[A/N]: Oh... Hi there. Okay, so my computer attempted suicide(again), but now it's fixed and everything. So I'm just going to let you read the story:

11:25

Annabeth was at Central Park in thirty-seven minutes. Seven minutes late. (Hey! Blame the Gray sisters!) And she didn't spot Aphrodite anywhere.

Annabeth ran a hand through her hair, which looked like a mess, but she didn't really care. It's just Percy. She snorted. Yeah, and Mrs. O'Leary is just an over-sized poodle.

She began to comb her tangled mess with her fingers. And then that was followed by tapping her Converse - a birthday present from Grover - impatiently every two seconds. And then there was an every- five-second [11:26] watch [11:26] check. [11:26] Followed [11:26] by [11:26] checking [11:26] her [11:26] phone, [11:26] just [11:26] to [11:26] make [11:26] sure [11:26] that [11:25] her watch hadn't suddenly started moving backwards [11:27]. And then a long ten second sigh. Repeat. Add a dose of agitation. A dash of anticipation. A flock of butterflies(She wonders absentmindedly what a group of butterflies are called.). And four teaspoons of hella-nervous. Stir. Double all the ingredients. Four times. And you have an anxious Annabeth cake. [11:31]

More or less.

[11:36]

"Where is she?"

"Twelve inches to the left and twenty-six inches behind you."

Annabeth ignored her arrogant tone, "Took you long enough."

"Hmph."

She checked her watch [11:37], "I've been waiting for twelve minutes."

"And that's not even my record. Plus - I'm never ever ever late. Everyone else - "

"'Is simply early.' Yeah, yeah. Princess Diaries. Julie Andrews. Great woman. Inspiring - really. No really. I'm not even joking you. Mary Poppins was inspirational. Raindrops and roses, whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens. And she was fabulous in -"

"Are you alright, Annabeth?"

"As a ninety-degree angle... Sorry, bad joke." She winced and internally banged her head into several solid objects. (Walls, tables, doors, etc.)

Aphrodite gave her a calculating glance. "This is how you dress up? Now I really don't want to know what your idea of casual is."

Annabeth glanced down at her (not-intentionally) ripped jeans and wrinkled shirt. "Well... We are sort of crashing it, aren't we? So, therefore no wedding."

"Yes, but you have to do it fashionably!"

Annabeth sighed, "How long will it take?" [11:40]

"Fifteen minutes at the most."

"Good, 'cause that's all we got."

12:10

"This is all your fault."

"How was I supposed to know there'd be a long line?"

Annabeth grumbled.

She grumbled because: Percy is getting married, her dress is too tight, Percy is getting married, Grover didn't give her the churches name, Percy Jackson is getting bloody married, they're ten minutes late, Percy is getting married to Rachel, she's stumbling all over the place, Percy Jackson is getting married to Rachel Elizabeth Dare, she's stumbling all over the place because she's wearing four inch high-heels, Percy isn't getting married to her, she's getting blisters, Percy is not marring Annabeth Chase, it's raining, and did she mention that PERCY JACKSON IS GETTING MARRIED? Yeah, she's almost sure she mentioned that.

"Do you at least know where the church is?" She grumbled. (See above list.)

"Well duh. Do I look like a fool to you?" Aphrodite stated, flipping her long (or was that shoulder-length?) black (no no, it's brown; nope, it's blond; possibly red) curly (or was it wavy...straight?) hair over her shoulders.

Annabeth did her best not to answer her question. "Lead the way then." She waved for her to advance right.

Aphrodite went left.

Annabeth sighed and glanced at her watch. [12:13] (Thirteen minutes late!)

She walked a little faster.

Percy

12:15

My palms are sweating so much I'm almost positive I can start my own river soon.

No joke.

The altar - too flowery - is a the very end of the - mile long - aisle, to the right are the stained-glass windows, hidden behind - the ugliest - long, flowy curtains. Her family is all in strictly in thousand dollar pastel dresses accompanied with all different kinds of high-heels. My family, however, barely occupies the first two rows. My mom was sitting, twiddling her thumbs and picking at the hem of her dress. My mother didn't think this was the wisest idea. Oh, sure, she'd never out-right said it, but by the dirty looks your mother gives your girlfriend/fiance/soon-to-be-wife when she thinks you're not looking, a poodle could deduce that.

Not that I have anything against poodles.

Especially ones named Fluffy.

"Hey man, are you okay? You look like you're going to pass out. Water?"

"Nah, thanks G-man."

Grover was standing faithfully just to my left. He looked ridiculous with the top hat and the converse, but that was the only way to hide his ever-maturing goat side. Actually, it put emphasis on how weird I am. Mr. Dare loves that. My weirdness.

That was dripping in sarcasm, if you didn't catch that.

I'm not even joking, he completely despises me. There was one time when I was eating dinner at - one of the - Dares' households and he'd said something about an investment being extremely difficult, and how he was going to hell and back for it. I, being ADHD, just had to blurt out that I had been to hell and back. Twice.The rest of the dinner was filled with awkward small talk and long silences that no one seemed to be able to fill. Then, there was another incident when Mr. Dare had asked me to write something down, and I, being an idiot, reached into my pocket, pulled out said pen, uncapped it, and found that it was definitely nota pen. After trying to explain that I'd got it at a joke shop in California, he'd told me, in a business-like tone, that it might be best if I went and fetched a real pen before he took poor Riptide and split him in two. And on top of all that, the man still won't let me call him by his first name. Therefore, I think it's safe to assume that Mr. Dare isn't too fond of lil' old Percy Jackson.

You'd think, using the theory that opposites attract, that Mrs. Dare would find my weird unexplainable events funny, or maybe even cute, but no, not with my luck. Mr. and Mrs. Dare when the most buisness-y people I'd ever met in my life. Apparently, the were a couple that had a lot in common. Namely money.

Oh, the money.

Yeah. That.

Well, to put it shortly, they could buy several small islands, a yacht to sail around those small islands, a captain to maneuver that yacht, a private jet to get to those islands, a pilot to fly that private jet, a fountain that flowed with thousands of dollars in cash, because water is simply too cheap, a twenty-three-and-a-half story house, an architect, several dozen construction workers, a personal massuse, a personal band, a personal bar, complete with a bar tender, and they'd still have at least a million left.

The money.

The money that wouldn't ever get spent on several private islands, or anything that one must buy with private islands, because both Dare parents are greedy. Sure, they were extravagant, and they loved luxory, but they already had one and 'anymore islands and I think we'll have to open a resort.'. Or, at least, that's what Mrs. Dare said, followed by Mr. Dare stating that he knew he'd married her for some reason.

Ugh.

I hate that money.

Oh, and don't even get me started on -

Holy Zues, they started playing the wedding march on that overly priced piano.

Is it too late to run to the bathroom and puke my guts out?

[A/N]: Okay, so the editing is disfunctioning. So, please lemme know about any flaws. Disclose something you got for Christmas in your review. Oh, and (if you haven't already) go check out Too Much Ambrosia, by yours truly.