the words were lodged in his throat and unable to push past his teeth.

Uncertainty is a weakness, Jason Grace. Lupa’s voice rang through his head. Remove it, shatter it then burn it until there is nothing left. Uncertainty will kill you. She reminded him firmly, strictly with authority and no concern for the fragility that was taken the day he was abandoned.

Jason had never been defiant, he has never found the courage to break the barrier of orders programmed into his mind, his body, his soul. As the system of his brain threatened to shut down, errors covering every corner of his vision, he swallowed thickly. His breath hitched as if his lungs ceased to function, his oxygen stolen. “Do— do you ever…feel like you’re not— not real?”

Reyna furrowed her brows, tilting her head slightly to the left and Jason could see her mind working at a rapid pace. Her eyes almost glazed over, a look so distant and so far as she thought and thought and thought.

Years forced to hold his tongue, play the role with obedience, he learned to observe. It wasn’t the observation of a predator that was drilled into the core of his being, chipping away anything but a killing machine. It was also the observation of simply just existing on the sidelines.

How certain people moved, their habits and their tells, the rubbing of one’s fingers against the palm of their hand, how tones never match their gazes. Eyes are windows to the soul and Jason knew then, not many soldiers of the Legion were human. Their eyes dulled over time, losing the shine and although most would smile and laugh and joke, it never reached their eyes. Guilt and remorse written over their expressions but never reflected in the empty wells void of water.

Jason watched silently as Reyna followed through the same struggle of wanting to speak but unable to say it unless she forced herself to. It was eerie, almost impossible, for his throat to feel scratchy and hoarse like he screamed and shouted for hours. He swallowed again, resisting the urge to rub his throat and grimace as he tasted the faintest hint of metallic iron on his tongue. As if he ripped the stitches that held his vocal chords speaking out of line.

“I—“ Reyna began, turning her head to the side to cough with the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. A flicker of emotion fell through and her face faltered from the usual blankness they each held. “I don’t— I don’t. I don’t feel—“

Jason nodded and they fell silent. He watched as Reyna lowered her head, her eyes wide as short breaths escaped her lips like she ran for miles and she couldn’t stop. She had. They both had.

Reality suddenly warped around them and zeroed in like cameras, they were aware and everything felt wrong.

Each inhale felt foreign, every thought wasn’t their own and their bodies weren’t theirs to begin with. They remained standing, frozen and locked in place as they spiraled. Jason couldn’t see from his eyes the way he used to. His arms and his hands felt far away, fisheye lens placed over his vision to disorientate him and throw him off balance. He broke off from the act he was in, refused to read from the script given to him like he became a sentient robot.

But that’s what he was. It was what he and Reyna both were. Puppets on string, never deciding their own choices as they walked the plank over an endless drop. He was aware that each person there had free will, what they do or say or act determined their future.

Yet at this moment, like a deer in headlights, never breathing and stuck encased in glass, Jason didn’t know what to do with himself. Because in truth, fate determined his free will. And relief settled in his chest hours later knowing Reyna felt the same.

They were human but they weren’t human enough. They each lacked identity, basing their lives around the legacy they built for the world until Jason’s question acted like a wake up call. He was sure, though.

He was sure that he would never be more than a soldier but less than a human. Trapped in a loop of obedience and order, never to change or destroy, always to walk forward and refrain from jumping off the plank.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

how would you do a percy jackson adaptaion?

okay, so I know this is a controversial opinion right off the bat: I really don’t think it should be an animated series.

A large part of the appeal of the series is that it’s a fantasy series set very very firmly in reality. Literally, apart from the camps, you could go to every location hit in the books. Riordan mentions specific streets, buildings and landmarks, and that was cool when I first read them. I remember being a kid and waiting for him to set a scene in a place near where I lived! I remember trips to New York and being able to envision an epic war happening in the streets. So I think any adaption needs to be live action just to keep that same feeling alive, while I’m not knocking on animation, I just feel like taking the story out of real life would make it loose a little of the charm. Like, the scene where Manhattan is completely frozen in time? It would be haunting to see that in real life, but I feel like it would be less impactful if it didn’t…you know…look real? The series should be done in a way that makes you truly feel like you could just turn a corner and walk straight into a snake woman going about her day. 

Now: another large part of the appeal of the series is how funny it is, but a lot of that…is Percy’s inner monologue. He doesn’t actually voice most of it, there was even a book where Annabeth described him as being quiet. So, I think the best way to work around this: make it Interview With A Demigod. 

Imagine it’s got an interview with a vampire-esque setup- and this even works because within the riordanverse, the books canonically exist because Percy sat down with a ‘camp scribe’ and had his quests recorded. So, like, this isn’t even entirely out of left field. But just imagine, a college-aged, maybe a little older Percy, I can see it so clearly in my head, he’s wearing a sweatshirt that at first glance looks like it says NYU but a trained eye will see it actually says NRU for a camp jupiter easter egg, he’s sitting in some dinky little diner (maybe it can even be a monster donut or something with a clever greek myth related name) with a guy who’s recording the conversation on some old-ass tape recorder that keeps acting up but they can’t record on a phone because of the whole technology thing. Every now and then it’ll cut back to them to get some great Percy thoughts out there. They open with older Percy saying the ‘look, I didn’t wanna be a halfblood’ and then explaining where he was when the whole mess started. Once he get’s to “was I a troubled kid?” the screen fades from older Percy to 12 year old Percy getting in a fight with Nancy and her gang, and the voice over says the ‘Yeah, you could say that’ part as we see him get threatened by the principal to behave on the field trip. Boom, we’ve got an opening. Lowkey….I’m seeing Jordan Fisher as older Percy, but I’m not 100% married to the idea. 

And before anyone tries to argue that showing an older Percy would spoil he’s not gonna die in last olympian- like, reading the books, we all knew he wasn’t going to die. It was a first person narrative and he was consistently speaking in past tense lmao like we Knew he was gonna make it. We still enjoyed the series. It won’t ruin anything.

I want part of the score of the adaptation to be instrumental versions of songs from the musical, I think that could be a sweet nod to that team. 

They really need to nail camp halfblood. I know that goes without saying, but in order to keep the pacing of the story decent we can’t spend as much time falling in love with it like we got to with the book. The book is like, 24 chapters and the quest starts at chapter 12- for a movie or tv show, that’s just gonna feel like it’s dragging. So, the insanity of the camp needs to smack you in the face right away, and then it needs to endear itself to the viewers quickly after that. Don’t try to ease the viewers (or Percy) into the mythology is real thing, rip it off like a bandaid. He’s on his way to meet Chiron and Mr. D for the first time and even if he’s not comprehending what he’s seeing, there’s nature spirits and harpies all around going about their day. Hestia waves at him and then disappears into the flames. Hecate kids can be seen casting a spell on the porch of the Hermes cabin. The Stolls are seen pranking some Aphrodite kids. He sees someone surely die on the climbing wall but then you hear a faint ‘I’m okay!’. The Apollo kids put a rhyming curse on another cabin. Pure chaos all before he gets the ‘so, gods are real’ speech. And then after that…show how warm Luke is to him at the cabin and at dinner. Show the kids all goofing off at the campfire and really make it clear that they’re children. Show the strawberry fields rolling in the wind and Percy sitting on the beach. The whole couple weeks where he’s searching for powers and learning greek and latin with Annabeth can be a montage. Make it clear how hurt and scared he is when he finds out he needs to leave.

