The Sea's Warrior (Fem Percy x YJ) [REWRITE]

31

Diana fell off the couch at some point. 

She laid on the floor, twisted in a fluffy pink blanket, one arm slug under her head. The couch protested as I sat up. Early morning light filtered through the balcony door, casting the room in enough light to see by. I stepped over Diana's twisted body. Light steps, sticking close to the furniture, were my friends. I was halfway to the door when I froze. My uniform. 

My gaze swept over the room, ignoring the dirty dishes and boxes of junk food on the counter. They had been hidden away last night, or really just this morning, concealed by the darkness. A blue bag sat by the front door. A neon pink Post-it sat on the ground. The only proof it had once been on the bag, the blue fuzz stuck to it. 

"This is why you don't use off brand ones," I said quietly, picking up the bag. My uniform peaked out of it. With one last look at Diana, I slipped out onto the balcony. Wind swirled around me, biting at my skin and spinning in my hair. A deep breath settled my nerves; I disappeared. 

I gritted my teeth and stumbled, pain barreled through my senses. Burning and stabbing all at once, and all a result of ramming my hip into the sharp corner of my dresser. As the pain cleared, leaving only an ache that would definitely become a bruise, I took stock of my room. Everything was how I left it. The bed was a mess, a few clothes on the floor that fell and I was too lazy to pick up, the door hanging open-- I frowned. I pressed my hand to the cool wood, and I pushed it shut. The latch clicked into place. Weird. Did it not latch right last night? 

I guess the place is old. And something about doors or the frames warping could have caused that. Not for the first time, I wished I had listened to more of Annie's architecture stuff. She'd probably be loving this place. She would've, I corrected, she would have loved this place. 

Stripping out of the clothes Diana lent me and shoving them under the bed, I made a last second decision to kick the bag under too. Still wasn't perfect, but still better than leaving it lay out in the open. Plus, if Alfred saw the clothes from Diana, well, I have an excuse. 

And if said excuse is from me and Thalia stealing clothes from each other and Thalia routinely stealing from Diana, well, it's not like Bruce needs specifics of how we know each other. Not like it's part of a mythical prophecy or riddle that will keep him from getting his head bitten off by a lion or anything. 

It better not be. 

The clothes I put on were pretty much the first things that I pulled out of my drawer. A pair of navy blue shorts, men's with pockets, thank you, Bruce, and a dark green shirt. And honestly, I was surprised. Usually, I ended up looking like a victim of the Stolls' pranks. Which was a pretty good defense against them in my opinion. They couldn't make a fool out of me if I did it first. 

I walked out into the hallway, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. Walking down the stairs, the tension laden air shoved itself down my throat. Well, it didn't. I breathed it in. The entire manor was silent. That wasn't unusual. The place was big, old, and probably had more ghosts than one of Nico's birthday parties. But it was the type of silence that sealed the deal. I frowned. My hand slid into my pocket and curled around Riptide. 

Feeling my weapon in my hand, a tiny sliver of weight eased off my chest. If it was monsters, I could handle them. Mortals were a bit trickier, because apparently murder is 'unacceptable' and I'll get 'arrested.' Which I mean, sounds fake, but okay.

All the feelings of dread and unease came to a head in the kitchen. And yet, for all of that, I couldn't see anything wrong. No strange people, no strange animals. Just Dick sullenly poking at his eggs, and Bruce typing on his laptop, fingers slamming against the keys. I didn't see Alfred, but the fire crackling in the hearth and the lack of charred food, meant he had been in the kitchen already.