Olivia Anworth liked to know everything. She knows nothing about Percy Jackson.
Percy Jackson seemed to know nothing. He has no problem getting to know about Olivia Anworth.
Annabeth Chase thought she knew everything. Alice Rosario changed that.
Ali...
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝟓: 𝐎𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬
A/N: TW: MILD RACIST LANGUAGE USAGE. IF AT ANY POINT, YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE AND WISH TO SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER, I IMPLORE YOU TO DO SO.
June 8, 2019
TURNED OUT THAT OLIVIA'S FRIENDSHIP WITH HIM WAS THE ONLY THING PROTECTING PERCY FROM TANTALUS.
Kind of pathetic, honestly.
As far as Tantalus was concerned, the only reason the birds had been minding their own business and the only reason they'd even attacked anyone was because they were distracted by Percy and Annabeth's terrible chariot driving.
Percy was so pissed off by that logic that he'd told Tantalus to fuck off and chase a donut. In doing so, he'd gotten himself, Tyson, and Annabeth sent to kitchen duty. They spent all afternoon cleaning pots and platters with the cleaning harpies. The harpies washed with lava instead of water, which meant that Percy and Annabeth had to wear asbestos gloves and aprons. Tyson, on the other hand, just chucked his hands in the sink and got to work.
The tons of extra plates didn't help. Tantalus had ordered a special luncheon banquet to celebrate Clarisse's chariot victory-a full-course meal featuring country-fried Stymphalian death-bird.
Because roadkill was the perfect meal.
Percy was able to talk to Annabeth the entire time, though. Evidently, she held shorter grudges than Olivia. She listened to his dream about Grover again, and she stared to look like she actually believed what Percy said about him. She confirmed that the Fleece was precisely what Olivia had been told not to tell Percy, and now that he knew what it was, he was going to find himself a quest to get it, save Grover, and save the camp.
That night at the campfire, Olivia and her siblings led the sing-along. As much as most of them tried to get everybody's spirits up, the bird attack had done anything but lift spirits.
The group all sat around a semicircle of stone steps, singing halfheartedly and watching the bonfire blaze while the Apollo kids strummed their guitars and picked their lyres. They did the basic camp songs: "Down by the Aegean," "I Am My Own Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa," "This Land is Minos' Land." The bonfire was enchanted, so the louder you sang, the higher it rose, changing color and heat with the mood of the crowd.
Last summer, Percy had been able to see it twenty feet high, bright purple, and so hot the whole front row's marshmallows burst into flames. But now, the fire was only five feet high, barely warm, and the flames were the color of lint.