It needs to really get you feeling how Percy’s feeling, every laugh, every tear, every moment of fear or confusion needs to shine clear through. Like…think of Spider-Man Homecoming, the Washington monument scene. All things considered, it’s not the most high-stakes scene we’ve ever seen in that franchise, and when it cuts to the kids in the elevator, they’re worried but not quite freaking out, but that scene feels very high stress to watch because the movie is good at getting the viewers to feel what Peter feels. A Percy Jackson adaptation needs a touch like that, because Percy’s a very emotional kid and that’s what a lot of the scenes hinge on.

Lowkey- I’d love it if the casts of both the previous movies and the musical had cameos or bit parts (the movie cast did Nothing Wrong, it was the rest of that team). It’d be hilarious to see, like, Jake Abel as the owner of the poodle, or Logan Lerman as Older Percy and the reporter’s waiter that keeps trying to get in on the conversation, or Brandon T. Jackson as a satyr who’s still stuck grooving out in the Lotus Hotel and Casino. Kristen Stokes as a nature spirit, Chris as one of the ghosts stuck in the waiting room of DOA Records, just like any of those casts having small parts would be fun and sweet. 

There should be a lot of easter eggs for the bigger riordanverse. Promotions in the background for the new Tristan McLean movie. Gabe’s got a true crime documentary about the missing Grace children playing during his poker game. Mr. D is reading a paper about Rachel Dare’s father’s newest project. At some point while they’re still in New York they pass the Kane family’s mansion or whatever it was called. Annabeth keeps a picture of little her and Magnus on her nightstand. The barest of hints about the Triumvirate. Seeing kids in camp jupiter gear in some background shots, just out of notice of our main characters but implying the camps are going through similar problems (BITCH….if we got a titan’s curse adaptation…and we had a shot of Thalia in the foreground….but in the background we saw a blond boy in purple with a golden sword….well I would simply loose my Goddamn mind).

And show us how easily the mist lets things blend in, too- like, everyone thinks ‘Monster Donuts’ is just a normal chain, it’s just on an average street block, but if Percy looks through the window he can see who’s behind the counter. Show someone swindling some guys in a park and you have to look twice to realize he’s a gegeines. Like…how people are still trying to find all the background ghosts in haunting of hill house. I would LOVE to see a bunch of background monsters and mythical beings just going about their day as much as the mortals are while the gang’s questing. 

The effects need to be fun. The whole story needs to be fun, but one weird thing about the past movies are that like…in their attempt to make it gritty, none of the fantastical things happening on screen actually felt that exciting. We need bright colors and interesting choices, consistently cool action shots, a liveliness that makes you feel like you’re in the center of the action. I have absolutely no doubt Disney easily has enough funds to pull off great effects.

The characters need to be….in character lmao. Annabeth needs to be cocky and bratty with the skill set to justify it. Percy needs to be a sweetheart who pretends to be hardened because that’s what people assume he’s like. Grover needs to have dry humor and a Too Old For This Shit attitude whenever percabeth start bickering. Luke needs to be nice and friendly but in a specific way that you can look back after the betrayal and see he was trying to groom everyone. Sally needs to be loving, protective and strong. Chiron needs to feel defeated and determined at the same time. Mr. D needs to….be Stanley Tucci lmao

Also, I’d love if the adaptation could expand more on things that got brushed along in the books- Percy and Beckendorf’s friendship, Silena and Clarisse’s dynamic, make Nico’s crush on Percy a little more obvious, give Rachel some more development. One thing that haunts me about the books is Sally never found out that Gabe hit Percy. Absolutely they don’t need to make the abuse explicit, but I also personally feel like a lot of Percy’s mindsets throughout the series are somewhat a result of Gabe, and I’d like if that got, you know, acknowledged. Maybe in the scene where he figures out Gabe abuses Sally he could say ‘does he hit you too?’ or something to that effect. They could also go more into detail about Annabeth’s family, give Zoe some more depth….like the possibilities I’m screaming.

Okay this is already long and I’m getting tired but I can so clearly see a great adaptation in my mind….Disney please come through….It’s what we deserve…. 

[knuffled]

discipline & punish - chapter two

the new chapter is here as promised! hope you all like it! it would make my day if you reblogged! 

here’s the ao3 link

bloodflood

The waves were choppier the following week. The beach overlooking the sound was besieged by churning, gunmetal gray waves tearing away at the sand, like the sea sought to devour the earth. Annabeth rarely went to the beach as it was – she never felt safe there – but she had even better reason to avoid it now.

She hardly registered time passing that week – an hour spanned the length of a year and a day passed in the blink of an eye. There was something heavy in the air. It was like waiting for an inevitable storm, not the kind you marveled at behind your bedroom window, but the kind where thunder rang too closely, too loudly in your ears and the torrential downpour sounded like gunfire.

Annabeth couldn't help feeling like she had brought a ticking time bomb into her camp. All week her thoughts strayed to Percy, and more than once she'd felt short of breath, like his hands were still wrapped around her throat. When he was finally recovered, she knew that he would confront her, and this time he wouldn't be slowed down. This time he would be at his best.

If Annabeth was being honest, she wasn't sure she could handle his best, although she would never admit that out loud. It wasn't her fault though – years of peace had dulled her instincts. She was grossly out of practice. The traces of the fiery sixteen year old driving a dagger through Kronos's heart in the ruins of Mt. Olympus seemed a distant dream from another lifetime.

Her conversation with Reyna had done nothing to assuage her mounting anxiety either. She had Iris Messaged the praetor of New Rome a few days after her skirmish with Percy in the hospital to get her opinion on the situation. Although they weren’t particularly close, there had always been a mutual respect between them given that they were both leaders of their respective communities.

When her face showed on the Iris Message, Reyna had smiled tiredly and said, “What a surprise. It’s not often that I hear from you.”

“Life’s been busy,” Annabeth said.

“Isn’t it always?” Reyna said, picking at a fraying strand of her cape. “How is New Athens coming along?”

“Good,” Annabeth said, sighing. “It’s just that there is always more to do. You have to come by once it’s finished. I’ll give you a tour.”

Reyna smiled again, more warmly this time. “I’ll have to take you up on that offer. I could certainly use a break.”

“Being praetor sounds stressful,” Annabeth offered.

Reyna pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed. “Not much more than being Camp Director, I would imagine, but you’re right. Neither of us enjoys playing politics and dealing with bruised egos, but that’s not something we can avoid, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve got that right,” Annabeth said, laughing.

“Well, enough of my rambling. I’m sure you’re calling for a reason,” Reyna said, straightening in her seat.

Annabeth bit her lip and tried to think of how best to phrase what she wanted to say. “There’s a new arrival here at camp that concerns me, and I wanted to get your opinion,” she said.

Reyna raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, color me intrigued. It’s not very often to see you bothered by another demigod.”

“He’s – well, he’s different. The main reason I wanted to ask you about him was because he said that he came from the Wolf House,” Annabeth said.

