Oh, Did You Expect Me To Play

He Pinched The Name Tag And Ran His Fingers Under The Letters. "can You Read This, Mate? It Says C-h-a-r-o-n. Say It With Me: Care-on." "charon." "amazing! Now: Mr. Charon." "mr. Charon." "well Done.

Then There Was Nico Di Angelo. Dang, That Kid Gave Leo The Freaky-deakies. He Sat Back In His Leather Aviator Jacket, His Black T-shirt And Jeans, That Wicked Silver Skull Ring On His Finger, And The Stygian Sword At His Side. His Tufts Of Black Hair Struck Up In Curls Like Baby Bat Wings. His Eyes Were Sad And Kind Of Empty, As If He’d Stared Into The Depths Of Tartarus—which He Had.

I Nodded, Looking At Rachel With Respect. "you Hit The Lord Of The Titans In The Eye With A Blue Plastic Hairbrush.

Is Tyson Okay?' I Asked. The Question Seemed To Take My Dad By Surprise. 'he's Fine. Doing Much Better Than I Expected. Though 'peanut Butter' Is A Strange Battle Cry.

In Case You're Wondering, The Underside Of A Sheep Doesn't Smell That Great. Imagine A Winter Sweater That's Been Dragged Through The Mud And Left In The Laundry Hamper For A Week. Something Like That.