Why He's Goth

Booka sneaks in and looks around guiltily. Behind her is a black curtain. Noises of battle and incoherent words are shouted behind it.

Booka: *looks straight at you* Um, hey guys. Sorry about all the ruckus on set (winces as a loud explosion is heard off-screen). You came in at a bad time. Just wanted to give you some info about this fan-fiction. Nico isn't taking it well.

A scream is heard somewhere off-screen.

Booka: *winces and yells at someone you cannot see* Sorry Travis! Oh, come on, it's not that bad! Get up and walk it off like a man! Or crawl… *Looks back at you* Erg… yeah, so anyways, I wanted to tell you about this fanfic…

Nico: *leaps out behind the curtain and yells at Booka, waving his sword over his head like a maniac* WHAT exactly are you doing? I told you I didn't want this on the internet!

Booka: *glares at him sternly* What did I tell you about frightening the readers?

Nico: *lowers sword and looks at you in confusion. Blushes red* Oh… Uh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt.

Booka: Now be a good little Death Boy and go do the disclaimer.

Nico: *grudgingly* Booka (part of JackBungeeKiki) does not own Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Grover Underwood or any part of Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Oh, she doesn't own me either. That would be Rick Riordan.

Booka: Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted *looks pointedly at Nico* I was telling you about this fan-fiction. I don't know really how I got the idea, but I had a weird dream a couple nights ago and I decided to write it down before I forgot it. Basically it's just a scene with Nico and my OC Crypta. Nothing too emotional, but just talking about why they act the way they do. I'm not sure where I'm going with this. Really just the first time that Nico and Crypta meet. Just so you know the goddess Homa was of my own creation too. This takes place a couple months after the Last Olympian. It's kind of like the 'Before-It-Happened' of my not yet released PJO and Harry Potter Crossover Story "The Son of Death… At Hogwarts." So yeah… Reviews, even bad ones are welcome and, please, give me some slack if you don't like it; it's my first one ever, so be kind.

Nico and Booka: Now… to the story!

*Still in unison* Keep going

*Still Together* nearly there…

*Still in harmony* you're so close!

*This is getting freaky* and you're there!

Nico's POV:

I hated going to the Underworld. Even though it's my dad's home, I know I don't belong there. Persephone is openly hostile; my dad usually doesn't even bother trying to get her to stop turning me into various types of plants. Hades knows I'm second-best to Bianca; I know it too, even though I waste most of my miserable demigod life trying to prove him wrong. I can tell when he looks at me for long periods of time without talking he's thinking 'Why couldn't it have been him instead of Bianca? Sheesh, I'd much rather have that damned Percy Jackson for a son. At least he can go two minutes without disappointing his father. Curse the Fates; why do I always get the useless ones?' I try not to let on that it hurts, but I can't lie to myself. Even though I hate the Underworld, I hate Camp Half-Blood even more. No one there is exactly mean or aggressive towards me; after all, I am a son of the Big Three. If someone challenged me, it would be practically suicide. But I feel as if everyone is always on their toes around me, kissing up and being over polite, making sure the last thing I do is get angry. I know they fear me; if I were someone else, I'd be scared of me too. Over the last couple of months I've become a formidable opponent, maybe even bypassing Percy in swordsmanship and that's saying something.

Naturally, I wasn't very good at first; I was only okay at it. I had to work very hard to get where I am now. But it was worth it and all the scars and nightmares I've earned from the ridiculously merciless courses my dad put me through (they usually included me ending up in the Underworld Palace's Infirmary). I know what I'm doing now with swords, throwing knives, daggers, shields, javelins, Greek fire, and several other weaponry, ranging everywhere from .22 rifles to hand grenades and homemade bombs. Usually I stick to my favorite sword, Nightmare. Hilt embedded with silver and onyx, long black blade made of Stygian Iron, the only metal that can harm the Dead and the Living. But today after a close call with a herd of hydras, I've decided one sword isn't gonna cut it. Not when death is a common occurrence among demigods, especially the stronger ones (namely children of the Big Three). But walking down the steep stairwell down to the Palace armory, I was beginning to regret it. Usually the lifeless servants of the Castle would be crawling all over the place, but today, everything was eerily empty. Weirdly, the absence of the dead made me feel vulnerable and alone; the deceased were really the only people I could communicate with. I couldn't even talk to humans in general if they weren't dead.