Reyna frowned. “That’s probably a lie. If he was from the Wolf House, he would’ve been sent to Camp Jupiter, not all the way across the country.”

Annabeth nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought at first too, but I don’t know – I get the sense that he isn’t lying.”

When Reyna was silent, Annabeth said, “Do you know a demigod named Percy?”

At the mention of his name, Reyna’s countenance darkened, which did nothing to soothe Annabeth’s growing sense of despair. Reyna screwed her eyes shut and exhaled sharply.

“So that’s where he’s gone,” she muttered.

“You know him?”

Reyna opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, he came to New Rome, early last summer. At first, we tried to accommodate him, but it became clear that we couldn’t control him. He picked fights wherever he went and clashed with me and Frank over the right to become praetor.”

“What happened?” Annabeth asked.

“He nearly killed Frank. Then when I intervened, I didn’t do much better. Neither of us were prepared for him. Maybe it was because we were so out of practice. I can’t remember the last time I was in a fight to the death, but Percy, on the other hand, seemed very accustomed to it,” Reyna said.

She shifted her toga so Annabeth could get a better look at her shoulder, and Annabeth stiffened when she saw a long jagged scar that ran from the top of Reyna’s shoulder down the side of her stomach, stopping above of her hip.

Reyna must’ve noticed Annabeth’s shocked expression because she grimaced and said, “You should see Frank’s. He was far worse. Spent nearly three weeks in the hospital.”

“So how did you get him to leave?” Annabeth asked.

“It took me and a battalion of other legionnaires to fight him off. Even then, he killed seven of them and injured thirteen others before we succeeded,” Reyna said.

“Jesus,” Annabeth muttered.

Reyna nodded and said, “He’s dangerous, Annabeth. He’s not the type that listens to logic or reason. You need to get rid of him, or you’re in for bloodshed.”

That had been nearly three days ago, but Annabeth still hadn’t made a decision on whether or not to exile Percy from camp. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Reyna or her judgment – it was more so that she wasn’t sure it was fair to exile someone for a crime they had yet to commit. At the same time, Annabeth knew that as Camp Director, her obligation was to the citizens of New Athens and that she couldn’t jeopardize their safety for the sake of one camper. Furthermore, if he was strong enough to push Reyna to the brink, then he was truly dangerous indeed. Annabeth knew firsthand that the praetor of New Rome was powerful enough to rival her.

Despite knowing all these things, there was some resistance to taking preemptive action against Percy in her that Annabeth didn’t understand. Her indecision lasted too long, however, and the window to act slipped away because Percy finished recovering only a few days later.

:::

He found her in the forest behind New Athens. In her younger days, Annabeth had played Capture the Flag or tamed wild pegasi there, but now she went there for peace and quiet. Nonetheless, when he found her that day, Annabeth had been coaxing a wild pegasus to eat an apple she’d brought with her.

The pegasus was as white as fresh fallen snow and very haughty, even more so than other pegasus. It took Annabeth nearly half an hour for the pegasus to even trust her enough to approach her. Eventually, it allowed her to get closer and sniffed and examined the apple before taking a tentative bite. As it ate, Annabeth took the opportunity to run her fingers through its white mane and marveled at how the thin hairs appeared incandescent beneath the dappled sunlight.

That was when she noticed someone was watching her. When she turned around, she almost didn’t recognize who it was, but the newcomer’s eyes gave his identity away. Percy looked completely different with his haircut, now that his face was no longer obscured. Although it wasn’t a word typically used to describe men, Annabeth couldn’t help thinking he looked beautiful. Not beautiful like a jewel safely stored behind a glass window but beautiful like the curve a hawk’s talons, somehow elegant and savage at the same time.

“How’d you find me?” Annabeth asked.

Percy shrugged and moved out into the copse. “Wasn’t hard. You’re the only one around here that smells strong.”

At this proximity, that weird scent of his washed over her, nearly making her stagger. It was stronger now than it had been before. It had already been potent enough beforehand, but now it was taking a lot of conscious effort to maintain a hold of herself. She found herself clenching and unclenching her fingers in an effort to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair. How much more intense would the smell be if she buried her face in the crook of his neck?

Annabeth shook her head in a futile effort to clear her mind. “What do you want? I doubt you made it all the way out here just for some fresh air,” she said.

Percy’s lips curled upwards in the ghost of a smile, but the gesture conveyed malice more than humor. “You know why I’m here,” he said.

“You’ll have to spell it out for me,” Annabeth said.

When he sauntered towards her, Annabeth’s hand twitched towards her thigh before she remembered she hadn’t brought her dagger with her.

“I want to fight for the right to rule,” he said.

Annabeth blinked. “The right to rule?”

Percy nodded and said, “Yes, unless you’re fine with me living as I please and ignoring your rules, but something tells me you wouldn’t agree to that.”

“If you’re staying here, you have to follow the rules,” Annabeth replied. “What makes you think you have any right to lead the camp as a newcomer?”

Percy shook his head and said, “You misunderstand. I have no wish to command. All I want is to do as I please.”

“That’s not the way society works,” Annabeth said, narrowing her eyes.

Percy shrugged and sad, “The strong do not need to bend to what society wants.”

“You think just because you’re powerful, you get to do whatever the fuck you want?”

Percy frowned, like what she’d said was absurd. “Isn’t that only natural? Do you think a dragon cares about the opinions of a rat?”

“You’re not a dragon, and they aren’t rats,” Annabeth said, feeling her irritation mounting.

“That’s not how I see it,” Percy said.

Annabeth grit her teeth. What a little shit. There was no point trying to philosophize with him. He didn’t seem like he would change his mind unless he was beaten into submission.

“So you want the two of us to fight then?” Annabeth asked.

When he nodded, Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I don’t see what I have to gain by fighting you.”

At this, Percy offered a wolfish grin. “Is your life not prize enough?”

Annabeth felt her jaw tighten. Reyna was right. The boy didn’t listen.

:::

A small crowd formed at the training arena that night in preparation for Annabeth’s fight with Percy. Even though they didn’t know what was at stake, they still seemed to sense that this fight was more important than a regular bout of sparring. Annabeth did her best to ignore them, but she could catch scraps of whispered conversations amongst them.

The moon was missing from the sky that night, and the darkness seemed overbearing. There was a chill in the wind that seemed out of place for a night in August and tension hung in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Not for the first time, Annabeth wished Chiron were still here and in charge. He would probably know how to deal with this situation better than she did. He might’ve have been able to figure something out that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.

At the other end of the arena, Percy looked through an assortment of imperial bronze and celestial gold weapons to fight with. His face was perfectly blank, so Annabeth couldn’t tell if there was anything he preferred or didn’t. She had already begun to size him up – looking for clues in his mannerisms, body language, facial expressions, eye movement – anything to give her an idea of just what exactly she was up against. Unfortunately, he gave her nothing to work with.

Eventually, he settled on picking out a half-and-a-half sword made out of celestial bronze. Annabeth watched as he gauged the heft of it in his hand, trying to find its center of gravity, before he moved on to some test strikes with the blade. She’d already had a glimpse of his speed and combat prowess in the hospital, but she was taken aback when the blade vanished in a blur, moving faster than her eyes could track. A pit formed in her stomach – he moved the blade as if it weighed nothing more than a reed and it was clear that he knew how to use it. It was hard to tell under the cover of darkness, but she thought she saw his lips curl upwards in the ghost of a smile.

