CASTELLAN, luke anthony

[Luke Castellan]

YOU SAY YOU WANT A REVOLUTION.

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LUKE ANTHONY CASTELLAN[/color]
YOU KNOW WE ALL WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD.[/color] [/font]



twenty. demi-god. hermes. jake abel.[/font][/i]

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AN ALPHABET ON LUKE CASTELLAN
by the amazingly awesome thalia

A is for Anthony.

Luke didn't mind his first name. His last name, either. When it came to his middle name, though ... things got interesting.

"Isabelle. I mean, who names their daughter after them," I'd said, and rolled my eyes. How could my mother get any more self-centered.

"And yours'? Tit for tat, or ... something," and he'd just looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"Anthony," and he shrugged, taking a sip from his coke can. "Anthony."

He didn't sound too happy about it.

"What's wrong with Anthony?"

"It has an unknown origin."

"Origin?"

"No one knows where it comes from, or what it means."

Of course, he had to be deep about it. So what if it didn't have a meaning? "You could make it your own. Give it your own meaning," I'd tried.

"When did you become so deep, Thals?" And his snarky comment had ended the conversation.

B is for Birthday.

Birthdays were odd. When it was Annabeth's, we always did something special. One time we snuck into the movies and saw something animated. It was a good thing Annabeth had been totally drawn into it, because really, Luke and I had talked through the whole thing. Another year, we'd taken her to Starbucks and given her her first taste of coffee. A tall, and Luke had asked them to put a lot of milk. That hadn't been enough to keep her from bouncing off the walls with energy that neither of us knew she had.

When my birthday swung around, it was always close to Christmas, and we were always doing something holiday-ish. If we were in some place warm, it was usually a small town somewhere, which meant that there was a holiday carnival somewhere nearby. He'd snagged me some popcorn, got himself some cotton candy, and we'd walked around and won prize after prize in the little stalls where the games needed reflexes to be your best friend. It was the occasional time that we thanked the gods for something. To see the workers' expressions, it was so amusing.

It was April Nineteenth, and a really sunny day. Way too sunny, in fact, and we were spending the day in the shade of a park. We were sitting on one of those merry-go-rounds, having just come out of a MickeyD's, and it was only about half a year that we'd been a team.

It was divided in four quarters, Luke was on the red quarter, me on the green. He was pushing it, one foot pushing against the ground, and it rotated slowly, squeaking ever so often. I stole a fry from the container in his hand, which he pulled from every so often. We'd, for once, stolen too much food. Now, we were full, but not willing to let something like food go to waste.

"Birthdays suck." It had come out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Birthdays suck," he'd repeated.

We'd celebrated mine a few months before, and now I was looking at him like he was crazy. "What do you mean?"

"April nineteenth. My birthday. It sucks."

I'd raised an eyebrow at him, not believing him. It was his birthday, and he'd mentioned nothing? Sure, I'd mentioned nothing either and he'd tricked it out of me, but still. That didn't mean anything.

"We could've made it not suck. We could've done something really cool," I'd said. He looked over at me lazily.

"I don't want it to not suck." Now that confused me. Birthdays had probably always sucked for him, as they had for me, but did that mean that they had to stay that way? No. Even though we were splayed on the merry-go-round, backs pressed up against the black metal that younger kids usually used to hold onto, with him pushing it, I sort-of felt the need to get up and go do something and make his birthday awesome.

The fries were finished, and he tossed the cardboard container onto the merry-go-round. I stood up, grabbed it, and hopped off. It wasn't moving anymore, his gaze on me now, confused as to what I was doing. I held out a hand, since he was still sitting.

"Get up."

"Why?"

"Get up."

"No."

"That was an order, Castellan."

I was ten, he was twelve, and no one would've ever known that if they looked at us. We were both tall for our age, and being on the streets hadn't been kind. Not that either of us had expected it to be.

"I don't take orders from you, Thalia."

"Come onnnn, get up." He sneered and ignored my offered hand, pulling himself up on his own.

"What do you want?"

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Somewhere that'll make your birthday awesome."

C is for Cookies.

Luke was nervous. I could tell - his hand kept going to his sword, and then flying away as though he was burnt by the bronze. I thought he needed to calm down. I didn't tell him that, because he'd freak out even more. Annabeth hadn't noticed anything, she was really too tired to. We'd been going for a while, not finding anywhere really good to sleep and not having one of our hideouts nearby. My left leg was injured, I was in pain, I was just as tired as Luke and Annabeth were, but I don't think Luke was feeling the effects of the exhaustion that Annabeth and I were.

He was surely running on adrenaline.

His house was average. Average in size, average in height, average in everything really. Except for the pathway. Beanie babies of creatures that we had fought and killed, and some that we'd only heard about from Annabeth's vast knowledge were lined up along the path, as if guarding the house. Luke grimaced, while Annabeth and I raised our eyebrows.

"Just grit your teeth and breathe," I told him, and he almost visibly flinched. I shouldn't have said anything.

"I'm fine," he said, and walked forward at a fast pace.

"Sure you are, and I'm the Queen of Egypt," I muttered as I hobbled forward.

May Castellan was an ... interesting, woman, and that was in the least. She'd gripped Luke in a tight hug, babbling about how she knew he'd come home. She'd hugged Annabeth and me, too, though I'd flinched and she'd moved on from me quickly.

The house smelled of rotting bread and stale cookies, and there was a ... man, in the living room, who had hopped up when he'd spotted us come in. He and Luke were almost identical, and it was kind-of really freaky to look between the two of them. He shoo'd us into the kitchen, murmuring to me that all of the medical supplies were in a cabinet under the sink. While we were in the kitchen, May was offering us soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, burnt cookies, and kool aid that looked far too red to be even remotely drinkable.

I was just sitting down with the gauze, a pair of scissors, and antiseptic cream when yelling started in the living room. At first, it had been a dull roar. But Luke had screamed at him, and Annabeth had jumped in her seat. I'd almost dropped the e pair of scissors I was holding onto my injured leg. Luke was yelling at Hermes? The god obviously didn't yell back, but Luke was furious, and it almost sounded like he was hissing. He was accusing him of ... something, though I couldn't tell what it was. Maybe he was accusing him of being a bad father, which he was. Maybe he was trying to figure out why this was the first time in fourteen years that he was seeing him.

Then, all of a sudden, he didn't sound angry. He sounded ... curious. He wanted to know something. I hurried my actions, biting down on my tongue and ignoring the pain because really, when Luke got curious, things didn't go well.

Ten seconds after my leg was wrapped up and I'd downed two aspirin dry, Luke stormed into the kitchen.

"We're leaving, now."

Annabeth had almost started crying, and I almost felt like crying with her. Were tired, and there were two comfy couches in there, one that, according to Luke, pulled out into a bed. An actual bed. Luke was outraged, Hermes looked apologetic, and May was humming to herself while attempting to whip another batch of cookies. I could see a younger, smaller Luke in here. I could see why he'd run away. Then, all of a sudden, his mother's eyes glowed green, and Hermes rushed to her side. He pulled me up, pushed Annabeth forward, and we were out of the kitchen, out of the living room, out the front door, out of the house, and down the path way, with the Beanie Babies waving us goodbye.

D is for Dagger.

Luke always had a sword and a knife - I thought he was paranoid, he insisted that he was cautious - I still think he's paranoid.

I was talking just about it with him, how he didn't need two weapons, and he was pointing out my spear and shield being two weapons, when we heard a rustling from within the alley. See, we were looking for a nice, small, cozy alley where we could completely pass out from exhaustion. Well, he would first - last time, he'd been on watch first. This time around, I would be. So he'd pass out, in four hours I'd wake him up, and then I'd pass out for four hours. Then we'd keep moving as if we weren't tired at all.

The trash can was rattling. Luke wasn't worried, but I was. We were exhausted, we'd only battled a monster just yesterday, and all we wanted to do was sleep. Handling another monster, especially one that was small because the smaller they were, the faster they were, was not in either of their plans. Luke took the lid off the top of the trashcan, and out flew this tiny little blonde waving around a hammer. I was ready to attack her, but Luke got the hammer out of her hand and started talking to her.

She was a demigod, too, a daughter of Athena, and now she was a part of our team. I didn't exactly like it - little legs couldn't run fast, little arms couldn't fight hard, and a little mind couldn't add to group discussions. But Luke saw something in her, and I guess, that was enough for me.

He'd given her his dagger. "Only clever kids can use knives," he'd said. "And you seem pretty clever to me." And he'd winked and ruffled her hair and she'd huffed. Hmm. Maybe she'd fit in.

E is for Eyes.

We both have blue eyes. Mine are borrowed directly from my dad. His, however ... his dad doesn't have blue eyes. They come from his mom, actually. But they don't go green[thank the gods].

