Alacrity

IX.

ix. The Scariest Uncle Possible

Lyra scouted ahead of the group, searching for a suitable place to eat. Being a child of Hermes, she was naturally quite faster than her companions, and so she was two blocks ahead of them when she found a 50s themed diner. She raced back to her companions, and gleefully told them of her findings, leading them in.

    The four waited near the front, enviously watching families eating burgers and drinking sodas and floats. Finally, the middle-aged waitress came over, raising a skeptical brow. "Well?" She cast a suspicious look towards Lyra, who gave her best innocent smile, though the look the waitress gave her back clued Lyra that her smile was more... mischevious.

Percy cleared his throat. "We, um, want to order dinner." The waitress coughed heavily into her elbow, then looked back and asked, "You kids have the money to pay for it?" Lyra nodded and piped up, "Yes ma'am."

    The waitress studied Lyra, as though trying to determine if she were lying. She quickly decided that they were truthful, as Lyra was a rather great liar, and moved to grab menus for the half-bloods when a rumble shook the entire diner. Lyra turned to see several shingles fall from the roof of the building as a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant pulled up to the curb. The diner fell into a deadly silence as the patrons all turned to investigate, though they were blinded by the blood red headlights. Once they had shut off, Lyra got a closer look at the bike. The bass tank had badly painted flames on it, and a shotgun holster - complete with real guns - secured to either side. The seat was made of an unfortunate pale leather that struck Lyra as oddly anthropomorphic, but the thought made her want to vomit so she quickly dismissed it and mentally assured herself that it was some sort of albino cow leather.

    What was worse than the bike was the owner. He was dressed in a deep burgundy muscle shirt and tight black jeans, with a large, gruesome looking hunting knife strapped to his thigh. His eyes were obscured by a pair of red wraparound shades, but what was visible of his face Wass cruel. His features were sharp and striking - handsome, but in a terrifying way. His dark, oily hair was cut in a crewcut, and his cheeks were deeply scared, like he got into knife-fights for fun. Instantly, Lyra recognized him from her multiple visits to Olympus, and from the uncanny family resemblance between he and his children. Ares, the god of War, had the exact same build, and the same sharply chiseled jaw as Clarisse and the rest of his children.

    As the biker strode into the diner, a hot, dry wind crushed in. The patrons all rose, as if in a trance, but sat and resumed their activity as he dismissively waved a large hand. The waitress blinked confusedly and asked once more, "You kids have money to pay for it?"

    Lyra was about to remind the waitress that yes, the had money to pay for it, when the biker interrupted and said, "It's on me." The waitress gave a blank smile and led the four to a table, which the biker joined them in, crowding the two girls and causing Lyra to sit uncomfortably between the window and Annabeth. He looked up at the waitress, who gaped out him and asked, "Are you still here?"

    Ares pointed at her and she stiffened instantly, turning around like a puppet on a string. She marched back to the kitchen without another word, her limbs moving robotically. Ares smirked in satisfaction, turning to Percy once he saw the waitress enter the kitchen. His lips curled into a wicked grin, his slightly yellow teeth glinting. Lyra noted with slight nausea that his teeth seemed abnormally... sharp.

    "So you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?" Ares asked, peering closer at Percy over the table. Percy reeled back slightly, as if he had been startled. "What's it to you?" The blue-eyed boy responded indignantly, his eyes flashing with anger. Lyra sighed in exasperation as Annabeth's grey eyes flashed warningly. "Percy, this is-"