Alternatively

Dust In The Wind

Summer light beat on the hard packed road, the light turning every surface into a searing spectacle. Horses lacked the energy to pull against their tethers, snorting and shuffling idly in place. The air weighed heavily in the lungs of those wilting on shaded porches, men with their hats tilted low and women pacing languidly whilst fanning themselves absently. It was one of those lazy days, bogged with heat and vacant agendas. Aside from those slumped on their store fronts, there was nary a soul to wander the town, let alone cross the dirt road blasted with unforgiving desert sun. Children were cooped up in the school house and anyone with free time at all wallowed in the stagnant saloon down the street.

Things were quiet, save the buzz of flies on the cusp of perception.

Things were still.

The fates did not like stillness in that teeny town. If such a place were to exist in the middle of nowhere, it was only fit that the trade accompany a nice slice of dramatics once in awhile. A beautiful spitfire with the aim of a god was sure to stir up her fair share of trouble and resulting gossip. Sharp minded and the quickest wit around, Annabeth Chase was not made for trophy wife status and it was made clear early on that she had a lot more hell raising to do than the town was able to handle. She was an enigma to simply put it, but her righteous direction had to balance out in equal part.

The fates did not think this course of action through, for they created the notorious outlaw by the name of Percy Jackson.

Just as an incoming storm stirred up chatter, the two names had been the talk of the town ever since their first run in at the bank. Annabeth had been chatting with the teller when a sly eyed man with a cocky set of his mouth swaggered in, guns bared and completely underestimating how many weapons the woman had tucked under her frilly skirts. He's been a thorn in the young gunslinger's side ever since, nabbing at stores in the town as well as ambushing their travel packs on the road. Sometimes, he just showed up to cause general mayhem, just to get under her skin. It was infuriating, to say the least. He was constantly slipping through her fingers and she has had many a dream that involved his hanging before the courthouse.

She had dreams of him in other situations as well, but she'd quite like to ignore those. Extremely counterproductive to dwell on the pleasantries with her enemy.

"You haven't gotten a lick of sleep."

She blinked, pulling at her rumpled top. "And if I haven't?"

"You'll be of no use if you're dead to the world on the road," Piper side stepped out of her path. "I doubt even you can shoot in your sleep."

"We can always test that," she pushed into the dense morning, squinting ever so slightly.

Heat wavered over the hard packed road, piercing green eyes gleaming mockingly as they did from her dream.

"All I'm sayin' is a little break won't kill you, that's all."

Annabeth snorted, blinking away the illusion. "That as it may be, I still have my job to do today. I'll rest later."

"You say that all the time," she rolled her eyes. "Then something comes up and suddenly you have to save the town again."

"That's what I'm here for," she zeroed in on the stage coach parked outside of the sheriff's office.

The barkeep muttered something under her breath before peeling off to the saloon, most likely ready to throw off her itchy shawl and watch events transpire from her window.

Annabeth marched through the morning heat, hat low and chin up as she scanned the small crowd clustered around the coach. A few faces she didn't know talked with those she unfortunately knew too well. Ever clinging to the kindly sheriff's side was the urchin of a pastor Octavian, skin garish in the desert sun. He spewed spiritual snake oil and often opposed her interference in any matters that could be, "handled just fine by one of the men of the church". Needless to say, neither party favored the other.