Um, Dues Ex Machina Anyone?

Terminus Sniffed. “i Guard Borders. I Don’t Kill Giants. It’s Not In My Job Description.

I Was Flying Right Toward Him (the Pig) At The Speed Of Demigod-smashing.

It Was One Of Those And So They Died/the End Stories, That Made Us Demigods Feels All Warm And Fuzzy Inside.-percy

Two Hundred Romans, And No One’s Got A Pen? Never Mind!" He Slung His M16 Onto His Back And Pulled Out A Hand Grenade. There Were Many Screaming Romans. Then The Hand Grenade Morphed Into A Ballpoint Pen, And Mars Began To Write. Frank Looked At Percy With Wide Eyes. He Mouthed: Can Your Sword Do Grenade Form? Percy Mouthed Back, No. Shut Up.

Doubtful, But It Did Work... "annabeth?" Percy Said Again. "you're Planning Something. You've Got That I'm-planning-something Look." "i Don't Have An I'm-planning-something Look." "yeah, You Totally Do. Your Eyebrows Knit And Your Lips Press Together And ---" "do You Have A Pen?" She Asked Him. "you're Kidding, Right?" He Brought Out Riptide. "yes, But Can You Actually Write With It?" "i--i Don't Know," He Admitted. "never Tried.