Um… The marching band in my bloodstream was now doing double-time maneuvers. Well, I walked into the throne room one day, and Venus was studying this hologram of you, and I asked—just completely casually, mind you—‘Who’s that?’ And she told me your…your fate, I guess. The thing about healing your heart. Then she just…tore into me. She forbade me to approach you. She said if I ever tried to woo you, she would curse me forever. It was totally unnecessary. And also embarrassing. Reyna’s expression remained as smooth and hard as marble. Woo? Is that even a thing anymore? Do people still woo? I—I don’t know. But I stayed away from you. You’ll notice I stayed away. Not that I would’ve done otherwise without the warning. I didn’t even know who you were. She stepped over a fallen log and offered me a hand, which I declined. I didn’t like the way her greyhounds were grinning at me. So, in other words, she said, what? You’re worried Venus will strike you dead because you’re invading my personal space? I really wouldn’t worry about that, Lester. You’re not a god anymore. You’re obviously not trying to woo me. We’re comrades on a quest. She had to hit me where it hurt—right in the truth. Yes, I said. But I was thinking…. Why was this so hard? I had spoken of love to women before. And men. And gods. And nymphs. And the occasional attractive statue before I realized it was a statue. Why, then, were the veins in my neck threatening to explode? I thought if—if it would help, I continued, perhaps it was destiny that…Well, you see, I’m not a god anymore, as you said. And Venus was quite specific that I shouldn’t stick my godly face anywhere near you. But Venus…I mean, her plans are always twisting and turning. She may have been practicing reverse psychology, so to speak. If we were meant to…Um, I could help you. Reyna stopped. Her dogs tilted their metal heads toward her, perhaps trying to gauge their master’s mood. Then they regarded me, their jeweled eyes cold and accusatory. Lester. Reyna sighed. What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles. That maybe I’m the answer, I blurted. To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah. I was absolutely certain that up on Mount Olympus, the other Olympians all had their phones out and were filming me to post on Euterpe-Tube. ― Rick Riordan, The Tyrant’s Tomb

Um… The marching band in my bloodstream was now doing double-time maneuvers. Well, I walked into the throne room one day, and Venus was studying this hologram of you, and I asked—just completely casually, mind you—‘Who’s that?’ And she told me your…your fate, I guess. The thing about healing your heart. Then she just…tore into me. She forbade me to approach you. She said if I ever tried to woo you, she would curse me forever. It was totally unnecessary. And also embarrassing. Reyna’s expression remained as smooth and hard as marble. Woo? Is that even a thing anymore? Do people still woo? I—I don’t know. But I stayed away from you. You’ll notice I stayed away. Not that I would’ve done otherwise without the warning. I didn’t even know who you were. She stepped over a fallen log and offered me a hand, which I declined. I didn’t like the way her greyhounds were grinning at me. So, in other words, she said, what? You’re worried Venus will strike you dead because you’re invading my personal space? I really wouldn’t worry about that, Lester. You’re not a god anymore. You’re obviously not trying to woo me. We’re comrades on a quest. She had to hit me where it hurt—right in the truth. Yes, I said. But I was thinking…. Why was this so hard? I had spoken of love to women before. And men. And gods. And nymphs. And the occasional attractive statue before I realized it was a statue. Why, then, were the veins in my neck threatening to explode? I thought if—if it would help, I continued, perhaps it was destiny that…Well, you see, I’m not a god anymore, as you said. And Venus was quite specific that I shouldn’t stick my godly face anywhere near you. But Venus…I mean, her plans are always twisting and turning. She may have been practicing reverse psychology, so to speak. If we were meant to…Um, I could help you. Reyna stopped. Her dogs tilted their metal heads toward her, perhaps trying to gauge their master’s mood. Then they regarded me, their jeweled eyes cold and accusatory. Lester. Reyna sighed. What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles. That maybe I’m the answer, I blurted. To healing your heart. I could…you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like…yeah. I was absolutely certain that up on Mount Olympus, the other Olympians all had their phones out and were filming me to post on Euterpe-Tube.
― Rick Riordan,

The Tyrant’s Tomb

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