νεκρός || Annabeth Chase x Fem!OC

Vol. 2.5-7: Lewis, you sweet little fuck

ANNABETH

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"So, Tempest, where are you going to school?" Dad asked at breakfast. I winced, wondering how Tempest was gonna weasel her way out of that one. I poured the milk in my bowl of cereal and turned around, leaning against the counter as I ate.

Tempest was busy doing the morning crossword from the paper (like a fucking geriatric or something) but she was listening to my dad all the same. "Oh, I don't go to school, Dr. Chase."

My dad looked horrified. Leah came in from the laundry room, also shocked.

"You what?" Dad asked.

"I don't go to school," Tempest repeated.

"So..." Leah sat down at the table, frowning. "So you don't go to school... and you don't stay at Annabeth's camp all year... and you don't live at home... what do you do all the time?"

Tempest shrugged. "Whatever I feel like." She looked at me. "Pinched spinal nerve resulting in inflammation and pain. Eleven letters."

I swallowed. "Radiculitis."

She quickly scribbled it in and gave me a thumbs up.

"What are some things you've done in the past, then?" Leah asked, her face a little queasy. "It can't be safe, being sixteen and all alone like that."

"It isn't," Tempest admitted. "You just can't be afraid to get a little bit arrested and stuff. Heating device. Eight letters."

"Radiator," I replied, and Tempest gave me another thumbs up.

"Do you have a long record?" Dad frowned. I figured he was gonna do the whole That's not a good example for my daughter thing, but then I remembered he's the guy that shot down a bunch of monsters from a Sopwith Camel, so maybe not.

Tempest didn't answer him. "Nine letters. To inspire disgust."

"Abhorrent." I took another bite of cereal. "Aren't you supposed to do this yourself?"

"Why would I when I have a dictionary standing three feet away?" Tempest replied. "British word for eggplant."

"Aubergine."

Tempest filled it in. "There is something fundamentally wrong with the British. Who the Hera refers to an eggplant as an aubergine?"

"Originally, it's French," I said. "I wouldn't think that you get mad about that, since you speak Louisiana French."

Tempest squinted. "First of all, how did you know I speak that? And second of all, we don't say une aubergine. We say une brème."

"Wow! I didn't know you speak Louisiana French, Tempest," Dad remarked, sipping his coffee. "Is it different than normal French?"

"Definitely," said Tempest. "I can't talk to French people, actually. Mostly since their language is so fuc- freaking complicated," she corrected herself. "Also because my French has influences from African languages, and even some Native American languages. In classic French, a raccoon is said un raton-laveur. In my French, it's un chaoui, which actually comes from the Choctaw word shaui. Then, of course, I grew up in New Orleans, and we have all sorts of weird slang and stuff that nobody else uses." She looked back to her paper. "Four letters. Controlled by the moon."