Tiffany Hanson, A Percy Jackson Fan Fiction

22, to the Underworld.

NO SOLICITING. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

Well. It looked like we were going to have a problem.

I shouldn't expect anything else form the DOA Recording Studios. Bult in black marble, the building loomed over us frighteningly. It was dark outside, but light shone from the lobby, which was fully of what I knew to be spirits waiting to be let into the Underworld. There was a buff security guard behind the security desk, eyes covered by sunglasses.

"Okay. You remember the plan," Percy said, turning to us.

Grover swallowed. "The plan. Yeah. I love the plan."

"What happens if the plan doesn't work?" Annabeth asked.

"Don't think negative," said Percy consolingly.

"Right. We're entering the Land of the Dead and I shouldn't think negative."

"It's not all bad," I said hopefully, "there is like, Elysium?"

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, our backup. None of us knew what they did, but they were the best we had.

Annabeth put her hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'm sorry Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

"People have gotten close to getting out of the Underworld," I added. "It's about tiem someone, or someones, did." I nidged Grover, who of course chimed in late.

"Oh, right! We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

Percy looked at us, clearly grateful. He slipped the pearls back into his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt," he said confidently, and we walked into the lobby.

We were greeted by easy listening music, that played softly on hidden speakers. If they were grey they could have been anywhere, considered the carpet and walls were the same colour as steel. The walls were lined with chairs made from black leather, and people were sitting in all of them. And on the arms of the chairs. There were people everywhere, staring despondantly out windows, waiting for the elevator, or just standing, aimless. No one was moving, no one was talking, I felt odd standing with them.

As we passed I could feel their eyes on me, curious as to what I was. I knew they were aware I was connected to death, but not sure how. I was thankful Hades wasn't my father, if he was I didn't know how they'd react.

We passed the buff looking security guard and were greeted by a second. He was on a raised podium, and we looked up at him slightly.

He was tall, dark skinned, and lithe-looking, with bleached-blond hair in a buzz cut. His eyes were frames by tortoise shell  glasses that clashed horibbly with his pale suit. Percy was the first one to read the name tag.

"Your nameis Chiron?" he blurted out, staring up at him, totally confused.

I wanted to say something, but no, it would be taken care of. The man leaned across the desk, giving Percy a bone-chilling smile.

"What a precious you lad," he said with a slight forgin accent. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no," Percy stuttered.

"Sir."

"Sir."

The man pinched the name tag and ran a finger smoothly under the letters. "Can you read mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."

"Amazing!" Oh the sarcasm. "Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon."