A/N: Well, this is technically my second published PJO fanfiction, but I started writing it before my first, 'A Gift and a Curse', so in a way, it is my first PJO fanfiction. The idea struck me one day and I wrote it down. I hope you find it as humorous to read as I found it to write, no matter how pointless it is. Enjoy!

It was a clear day in New York. The only clouds in the sky were white and fluffy, there was plenty of sun, and the breeze was just right. The waters were calmly lapping against the shores, and the foliage of Central Park looked especially cheery that day. Even the most hardened New-Yorkers noticed the uplifting weather, and, with a smile, would look up at the sky and take a deep breath, or perhaps take a detour to walk past some of the bright greenery. Of course, the mortal inhabitants of New York attributed the weather to a fluke of nature, no matter how strange it was to have trees blooming in late summertime.

But as is often the case, the mortals were mistaken.

Hovering six hundred floors above the Empire State, Mount Olympus was strangely silent – serene, one might even venture to say. For perhaps the first time in a millennia, (or more) the Pantheon was at peace. There were no fights going on, no wars being declared, and the gods and goddesses were so wrapped up in their personal affairs that they forgot to remind each other of their long-standing rivalries.

But as goes the old adage, all good things must come to an end. When dealing with Olympian gods, all good things must come to an end – and promptly start a war.

The presently impending war began when a strangely mortal-looking Zeus decided to stop at his favorite coffee shop just off 46th. The TV in the corner was on the news channel, and a meteorologist was set in front of a US map, gesturing towards angry-faced storm clouds over Louisiana and Mississippi.

"Ha!" Zeus let out a bark of laughter as the weatherman continued to prattle on about the storm cell moving through the southeast. The mortal weathermen seemed to think that it was the result of a humid warm front coming up from the Gulf. "They think they know so much about the weather," Zeus muttered to himself, "let's see what they think when it starts hailing in Pheonix."

After ordering his coffee, Zeus sat down and picked up The New York Times. He had always found it amusing to learn about the mortals' take on the world, laughing at all the things they got wrong. It had been a while since he'd last read a newspaper. Come to think of it, he couldn't think of why it'd been so long. He was about to start reading, when he realized that there was someone staring at him. He looked up, and a wide-eyed boy, perhaps fourteen years old, was staring at him with something between discomfort and awe on his face. He was wearing a familiar orange shirt. Zeus sighed to himself. Stupid demigods. Grandchildren could be so irritating – especially when there were a hundred or so of them running around at any given time. Zeus set down his newspaper and glared at the boy, throwing in a distant peal of thunder for a dramatic flair. The son of Apollo blanched and looked away. He was gone within the minute. As the waitress brought Zeus his latte, the King of Olympus smiled to himself and opened the newspaper.

The cheerful expression faded away quickly as he began reading. Or rather, as he tried to begin reading. Zeus suddenly remembered exactly why he hated newspapers so much.

The pristine New York day started dimming outside, and dark thunder clouds materialized in the sky. Thunder roared. Lightning flashed. Zeus grabbed his latte off the table, almost crushing the cardboard cup in doing so, and disappeared with a purple flash of electricity. After he left, the waitress frowned at his suddenly empty seat. He hadn't even paid his bill.

"Hera!" Zeus roared, his voice rising in volume as he stomped through Olympus. All around, godlings and nymphs and satyrs hid behind bushes and trees, in fountains and shadows, trying to elude the withering, dangerous glare of Lord Zeus. Lightning crackled all around like behemoth roman candles, and thunder shook the marble columns of the hall of the gods. The sound was deafening. Rain and hail was everywhere. The wind howled through the tall stone buildings, and it seemed as though the very floating ground upon which Olympus stood shook with Zeus' rage.

But for all the terrible excitement, Hera seemed to be uninterested and completely unmoved from where she lay on her daybed, filing her nails. She sighed as Zeus (literally) stormed in. "Yes, dear?" She answered him, not looking up from her task.

"Who was it that instituted English as the official language of the West?" Zeus demanded.

Hera sighed again. "That would be the English, dear."

