Those blue eyes. A.C x oc fem

1.8- The guy that runs from statues.

◇◇◇◇◇◇Annabeth Chase◇◇◇◇◇◇

A few minutes later, we were sitting at a booth in a gleaming chrome diner. All around us, families were eating burgers and drinking malts and sodas.

Finally the waitress came over. She raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Well?"

Percy said, "We, um, want to order dinner."

"You kids have money to pay for it?"

Grover's lower lip quivered. I was afraid he would start bleating, or worse, start eating the linoleum.
I was ready to pass out from hunger.

Vic was trying to think up a sob story for the waitress when a rumble shook the whole building; a
motorcycle the size of a baby elephant had pulled up to the curb.

All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red. Its gas tank had flames
painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather-but leather that looked like . . . well, Caucasian human skin.

The guy on the bike would've made pro wrestlers run for Mama. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had the cruelest, most brutal face I'd ever seen - handsome, I guess, but wicked -with an oily black crew cut and cheeks that were scarred from many, many fights. But he looked familiar, I think I saw him in the winter solstice.

Oh, no.

This is Ares.

As he walked into the diner, a hot, dry wind blew through the place. All the people rose, as if they were hypnotized, but the biker waved his hand dismissively and they all sat down again. Everybody went back to their conversations. The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain.

She asked us again, "You kids have money to pay for it?"

Ares said, "It's on me." He slid into our booth, which was way too small for him, and crowded Vic and I against the window.

He looked up at the waitress, who was gaping at him, and said, "Are you still here?"

He pointed at her, and she stiffened. She turned as if she'd been spun around, then marched back
toward the kitchen.

The god looked at Percy, and gaved him a wicked grin, "So, you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?"

Instead of using his brain and be respectfull, Percy said, "What's it to you?"

My eyes flashed Percy a warning. "Percy, this is-"

Ares raised his hand. "S'okay," he said. "I don't mind a little attitude. Long as you remember who's the boss. You know who I am, little cousin? Maybe my little sis can help you with that." When he said the last part, V clenched her fist, for once she didn't want to be spotted.

"You're Clarisse's dad," Percy said. "Ares, god of war."

Ares grinned and took off his shades. Where his eyes should've been, there was only fire, empty sockets glowing with miniature nuclear explosions. "That's right, punk. I heard you broke Clarisse's spear."

"She was asking for it."

"Probably. That's cool. I don't fight my kids' fights, you know? What I'm here for-I heard you two were in town. I got a little proposition for you."

The waitress came back with heaping trays of food-cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings, and chocolate shakes.

Ares handed her a few gold drachmas.