𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀, percy jackson

06. we meet our cousin

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜
chapter six: we meet our cousin

[a/n]: sorry for not writing in a while but enjoy! also just a note -- if you don't like the faceclaim for this story, of course you can imagine anyone else, but a suggestion is peyton list when she was in diary of a wimpy kid
━━━

━━━ THE INCESSANT BUZZING WAS NOTHING compared to the panicked words spewing from Isabel's mouth as she trudged behind Grover and Annabeth; her badge of leadership had long since been taken off, and she was lagging a bit with the gravity of the situation.

By now, police cars, helicopters, and vans from major news corporations carrying large equipment had gathered around the perimeter of the arch, newscasters' voices and garbled sentences from police hand radios filling the tense air as smoke wafted from the middle of the arch (from the Chimera's destruction, no doubt).

"How could I let this happen?" Isabel muttered to herself, her eyes downcast as she paced the grass. "He was sick and pale and probably dying -- well, he probably is dead -- and I-- I should have tried harder. Gods, that stubborn boy! I should have known he would pull something like this. I should have--"

"Elle, look," Grover interrupted, clearing his throat and staring nervously at their surroundings. "They're looking at us."

Isabel looked up, and sure enough, Grover was right. Police officers with notepads interviewing distraught witnesses spared them quick but suspicious glances.

"How would they know we were involved?" Isabel asked. "It's not like we look like criminals."

"Yeah," was all Annabeth said. Isabel leaned her head forward to get a good look at her friend. Annabeth looked distracted, which was rather unlike her.

Isabel craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what Annabeth had been looking at. Even the most eye-catching of things in this world could tear Annabeth's eyes from the task at hand. And then Isabel saw it. Three rather unthreatening-looking elderly ladies dressed in garish clothing and Crocs. Holding yarn. One of them grinned and used her scissors to snip a short piece off.

From the way she bared her teeth, Isabel could definitely conclude that she wasn't using it to make a scarf or something.

They were the Fates. And from the menacing looks on their faces, they would not be kind to the four of them on their quest.

"So, we should probably get out of here, don't you think?" Grover said, his voice raising a few octaves with each syllable. When he was met with silence, he pressed, "Dude, they're looking right at us."

Annabeth turned her head to face the rest of the trio, and furrowed her brows. "What?"

"Grover's right," Isabel sighed, shaking the image of the Three Fates out of her head and forcing herself to focus. "We have to get out of here. Let's go find Percy."

"I thought you thought he was dead," Grover scoffed.

Isabel began retreating from the mob of people that was beginning to grow, a determined look on her face. "Yeah. But I'd like some confirmation." She stopped in her tracks and turned around. "And maybe give him a proper burial."