𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 // 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

v. Scars

— MEMORIES WERE NEVER something Hugo Cadieux frequently reminisced. He liked to think of himself as present, in the moment. He found dwelling on the past and fearing for the future both equally as draining, choosing to stick to the middle ground to the best of his abilities.

He couldn't recall much of his childhood, or, lack there of, very well. For as long as he could comprehend he's been running away from something. Whether it be his mother, bullies, or even rogue monsters, he was always running and never looking back.

Then again, there wasn't much to remember. It was a mundane and normal life—well, as normal as it could be for a demigod.

His mother, a blonde and brown-eyed woman, was.. superficially kind. Charlotte Cadieux, as she was named, wasn't necessarily the dictionary's description of a 'great mother'. She was young and confused and resentful of the man who ruined her life.

She never laid a finger on Hugo, never ruptured a follicle atop his head. However, as her son grew older, he quickly realised that the result of his mother's stress and pain—was him.

So, he ran.

But don't misunderstand. Charlotte Cadieux wasn't a 'great mom', but she tried her best. She put food on the table, kept him clothed, kept a roof over his head; each a necessity that any parent should be able to give and/or share. In fact, one of the only memories Hugo fondly recalled was his mother reading him 'Wuthering Heights' as a bedtime story.

Nevertheless, it made no difference. Hugo wanted his mother to be happy, to have a spark in her eyes; a flame she only bore as she re-enacted the likes of Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. The warmth that could rival the sun as she rambled on and on about stars and galaxies and moons and nebulae. A glow that would dwindle as the young boy fell into his scheduled slumber.

Then she would sigh, and rub the space between her eyes. Her petite hands would guide the duvet covered in stars and rocket ships and drape it over the still body of her sleeping child. She'd then press two fingers to her lips, and plant that mark across Hugo's forehead. After that, she would attempt to steal some rest for herself. A slumber she would wake up from cradled in the short arms of her caring son.

What had she done to deserve him? After all she had said and contemplated. Why did he have so much love for her? Why? Why? Why?

The neglected Charlotte Cadieux would never know.

Until now? Perchance.

• • •

— AFTER FACING THE three Furies and Medusa, surprisingly enough, Percy, Annabeth and Grover tried their best to relax. Then again, camping out in a marshy area 100 yards from the main road that was littered with food rappers and various other litter while wearing damp clothes wasn't exactly paradise.

Annabeth was knocked out cold as soon as her head hit the ground, bundled up in several blankets she swiped from "Aunty Em's Gnome Emporium".

Grover was tense, his face stiffly contorted as he examined the state of the world around him. It was horrible to see. The wild, his world, was practically ruined.

Percy didn't need an empathy link to notice this. The satyr fiddled with the shoes Luke had gifted them, his eyes sad as he watched the night sky. The son of Poseidon told his friend to sleep, reassuring him that he would wake them up if there was any danger.

Grover dismissed his friend's reassurance, snapping at Percy when the demigod couldn't understand how he felt. It wasn't just litter to Grover, it meant so much more. Percy wanted to understand, so he got Grover talking. Listening intently as the satyr rambled on and on about his ambitions to become a searcher and find Pan, the great god of the wild. Percy had never seen Grover so determined, so fearless, and quite frankly, it was inspiring.

The two conversed for another while, talking about the Furies' odd behaviour. Grover deduced that they weren't looking for Percy specifically, they were looking for an object. "They said "Where is it?". They seemed to be asking about an object."

"That doesn't make sense," Percy said. "I know," Grover added. "But if we've misunderstood something about this quest, and we only have nine days to find the master bolt..." He glanced at Percy like he was hoping for answers, answers that the son of Poseidon didn't have.

Medusa's words lingered in Percy's mind. "You are being used by the gods, what awaits you is worse than petrification," something along those lines. Suddenly, the raven-haired boy felt guilty, ultimately confessing his ulterior motives. Grover didn't seem all that surprised about it. Percy loved his mother very much, it made sense that he'd do anything to get her back; even if that means accepting a quest with possibly thousands of monsters and higher powers hunting him down.

The thought of Hugo passed through Percy's tired brain once or twice since they had left camp. He copied Grover silently, his eyes lazily focused on the starless sky overhead. He recalled Hugo saying that he loved stars, his dream job being to become an astronaut. Percy wondered if he was safe. He definitely hoped so.

"Thinking about Hugo?" Grover inquired, his reed pipes cradled in his fingers. Ah empathy links, a new way to get on Percy's nerves. Nevertheless the boy hummed in agreement.

"Come to think of it, I don't know much about him," the satyr revealed. "He came to camp alone around four years ago. He was injured, bad, really bad. Chiron said he was lucky he didn't lose his leg."

Percy's eyebrows rose. It was such an odd visual, such an inappropriate light to think of Hugo in. Hugo Cadieux was not weak, in fact, he was anything but. To think that someone, or, more likely, something, could wound him so severely was jaw-dropping.

"He keeps everyone at an arms length. Even his siblings," Grover went on. "Nobody knows who he really is. And, honestly, I don't think he does either."

Percy hummed in acknowledgment, shifting around in an attempt to get comfortable. "I hope he's ok," he confessed. "I'm sure he's fine," Grover reassured.