𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐀 𝐕𝐔 • Percy Jackson.

18

ARES STOOD IN THE PARKING LOT.  "Well, well," he said. "You didn’t get yourself killed." He spoke it in a way that was soaked  with a false sense of surprise that veiled his indifference.  "You knew it was a trap," Percy pointed out, the unresolved anger seeping out of him under the guidance of its God.

The god's ugly mouth curved into its signature wicked grin, dripping with the pride and glory of his own ego staining the world around it.  "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV." Callous and sarcastic.

Amani put a hand on Percy's shoulder, leaning on it slightly, "hope we did, gave you guys my best angles after all." The sarcasm was evident in the tired yet playful smile of his.

"He's gone delirious," perhaps. It's what happens when running on two hours of sleep the whole time. (He doesn't know why he hasn't dropped dead and passed out!) Or maybe Percy's loud mouth was rubbing off on him. Speaking of him, he had shoved his shield to Ares.

"You’re a jerk."

Only Percy would have the guts to say such a thing.
Annabeth and Grover caught their breath. Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.

"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That’s your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas." The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which Amani could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia:

Kindness International: Human Zoo Transport
WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS

"No fucking way."

"You're kidding."

Amani covered his mouth at the glare he got from Ares. Right I'm not Percy I can't go and just say anything. Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And watch your mouth." (That was probably aimed at him.) "And here’s a little something for doing the job."

He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Amani grabbed the bag and looked inside. There  were fresh clothes for all of them (Maybe Ares or Aphrodrite felt embarrassed for their current outfits.), twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos. A hand tried to take it back, but he held it in hearing the words Percy was about to finish, "I don’t want your lousy –"

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving Percy his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot." There was steps behind them and the click of a camera; the waitress had dragged a cook (he wore a chef outfit so he assumed it was) from the kitchen and in his hands was a disposable camera. "Great,  We’ll make the papers again tomorrow." Percy muttered and Amani hummed. "Never gotten this much media presence since I was…" he trailed off, his brain blank. "Probably when I was eight." He said. "What do you think the Headline's gonna be this time, Annabeth?" Amani joked.

"You owe me one more thing," he heard Percy say and he blinked. I forgot Ares was still here. "You promised me information about my mother."

"You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "She’s not dead."

Oh wow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That’s metamorphosis. Not death. She’s being kept."