𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐀 𝐕𝐔 • Percy Jackson.

20

NO LIVING. That was the last sentence stencilled in  on the glass doors of Doa Recording Studios. Boldly printed as an obvious rule. Something of course all of them would break. The lobby was filled with people (or maybe ghosts?) and brightly lit despite the time. (It was almost midnight) Through the window he could see the guard behind the security desk. They looked like their profession: Tough looking with muscles, a pair of shades despite being inside, and an earpiece.

"You guys remember the plan?" Percy asked, Grover gulps. "Right, the plan. Yeah. I love the plan." (Amani failed to pay attention so he does, in fact, NOT know the plan.) "What happens if the plan doesn't work?" Annabeth asks, "you have to think positive, Annie!" Amani said, putting a fake bright grin on his face. "Right." She said (he was surprised she didn't mention the ironic nickname) before stating, "We’re entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn’t think negative."

"Yeah you shouldn't. You might jinx us." Amani replied with sarcasm. Percy took out the pearls. Annabeth realized how her words came across, deciding to put her hand on Percy's shoulder and say, "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." Amani almost laughed at how easy Grover made it sound, but he kept it in. (He didn't wanna look like a jerk.)

Percy seemed to feel a bit better. He slipped the pearls back in his pocket. "Let’s whoop some Underworld butt." They walked inside the DOA lobby. Music played softly in the background.

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. The people were transparent.

The security guard’s desk was a raised podium, so they had to look up at him. He was tall and elegant, with dark brown skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Amani narrowed his eyes at the name tag, "Your name is Chiron?" Percy asked in bewilderment and Amani felt that wasn't right.

He leaned across the desk. Amani couldn’t see anything in his glasses except his reflection dimly lit and blurry within the small lens. He held a smile, but it was cold. "What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent – British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. Amani struggled to keep a straight face, why does he sound hot holy shit.

"Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

Never mind he's British , he's a colonizer. Amani thought.

"N-no." Percy stuttered out, flustered. "Sir," he added smoothly. "Sir," Percy said. He pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."

"Amazing! Now: Mr Charon."

"Mr Charon," Percy repeated. "Well done." He sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?" Percy seemed to be stuck at this question, turning towards one of them for help. Amani smiled, "We want to go to the underworld." He said it so straightforwardly that Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that’s refreshing."

"It is?" Annabeth asked.

"Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No “There must be a mistake, Mr Charon”." He looked them over. "How did you die, then?" There was a silence until both Grover and he had said two different things.