The Ivory Lotus (Percy Jackson x Male Oc)

C.2 - My Mom Teaches Me Bull Fighting, I see a flying cow

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Percy's POV

After stuffing Grover and his fuzzy hindquarters into Gabe's special, mint condition leather seat, I turned to grab the nameless boy, and pulled him between Grover and me, shutting the car door.

When Mom sat in the driver's seat, we all felt a heavy tension in the air, the looming feeling of something bad will happen. Soon the engines started and we ran over a pair of twigs on our way out.

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

It felt desperate, like we had to do everything we needed to get as far away from whatever was chasing us. I can see Grover fidgeting with the side window lock, pushing the toggle over and over, all the while, the strange boy, was idly sitting to my left.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo— lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.

The pale kid didn't seem as affected by the lightning this time, he'd only flinch every now and then, but wouldn't panic as badly as the was now booming sound to freighten him half to death.

All I could think to say to at least cut the tension was, "So, you and my mom... know each other?"

Graver's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you."

"Watching me?" I asked, slightly feeling disturbed.

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

"Uh ... what are you, exactly?" I asked, feeling the need to roll out the y.

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

I'd heard him make that sound before, but I'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat.

"Goat!" he cried.

"Sátyros, pnévma gonimótitas" — the nameless kid cut in. His words were filled with excitement, if not for the doubt that I was hallucinating, I could have sworn that those lavender eyes were star-struck.

Grover's cheeks flushed red, as though he just heard someone describing human anatomy during biology class.
"Y-Yeah . . . I'm that" He responded to the pale boy.

"What?" I asked, lost between whatever psychic link they had.

"I'm a goat from the waist down." Grover responded, his tone just barely hiding the hint of annoyance behind his usually polite voice.

"You just said it didn't matter." I argued, back, to which the nameless boy just shook his head at me in disappointment.

"W-What . . . did I say something wrong?" I asked, confused. This felt like one of those situations where you weren't sure whether you said something inappropriate and no one would specify what exactly was wrong.

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!" He bleated again, looking more nervous.

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"