When he's mad, his eyes get really dark. Like the color of the night sky. You know when he's mad not only by the color, but the expression in them. When he's happy, they twinkle like stars. When he's sad, they look dull, and entirely washed out. When he's running on adrenaline, they're bright and wild and almost can't focus. When he's fighting, they're trained and keen.

... Of course, everyone would know this, if they'd pay attention.

F is for Fighter.

Whether it comes to dealing with monsters or the people around him, Luke is a fighter. When it comes to using weapons, he's the best fighter I know. We come to draws, but if anyone wins, it would be me. He says that I get it from my dad, but I tease him about his wounded pride, and it goes downhill from there.

The two of us fighting together are the perfect team. We know each other, we know what the other will do in a fight, it's almost like we're unintentionally co-ordinated.

Luke's also a verbal fighter. He says what he needs to say, and if you don't like it, tough. He doesn't care what people think about him - well, most people - and that means that when he speaks, he'll be honest about whatever he thinks. That tends to cause problems, especially with me. We argue constantly, but apparently, that's what keeps us together - according to Luke.

He doesn't let people walk all over him. Far from it, actually. However, he's not a yeller. Not at all. He's actually pretty sneaky, unless he's truly angry. Annabeth said that it's called being manipulative. Luke said that manipulative was just a big word for being smart. Annabeth had huffed, but left it alone ultimately. I think that really proved that he was a fighter, though - Annabeth, idolized Luke, didn't want to fight with him, and knew that if she pushed it, they'd end up arguing.

G is for Grace.

My last name had caused a big problem between the two of us.

See, I was used to calling him Castellan. Not all the time, but when I was being serious, his last name just seemed a lot better than calling him Luke. One day, he'd asked me my last name.

"Grace," I'd answered.

"Thalia Isabelle Grace," he'd tried it on his tongue, as if sampling a flavor of ice cream. "I like it."

"Yeah, well, I don't. So don't get any ideas."

"Who, me?" He'd raised his hands up innocently, but the way his smirk looked, I didn't trust it.

When I'd irritated him about a week later, it had popped out.

"Listen, Grace, I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"Ha, no. My last name? No. No, no, no."

He'd raised an eyebrow at me. "What, I get to be Castellan and you don't get to be Grace? Uh uh, not fair."

I shrugged. "Didn't know life was fair like that," I'd answered.

"You use my last name all the time. If I can't use yours', you can't use mine."

"So, what, you just get to be Luke now?"

"Well you can't just be Thalia and have me be Luke Castellan!"

"Are you seriously standing here arguing with me over my last name, Castellan?"

"Yes, I am! There you go again, Grace." Now, he was just doing it to push my buttons.

"Seriously, don't call me that."

"Why not?" He'd taunted.

"Because the person I got that name from is an alcoholic, a bad parent, and an utter bitch," I hissed out.

He bit down on his lip as I turned away and took a deep breath. I saw him nod, out of the corner of my eye. "Fine. I won't."

He doesn't know about Jason. He doesn't know about anything, and you haven't told him, and now would be the perfect time to tell him because really, you should've told him a long time ago and you know if you don't now you never will.

"Good. Thanks." I managed to get out.

When I called him Castellan the time after this, he didn't even bat an eye.

H is for Hermes.

Neither of us like our fathers. Both of us think that they're total wastes of space, and aren't worth a single penny. Both of us are bitter, on the same level, and really, we have every right.

However, Zeus had come around when I was younger. Sure, it hadn't been for me, really it was just to knock my mother up again, and be an awkward parent to me for ten seconds a day before heading into my mother's bedroom, but it still counted. Sort of.

Luke, on the other hand, hadn't met his father until he was fourteen. And then he'd withheld important information from him, after not giving a reason for why he hadn't been around for any amount of time during Luke's childhood. The only conversation they'd had had been an argument, and then Luke had stormed out.

Really, I couldn't decide which of us had it worse.

Hermes was one of Luke's gaping weak spots. Well, gaping to me. He didn't tell anyone else anything, not even Annabeth, because he didn't want her to worry. He wanted her to be happy, to be a kid, the kid that neither of had had the chance to be. However, with me, there was no such issue. We told each other everything. Everything but Jason.

Okay, so almost everything, on my part.

