[ Percy keeps his gaze trained on the chariot for a moment longer at her direction, studying it as though it might ring a bell as to why it matters, and what this has to do with anything.
It feels easier to keep his mind blissfully clouded, and attempting to do anything else is sluggish. In his brain's attempt to sift through eight-hundred years (and then some) of memories, he'd rather give up before he begins. Because it doesn't matter, does it? Whatever Clarisse is trying to make him remember, it's not that important in the grand scheme of things. They're still gods, they still have their realms, and they still remain untouchable. What are a few meagre memories in the past compared to a wide and unlimited future?
But something tugs at him, like a thin, thread-like strand in his chest, when her expression shifts into something he doesn't recall ever seeing from her before: it's vulnerable and pleading and very real, very human.
When she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, he meets her eyes and hears everything she's saying — You called me your friend that day. That was the first time — and it's like ... he can remember when he'd done what she's describing. He doesn't even know how, but he knows what she's talking about, like the memory had been hiding somewhere behind hundreds of godly ones and at Clarisse's word, had come forth to reveal itself. He remembers being frustrated and annoyed by Clarisse's refusal to accept his help, but he'd done it anyway because ... well, he hated when they were picked on by gods, major or minor, but also because Clarisse was ... Clarisse. For better or worse, they were friends. He hated to see her humiliated because her brothers were huge bullies. ]
That ... really happened. [ His voice is quiet at first, but the fog feels like it's dissipating, and now it's a memory directly conflicting with ones of his godly legacy as he continues to remember. ] We went to the zoo. Deimos ... pretended to be your dad. [ He shakes his head again.
His eldritch sea-god nature feels a little ridiculous now that he's thinking about it. He'd rather not be scaly and tentacly and live in the ocean for more months in a year than not, but more than that it just doesn't feel like something he'd ever choose for himself. There's a reason he turned down godhood before, why would he accept it just to become a hideous all-powerful monster? ] But you beat him, and it was kind of awesome.
[ He remembers seeing his worst fear brought to life through Deimos' illusions too. That's what had done it: he'd seen Camp Half-Blood fall to destruction, all of his friends in danger and calling out to him for help. Clarisse had been one of them; he'd admitted as much. ]
no subject
[ Percy keeps his gaze trained on the chariot for a moment longer at her direction, studying it as though it might ring a bell as to why it matters, and what this has to do with anything.
It feels easier to keep his mind blissfully clouded, and attempting to do anything else is sluggish. In his brain's attempt to sift through eight-hundred years (and then some) of memories, he'd rather give up before he begins. Because it doesn't matter, does it? Whatever Clarisse is trying to make him remember, it's not that important in the grand scheme of things. They're still gods, they still have their realms, and they still remain untouchable. What are a few meagre memories in the past compared to a wide and unlimited future?
But something tugs at him, like a thin, thread-like strand in his chest, when her expression shifts into something he doesn't recall ever seeing from her before: it's vulnerable and pleading and very real, very human.
When she reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, he meets her eyes and hears everything she's saying — You called me your friend that day. That was the first time — and it's like ... he can remember when he'd done what she's describing. He doesn't even know how, but he knows what she's talking about, like the memory had been hiding somewhere behind hundreds of godly ones and at Clarisse's word, had come forth to reveal itself. He remembers being frustrated and annoyed by Clarisse's refusal to accept his help, but he'd done it anyway because ... well, he hated when they were picked on by gods, major or minor, but also because Clarisse was ... Clarisse. For better or worse, they were friends. He hated to see her humiliated because her brothers were huge bullies. ]
That ... really happened. [ His voice is quiet at first, but the fog feels like it's dissipating, and now it's a memory directly conflicting with ones of his godly legacy as he continues to remember. ] We went to the zoo. Deimos ... pretended to be your dad. [ He shakes his head again.
His eldritch sea-god nature feels a little ridiculous now that he's thinking about it. He'd rather not be scaly and tentacly and live in the ocean for more months in a year than not, but more than that it just doesn't feel like something he'd ever choose for himself. There's a reason he turned down godhood before, why would he accept it just to become a hideous all-powerful monster? ] But you beat him, and it was kind of awesome.
[ He remembers seeing his worst fear brought to life through Deimos' illusions too. That's what had done it: he'd seen Camp Half-Blood fall to destruction, all of his friends in danger and calling out to him for help. Clarisse had been one of them; he'd admitted as much. ]
How — how did I forget that?