The Heroes of Olympus Drabble Meme
To celebrate the upcoming release The Lost Hero and the start of the new Heroes of Olympus series, pjo_fic_battle is deviating from its usual prompt battle form to host a drabble meme!
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"Great!" Annabeth answered, folding up the harpy's receipt and handing it to her. "Here's a quick survey you can take online, if you want to tell us how our service was today. Your order number is here, I've circled it, your feedback would be really appreciated. Thanks, have a nice day!"
The harpy summarily dismissed -- they weren't the brightest monsters, really; she'd gone for her daggers the first time one walked through the check-out, but it wasn't even worth note anymore -- she turned to Clarisse. "Do you remember that scare we had about, like, two months ago, when Freya went missing and everybody thought she was dead?"
"Yeah," went Clarisse, dragging the word out questioningly. "Malcolm went ballistic. He thought they were true love or whatever. It was like a damn Lifetime movie when they got reunited."
"Yeah," nodded Annabeth, and then bit her lip, slid her eyes sideways.
A beat.
Two.
"Oh," breathed Clarisse with dawning realization. "Oh, no fucking way. You didn't."
"It wouldn't have happened if we weren't so absolutely sure that Freya was dead," Annabeth went on a low, hurt noise. She'd been nothing but self-flagellation since Freya came home, no worse for the wear. "We aren't like that. But yeah," she answered the question in Clarisse's high-arched brows. "I'm 99.9% certain that's when I got pregnant."
"Ho, shit, girl," said Clarisse in the tones of admiration people usually save for when they're walking past a demolition site, all terrific rubble and yellow caution tape. "What are you going to do?"
She exhaled slowly. She hadn't even thought beyond confessing to somebody, anybody. She reached that block in her mind and every sense went screaming away from it, going, nope, nope, we're not dealing with this right now.
"I have no idea," she said.
"Are you going to tell him?" Meaning Percy. And Nico, too, because they were a combined entity in Annabeth's head on this matter.
That was enough to make her shake her head emphatically. "I can't do that!"
Clarisse pushed her wheelchair closer, a belated concession to privacy. "Well, you're going to have to do something," she said, voice firm. "Because I'm pretty sure Jackson's gonna notice when you squat down and your spawn comes out with a dot on its forehead."
"Don't be racist."
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