A loud crack of thunder let her know that Zeus was not amused, so she put down her nail file to glare – er, look – at him. "Zeus, there were too many men responsible. To even list them all would take ages." She turned away from him and began to file her nails again.

"Were?" Zeus made a face, "You mean they're all dead?"

Hera rolled her eyes. "Have been for centuries, in fact."

Zeus's lip twitched. He was miffed. "I can't make war on them, then. Curses."

"You could always ask your dear old brother to make their lives – I mean, afterlives – more miserable."

Zeus paused, considering the prospect. Then he shook his head. "Too messy." He said. "Besides, he'll probably ask for something in return, and you know how I feel about debts."

"Of course, dear."

"I'll have to ask someone else, then… Someone who knows about languages…Languages and mental conditions…" Zeus' stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment, and then his head popped up as he had a revelation. Thunder rolled triumphantly in the background. He turned and marched out of the room, his footsteps pounding on the hard marble floors with enough force to pulverize anything that got in his way. Trees. Satyrs. Children.

"ATHENA!"

Hera just sighed and kept filing her nails. Here we go again.

"What do you mean, 'my fault'?" Athena crossed her slender arms across her robes.

"You know exactly what I mean, daughter, now explain to me why you instituted the English language as the language of this empire!"

"I did not institute it as such. The mortals did."

"And you let them!" Zeus roared.

"And just what do you have against English?"

"It's an uncivilized language! Uncivilized and barbaric!" Zeus spat.

Athena let out a dry chuckle. "Barbaric? Father, you haven't called the English várvari̱ since the fourth century. And just because the Britons rejected Jove is no reason to hold a grudge. What on earth has gotten into your head?"

Zeus cocked an eyebrow. "Well you would know about that, now wouldn't you?"

Athena rolled her eyes, unperturbed. "My birth has nothing to do with this. Now tell me what it is that has gotten your toga into such a tangle, else New York drown in your tantrum." She cast a glance at the city below them, the streets flooded with water and hail.

Zeus let out a huff. "I want you to re-institute Ancient Greek as the official language of the Empire."

Athena, despite the fact that she was hard to surprise, was shocked. "What?" She asked, "Re-institute Greek?" She repeated. "That's impossible. I'd have to uproot hundreds upon hundreds of years of progress! The entire world would be turned upside down! All that beautiful art, music, literature – lost! Why would you have me do such a thing?" She demanded.

Zeus shifted his weight. "Because… Well… Because…" He didn't finish.

"Yes?" Athena prodded.

"Well… At least re-institute the Grecian alphabet." He growled out eventually. He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable in that moment.

Athena frowned at him. She squinted. Then, she threw back her head and laughed. A strong, hearty laugh that made her father narrow his gaze to an deathly glare, boring into her.

"Oh, I see!" Athena smiled. Zeus kept scowling. "Oh, this is just too good," she laughed. "How is the reading coming along, father?"

Somewhere in the distance, an owl was unfortunately struck down by a stray bolt of lightning.

"I'd stop laughing if I were you. You know it annoys you as much as it does me."

Athena didn't stop smiling. "That is where you would be wrong, father. Language is within my dominion; I am exempt from any… Disadvantages that may arise from the divine mental preference of ancient Greek." She began to walk away.

"Disadvantage? Pah!" Zeus walked after her. "I'll have you know that ancient Greek is the most beautiful, wonderful language there ever was! And anyone who could be found responsible for replacing it's likeness with the várvari̱ English language is, in my eyes, and idiot!"

Athena was unfazed. "Yes, idiot. That would be spelled I-D-I-O-T, I believe. Oh, sorry, father, I forgot that your English spelling is a little… Rusty."

Zeus fumed.

Athena walked on. "It's a terrible tragedy, really, but so humorous as well. Do any of your mortal children know?" She looked over her shoulder for a moment, but when she received no reply, she turned away and continued on her stroll, ignoring Zeus' hateful glare. "Perhaps I should have one of my children write a chronicle about it. Or maybe a poem from one of Apollo's heroes? Yes, a lovely idea. Imagine! What uproar there will be at Half-Blood Hill when the young demigods learn that their parents are dyslexic!" With that, she disappeared in flutter of old parchment, leaving behind only the smell of old ink and a single sheet of paper, lying on the ground.

