translating stars | pjo x dcu

Anne Elizabeth had grown less sure of herself as she maneuvered out of Gotham and into Virginia.

At first, the haunting echo of her mother guided her the way to escape without being caught. She spoke to her through the hooting of owls that she felt compelled to follow and by a breadcrumb of olives that led her into Richmond and helped evade the nationwide manhunt (See, Percy you're not that special). But still, how could she explain the echoes in her head to anyone aside from it being mere coincidences of a seven year old girl with an overactive imagination? However, Anne Elizabeth had faith. Or well she tried to anyway. But somewhere along the way, the sounds in her head became silent and she began to pick up a hammer to fight mythological creatures that prowled on the "tasty half-blood" as they liked to call her. That was a shock in and of itself; navigating monsters one could only dream of as they flickered in and out of existence with only one thing on their mind: her .

She didn't really understand the term, but understood it well enough to know that it meant that there was something in her biology that made her fundamentally different. And even if her mother wasn't present, she knew her end location would end up being with people like herself. Her kin. Her previous family just didn't fit . She was a piece far too big to complete the puzzle and it was neither of their faults. She could start again. And again. And again. Until she finally made a home for herself.

If she had that, then her pitiful excuse of a life would finally be worth living.

—

Anne Elizabeth was under a sheet of corrugated iron waiting out burly trolls that cornered her into an alley. This wasn't her best look, but fatigue and hunger was a deadly poison that crept in and held her tight. Her trusty hammer was lodged into one of their skulls, leading her effectively weaponless (not that her hammer did any real damage to begin with).

Still, Annabeth Elizabeth was nothing but a girl with a plan. Evaluating the alley she was trapped in showed a blueprint of possibilities. The rusty fire escape above creaked with promise, its metal joints probably weakened by years of Richmond's humid weather. The dumpster to her left sat precisely under it, its height almost perfect for a small girl's desperate leap. Could she risk it for her getaway?

She made sure to remember every piece had a purpose, every angle could be used to her advantage.

Peering up, the fire escape's bolts were already straining; she could see the slight gap between metal and brick. One good impact from something troll-sized would bring the whole thing down. She pressed her palm against the corrugated iron, feeling its weight to prepare to push it all off.

The trolls were getting closer, their heavy breathing mixing with the metallic creaking above.

In her mind, she could already see it playing out – the exact angle she'd need to run, the precise moment she'd need to duck, the specific spot where the trolls' weight would do the most damage.

The trolls' footsteps grew closer, and Annabeth gripped the edge of her iron shield. Just as she was about to make her move, a cat yowled, initiating a series of sounds that left her bewildered. There was a crash and thunk, the all too familiar roar of the trolls followed by a blood-curdling shriek.

There is the unpleasant sound of something sliding towards her and from the sides of her eyes lies one of the monsters unconscious, its head—the very head with her hammer still logged.

Then, like the rest of her world, the night turned silent. The type of silence that was solemn and promising. Anne Elizabeth hadn't accounted for whatever this was in her plan and she struggled to recaulate with this unforeseen variable.