Hermes made him angry. Even a mention of him could have Luke ranting, or silent for an entire few days. Luke lived for the future, but he was constantly dragged backwards by his past. He had a problem functioning when it came to his biological family, because the whole thing had really traumatized him. That was completely understandable - both Annabeth and I knew what that was like. But him? He couldn't move away from it.

He hated his father more than anything in the world. He found him guilty for everything bad that had happened to him, the way that I found Zeus guilty of the same charges. However, while I was able to push Zeus from my mind time and time again, his hatred for Hermes was all-consuming.

I is for Impulsive.

After Luke had met Hermes, and had his conversation with him, he'd been impulsive - aka something that Luke had never been. Luke was someone that didn't always plan, but he'd always had some semblance of an idea when he'd jumped and pulled something. However, after we'd left May Castellan's house, he'd been worse than I'd ever seen him. He didn't plan, or think before he spoke or acted. He looked for monsters to fight, and dragged Annabeth and I along with him.

It was harder to stay out of trouble. Trouble seemed to find us now, or more, find Luke now. He was happy about it. Fighting kept his mind off of everything else. However, that meant less time moving, and less time resting. Annabeth and I traded looks, finding his temper goading his impulsiveness into something that was quickly going from irritating to dangerous. However, we said nothing. After I'd been turned into a tree, Annabeth said he had stayed on the same path. Something I'd seen for myself, after I'd come back to life. However, it was much worse than anything I could've ever imagined, and something I couldn't have ever expected.

J is for Joke
[AKA Luke has the worst sense of humor and thinks that he's funny when he's really, really not]

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Luke had always thought that he was funny. Him, and his corny jokes, and his "ability"[something Annabeth and I viewed as a deep, dark curse] to make people laugh. He said the stupidest things sometimes, and the only thing we could do instead of cry was laugh.

One time, we'd went into a store to actually buy something - crazy, right? - and there was this chick at the register, and he'd tried a joke out on her. Something about a chicken crossing the road. The girl, who had assumed that he was flirting with her, which I think he was, while he'd been paying, had literally went "Hahahahano, you're not funny." Luke had deflated so quickly that Annabeth and I had had to duck into an aisle to the side just to laugh, so that we could attempt to look him straight when he was done.

He could be sarcastic, and he could be snarky. He could be a cynic. The one thing he couldn't do, though, was tell a joke.

K is for Kronos.

Not a lot of people get the pleasure of finding out that their best friend is actually in league with the evil trying to take over the world, and change it as everyone knows it. Not a lot of people get to wake up from being a tree and find out that their best friend is actually fighting against them, and they can't do anything about it because fighting them would mean that one of them loses, which could mean one of them dies. Not a lot of people get to figure out what to do because they can't fight their best friend but they have no options.

Aren't I lucky?

Luke was working for Kronos - his number one man, actually. Luke had given up on the gods, and wanted to create a better world. He wanted to get revenge, and Kronos was his big ticket. He'd given up on Annabeth, given up on Grover, given up on m-- all of us, really. He'd let his bitterness take over, and Kronos had taken advantage of that and used him as his his biggest, most upfront pawn.

The Great Prophecy was still lingering, because there was no child of the big three that was sixteen yet, at the time. But I'm sixteen now. Everyone had looked at me, for a good amount of time, like I'd had the words "dead meat" scribbled across my forehead in sharpie. However, Luke had been captured when I had been fifteen. While he had been in holding, I had turned sixteen - therefore, I'm technically the child of the Great Prophecy.

Luke being held at camp puts a big damper on Kronos' plan. He hasn't risen yet, he doesn't have a body to use anymore - he's out of luck, and he's been stalled. Maybe Luke can give us information. Maybe we can defeat Kronos. Maybe ... maybe things can get better for Luke. Maybe he can realize that he doesn't need Kronos to make the world a better place.

L is for Love.

"Love," Luke had started out one day, "is a complete waste of time."

I raised an eyebrow. We were walking together in New Orleans - aka, the place where we got tons of good food for free and the weather was good and the people were all friendly - and I hadn't been expecting it. This city is the best place for optimism - we had full stomachs, we had a place to sleep tonight, and everyone was smiling.

"Well, Sir Pessimistic, why do you think that?"

"Because of ... reasons," he said. The way he looked over at me made me raise an eyebrow.

"Because of reasons?"

"Yup. Very reasonable reasons."

"Very reasonable reasons, hmm?"

"Uh huh."

I'd snorted and he'd looked offended and we'd busted out laughing.

Months later, as we sat outside the tiny, makeshift tent Annabeth was sleeping in, looking up at the stars and sipping on cokes, I'd been the one to start the conversation.

"Y'know, love sucks."

"It does?" He'd asked. "And why do you say that?" It was like deja vu of sorts.

I'd looked over to him, with his blonde hair, blue eyes, tall stature, and that smirk of his, and I'd shrugged.

"Because of reasons."

"Reasons?"

"Uh huh. Very reasonable reasons."

"Reasonable reasons? Not too good a defense there you have going, Thals."

I'd shrugged and muttered "neither did you" into my can, and he looked over at me.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing." Nothing for him to worry about, anyway.

M is for Maps.

If it was up to me, we would've been lost a long time ago.

You see, when I was by myself, I'd go up to the biggest map in the train station, close my eyes, wave my finger around, and then point. Then, whatever city my finger landed on, I'd buy a ticket and hop on a train, and head there. It was simple, it was easy, and if I got lost, it was only me to worry about.

I used to get lost a lot. I didn't know how to read a map, I hated asking for directions so I never did it, and I just wandered until I saw a bus or train station. Then I'd stopped having money, my mother closed the credit card once her drunken mind had figured out "Hey, I'm not buying this many travel tickets", and I'd had to start getting crafty.

Then, Luke had come along. Luke had a good sense of direction, could read maps, and knew exactly how to sneak onto a train or bus. He was a blessing not-so-in-disguise.

He'd also taught me that, when trying to read a map, the best thing I could do was not hold it upside down.

N is for Nocturnal.

I'm an insomniac, and Luke was an owl. A good fit, right?

For me, I'd go for sleep without days, and then crash. Luke, though, could sleep better in the day than he could at night. We were both defective in that way, and sleep wasn't our best friend by any means.

When Annabeth came along, we used her sleeping all night as an excuse for both of us to be on watch duty. We'd sit up all night and stare at the stars and drink coke and talk.

On the rare night that he would sleep, it would be lonely. I was too used to him being up and awake, but he had his off nights. I'm sure it was the same way for him, when I'd crash during the night.

We'd bonded the most at night, though. Sometimes, we'd be totally serious, and other times, we'd talk about things that we just couldn't bring ourselves to talk about during the day. And when the sun rose, it would be shrugged off, as if it had never happened. It was just ... easier, that way.

O is for Observant.

Luke is one of the most observant people I know. He's also extremely perceptive - something that works against me most of the time.

Luke is the one that notices things. I, on the other hand, don't. He picks up all the little things - slight shifts in behavior, almost silent sounds in the middle of the night, and whether Annabeth remembered to brush her hair every morning or not.

He noticed any mood change, anything that seemed off or wrong, and was perceptive enough to know when to ask or when to let it be until there was a better time. The two go hand in hand, really - I got neither perceptiveness or observance in my skill set, and he got both. Annabeth had observance more than perceptiveness, and Luke had boasted once that she got it from him once. That had dissolved into me saying that she had gotten her "good looks" from me, which he had argued with, and it had ended in laughter and Annabeth looking at us like we were crazy.

P is for Pine Tree.

When I was a tree, I didn't have much awareness. I dimly remember sounds, the presence of one or two or three people, and that's about it. But I remember Luke, and I remember him talking to me. I didn't know what he was saying, but I remembered the sound of his voice, and the way he sat against my tree. I remember that he'd come every day, sometimes more than once. And then one day, he wasn't there. He didn't come. The next day he did. But from then, he didn't come every day. I expected it, every day, but he didn't stick to it. Then, he stopped coming for long stretches. Then, he came once, I felt him near, and then he didn't come back again. That's when I couldn't feel anything, and I could feel myself dying. He had probably come to say goodbye.

Q is for Quick.

Luke and I used to race each other when we'd just started out together. Call it stupid, but we found it fun. We'd line up next to each other on the sidewalk, get into position, he'd call start, and then we were speeding bullets. Our reflexes were perfect for dodging people and obstacles on the sidewalk, and almost always, he'd win. I'd win at swordfights, and he'd win in races. He was naturally fast.

When a monster swung at him, he would never be there for the blow to land. It used to confuse them, especially the stupider ones, and it was one of his greatest advantages in a fight. When he'd stolen something, and he got out of the store with it - if the alarm went off, he blazed away with no problem, and never robbed a store that was close by, just to make sure that we wouldn't get caught.

It wouldn't have surprised me that, if he had stayed in school, he would've been on the track team. He could've been a start sprinter, for sure.

