Two Hundred Romans, And No One’s Got

I Don’t Define Myself By The Boys Who May Or May Not Like Me.

They Chose The Olive" "they Must Really Like Olives" "forget It" "now If She Invented Pizza That I Can Understand" -percy To Annabeth In The Lightning Theif

Piper Leaned Toward [jason], Her Caramel Braid Falling Over Her Shoulder. Her Multicolored Eyes Made It Hard For Him To Think Straight. “and Where Is This Place?” She Asked. “a . . . Uh, A Town Called Split.” “split.” She Smelled Really Good—like Blooming Honeysuckle. “um, Yeah.” Jason Wondered If Piper Was Working Some Sort Of Aphrodite Magic On Him—like Maybe Every Time He Mentioned Reyna’s Name, She Would Befuddle Him So Much He Couldn’t Think About Anything But Piper. He Supposed It Wasn’t The Worst Sort Of Revenge.

A Telkhine Was Hunched Over A Console, But He Was So Involved With His Work, He Didn't Notice Us. He Was About Five Feet Tall, With Slick Black Seal Fur And Stubby Little Feet. He Had The Head Of A Doberman, But His Clawed Hands Were Almost Human. He Growled And Muttered As He Tapped On His Keyboard. Maybe He Was Messaging His Friends On Uglyface.com.

Hades Raised An Eyebrow. When He Sat Forward In His Throne, Shadowy Faces Appeared In The Folds Of His Black Robes, Faces Of Torment,as If The Garment Was Stitched Of Trapped Souls From The Fields Of Punishment, Trying To Get Out. The Adhd Part Of Me Wondered, Off-task, Whether The Rest Of His Clothes Were Made The Same Way. What Horrible Things Would You Have To Do In Your Life To Get Woven Into Hades' Underwear?