ᴄᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴇᴍ: ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴀʙᴇᴛʜ/ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ

ɪ | ᴀɴ ᴀʟʟ-ᴇxᴘᴇɴꜱᴇ ᴘᴀɪᴅ ʜᴏɴᴇʏᴍᴏᴏɴ

Percy raises an eyebrow. He should be used to the freaky shit she's into by this point, but he entertains the thought anyway. "I guess so."

"I want to do that," she says, "but with tattoos."

"Excuse me?" Percy can't say he's a tattoo kind of guy. He won't get down on anyone for it, and ink certainly isn't a dealbreaker in a relationship—he was flattered when Annabeth got a trident tattooed to her thigh after the Giant War—but he doesn't get it. Maybe it's because of how his momma raised him, or maybe because of his indecisiveness, but he's never felt the urge to stick a needle through his body and leave something permanent on there. Besides, it's permanent as in for the rest of your life.

Maybe that's why Annabeth likes tattoos enough to subject herself to that kind of torture every time they enter a new country.

Percy rolls his eyes. "We have a mission, or have you forgotten already?"

"My only mission is to find the finest mimosa in the land, starting with the ones on this plane!"

He chokes on some water and stammers, trying to find the right words to scold an almost thirty-year-old woman with.

"I kid. I kid!" she shouts, throwing her arms back in surrender, "but you could stand to lighten up, you know. We're in Europe on an all-expense paid vacation."

"We're above Europe on an all-expense paid quest that was supposed to be our friends' honeymoon."

Annabeth nibbles on one of the piercings just below her lip called spider bites. Since the encounter with a fake Cerberus at Frank and Hazel's wedding the other day, she's swapped her black studs out with silver hoops, and while this isn't the look Percy exactly envisioned for his first girlfriend, he likes the hoops more than the studs.

"You say tah-may-toe, I say tah-mah-toe."

Percy grits his teeth and clings to the leather seat. He says it's a coping mechanism, but it might be a desperate action to keep himself from strangling Annabeth.

"I just don't see why we can't take advantage of a shitty situation. I mean, I know it wasn't exactly easy to do that in literal hell-"

"Tartarus, Annabeth. We went to Tartarus."

"-But we're... Where are we?" she asks. "I'm sure we're somewhere real touristy. Like, I should have stolen Will's Polaroid camera because we're going to want pictures. Oh, wait! I can just take them on my fancy schmancy new phone." She points the phone at Percy and he winces when the flash practically blinds him.

"The odds of us getting out of this plane and stepping into a tourist spot are pretty low, but you do you, Annabeth," he says, turning his attention back to the Wikipedia page on Pothos, the god they're up against.

Pothos's plan for... Well, Percy doesn't know the point of the plan yet, but the plan is... also... hazy. He can't blame Annabeth because even though she's the only one who made contact with the minor god of unfulfilled desires, she was under the influence of some kind of drug. Hence, the aforementioned windmill incident.

What Percy and Annabeth do know is that Pothos is working with a one-night stand of Annabeth's from a few months ago. Once again, because she was under the influence of the no-no adult happy juice, she can't remember his name and has opted to just call him Marty McFly in reference to the costume he was wearing when he and Annabeth were—gag—intimate. They don't even know if he's mortal or not.

Someone seriously needs to start a demigod Wikipedia site. Percy can't trust one puny paragraph, especially if it was written by a clueless mortal. Hell, this page doesn't even know who the guy's parents are! Is it Eros or Zephyros and Iris? Percy thought it was Aphrodite!