xxɪ | ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴍɪ ɪɴ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴏɴᴇ

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If there's one thing Annabeth Chase is good for, it's her extensive knowledge of alcohol. Thus far, Percy has learned not to drink beer and then liquor, and that the fastest way to get drunk is not, in fact, with beer, but with liquor.

He also vaguely remembers learning the recovery position for some reason, but that's beside the point. Percy's a responsible guy. He won't need that.

He won't even need that kind of knowledge by the time he's on his sixth drink... or is it seven?

Percy thought the alcohol would fix things the way it seemed to for Annabeth. He thought he'd be fun and carefree like her. Instead, his head pounds every time the rowdy group of men next to him make comments on the soccer game on television. His thoughts are still very present, and one Annabeth Chase still haunts them. Her image is painted on his eyelids in such a way that he can't rest without seeing her—her devilish smile, and her soft pink lips around the straw of a mojito. The way she studied his face while drawing him on the ferry still makes him feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. The sound of her rollerskates along the Dutch pavement clouds his hearing. The fierce look in her eyes when she impaled a centaur in the Alps brings him to tears. Remembering the way she moved against him last night makes his body ache for her touch again.

That's right. Percy Jackson got drunk on purpose. If he wasn't so wasted he might be able to figure out how he feels about that, but the only thing on his mind is Annabeth.

It's sort of a "pick your poison" situation. He'd rather not think about his most recent shortcoming—hanging Nico out to dry while he looks for his hellhound puppy alone—or the fact that Nico and Will were kind enough to give him and Annabeth a hand in a life-or-death situation, only for Percy to lose Will. Maybe Annabeth was right. Maybe it's all his fault Will's gone. Maybe Will and Nico should have left him and Annabeth to die in the Alps at the hands of a bunch of nasty bloodthirsty centaurs.

But then Annabeth would be dead and Percy would be here drinking over that. At least she's alive right now, even if she does have every right to hate his guts.

Now would be a nice time for that stupid starfish to start criticizing him. He could use the motivation, but Annabeth took Zebediah when she left looking for Will. There's nobody to call Percy out for being an idiot except for himself.

A glass of water clinks against the wooden bar, causing Percy to jump and look for its source. The bartender smiles at him, wrinkles forming around his old eyes when he smiles. It's almost like a look his mother would give him when he used to spend a lot of time wallowing on the couch with a pint of ice cream over an episode of Love is Blind.

"Here's a good one," the bartender says, tugging on his overalls. "A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, 'Why the long face?'" He clutches his beer belly and laughs a good jolly laugh you might expect from a guy like him. It's kind of like Santa Claus, but Percy doubts this guy could conjure up a Christmas miracle.

Percy raises his head to look at the bartender because it hurts too much to simply move his eyes.

"Get it?" the bartender asks. "Because horses have... Nevermind. It's probably not funny if I have to explain it." He goes back to drying a pint glass with his dishrag, and now Percy feels bad.

"Wait," he says, not loving the sound of his voice. "I get it. It's funny."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." And then just for good measure, he adds, "I like horses."

"Me too," the bartender says. He might be talking down a little, but Percy can't find it in him to care. This man's knowing smile is ironic; he has no idea why Percy's practically face down on the bar. Nevertheless, his kindness is appreciated.

ᴄᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴇᴍ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴀʙᴇᴛʜ/ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛWhere stories live. Discover now