𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀; p jackson x d grayson ¹

𝚅𝙸𝙸.

Percy hails a dented black cab for them. The dents are a common feature among the Gotham cabs. The two get in, only to be immediately held at gunpoint by their scraggly driver. He aims it straight at Percy's forehead, gruffly demanding all of their valuables.

Mariana and Percy glance at each other. It isn't to check on each other's safety. It's just to see if they're equally as tired of every cab driver's unoriginality. This usually happened when they took the taxi or an Uber, so they know the drill by now. Percy merely stares at him, unamused. The man can't have dropped his gun quicker. This one is more cowardly than the rest. Lazily, Percy picks it up and presses the round to the driver's temple as he turns back to the wheel. Next to him, Mariana whips out her colourful switchblade (even her weapons have stickers over it!) and reaches over the driver seat to angle it under his double chin. 

He whimpers, and she cackles. Probably due to her high exposure to violence as a Gotham citizen, Mariana's quite adept in staying calm and fighting back against these small fry criminals. (Percy could even go as far as to say she enjoys it, as morbid as it sounds.)

They make it to their destination in record time, free of charge. They don't actually refuse to pay, it's just that the driver took off before they even had the chance to. Alfred lets them in swiftly, sparing Percy from balancing the two black coffees in one hand to open the door himself.

It's a good thing Mariana is sipping on her mocha (with extra whipped cream and chocolate drizzle), in case her jaw falls off its hinges. 

Sometimes, somehow, the architectural paragon that is Wayne Manor manages to escape his mind. If Annabeth was next to him, she would ramble his ear off about the thick stone pillars embossed in baroque designs that hold up a high arching ceiling like Atlas under an inverted sky. Or the Palladian windows of stained glass bracketed by vintage curtains which, in the absence of any sunlight to stream through them, seem to be darkly ethereal instead. Or the decidedly Victorian-goth aesthetic mash-up in the twin stairs leading up to the second floor. (Okay, maybe Percy isn't sure what she would actually say, but that sounds close enough? And maybe he'll bring his best friend here one day and hear exactly how the Manor compares to no other, as a birthday gift, perhaps. And maybe, just maybe, that will be the first step to stop running from whatever he's convinced is chasing him.) 

Mariana's bulging eyes soak in the structures in a frenzy. It reminds Percy of how he takes note of obstacles and openings the minute he walks into a room, except less awe-stricken and more calculating. He quickly steers her into a tour, muscle memory somehow still intact. If he peeks into the rooms to check their contents before announcing it to her, nobody has to know. Mariana doesn't say anything about it, at least — she doesn't say anything at all. The entire tour is filled with slightly awkward silence or the occasional gasp when she finds out, yes, the rooms can get bigger than the ones prior. 

"Percy!"

The two look up to see Dick jogging down the stairs, a red nondescript lump hauled over his shoulder. Only when he jumps over the last three steps and the lump grunts at the impact does Percy realise it's in fact Timothy Drake. Dick props him up against the wall, making sure he doesn't sleep right there and drool against the decorative vase. Percy wafts the coffee cup under his nose like smelling salts. In a shot, Tim snatches the cup and chugs it down, practically crushing it against his mouth like an empty Coca-Cola can. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, unaware of their present company. Apologetically, Dick elbows Tim's ribs and they both turn to her.

"Hey there, Mariana, right?" Dick shakes Mariana's extended hand, albeit confused at the formal behaviour from a young kid. "Nice to meet you, I'm Dick."

"Huh..." She sucks her lips into her mouth, clearly holding a laugh at bay. "Way to be self-aware, I guess?"

Dick doesn't roll his eyes at the twelve-year-old, which is much more than what can be said for Percy. "No, I mean my name is Dick."