When he turned towards her, the feral quality inherent to his eyes seemed amplified. Annabeth’s senses already began to sharpen as he walked over to her. It felt less like she was fighting another human being and more like she was preparing to get pounced on by a wild animal. There was something about him that felt definitively inhuman, something about the way he carried himself that screamed that he wasn’t like other people, that he was a different breed altogether, like he was designed to hunt human beings, not live amongst them.

“Are you ready?” Annabeth asked, clearing her throat.

When Percy nodded, she said, “We’ll go three rounds. First to two victories will be the winner.”

Percy barked a laugh. “Do all your opponents give you three chances to take their lives or are you trying to insult me? No, in a fight to the death there can only be one round.”

Annabeth grit her teeth and unsheathed her dagger. “Fine by me.”

They stepped closer to each other, close enough for Annabeth to see the faint splay of freckles on the bridge of his nose. If the crowd was making any noise now, she could no longer hear it. Her hands were not clammy – years of experience had seen to that. Fear vanished and was replaced by a savage excitement as the thrill of the hunt consumed them both.

Percy struck first, his blade moving faster than it had even during his test strokes. Annabeth stepped back, but the tip of his sword caught her cheek and left a small cut. Her senses sharped impossibly further.

This was happening.

Annabeth made a move of her own, stabbing for his inner thigh. Percy parried her strike, but Annabeth was already in motion for her next attack. She swept out with her leg to try to knock him off his feet. The maneuver failed, but that was expected. All she needed was for him to be off balance for her next move. Percy neatly jumped over her leg, as anticipated, and Annabeth continued by thrusting forward with her free hand, aiming for his windpipe. He reacted in the nick of time and ducked to evade her strike, but his pressure stopping her dagger had lessened imperceptibly, which was what Annabeth had been waiting for.

She thrust at his stomach, but Percy failed to avoid it. She felt a surge of triumph when the blade cut through his shirt and slit the side of his torso.

Percy retaliated with a savage strike with the pommel of his sword against the side of Annabeth’s head. Her skull burst with pain, nearly leading her to get decapitated by his subsequent strike, but she managed to parry it with her dagger just barely.

The fight seemed to last an eternity as they exchanged blows. Annabeth realized immediately how he had nearly killed Frank and given Reyna so much trouble. The way he fought had no rhyme or reason. Everything was unpredictable and improvisational. He did things she had never seen anyone else do, such as using the flat of his blade as a blunt instrument or taking advantage of the soil they fought on to subtly unseat her balance. Percy utilized all of his appendages in battle and they were just as deadly as the sword he carried – she could block his blade only to catch a knee to her ribs or an open palm to her ear.

What frustrated her most was that she was unable to get a sense for him at any point in the fight. No matter how strong her opponents had been in the past, after a certain amount of time fighting, she got a sense of their habits and unconscious biases. Perhaps they favored attacking from one side or found it uncomfortable to defend attacks from a certain angle. All human beings had preferences that they were unaware of.

Percy, it seemed however, was an exception to that rule. Just when she thought that he preferred slashes to thrusts or that he tended to pivot with his left foot when he dodged, he would do just the opposite with equal prowess and throw off her assessment.

However, what made her realize that she would lose the fight was that strange fucking smell that clung to him like a perfume. At the beginning of the fight, her senses had been so sharpened and focused on her survival that she had been able to tune it out, but as the fight progressed, it began to seep through her focus. It would cause her to respond sluggishly or lose concentration for just fractions of a second, but against an opponent of Percy’s caliber those fractions meant the difference between life and death.

As a result, she gradually accumulated more and more injuries as the fight drew on. The fact that she was woefully out of practice only sealed with greater certainty that this fight would end with her loss. Despair settled in and she began to get increasingly desperate. Her attacks became progressively sloppier and her defenses more lethargic.

A line of searing pain burst through her when Percy cut the side of her face, carving from the tip of her ear down to her jaw. Blood seeped into her eye as he moved to his next attack. Time slowed down. Annabeth could see that his next strike would skewer her stomach and lacerate her intestines. Even if she were to evade him, Annabeth honestly could not see how to win the fight. At best, she was prolonging the inevitable.

Instead of fear, the emotion that erupted in her at that moment was anger. White, hot anger. This little, eighteen year old fucker who she’d saved from certain death was trying to take her camp from her. Her camp. The one that she spent the last half-decade of her life building, brick by fucking brick.

But what infuriated her more than anything he had done was the fact that she feared him. Deep down in her heart, she was afraid she would lose, and that was something she could not abide by. She had killed the enemies of literal fucking gods. She had looked into the golden eyes of the Lord of Time and stabbed him in the heart and watched as his golden blood coated her fingers. To think that she was afraid of a stripling like Percy was an insult she couldn’t bear.

For once in her life, Annabeth allowed herself to give in to that dark part of her that fought constantly with her for control of her soul, the part of her that sought to dominate and bend others to her will, the part of her that would rather die than allow herself to be ruled by another.

Percy’s sword drew closer to her stomach, but she didn’t step away from it. Instead, she moved slightly to the side. It sank into her flesh and brought with it a bolt of pain unlike anything she’d ever experienced, but that didn’t matter now. Instead, Annabeth curled her free hand around the blade and barely registered how it sliced into her palm and fingers.

For the first time during their fight, Percy looked surprised. Percy tried to unsheathe his blade, but again Annabeth gripped it with all her strength and it would not budge. They locked eyes, unable to look away from each other, and the sound of her blood dripping from the blade seemed unnaturally loud in her ears.

Annabeth’s subsequent movements were utterly unplanned and transpired with an addictive fluidity. She hooked her foot behind Percy’s right heel knocked him off balance. The maneuver would have failed, but Percy knew he couldn’t surrender his blade if he wanted to win, which locked him in place and made it impossible for him to evade her. As Percy fell to the ground, Annabeth pressed her knee to his stomach and followed him down, carefully holding his sword so it didn’t drive further into her as she fell. When he hit the ground, her knee knocked the breath out of his lungs, giving her a split second to press her knife to his throat.

By the time he recovered his breath, she had her entire body weight on top of him with her knife pressed against his throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood, her hand still wrapped around his sword with a death grip.

“Yield,” Annabeth grit out.

For a few seconds, Percy silently glared up at her, so Annabeth dug her knife further into his skin. With a little more pressure, she would cut his windpipe and kill him. Percy realized this and finally released his sword and held his palms up in surrender.

His voice was low and raspy as he said, “I yield.”

[lizabethstucker]

The SFWA Grand Masters,Vol. 1

Edited by Frederik Pohl

Pohl has selected eighteen short stories and novellas written by the first five Grand Masters ever selected by the Science Fiction Writers of America:  Robert A. Heinlein, Jack Williamson, Clifford D. Simak, L. Sprague de Camp, and Fritz Leiber. A great debt is owed to Jerry Pournelle for this recognition of the best of the best and to Frederik Pohl for both introducing and reintroducing me to these authors in one handy volume.  Actually, in three volumes as I know there is one more to be searched out in the interlibrary world.