R is for Rain.

Luke, like me, loved storms. Rain was the perfect weather for any occasion really, and for him, it was obvious to tell that he was calm when it was pouring cats and dogs.

When it would start raining, he would push Annabeth and I under some sort of shelter. When it had just been the two of us, we'd find somewhere to just be outside, lay there and be under the water. However, when Annabeth had come along, his protective instincts had really been kicked up a notch, and then he'd never let us stay out in the rain, for fear of one of us getting sick.

When he'd get truly angry, something that happened rarely but when it did it was a serious sight, I'd start a storm. Daughters of Zeus can kind of do that, and really, I never had a use for such a stupid ability - except then.

He'd been spitting mad one day, over someone making a comment about the three of us being a few unsavory words. I could tell that Luke had wanted to get into a fight with the rich teenagers that were locals to the town were sheltering in for a week, but he didn't have any room to do that, as then we would have had to move, and it was obvious that Annabeth was exhausted.

He'd come into the alley we were staying in temporarily and thrown himself onto the brick, trying to take deep breaths, but it hadn't been working. I told him he could vent, and he'd taken the invitation with open arms. It was a good thing that Annabeth was asleep - really, Luke and I had done a good job at toning down any language usage because we wanted Annabeth to turn out kind of good, better than us was our biggest hope - but it was obvious that talking wouldn't do him any good.

All of a sudden, it was pouring, lightning and thunder flashing heavily, but Annabeth was so tired, she slept through it. Since she was in the tent, she was perfectly protected, leaving Luke and I to get soaked to the bone. It was obvious that he was calmer, even if he wasn't perfectly alright, but he took deep breaths, and soon, he was only mildly irritated. I never told him I did it, but I was sure that, by the look I'd gotten the next morning, he'd known it was me.

S is for Stealing.

It was a Hermes thing. Stealing? He was the god of thieves. Of course it would be a Hermes thing.

However, Luke was so good at, it didn't matter who it belonged to. It was a good thing to be able to do, a good skill to have, when you were on the streets. With no money, there was no way to buy things. We couldn't have gotten food, or anything else for that matter, if he hadn't been able to, because as he'd so kindly put it, I had the "subtly of a two-legged elephant".

I knew he only really used the skill to get things for Annabeth and I. He rarely stole things for himself, the only things that could really be counted were things like food, and that was for all of us. I know he rarely did it before he ran into me, and even then, it was only on a need-to basis. When Annabeth joined our group, he did it because he didn't want her to starve or be unhappy, and he did the best he could.

I knew of his secret hatred for it, though. He didn't hate the stealing in and of itself, because really, demigods didn't honestly have the biggest moral scales to speak of. He'd hated it because he got it from his father - and he'd said that much to me one night. He knew it was useful, but where he'd gotten it from and why he was so good at it pissed him off.

"Think about it like this - you either get it from him, or be as subtle as two-legged elephant me," I'd said, and it had been all I could've done to get a smile out of him.

T is for Temper.

Luke's temper, plainly put, is a bitch. He isn't someone to hold back when he's mad. He isn't a yeller, but someone that's quiet when they're angry is a lot worse than someone who's loud. He holds things in, and they build up, and then it all explodes. He's bitter, and he holds grudges. He doesn't offer forgiveness. He doesn't forgive anyone, really. There is no three strikes, you're out. There's a "you pissed me off once, now you're done".

He isn't tolerant of a lot of things. He doesn't get angry easily, but if he is angry, the best thing you can do is get out of the way, because trying to calm the situation down won't work. He isn't someone that cares about too many people's feelings, and even if he cares about your feelings, when he's mad, that flies out the window. When he's angry, he says what he's truly feeling, which means that he's completely honest. If he's ranting, he'll say things he doesn't mean. He doesn't apologize, and if you get one, then you must be really important.

If he blames you for something, that will become a grudge. There's no getting over that. He doesn't let go of grudges; period. He doesn't accept apologies unless he knows you're sincere, and even then, you've got to mean something to him. If you don't; don't bother. Don't waste your breath. If you've angered him over something trivial, don't try apologizing, either. He finds you stupid now, and depending on what the matter was, worthless and a waste of his time.

