Prophesied Powder, PJO

3.1

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Chapter 22
For Once, I go on a
Real Vacation

Volume 3: The Titan's Curse

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Pallas had only been on a plane once in his life, flying from L.A. to New York when he was twelve. The whole time he thought Zeus was going to strike him out of the plane because he had been riding with Percy Jackson. It was not much of a stretch to say he still was not fond of planes because of that.

"I hate the airport!" Warren exclaimed, a large double shot espresso in his hands. He had reading glasses on and a giant red winter coat on, and he was squinting at their plane tickets trying to find the terminal number, "Here, got it, follow me."

"Stop stressing out," Pat had one hand on his walking stick, tapping along the airport floor, and the other wrapped around Pallas' bicep, "We're early. Coffee," He said, and Pallas passed him his coffee as Pat slid out of his grip.

Warren groaned, "We should have just stayed home,"

Warren and Pat Randolph were both kind, Auburn-haired, and loud, but they were also both easily provoked under stressful situations. Apparently, the airport was something that the Randolph boys could not handle.

"It's gonna be fun," Pat said, "Pallas will get to study history with you, and you will get an all-expenses-paid trip in exchange for like, a three-page essay," He shrugged, "Then, home for Christmas,"

"And brownies," Pallas added.

Warren gave him a tired smile, "Yes. Brownies. Christmas. Paperwork. Great, great, not so great. Okay, it's terminal C, so let's just—" He made a pushing gesture, "Let's go, let's go."

"Pallas traveled internationally with a God, Dad, I think we can make it to a terminal in time," Pat took a long sip of his icy coffee, then passed the cup to Pallas and linked arms with him again, "To terminal C!"

A half-hour into sitting in their plane's designated flying area, Warren had opened a book on George Washington and started making annotations whenever Pat took him stories about how George had been a demigod. Pallas watched silently.

He had done art with his mother. That was their thing when he was younger. Mr. Randolph was a US History professor, so maybe Pat's way of bonding with his mortal parent was through mixing that with his own demigod life. It was nice to watch, if not saddening. He had never been good at watching families interact.

"Well," Warren set down his book about halfway through, spreading it open with his hand and clicking his pen shut. He tucked it behind his ear, "It's a shame Greg couldn't come, I think you'd like him, Pallas."

Ah, yes. Greg. When Pat had first invited Pallas to spend his school's winter break with his family, he had told him that his mortal friend, Greg, would be joining them as well. Apparently, he was an orphan, and Harley and Warren hadn't wanted to leave him alone for Christmas. Pat took the chance to invite Pallas too.

"Oui?" Pallas raised an eyebrow, curious. He didn't like many people.

Warren nodded, "Yeah, you're both the quiet types, you know?" Pallas stared at him in response, and Warren laughed awkwardly until it went silent again. He muttered a brief sorry.

"He's meeting with potential foster parents," Pat crossed his legs, shaking his drained coffee cup, "They'll let him stay in the school district, so it's a big deal." He was mostly explaining to Pallas, since Warren must have known all of this already, "Greg's not good at staying enrolled in places, so it's a miracle he's lasted a year at my school. He only got transferred here after he got expelled from the last one for stealing his history teacher's motorcycle. You know he's a bit like Percy like that. Except Percy didn't actually blow up any gymnasiums or whatever the news accused him of lately. Greg did steal the motorcycle."

"It's rude to gossip," Warren chided distantly, already back in his book.

Pat scoffed dramatically and waved it off, "It's not gossip if it's true. Either way, you will like Greg," he told Pallas, "He's a December baby, so you'll get to eat birthday cake over Christmas! What more could you even want, really?"

Pallas could think of many things, but he did not say that.

On the airplane, Pallas sat by the window with Pat beside him, telling him hundreds of stories about the first semester of his school year. Pallas had not seen Pat since August, so they were both overexcited last night when Argus dropped Pallas off. In turn, Pallas told him about how the camp had been.

"Annabeth and Thalia were both gone when I left, so I did not get to say bye," Pallas waved it off, "Grover contacted camp about some half-bloods at a school he found. Percy went to."

"Wow, missing all the fun for little old me?" Pat laughed.

"Emphasis on the little," Pallas covered his mouth at how hard he laughed at his own joke, and Pat smacked his arm, affronted. Over the few months, since they had seen each other, Pallas had grown another two inches. Even though Pat had grown one, it did nothing to help the fact Pat was about half his head over Pallas' shoulder.

"I will summon my sword right now and cut your legs off," Pat whispered.

Warren turned a page of his book and muttered, "Don't do that, Patty."

"Oui, Patty," Pallas mocked him, whispering, and they both started muffling their laughter.

"You're an asshole," Pat told him. Warren went to scold his language, but then he sighed and turned back to his book. He murmured something along the lines of 'not worth it.'.

Pat's height was not the only part of him that had changed over time. His fifteenth birthday would be approaching in January, and he looked more defined in every way he could. His skin seemed tanner, his lips seemed pinker, and his cheekbones seemed sharper. Where Pat's face was heart-shaped and full, Pallas' was slim and lean. Pallas' nose was red from the cold, but Pat looked ever perfect--he wondered if that was a power of Aphrodite's children, like how Pallas did not sunburn.

They landed in Washington D.C. around three, but they did not make it to their hotel until four. Warren set up the pullout mattress for whichever boy lost the fight for the queen--though Warren had already told Pallas that Pat won most arguments--and set down their bags, but they left for dinner quickly.

"Ok, I've officially relaxed," Warren told the boys once he'd opened the menu, "Sorry, airports are just so stressful."

"It is okay," Pallas smiled slightly, "This is already much better than most of my holiday celebrations."

Pat laughed harshly, "Yeah, let's just hope dragons don't show up and try to eat us in the middle of dinner."

Warren quickly knocked on the wooden table.