 Thanks to my library’s willingness to go out of state, I can read the first volume in this series, having started off 2020 with Volume Two.  Thank you also to the Woodridge Public Library in Woodridge, Illinois.  Now I need to find the third volume.  4 out of 5

We start out with Robert A. Heinlein.  I can still remember the first Heinlein that I read, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.  My memory is so clear that I can recall to this day seeing it on the library shelf when I was working through a list of Golden Age writers that my father thought I should check out.  I understand how controversial he is to many readers, but I always found that his stories were worth reading, even when some of the plotlines were uncomfortable (I’m thinking primarily of Farnham’s Freehold).  Even if I didn’t agree with his ideas explored in his books and short stories, they made me think.

 “The Roads Must Roll” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Future History 3) The United States had moved from automobiles to solar-powered people movers beginning when oil and gasoline were rationed during World War II.  It led to less pollution, a spreading out of the population from the congestion of the cities, and a working class who were ripe for agitation by self-serving megalomaniacs with self-worth issues like Shorty Van Kleeck.  It is up to Larry Gaines, the Chief Engineer, to stop the destruction and disruption of the roads.  Heinlein is remarkably prescient in this 1940 tale, predicting the congestion of the automobiles and their increasing dangers as well as the importance of solar energy.  It’s a shame such people movers, whether this style or high-speed trains are kept from actually being implemented.  It is also true that the disenfranchised can be easily manipulated.  Just look at our current political environment, not just in the United States and Great Britain.  A brilliant tale.  I can see the workers being militarized considering how a minor disruption, much less a major one, could not only bring the nation to a halt, it could have serious and deadly ramifications.  4.5 out of 5.

 “The Year of the Jackpot” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Statistician Potiphar Breen has been taking note of strange and unusual events, including a large number of women taking their clothing off in public.  Meade Barstow, the latest befuddled stripper, is seen by Pot.  Pot intervenes when the police arrive, offering to take care of her and see her safely home.  Instead, when she is worried about what her landlady will say, he brings her to his home so that she can put herself back together.  Meade agrees to answer his questions for his kindness.  Pot reveals what he believes the numbers are telling him, that the planet is facing something that scares him.  Intense, sad, and entirely too realistic.  The idea of cycles with world events both good and bad is all too true.  The gentle romance between Meade and Pot was a lovely addition.  Side note:  I was surprised to see the inclusion of transvestites in this story published in 1951. Heinlein treated the couple and the subject in a much nicer manner than I might have expected.  I wonder why they were included as they weren't truly needed, nor was the subject of needed for his argument.  Others could've sufficed.  This was a first time read for me, as is the next story.  4 out of 5.

 “Jerry Was a Man” by Robert A. Heinlein

 When Martha van Vogel accompanied her husband to a genetics lab that alters DNA to make workers out of apes and vanity pets, she was unaware of how the mutated ape workers were treated once they were no longer useful, that they were euthanized.  After raising hell, Martha is allowed to take one of the younger workers, whose eyesight had him put in the death pen, home with her against her husband’s wishes.  Refusing to look the other way, Martha fights all the way to court to not only get Jerry free of the lab, but to help keep all the others alive, leading to a precedent making court case.  This is an incredibly uncomfortable story on so many fronts.  I found it most disturbing that Jerry’s speech pattern is a caricature of poor uneducated blacks.  I understand that this was intentional on the part of Heinlein.  I’m hoping that it was to give his readers a unique viewpoint into their prejudices, especially considering that the story was copyrighted in 1947.  Especially with the return of black American soldiers from World War II to a country that still considered them as less than human.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Farthest Place” by Robert A. Heinlein

 (Extract from Tramp Royale) This is non-fiction, an account of the Heinleins and their visit to Tristan da Cunha when the tramp steamer they are on makes a call there.  The island is in the South Atlantic, over 1500 miles from the nearest other community.  I may have enjoyed this excerpt, but in another context.  However, this is a collection of science fiction and fantasy. This particular piece really had no reason to be included.  I decline to rate it.

  “The Long Watch” by Robert A. Heinlein

 Lieutenant Johnny Dahlquist was approached by Colonel Towers regarding the danger of having politicians in control back on Earth, that the Guard should oversee keeping the planet safe.  Towers wants Johnny’s expertise as junior bomb officer in his rebellious group.  While Johnny saw his point about the instability of politicians in general, he couldn’t agree to use his bombs to make a point, a point that would lead to the deaths of innocent people.  He had to make the bombs unusable, then hold watch until a ship from Earth will arrive in approximately four days.   This story … Heinlein literally reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.  My notebook still shows the faint marks of tears. There are many types of heroism. John Ezra Dahlquist is a fine example of doing what is right even when others try to dissuade you.  (You should also look up Rodger Young on Google.  I was unaware of this Medal of Honor recipient until this story.)  5 out of 5.

  Next is Jack Williamson, another writer from the Golden Age of Science Fiction.  And yet, somehow, I never have read any of Jack’s works.  Based on these stories, that was a great crime.

  “With Folded Hands” by Jack Williamson

 (Humanoids .5) Poor Underhill is already struggling to keep his android business afloat.  Now a new company has suddenly appeared, providing slick new humanoids that are taking over the town of Two Rivers.  His new boarder, Mr. Sledge, claims to be an inventor.  The new humanoids are known by him and he appears to be frightened of them.  Williamson explores how actions, discoveries, and inventions meant to make man’s life better can sometimes serve to harm him.  The story, published in 1947, is even more relevant today considering the growth of A.I.s and robots.  This really is as much horror as it is science fiction, terrifying on a deep level for those aware how close we are to this possible future.  3.5 out of 5.

  “Jamboree” by Jack Williamson

 A robot self-called Pops is Scout Master of boys from birth to the age of 12.  Periodically it takes the boys to a Jamboree to meet Mother.  Younger boys can indulge in pink ice cream and gold stars plastered on their faces.  For the oldest boys, it will be their last Jamboree.  But one boy thinks there is a way to stop the cycle.  Another tale of robots making decisions for the good of mankind.  A very different take.  3.5 out of 5.

  “The Manana Literary Society” by Jack Williamson

 (Excerpt from Wonder’s Child:  My Life in Science Fiction) Another piece of non-fiction, but at least it is about science fiction.  Once again, I find it out of place and will not rate it.  The selection is, however, a good look at the Los Angeles science fiction scene.

  “The Firefly Tree” by Jack Williamson

 Forced to move with his family to his grandfather’s farm, the unnamed protagonist is without friends, home-schooled, and lonely. Then he finds an interesting plant that his father calls a weed.  He is moved to save the plant from destruction and nurtures it until it grows into a tree. One night he goes out to find the tree covered with fireflies.  He begins to dream of them, hearing who they are and what they are there ready to do. Doesn’t Jack ever write happy endings? Any at all?  As a child who was a loner and lived in a neighborhood with no children near my age, I could relate to this young boy.  Truly engrossing.  3.5 out of 5.

  Now on to Clifford D. Simak.  I’ve read some of his short stories, but it was a long time ago. I don’t remember much of his style or even whether I liked his works or not.  

  “Desertion” by Clifford D. Simak

 To explore the planet of Jupiter, men are physically converted into one of the more intelligent native species, the Lopers. The last five men sent out by Kent Fowler, the head of the survey project, haven't returned.  The exploration must continue, but Fowler can't face sending another man out to what appears to be certain death, so he decides to go in their place, accompanied by his elderly dog.  This was a beautiful story.  I wish it had been longer.  4 out of 5.

  “Founding Father” by Clifford D. Simak

 Mankind wants to spread out among the stars, to colonize other planets, but the amount of time that would need to be spent on a spaceship would be an issue.  Immortals have no problems with time per se, but the loneliness is another matter.  A solution was found, a solution meant to be a temporary fix.  But what happens with temporary when that is over one hundred years?  Whoa, this might’ve been short, but it was so intense, thought-provoking, and a bit sad.  Winston-Kirby will have some decisions to make regarding comfort or duty. 4 out of 5.

  “Grotto of the Dancing Deer” by Clifford D. Simak

 Archaeologist Boyd discovers a hidden fissure at his latest sight, one filled with fantastical and irreverent art.  He also finds something else, something impossible. And yet.  Another fascinating story with a deep well of sadness and depressing loneliness in a different way than the previous story.  4 out of 5.

  L. Sprague de Camp is a writer that I used to read quite a bit of, mostly his earlier works in short story collections.  And the Conan books he finished from Robert Howard’s notes and uncompleted manuscripts.  Frankly, I found de Camp’s renditions to be better written, although I know that is heresy for some.

  “A Gun for Dinosaur” by L. Sprague de Camp

 When a time machine is invented, one that can’t go back to a time more recent than 100,000 years ago, a big part of its users are big game hunters taking clients back to kill a dinosaur for trophy.  Rivers, of Rivers and Aiyar, one of those hunters, explains to a potential client why he has strict rules about who he’ll take back to what periods based on size and ability to use a particular caliber weapon. All I can say is poor August, braver than he thought he was, and how Courtney deserved everything he got and more. Entitled asshole.  3.5 out of 5

  “Little Green Men from Afar” by L. Sprague de Camp

 A non-fiction look into the persistent myths, legends, and outright lies that still garner hopeful believers, from flying saucers to the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis to cults.  I do like the five criteria given by Francis F. Broman regarding any and every story:  1) the report be firsthand; 2) the teller shows no obvious bias or prejudice; 3) that the reporter be a trained observer; 4) that the data be available for checking; and 5) that the teller be clearly identified.  I’ve enjoyed many a hour reading von Daniken and the various UFO books, but they have always clearly be put in the fantasy fiction category for me, fun if not taken seriously.  Again, no rating for a non-fiction piece in a fiction collection.  I’m particularly disappointed as de Camp is left with just two fiction pieces as an introduction to his works.  

  “Living Fossil” by L. Sprague de Camp

 Nawputta, a zoologist, and Chujee, his guide, are searching the Alleghany Mountains for interesting specimans and signs of the cities of Man, long extinct, when they meet a suspicious explorer.  They also stumble across something they didn’t expect. Cute.  Obvious, but still very fun to read.  3.5 out of 5.

  Fritz Leiber is the author of a favorite series from my early 20s.  While my father was devouring Conan the Barbarian, I was deep into Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.  Strangely enough, I don’t think I read anything else by Leiber in those days or later. So many books, so little time, so few selections at the libraries with whom I had memberships.

  “Sanity” by Fritz Leiber

 World Manager Carrsbury had researched and planned and schemed for ten years to understand insanity and to replace all the members of the World Management Service with his own people, all of whom had been trained under his exacting guidelines.  Just as he had directed the world’s citizens in what they could read, watch, drink, and do in their daily lives.  Or so he thought had been done.  Leiber’s look at sanity is fascinating and a bit disturbing.  Add a backdrop of world government and you have a thoughtful and frightening tale that resonates today.  4 out of 5.

  “The Mer She” by Fritz Leiber

 (Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser) The Gray Mouser was sailing home to Cif and Fafhrd, his holds filled with treasure and good as befits a successful merchant.  When he discovers a stowaway in a chest, he must fight his way through magic if he ever hopes to see his island home again.  It has been an extraordinarily long time since I’ve visited this series. The language is as flowery and somewhat archaic as ever, but I missed the boys working together.  It just doesn’t have the same punch without that.  3 out of 5.

 “A Bad Day for Sales” by Fritz Leiber

 Robie, the first sales robot, is on the street, but having a hard time making sales.  Then things get a lot worse.  Very short, very cute even with that "worse" part.  3.5 out of 5.

[flightfoot]

A Convergence of Apollos Ch. 3

*Apollo’s POV

We arrived in Times Square. Hopefully we could find the Celedon BEFORE she started causing havoc.

I wasn’t optimistic.

But that did remind me of something...

“Percy, Meg, do you two need something to stuff your ears with? Grover and I should be resistant to the Celedon’s music, but I’m concerned about you two.

Meg split open a seed packet and poured a few seeds into each of her ears. “I’m fine.”

Grover dug out a small ball of warm wax from... somewhere (I did NOT want to know where, or how long it’d been there) and held it out to Percy. “I always keep wax handy. Like chewing gum!”

Percy looked at the wax with disgust, but he took it. “Gee, thanks Grover.” 

We wandered around the area searching for the Celedon. I wasn’t too concerned about not being able to find her. She wasn’t here to hide, after all. Finding her before she could cause harm though... I was less certain of that.

As the four of us walked around looking for the golden woman, my mind went over the events of the past hour.

I’d known I could be callous as a god. I knew that I hadn’t put much weight on mortal lives, or mortals’ feelings. But to actually seriously threaten a young girl, just for insulting me...?

Actually, that sounded exactly like something I would’ve done before all this.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

Threatening Meg, threatening Grover. Even if I couldn’t say for sure that I’d have gone through with those threats, I wasn’t sure that I WOULDN’T have, either. And even if I could say for sure that those WERE empty threats, THEY didn’t know that. 

‘It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.’

I’d always felt weirdly about line, and I couldn’t figure out why. Everyone loved me! I could instill fear when I needed to, but I didn’t have to choose.

That had sounded hollow and false even in my head, but I’d ignored it, like I’d ignored so many other uncomfortable truths throughout the millennia.

Subconsciously I always knew I wasn’t as beloved as I liked to tell myself. So whenever I felt like I might not be getting as much deference as I deserved, I compensated with fear. That’s why I’d stoked that rumor that I’d skinned Marsyas alive, so that no one would DARE to claim that they were better than me.

I didn’t care about the negative effects it had on the people around me. Why should I care about some random kid’s feelings?

Being down on Earth, truly being a part of the mortal’s world, and not simply a visitor... I couldn’t help but care.

I glanced over at Percy. This was only two years in the past, yet this version of -Percy seemed so much lighter. Softer. Less disillusioned. But he’d already been through so much.

At twelve years old, only a couple weeks after discovering he was a demigod, he’d been framed for a crime he did not commit, and forced to prove his innocence and return Zeus’s Masterbolt, or else suffer his wrath.

