{book percy}

percy jackson was no stranger to injuries. as a demigod, he was used to physical abrasions, burns, cuts, stab wounds, bruises, a pegasi hoof to the back of the head (damn, that was an interesting one), poison-- you name it, he's had it. after all, that just seemed to be a side perk of saving the world and the asses of the greek gods multiple times, was it not? near death experiences seemed to adore him, a love that he did not quite reciprocate, funnily enough.

today however, he showed up at the infirmary with something less drastic; just a sparring injury from a fumble made from his opponent from the ares cabin. it was almost hilarious.

the day was new, the fresh value of the summer causing a lithe buzz over camp halfblood, the strawberry fields and training grounds being sweltering during the day to a point where campers would pretend to be in the big house to speak to mr. d, when they were just desiring the air conditioning.

"--i've broken my fourth meta-what-now?" percy inquired with a raised eyebrow as he tried to peer at what you were scribbling on your parchment, his fingers on his uninjured hand absently drumming on the table beside him. his dark hair was tousled like a surfer's over his sea-green eyes, and he had an expression akin to a curious puppy.

"it's a big word, so i'm assuming it's bad." he added, his tone carrying a subtle but characteristic sarcasm.