𝑰𝑵 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑯; Loralai Fotia, an undetermined demigod with a cursed mother learns to tolerate Percy Jackson.
fotia, Φωτιά - fire
ⓒ eustelia, rick riordan
percy jackson x female oc
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THE WAR GOD was smugly waiting for them in the parking lot of the diner. "Well, well," he called out. "You didn't get yourself killed."
"You knew it was a trap," Percy accused. Ares gave him a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith-"
"Hey," Loralai warned.
Waving her off, Ares said, "Yeah, yeah little blacksmith, I know he's your dad. Explains a lot." He looked her up and down judgmentally and Loralai frowned, taking a step back.
Ares continued, "Old Hephaestus probably looked surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV. I would say congratulations on getting claimed, but when it's him... I give you condolences."
Percy shoved his shield at him. "You're a jerk."
Annabeth and Grover caught their breath.
Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back. "See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."
The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which they could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.
Percy said, "You're kidding."
Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job." He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Loralai.
Inside were fresh clothes for all of them, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas and a bag of Double Stuf Oreo. Percy peeked over her shoulder, assessing the content before he started to say, "I don't want your lousy-"
"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving Percy his best red-alert warning look. "That's a lot."
Loralai forced herself to smile towards the muscly man as Percy gritted his teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but Percy didn't want anything that Ares had touched, he could tell Loralai was still recovering from the judgmental look the godly man had given her earlier.
Reluctantly, she slung the backpack over her shoulder, passing her old one to Percy who snatched it from her, still glaring at Ares.
He knew that his anger was being caused by the war god's presence, but he was still itching to punch him in the nose. He reminded him of every bully he'd ever faced: Nancy Bobofit, Clarisse, Smelly Gabe, sarcastic teachers- every jerk who'd called him stupid in school or laughed at him when he'd got expelled.
Percy remembered that, technically, Loralai wasn't classed in that category. They were sort of acquaintances now, he still recalled her saying that all she was trying to do was help him. His anger subsided. Had he ever apologized for that?