I remembered Zeus’s thundering around when he discovered that his Symbol of Power was missing, his certainty that Poseidon MUST have gotten his son to steal it for him. This despite there being no evidence that Percy had even known the mythological world existed. And being only twelve years old. And not being on Olympus at the time.

All us gods knew that Percy was innocent. That Zeus was taking his anger out on him as a way of getting back at Poseidon, who he also didn’t have sufficient evidence to suspect. But when had he ever cared about such things? He’d decided that Percy must be involved with the theft in some way, and even if he wasn’t, Poseidon surely was, and hurting Percy would hurt Poseidon. 

He never stopped to think about Percy as a person. As a kid who was dragged into this through no fault of his own. He was just a tool, one he wouldn’t mind breaking in a sibling spat.

All demigods were disposable tools, acknowledged when useful, ignored when they were not. 

I wish I could say that I had thought better of demigods than that. And I suppose I had - of some of them. Of my own children certainly. But as for other gods’ children? It was more hit-or-miss. I’d help them sometimes, but I rarely considered their thoughts and feelings important, unless I had a crush on them. Aside from that? Not really. Not until now.

When Thalia’s tree had fallen ill, all of us were concerned about the Camp’s waning defenses. Yet Hermes was the only one who had DONE something about it, who had gone down and helped, despite not having a child involved in the quest itself. He’d encouraged Percy to go on the quest, even though he hadn’t been chosen for it. He’d even given him tools to help on the journey.

I smiled a little. My younger brother was a rebel. Always had been.  He’d had the guts to go against Zeus’s general directive to not interfere with demigod quests, to help someone he barely knew, on the off chance that he could bring his son around.

My smile faded. Luke... his methods may have been bad, but he had reason to hate the gods. We’d wronged the demigods - wronged our children - wronged the children of others’ - so many times. We hadn’t cared about the destruction we left behind.

I’d only been mortal for a few months, yet I already felt some stirrings of resentment at the lack of help I and the other mortals had received. I understood why most of the gods couldn’t help me. But couldn’t they do more to help the others?

I hoped I was wrong. I hoped that the divine side of my family had helped Leo get to Camp Jupiter. That they’d helped to repel Caligula’s attack.

Somehow, I doubted it.

Percy’d snuck out to go on a quest AGAIN when my sister and Annabeth were kidnapped.

I tightened my grip on my lyre and grit my teeth thinking about it. I remembered the moment our bond had clouded over. I’d tried to tell myself that she was fine. She was my sister! She wouldn’t be taken down easily.

But I couldn’t help but remember that time Ares had been trapped in a jar for months. How lifeless he’d looked. How he’d nearly faded away...

When I’d heard that a quest had been sent out to find Artemis, I’d been relieved. Moreso when I found out that one of the participants was Percy Jackson, and another was Zoe Nightshade. I’d been impressed with Percy’s previous exploits. Not just anyone could traipse out of the Underworld and immediately defeat Ares, especially after only having had a week of training, nor could they enter the Sea of Monsters and escape with the Golden Fleece, WITHOUT losing anyone along the way.

As for Zoe, she was one of my sister’s oldest hunters, her most trusted lieutenant, and her best friend. She’d had my sis’s back on many, MANY hunts over the millennia. She must have been as desperate to get Artemis back as I was.

Still... I had to help. Even though Zeus had told me not to. Even though he’d threatened to hurt me if he caught me interfering. 

It would hurt to be incinerated with lightning, again and again, until I had trouble reforming.

Losing my sister would hurt more.

I’d helped in what little way I could, providing transportation to the group so they could get to Atlas - and my sister - faster.

I remembered seeing sis again just after they’d freed her from her imprisonment. After Percy had freed her.

She tore into Olympus as fast as she could, flickering silver. 

I understood what that meant. My sister didn’t cry often. But her aura’s flickers betrayed her distress. As soon as I saw her, I enveloped her in a hug, determined not to let her go. 

She hugged back.

“Zoe...” she’d murmured, her voice cracking.

I understood what must have happened.

I held her even tighter.

My sister may have been safe.  But she’d lost someone close to her.

I knew how that felt.

After things had calmed down, I asked her how Atlas had persuaded her to take the sky in the first place. She’d told me that Annabeth, a young maiden, had been trapped under the weight of the sky, and would have died if she had carried the burden much longer. Taking it from her was the only way to save her life. It may have meant trapping herself, but she had had no other choice.

I’d always known how far my sister would go to help girls in trouble, so I wasn’t surprised. But I’d never understood why she’d go so far to help mortals she barely even knew.

I understood now. The lessons I’d been learning the past few months, of the value of mortals, she’d learned long ago. Or perhaps she’d always known them. 

I smirked, remembering my encounter with Ares a few months later. He’d mentioned cursing Percy to drop his sword in retaliation for Percy kicking his butt during the lightning-bolt-stealing incident. (Not in those words of course, but we all knew what’d happened.) I’d given him a tight smile and left as quickly as possible, not trusting myself to speak.

I’d headed straight to Artemis, relishing how easily our bond let me find her. I’d insisted on checking in on her every other day for months after her capture. She hadn’t protested.

I told her what Ares had done. How he’d cursed Percy to drop his sword when he needed it most. Cold fury filled her eyes. She’d made arrangements with her Hunters and left with me to track down Ares.

We’d found him less than an hour later. He’d made for good target practice.

About eight months after Artemis’ kidnapping, while we were hunting down monsters that might be turned to Kronos’s cause, I’d heard that Kronos’s forces had invaded Camp Half-Blood.

And that they’d killed one of my sons.

Lee...

I hadn’t gotten to know him as well as I wanted to. 

I’d visited him in his dreams, of course, like I did with all my children. But I’d only seen him in-person a handful of times. And I REALLY hadn’t seen him - or any of my kids - much since Kronos started stirring.

I didn’t have much time to mourn. So I shoved the thoughts away, buried them under the need to party. To have the adoration of a crowd.

I’d lost many, many children over the millennia. I’d gotten good at coping with it.

Hopefully with Percy’s help, this universe’s version of me wouldn’t have to cope with Michael’s loss as well.

“THERE SHE IS!”

My head snapped upwards at Percy’s yell.

A gleaming golden woman was walking across a nearby stage to the center microphone.

We rushed over, elbowing people out of the way. Truthfully, Grover and I mostly just followed in Percy’s and Meg’s wake. Percy could have a pretty intimidating presence when he needed to, which was helping him get the crowd to move apart, and Meg was... well, Meg. I winced slightly as I heard another swear from one of the poor pedestrians Meg had elbowed out of the way. 

Just as the Celedon reached the microphone, the four of us reached the stage.

Percy and Meg summoned their blades.

Grover fumbled for his pan-pipes. 

I moved my lyre into playing position.

The Celedon opened her mouth and sang.

It was only one note, but the sorrow in it caused the mortals to drop to the ground, weeping uncontrollably. 

Meg and Percy were only a little better off. Both froze as the note rang out, though at least they remained standing.

Oh. They’d both forgotten to put in their hearing protection. Crap.

Grover frantically started playing on his pipes, trying to drown out the Celedon’s song. He didn’t entirely succeed, but he did disrupt it enough that the mortals - and our friends - began to stir.

“PERCY, MEG!” I shouted. “YOUR HEARING PROTECTION!”

