𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘴!〔 percy jackson 〕 ೃ༄
𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉, wherever the starry-eyed daughter
of the wilderness finds herself going, the sun-kissed son of the raging seas is always 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘.
...
twelve. (the lightning thief. ) ❛ love's fuckin' embarrassing! ❜
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
"WELL?" snapped the waitress who stood before the booth table, her foundation-painted cheeks moving rapidly as she chewed on a piece of gum. She blinked at the four of them expectantly, raising an impatient eyebrow at them when they didn't immediately respond. They sat opposite each other in the booth-Colette and Annabeth opposite each other and Grover and Percy the same. It took a moment of glancing between them before Percy finally spoke up. "Well.. uh..." his voice drifted for a second, "we want to order dinner."
The waitress hummed in speculation, her eyes trailing over their ragged and bruised appearances. No doubt did they probably look like a group of troubled runaways, but she didn't comment. "You kids have money to pay for it?"
Being deprived of food had began tormenting Colette's mind, so much so that she couldn't actually function out a proper response as she slumped in her seat. She could feel Percy's leg bouncing under the table as he racked his mind for a plausible excuse or heart-wrenching sob-story.
Then, there was a rumble outside, like a thousand drums colliding against the ground in a ritual of welcome. It shook the masses, sending vibrations through the walls of the diner and causing the lights to flicker with whispers of what was to come. Through the windows, the steaming hue of bloody red emitted from from headlights as a motorcycle pulled into the parking lot. It's gas tank was adorned with flames and a shotgun holster riveted on either side containing actual shotguns. The material of the biker's seat looked eerily similar to human skin plastered upon leather.
The man on the bike looked like one of those wrestlers you see on tv... just with a much heavier aura. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. It was fitting really, and his outfit was complete with red sunglasses and possibly the most brutal, cold face Colette has ever possibly seen. As he walked up to the diner, the floor creaked as though a stampede of elephants were charging through. There was a hot, dry wind that consumed the small place, and for some peculiar reason, everybody rose and looked at him with hypnotised devotion and respect. Well, everybody except the four. The biker waved his hand dismissively, and as though it had never happened, people went back to their conversations. The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. She turned back to them again, "You kids have money to pay for it?"
"It's on me." The biker's unevenly rough voice stopped before them, as he slipped into their much-too-small for him booth. Annabeth coughed as she was quashed between the biker and Grover, obviously uncomfortable. The waitress continued to gape at him in awe or fear and he pointed a calloused finger at her, "are you still here?" She gave him a stiff turn, marching off to the kitchen like a robot.