If he seems mildly irritated, leave him alone. If he's stewing, get Annabeth. I only make things worse. If he's depressed and you agitate him, that turns into rage. He takes things out on people - if you don't need to be around him when he's angry, then don't be. Don't push him if he's trying to rationalize - sometimes, that keeps him from going into a fury. And don't, ever, insult Annabeth. If you do, you're as good as dead. You'll be the pegasi's next meal. When he's angry, he'll make snap decisions. Don't try to talk him out of them yourself, he won't listen to you.

Overall, an angry Luke? Is a dangerous Luke.

U is for Unusual.

There's only one Luke. No one can be that insane, but also manage to be serious. No one can have such a bad temper, but take such good care of Annabeth. No one can try to be as funny as he does, but then go and kill monsters to save his makeshift family. No one can smirk and sneer in the same breath. No one can hate love, but then love so strongly in the same moment. No one can be as happy as he can when things are falling apart.

Luke is Luke. Really, there's no other way to put it.

V is for Voice.

"Sing me a lullaby," Annabeth had demanded about a week into being with us. I'd raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sing you a what?"

"A lullaby," Annabeth had said. The night before, she had had a vicious nightmare. Luke had gotten her back to sleep. I had been sleeping - getting a rare few hours - and I hadn't been there to see what had happened.

Luke was out stealing us some food for breakfast the next morning and I was on watch. Annabeth was never on watch - Annabeth always slept, no matter how she protested, and apparently, she needed a lullaby to get her to sleep. Of all nights, did it really have to be the night that Luke wasn't here?

"Please?" Annabeth rarely, if ever, pouted, but ... it reminded me so much of --- I'd sing the stupid lullaby. Fine.

"Umm, alright. I guess I can try."

Annabeth snuggled down into the sleeping bag, and since it was a warm night, no clouds in the sky, the tent hadn't been set up.

"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little blonde child. Rest your eyes, go to sleep, so I can stop singing--" She cut me off.

"You suck at lullabies." I made a face at her. Obviously I hadn't sung a lullaby in years - never, in her mind - and I had no idea what to sing to her. All of a sudden, Luke popped into view, and she grinned. I sighed. Off the hook, thank the gods.

"Luke, sing me a lullaby." She'd demanded, but somehow, she looked cuter. I almost glared at her.

"No problem," he said, plopping down beside her after putting down what he'd stolen onto his spread-out jacket.

All of a sudden, he was humming, singing the words to some lullaby that was the usual for parents to sing to their annoyingly demanding children, and she was asleep within minutes.

His voice was pretty.

"How did you ..." I couldn't even form a question.

All he did was wink at me and answer, "Magic."

W is for Winged Shoes.

Luke stole. Everyone knew that. But the day that he came out of May Castellan's house, the only time we had visited, with winged shoes, I hadn't known about it. It was only a month later, and I had glimpsed them by surprise, when he had asked me to get something out of his backpack. I'd pulled one side out, and then the other.

Sneakers, with wings on the side, in a shoe box.

"What are these?"

He'd roughly grabbed the box and shoved it back into his backpack. "That's not what I asked you to get me."

"What are those, Luke?"

"I don't answer to you, Thalia."

"The Hades you don't! Where did you get flying sneakers?"

"I stole them!"

"Well no duh, of course you did! You never owned a pair of magical flying sneakers, Luke! Or we would've never had to take the train or the bus or hitchhike, for the gods' sakes!"

"Why are you flipping? They're sneakers, big deal."

"It is a big deal, when whoever you stole them from is going to come after us and want their shoes back! How could you endanger Annabeth like that?"

"I'm not endangering Annabeth, for your information. And that's big talk for someone like you."

"Are you calling me stupid, Castellan? What do you think you're --"

"I took them from my dad!"

"... You've had these shoes for a month, and you ... Luke, what were you thinking?"

"You're not my mother," he'd said, and threw his backpack onto the ground before walking out of the alley.

X is for X-Ray.

"When I was six, I thought I was going to lose my hand."

I nearly spit out my coke. "What?"

"When I was six, I thought --"

"Yeah, I got that part, why?"

"Well, I broke my thumb in dodgeball, but I hid it because I didn't want anyone to know that I broke my thumb in dodgeball."

I snorted. "Yeah, who does that?"

"Shut it. Anyway, I came home, and wrapped it, but I was so sure that my hand was going to fall off."

"Was it your writing hand?"

"It was. My right hand was the one with the broken hand, since it's the one I throw with."

"Smooth, continue."

"Don't order me around. So, as I was saying, I wanted to go get an x-ray but my mother never believed in doctors, so that was a no-go. So I had to wait until it healed up. But until it did? I was pretty sure I was going to lose my hand."