Percy quickly stuffed wax in his ears, while Meg closed her eyes. Moments later, bluebonnets sprouted from her ears. 

Now that my friends hearing situation was fixed, I turned my attention to my lyre. I needed to trap her, obviously. Now how could I do that...?

My fingers started moving before I could finish that thought, weaving a familiar melody on the lyre. Walls rose up around the Celedon, twenty feet high. surrounding her - and Percy and Meg - in a nearly impenetrable cage.

Then she turned into a bird and flew out, leaving my friends trapped in a now-quite-unfortunately nearly impenetrable cage - so long as you couldn’t get out the top somehow.

Right. I forgot my Celedons could do that.

“APOLLO!” I heard Meg’s muffled shout from the other side of the wall. “LET US OUT!”

“Well, uh, you see,” I stammered, embarrassed. “I... can’t exactly do that. The lyre creates. It doesn’t destroy.”

I could practically feel Meg’s unimpressed stare. “You can’t...? Never mind. Just make a ladder or something so we can get out.”

I strummed on the lyre a melody about climbing out of deep holes. A rope manifested. I threw it over the wall and quickly secured the other end to a lightpole.

A minute later, Percy and Meg climbed out of my open-air cage. I noticed that the flowers were gone from Meg’s ears, which explained how she could hear me before.

Meg set her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “You never said she could turn into a bird.”

“I forgot.”

She grunted, looking annoyed. “Well is there anything else we should know about the Celedon that you forgot?”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of anything. I’d been getting a feeling I was forgetting something about the Celedons, but what? I mean, I used them as my back-up singers for concerts, but they could also amplify my singing for other... things...

Oooooh. That wasn’t good.

Percy noticed the look on my face. “I don’t like that expression. What else can she do?” he asked, clearly dreading my answer.

I licked my lips nervously. “Well, you see, the Celedons are my backup singers. But they don’t just back me up at concerts. They can back me up when singing anything. Healing songs, plague songs, burn-everything-with-fire songs...”

Percy’s face twisted into an expression I had dubbed the “Oh Crap” expression. I’d worn it often over the past few months.

“Great,” Meg grumbled. “More fiery charmspeakers.”

“Technically, the Celedons don’t charmspeak-”

“They make people want to do what they say. Close enough.”

Percy cut in urgently. “She could burn New York to the ground, or start an epidemic?!’

“Well they’d be a fraction of the strength of what I’m normally capable of, so she could hardly affect ALL of New York. A block at most.”

Percy paled. “We have GOT to stop her. NOW.”

I nodded. “That’s great, but we need to FIND her first.”

“She went over that way,” Grover said, pointing to a tower.

We all turned to look at him. He looked back at us, annoyed. “What? I needed to do something to help while Apollo was getting you two out of that cage, so I kept my eyes on her, so we could find her later.”

I blinked. That made sense.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Meg asked. “Let’s go.”

We took an elevator to the top floor. Luckily the Celedon had chosen a public building to perch on. I wouldn’t have wanted to explain to some secretary why four teens urgently needed to get to the roof of some private business building.

We found her standing on to rooftop, singing��“New York, New York” to the enraptured crowd in Times Square. Her voice REALLY carried.

At least this song only compelled people to dance.

“So what’s the plan?” I whispered to my friends.

Percy gauged the situation. He whispered back, “We need to shut her up and trap her, this time in something that she CAN’T fly out of. Apollo, can you make a birdcage? Out of Celestial Bronze, preferably?” 

I nodded. I could see where this was going.

“You’re going to force her into bird form and then stuff her into the birdcage. How’re you planning to get her to change form?”

“Gag her, then wrestle her until she changes form, and stuff her into the cage.”

Simple plan. I respected that.

Percy turned to Grover. “You still have that blindfold from Pin-the-tail-on-the-human?”

Grover handed over a small strip of cloth.

Percy looked at Meg, “Ready?”

She nodded.

Meg and Percy reinserted their seeds and wax, respectively. They weren’t about to make the same mistake as last time.

They snuck up behind the oblivious Celedon just as she was belting out the final lyrics of ”New York, New York”.

Percy clamped the make-shift gag around her mouth as he and Meg wrestled with her.

I got to work making the birdcage, singing about strong, gilded cages. It manifested within seconds.

I looked over at the demigods. The Celedon was bucking and kicking, trying desperately to throw them off, but the two of them stubbornly clung onto her. 

She edged closer to the edge of the building and spun quickly, breaking Meg’s grip. 

Percy acted quickly, releasing his hold on the Celedon - and subsequently releasing the gag he’d been using to silence her - and dove quickly to Meg, catching her just as she started falling off the building.

I breathed a sigh of relief, my heart still hammering.

Then the Celedon began singing an ode to me.

Now you might be thinking, “Why would you mind her singing a song about how great you are, Apollo, and all of the awesome things you can do?”

The answer to that, dear reader, is that I prefer when the song about my awesomeness DOESN’T SUMMON A FIERY INFERNO TO TRY TO SCORCH MY AWESOME SELF OUT OF EXISTENCE.

I dove for cover, dropping the lyre in my haste. I quickly picked it up again, strumming a tune about raindrops, rain, and storms. Stormclouds quickly gathered and let loose, putting out the fire.

Then Percy rammed into the Celedon like a freight train.

Oh yeah. Son of Poseidon. Well this just became very one-sided.

Percy held onto her with a vice-like grip. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t shake him. She opened her mouth in an attempt to sing, but Percy just shoved water in her mouth, gagging her. Thankfully she didn’t actually NEED to breathe, so he didn’t have to worry about choking her.

As a last ditch effort to escape, she turned into a bird and attempted to fly away before Percy could adjust his grip. Since Percy had been TRYING to get her into bird form, this didn’t happen. He captured the bird-Celedon in a water bubble and threw her into my Celestial Bronze birdcage. It clicked shut, locking the squacking Celedon in.

Percy picked up the birdcage, carrying it over to me and Grover. Meg walked over to me, scowling, her hair and dress completely soaked from the rainstorm I’d summoned. Belatedly I realized I was also completely drenched, and that Grover smelled badly of Wet Goat. 

Looking at the three of us (Percy was completely dry and looked like he could run three marathons in a row. Cheater.) I asked, “So... what size clothes do you two wear?”

We walked out of the building wearing (in my opinion) incredibly stylish new outfits, courtesy of my magical lyre. Well, except for Percy. He’d declined for some reason. His loss.

I admired my sparkly golden tight pants and white shirt festooned with rhinestones and glitter. It felt good to be able to strut around for once. Maybe I didn’t have my usual good looks, but I could still pull off the glitz and glam!

Meg and Grover, sadly, had opted for far less extravagant outfits. I pouted a bit - I was sure I could make them outfits that would make them look FABULOUS - but complied. I summoned a simple tie-dye t-shirt for Grover, and a plain black shirt and denim jeans for Meg. Apparently they were really paranoid about me going overboard after seeing what I’d made for myself.

Meg carefully tucked her sopping green dress away. I smiled a little. She cared for that dress, that present, so much. It’d gotten burned, covered with mud, and torn again and again, but she insisted on mending it each time.

Together the four of us (plus one feathery Celedon) entered the subway again.