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Percy led me through his (incredibly small, how did mortals live like this) house, stopping abruptly at a door in the middle of the hallway.
I stared at him, unsure of what to do.
He looked at me, sighed, and opened the door to reveal a bathroom, painted in a light blue color, equipped with a toilet, a sink, and a small shower.
Ah.
I was mortal now. Mortals stank.
Showering was a necessity, not a simple enjoyment.
Inwardly, I sighed. That would take some getting used to.
Percy walked in, pointing out where the different soaps were, and then promised to come back with a change of clothes, shutting the door behind him.
I looked around the bathroom, feeling a sudden longing (not unusual for me at this point) for my palace on Olympus, with its ornate bathrooms filled with anything I could ever possibly want.
I could imagine it in my mind now: A lyre playing itself in the corner, different bubbles and foaming mixtures for the bath, and of course, mirrors everywhere for me to stare at myself in the endless reflections, making sure my hair was curled just right (it always was).
Funny how I could imagine my bathroom but not my own sister.
Now, there was no lyre, no music at all, just empty silence and cracked floor tiles as I faced my next perilous task.
There was a knock on the door as Percy entered with a stack of clothes.
He looked at me, now becoming slightly awkward as he put the stack on the counter near the sink. He met my eyes and took a breath.
“Hey, man,” (I ignored the twinge of annoyance that flooded through me. I hadn’t ever been referred to as man so accurately before, and wasn’t particularly happy with the new development) “I know you’re kinda new to this whole thing, so if you need help just ask, okay? Just don’t ask me to go on another quest, please, I’m done with those for life.”
I inwardly scoffed. I was a god, I didn’t need help. And even if I did, this demigod couldn’t help me, not even with a quest.
And anyways, why did this son of Poseidon not want to go on another quest? Quests were the way that demigods proved their worth to us gods, and you could never stop proving your worth to the most powerful beings to rule the earth. (Wow that rhymed. I’m such a good poetry god.)
I assumed that Jackson didn’t want to go on another quest as that would have been his sixth(?) (I had lost track over the years)(and anyway, why didn’t he want to go on his seventh? It was my sacred number after all) and he was getting old and aging like all mortals do.
Wait. I was a mortal now. Would I age and wither, watching my hair fall out and wrinkles mar my perfect face, or would I simply die young, on some quest Zeus meticulously picked out just for me and my suffering?
I decided not to think about that right now.
Outwardly, I just shrugged. “Sure, okay.”
Percy nodded at me and left, closing the door.
I exhaled, before looking at myself in the mirror.
My swollen nose still leaked blood (ew), and my curly brown hair (did Zeus pick out that color because it was the farthest away from my beautiful golden locks I previously rocked, or just because it was drab and normal?) was frazzled and weighed down by melted snow.
I sighed and resolved myself to complete my task.
I could drown my problems in the water, make myself look better than I did now.
Wasn’t heat supposed to open your pores, too? Maybe I could get rid of this godsawful acne.
With that hopeful thought, I sighed, and turned around, my fingers forming into a snapping motion before I remembered that using my godly powers didn’t work anymore.
I sighed (I was doing a lot of that lately, wasn’t I, I was going to get frown lines) and turned the knob in the shower to the left, as I’d seen Percy demonstrate, turning the water on.
When the water was at an adequate temperature (determined by me putting my hand in the flow every so often and subsequently recoiling as my hand was burnt/frozen, followed by me frantically recalibrating the controls) I undressed and got into the stream of water.
I wanted to make this quick.
I didn’t want to look at my body any more than I had to today, or ever, for that matter.
I watched as the water dripping down my face washed some of the blood from my nose down the drain (and wasn’t that still jarring, seeing the red instead of the bright gold that my ichor usually was).
The water pressure was lower than I was used to, which was odd. Couldn’t Percy, as the son of Poseidon, fix the pressure easy peasy? Of course, he would probably say it was “time and power consuming” so he wouldn’t do it. But why wasn’t he thinking about me, and my needs for a nice shower?
Demigods. So selfish.
But now all I could do was sit under a water flow that half felt like an actual shower and half felt like a cat peeing on my head, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, was a wonderful feeling.
Thankfully the Jacksons had different shampoo, conditioner, and soap bottles, because I didn’t know what I would have done if all there was was a 3-in-1. That would have been the epitome of my unhappiness.
I washed my hair with the shampoo and conditioner, frequently shocked at the length it was, so different from my normal shoulder length (or longer, sometimes). Why had Zeus done this to me?
Perhaps he wanted to make me as uncomfortable as possible, following his eons-old mantra: the more punishment to your sons, the merrier.
Thanks, Dad.
I moved on to my body.
Time to make this as fast as I could.
I was lathering the soap in my hands, as usual, when I looked down and froze.
On my chest, spreading across my shoulders and back, were faint, spiderwebby lines, a shade darker than my now-pale slightly freckled skin.
Lichtenberg figures.
I stumbled back from the stream of water, breathing hard. (Too hard, as the medical part of my brain helpfully contributed).
My brain started spiraling, the soap on my hands long forgotten down the drain.
How had I missed them, when I first found out about my flab? This seemed like a thing that was pretty hard to miss.
Maybe I had simply blocked them out as normal? I had certainly seen the sight of the lightning scars too many times over the millennia
And wasn't that just a wonderful thought.
Was this another part of my punishment? That I would have to be reminded of Zeus’ power, his control over me, every time I wanted to change clothes, or do anything at all?
I was always able to magic those lines away, before Artemis or anyone else could see, before evidence of my weakness, my failure as a son, as a god, was revealed to the world.
But now I couldn’t.
I was always known as the most flawless of the gods on Olympus. I never showed any scars, physically or emotionally.
Until now.
What would they think of me, being stripped of my coverups like this?
They would probably laugh and post it to SnapChat, make a compilation video of my failures on YouTube. I could see it now:
New For You: Apollo Being the Terrible God He Always Is: Part 14 by AresTheWarGod
Highlights:
Who Knew Olympic Sports Were This Deadly: Apollo kills his boring boyfriend
We Don’t Need More Trees, Whatever Your Name Was: Apollo fumbles the bag, girlfriend kills herself (honestly how doesn’t everyone who meets him not do this, the self-restraint is amazing)
We All Knew He Was This Weak: Apollo loses a fight to two scruffy mortals off the street, needs to be rescued by 12-year-old girl dressed like a traffic light
What Is He Even Doing At This Point: Apollo has a breakdown in a bathroom
The views would probably be through the roof.
And, oh gods, no.
Artemis would see it.
I always made sure that she didn’t, because then I knew she would blame Father, but it wasn’t his fault.
I was the one who stepped out of line, Father was simply teaching me a lesson, one that I desperately needed.
What would she do when she found out, if she found out? Would she even care enough about me to watch what was going on? Or would she be too busy with her hunters?
And if she did go to confront him? Surely, that would be seen as going out of line.
But whatever she was doing, I knew that others would notice and judge me for it.
And my reputation would be ruined. I wouldn’t be able to walk on Olympus again without being the laughingstock of everyone.
What would I do?
I sat there, tears streaming down my cheeks, breath still too fast, until the water started turning cold.
I couldn’t be seen like this. I had to pull myself together.
Go, Apollo, you got this, I told myself. Go out there and pretend nothing’s wrong, you do it all the time.
That’s kinda hard, me, I replied. I can’t magic myself better this time.
Well, you certainly aren’t keeping up appearances when you’re talking to yourself on the floor of the shower.
In-my-head me was mean sometimes.
I got up and turned the water off, shivering in silence for a little while.
Keep up appearances, that’s easy.
I stumbled to the mirror, gripping the sides of the counter as I stared into my reflection’s eyes. From this angle, I could see that the lightning scars were like spears pointing to my heart.
Thanks, Dad. Didn’t need to be a god of poetry to figure that one out.
I took a deep breath.
I could do this.
I clothed myself with what the son of Poseidon had given me, wishing I had something else to cover my arms, and looked at the mirror.
I pointedly ignored everything wrong with me, from the acne to the flab, the scars newly hidden under my shirt, and everything else, and gave myself a forced smile.
I took a deep breath, and with a tone that was entirely too cheerful, said, “You are gorgeous and people love you!”
I went out to face the world.