❝Don't read the last page,
But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes.❞
Book 1 of 'The Blue' duology.
Percy Jackson x Fem!Oc
TTC - TLO
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KATHLEEN STARED AT THE VIEW UNDER THEM WITH HER EYES WIDE. She'd never experienced something like that, because how could she? She had never visited an amusement park, been on a rollercoaster, or traveled by plane.
"We are in the Sierras.'" Zoë yelled. "I have hunted here before. At this speed, we should be in San Francisco in a few hours."
"Hey, hey, Frisco!" Percy and Thalia's angel said. "Yo, Chuck! We could visit those guys at the Mechanics Monument again! They know how to party!"
"Oh, man," the other angel said. "I am so there!"
"You guys have visited San Francisco?" Percy asked.
"We automatons gotta have some fun once in a while, right?" his statue said. "Those mechanics took us over to the de Young Museum and introduced us to these marble lady statues, see. And—"
"Hank!" the other statue Chuck cut in. "They're kids, man."
"Oh, right." If bronze statues could blush, Kathleen could swear Hank did. "Back to flying."
They sped up. The mountains fell away into hills, and then they were zipping along over farmland and towns and highways.
Grover played his pipes to pass the time. Kathleen clapped her hands to his music. Zoë got bored and started shooting arrows at random billboards as they flew by. Every time she saw a Target department store—and they passed dozens of them—she would peg the store's sign with a few bulls-eyes at a hundred miles an hour.
"I'd fall asleep," Kathleen sighed toward Zoë.
"Then do it," the girl mumbled, notching another arrow.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid I'll fall in sleep."
Grover stopped playing on his pipes and scrunched his nose. "I think the angels will hold you."
Kathleen shrugged. "I just won't take a nap."
Zoë shook her head. "Then why did thee even start this conversation?"
The daughter of Dionysus shrugged once again. "Dunno," she swung her legs in the air a few times before she spoke up again. "How about we sing a song?"
"No," Zoë grumbled. "Our destination is to get safely to San Francisco. Not sing."
"But the . . . transport to San Francisco will pass a lot quicker if we sing!" Kathleen insisted.
"I could use some music," Grover sighed.
"No—"
"Oh, do you know where to go?" Kathleen started singing. "Where to go? Something on your mind, wanna leave me behind, wanna leave me behind."