On a command from Zeus, the paper was blasted into oblivion, leaving only the smell of ozone and a small smoking crater in the previously flawless ground.

Dyslexic. Zeus thought bitterly, commanding a surge of rain to pour down and ruin the stack of New York Times papers lying in outdoor racks. Curse the English. Greek remains supreme. He glared off towards where Athena had gone. No matter what she says. And then, the Lord of the Skies stormed off to his room to sulk, planning the upcoming war with Athena.

It looked like it may be a while before New York had clear skies again.

"And that," Will Solace concluded, "Is how we know that the gods are dyslexic." He closed the small leather volume that he held, and the ring of campers gathered around him cheered.

"Wait…" Percy was making a strange face, trying to soak it all in. "You mean… My dad can't read any better than I can?"

"Nope. The gene had to come from somewhere, didn't it?" Will smiled at him. Percy smiled back with a newfound sense of accomplishment. Appeasement, almost.

"Well, not technically." Annabeth just had to barge in and ruin the moment. "I mean, he can probably translate English to Greek with a wave of his hand, but reading does annoy the Hades out of him."

This seemed to satisfy Percy. "Sweet!"

Nico remained a bit more skeptical. "And, you learned all of this… How, exactly?"

Will rolled his eyes. "Gods, Nico, weren't you listening to the story? All of the gods are dyslexic – well, except Athena. Athena said so herself."

"But… How do I know that you didn't just make all of that up?" Nico squinted at him.

"Like he said," Annabeth came to Will's rescue, "My mom told us. She came down personally last week and had Malcolm transcribe the entire event."

Nico still wasn't convinced. "But how did Athena know about the whole coffee shop incident? And don't you think it's strange that Athena, the one who told you about all this, is the only deity who is exempt from dyslexia? And what about-"

"Guys," Percy interrupted, "I think I've got your answer." Everyone turned, and looked past Percy's finger to where he was pointing. Some ways up in the sky, an isolated lightning storm crackled away, lashing out at a few unfortunate birds. Just then, a secondary brigade of owls flew valiantly into the fray to protect the dignity of their mistress. A war between Zeus and Athena – presumably over the current language of the Western Empire.

Nico stared. He blinked. Then he shrugged. "Well, I guess that settles it. The gods are dyslexic."

Everyone remained silent. Then, a single camper started laughing. Then another. Then another. Soon, the entire campfire was laughing in snorts, guffaws, and giggles. Nico rose from his seat and walked away.

"Hey, Nico!" Percy called, "Where you going?"

Nico turned. "To the Underworld." He said with a smile. "I'm going to find all those dead guys responsible for the institution of English, and I'm going to shake their hands and personally thank them - this is just too funny." He gave a casual salute and disappeared into the shadows.

Percy laughed and turned back around to his fellow campers, who were currently making jokes about dyslexic gods and goddesses. Sure, all demigods may have had reading problems themselves, but that didn't mean they couldn't find a sweet kind of payback in this situation. Somehow, it was just too funny to imagine the fearsome gods of Olympus struggling to read a newspaper. Percy bit back a snort unsuccessfully. Gods with mental disorders. Who knew?

As the evening faded, the battle between Zeus and Athena raged on. But Athena fought calmly, with a smile on her face. She'd already won this war, she knew. Because a few hundred stories below them, a camp full of demigods were laughing to tears over the mental misfortune of the almighty Zeus.

And sometimes, that was all the victory a war goddess needed.

Several weeks later, Zeus' tantrum ended. It was a clear day in New York once again. The only clouds in the sky were white and fluffy, there was plenty of sun, and the breeze was just right. The waters were calmly lapping against the shores, and the foliage of Central Park looked especially cheery. All in all, it was a wonderful day.

Let us just hope that Lord Zeus does not pick up another newspaper anytime soon.

~finis~

A/N: For anyone who was wondering, várvari̱ means 'barbaric' in Greek.

R&R, please!