"Castellan, you're the most odd person I've ever met."

"Good thing?"

"Not at all."

Y is for Yellow.

Sometimes, when we walked, we asked each other the most trivial questions. Did you like school? Favorite singer? Favorite Movie? Favorite band? What was your favorite color? The last one had started a whole thing. He'd asked me, and I'd shrugged.

"White."

He'd given me a glance, up and down. Heavy, dark black eye make-up, jet black hair, a black leather jacket with band buttons decorating it, a pair of charcoal grey Converse with stars and patterns drawn all over it in black sharpie, dark-wash tattered and ripped jeans, and a Death to Barbie, my favorite, t-shirt on.

"Your favorite color is white?"

"Yeah. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing except the fact that the only thing white on you is your socks."

I shrugged. "They're red today."

"Case in point."

"Oh, shut it. What's yours'?"

He mumbled something.

"Can't hear you."

"Really, Thalia?"

"Yes, really. Answer the question, Castellan."

"Yellow."

I looked at him for a good second. "Yellow?"

"Yes, yellow."

"Why yellow?"

"... I don't know, really. I mean, I could say that it's the color of the sun, or ... the only crayon I'd ever really colored with was yellow, or something stupid like that, but, I just really like the color."

"Oh."

"Why's your favorite color white?"

"Because of reasons."

"Reasons?"

"Uh huh, very reasonable reasons."

"You know, saying that isn't going to make me stop asking you."

"Do you want to describe the depth of your love for yellow?"

"Reasonable reasons, you said? Perfectly acceptable answer."

"Thought so."

Z is for Zero.

I'd never attended enough math classes in my history of five years at school to really say that I had a problem with numbers. Really, I was dyslexic, and when everything is flipping around on the page, there's no real problem with the work itself. It's a problem with dyslexia - and that's not fixable, especially when it's gods-given dyslexia. Fun, right?

But, apparently, in his stunt at school - five years, just like me - he'd actually attended one or two classes. Math being one of them.

"Zero's a stupid number," he'd said, when we'd been talking about stupid things in the world, one night. It was around four, and soon, he'd go to sleep. He'd been tired all day, and I know that he was just trying to stay up so that when we got to our safe house the next day, he could properly knock out and sleep the whole day. However, he would cave within the hour. I could see it in his eyes. He was too exhausted. I, on the other hand, was full of energy and not sleeping tonight, no matter what I did. So I would be on watch while he and Annabeth were dead to the world. Nothing unusual.

"Zero?"

"Zero."

"Why zero? Why not one, or seven, or ... four?"

"Zero is literally nothing. It's a place holder. It has a name, but it isn't important, it can't do anything, and it doesn't have a value. It's just there. Dead weight."

It sounded like he'd given it some thought. He shrugged, draining his styrofoam cup of the coffee we'd gotten two hours ago, and stood. "I'm gunna take a nap. Wake me up when you wake up Annabeth."

I nodded, and he climbed into his sleeping bag. He was asleep before a minute was over.

I couldn't place it, but there was something more to zero. There was something more to him hating this number. Just like I was sure that there was more to his favorite color being yellow, and, before he had told me, his right thumb being off-set.

Dead weight, he had said. It has a name, but it isn't important, and he'd sounded so serious about it. It doesn't have a value. Hmm. It's just there.

... Luke thought that he was becoming a zero. Dead weight. It isn't important. It's just there. It doesn't have a value. But how could he think that? He stole for us. He got us from one place to another. He knew the way to go, when Annabeth and I didn't. Annabeth was the glue of the group, we both knew it, but really, she and I couldn't have survived on our own without him, just like when Annabeth hadn't been with us, she'd been worse off, and when I'd been on my own, I'd been worse off.

Annabeth was the brain. She was the intelligent one, the one that could give a backing to Luke's plan. Luke was the sneaky one, the one that got us supplies and kept things interesting. All I was, was brawn. I was one more number that added to a monster fight. That was it, really. If anything, I was the dead weight. Of course, Luke wouldn't believe that.

He made himself to be the villain. It was easier for him. He had the best intentions, the best heart, and he made himself out to be evil, because he couldn't bear it if people like Annabeth looked up to him, and then he failed. What would she think? I was sure that that was part of it.

I looked over to the sleeping bag right next to Annabeth's, where he was fast asleep. I'd change that one day. I'd make him stop feeling like a zero.

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