haunting ＊ percy jackson

ix. a god extorts them

The diner they had found was slightly run down, everything coated in a strange perpetual stickiness. Normally Amos would've complained, but after all that had happened so far, he figured he could deal with a slightly messy diner.

His stomach gave a loud rumble as he took in the smells of the place — greasy burgers, and fries, and an aroma of coffee that lingered even though it didn't look like anyone was drinking any. It was almost like Aunty Em's place, but hopefully without the bloodthirsty monster.

A waitress slowly made her way over, an eyebrow raised skeptically. Why would she be suspicious, Amos thought to himself, his internal voice snide and snarky. Four teenagers with no adult, stuck in the middle of nowhere. That was totally normal.

Still, despite being hyperaware of how odd they looked, Amos tried his best to put on what he hoped was a casual smile. "Hi, could we uh, order dinner, maybe?" Though his words had started slightly confident, that dissolved very quickly as the waitress continued giving them an unamused stare.

"You kids have money to pay for it?"

Amos really could have started tearing up at her words, and he was sure the others were equally as strung out and exhausted. Forget monsters, capitalism was the real thing out to get them on this quest. Their funds had depleted so quickly it was almost comical, and everywhere they turned it seemed their finances were the main issue. All they wanted was for one thing to go easily, was that too much to ask for? Couldn't this lady just give them a break?

"Well, actually-" Percy began, his eyes nervous as he struggled to come up with some sob story that might get them free food — whatever he had planned, Amos hoped it was better than the weird circus orphan thing he had told Medusa — but they were saved from his wonderful improvisation skills when a loud rumble echoed throughout the building.

They could practically feel the vibrations from the motorcycle outside, and all conversations in the diner came to a screeching halt. It was an intimidating sight, with glaring red lights and a shotgun holster — Amos hadn't even known you could do that. The biker himself matched his bike, equally menacing. He had a large stature, broad shoulders, and a face with a seemingly permanent scowl.

Amos could have guessed that he was a god, though admittedly, all the mortals abruptly standing as if to show respect for this random biker kind of gave it away. With a wave of his hand, they all sat back down, acting as though nothing had happened. It left Amos and the others looking at each other with skeptical looks.

"You kids have money to pay for it?" The waitress repeated, her expression a perfect mirror of what it had been before the biker entered.

"It's on me." The biker said, his voice gruff. He slid into the side of the booth that held Amos and Annabeth, crowding both of them in a way that forced them to press as close to the window as possible. Amos was glad that the two of them were friendly enough with each other because at this point he was practically in her lap, trying his best to distance himself from the god.

He felt a sudden rush of frustration and anger. What's with this guy? He might be a god sure, but does that mean he has no sense of personal space? Amos' brows furrowed, and his face settled into a firm frown.

The others had settled into similarly irritated attitudes, frowns slowly beginning to make their way to their faces. "Are you still here?" The god said, one brow raised as he stared at the waitress like she was dirt on the bottom of his shoe. It made Amos feel bad for her — she certainly didn't get paid enough to deal with the whims of a god. She whirled around swiftly, marching back to the kitchen stiffly, leaving them alone with the mystery god.