( to be honest, clarisse is glad it didn't come to that, either. as much as she probably would have enjoyed slapping percy in the face, prophecies are almost always bad news. it is something of a relief that they don't have to worry about unraveling some stupid poem on top of figuring out everything else — like what this place really is what and it actually wants with them. despite growing up in the literal woods at a camp for greek heroes, she's not particularly interested in playing ren faire with a bunch of random people who seem to think their whole kingdom depends on them or whatever. if she can't fight something, what's the point? she doesn't like the idea of not being able to leave the city, either. that just makes her want to sneak out more.

she levels percy a curious, mildly concerned look. she knows he's just trying to brush off the whole thing by being sarcastic, but she can tell he's still shaken by it. she's seen what trauma does to people, how it can break them down until there's nothing left but a shell. she'd seen it with chris. she's not about to let it happen to percy. )

Yeah, I'll get right on that. ( her tone is flat, unimpressed. she almost asks, what did you see? but she has a pretty good idea. she doesn't know the specifics of his tumble into tartarus, just knows that he and annabeth made it out. it's not like they'd had time after the war to sit down and talk about trauma, and she can't imagine percy would have wanted to talk about it then, anyway. she nods to the horses. ) They seem calmer. You wanna stick around or —

( get out of here? she doesn't say, because, seriously, when was the last time they went anywhere together or like, actually hung out outside of camp? the stolen chariot fiasco doesn't count; that was just a coincidence. she shifts awkwardly. )

I mean, I still haven't found Annabeth.

( nailed it. )