blessed be the nonbelievers
"𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙙."
"𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙗."
[percy jackson x fem!oc]
[tlt-tlo]
This work is not affiliated with the original series and its associations.
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It was almost midnight when they finally stood in front of the doors of the Underworld, well, more specifically, DOA Recording Studios. With how dramatic the gods Astrid had come to know them, she was expecting a bit more pizzazz. Like a dark cave entrance with candles ensconced to the inner walls, and a dark-robed figure ready to welcome them.
She didn't expect a sleek, modern lobby, still brightly lit at this time of night and full of people milling around.
Percy turned towards them.
"Okay. You remember the plan."
"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."
Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"
Now's not the time to be negative, babe. Astrid signed in quick succession.
"Oh, sure, Astrid, we're in front of the entrance to hell and I'm supposed to think of sunshine and rainbows?"
Astrid gave her a pointed look. Exactly!
Annabeth sighed and put a hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."
She gave Grover a nudge.
"Oh, right!" he chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."
Astrid gave Percy as comforting of a smile as she could. They needed positive reinforcement now more than ever.
They strode inside the sparkling lobby.
Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel grey. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything.
Out of the corner of her eye, Astrid could see figures in varying styles of clothing plucked out of different decades, centuries and cultures, young and old, rich and poor, but when she tried taking a closer look they'd turn almost transparent.
She shuddered trying not to think how long they've waited around, or how long she would.
It's not every day that you meet your first psychopomp and try to convince them to let you in backstage without a pass. Astrid was just not expecting them to stick with the concierge thing, and with impeccable style.
Their desk was a raised podium, making their little group have to look up at him.
He wore a Brunello Cuccinelli silk suit that matched his hair, bleached-blond shaved military style in great contrast with his dark copper skin. He accessorized with tortoiseshell shades and a black rose pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag. Astrid rated him a seven out of ten.
