IN WHICH, Alina Thorinson falls for Percy Jackson in every universe
None of this work apart from Alina Thorinson and her backstory is mine! All credits go to Rick Riordan!!!
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The group stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOARECORDING STUDIOS stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.
It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece. Percy turned to his friends. "Okay. You remember the plan."
"The plan," Grover gulped.
"Yeah. I love the plan." Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"
"Don't think negative."
"Right," Annabeth said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negatively."
Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine." She gave Grover a nudge.
"Oh, right!" he chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."
"Yeah, I'm sure we'll do it."
Percy looked at Alina, he was almost 100% sure that this was what the prophecy was talking about.
"Let's whup some Underworld butt."
The kids walked inside the DOA lobby. Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved or talked, or did much of anything.
Out of the corner of Alina's eye, she could see them all just fine, but if she focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking ... transparent. She could see right through their bodies.
The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so the group had to look up at him. He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.
"Your name is Chiron?"
He leaned across the desk. His smile was sweet and cold, like a python, right before it eats you.
"What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent-British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"
"N-no."
"Sir," he added smoothly.
"Sir," Percy said. He pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters.