Racing down the steps at a very fast pace that probably wasn't the safest, I stepped through the doorway of the arsenal and was surprised by the number of ghosts zipping around, carrying several weapons and several documents. The rough stone walls were overcrowded with weapons of all sorts from medieval swords to pistols and hanging from the ceiling were rifles and miniature warplanes. I didn't understand the warplane part. In the midst of all the chaos were the three Furies, directing the ghosts and barking out orders between their clicking beaks. I frowned; it looked like they were preparing for a war. Then I noticed the girl, sitting with legs crossed on a stone counter that the Furies themselves were talking to.

I could tell that she was an immortal; she had the same powerful aura that all gods, goddesses and monsters had; an ancient, yet intimidating shimmer seemed to clothe her like a second skin. She would've been pretty if she wasn't so… frightening. Her facial features were catlike and intelligent with a pointed chin and thin face, but her skin, though smooth, was a sickly pale yellow, like she was ill. Both her lips and long, sharp talons that grew from her slender fingers were painted a shiny black, while her pale, nearly colorless silvery eyes were outlined with it. Her thick, matted mane of dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, her lashes thin, feathery and just as dark as her hair. A baggy black sweater clothed her torso while a short gray skirt hung from her waist and black patterned tights darkened her slim legs. High heeled black leather boots climbed up her calves and the white of her eyes were tinted red, like she had a permanent case of pink eye. A gray cigarette with a black mouthpiece dangled from her fingers and occasionally she took a puff of it. The smoke wasn't like the stuff I usually saw in New York City; instead of gray, it was a muted blue and seemed not to fade as fast as normal. The girl turned to stare at me in a creepy way, a small smirk spreading across her dark mouth. The Furies whispered something to her peevishly as they glared at me. The girl shrugged and slipped off the stone, metal heels clattering against stone as she approached.

She said in a mocking tone I didn't appreciate at all, making a show of curtseying elegantly "Hello, milord. I am Crypta, immortal demigod daughter of Thanatos at your service. How may I help you?"

I frowned and said shortly "I need more weapons. I nearly got killed a week ago by a herd of hydras and I decided it'd be safer if I had some extra help."

Crypta nodded and commented "Always good to have some extra help. Especially now."

"What's going on anyways? It looks like you guys are preparing for a war or something. Dad never uses this much weapons; ever."

Crypta took her time answering, taking a long drag of her cigarette before saying as a stream of smoke poured from her mouth and into my face "Yeah. A war; you couldn't be more on the dot."

Surprisingly, the smoke actually smelled quite delicious; spicy and savory with sweet on the edges. It didn't make my eyes burn like regular smoke. Sniffing slightly, I asked "What kind of cigarette is that?"

Crypta grinned. "The kind that doesn't give you cancer." She took out a packet that held the intriguing smokes and held them out, offering me one. Now don't get me wrong; I'm not stupid. I know well enough not to accept drugs from strangers; but this was different. This girl was an immortal. It's stupid not to accept a gift from a goddess who could turn you into a frog if you offend them. So, like the helpless son of Hades I was, I plucked one of the thin rolls from the pack. Just as the other was lifted from its container, another slid into its place. I raised an eyebrow. "What's that, magic?"

Crypta laughed and shook her head good-naturedly. "No. It was blessed by Homa, the goddess of Plenty. It's kind of like a birthday gift from her. I've got another one in my closet somewhere. So you are you gonna try one?"

"Uh, I don't have a lighter…"

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't think of that." Crypta lifted a finger and before I could blink, a warm amber flame was ignited at the tip of her fingernail. Grabbing my hand which held the cylinder, she lit it and we both watched as a curl of bluish-gray smoke stemmed from the end and curled, almost hypnotically, into the air. Hesitating only slightly, I brought the cigarette to my mouth and wrapped my lips around the surprisingly cool end, breathing deeply in. I nearly choked in surprise as a sweet, familiar flavor filled my mouth. I automatically remembered; it tasted exactly like the lemon taffy my mom would give me when I was upset or sad. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel the sticky candy getting caught in the crevices of my molars. I had enough friends that had smoked cigarettes before; they always said how awful their first smoke was, that they ended up coughing from the horrible taste or vomiting from their lungs' reactions to the smoke. This cigarette did the opposite; immediately, I felt more alert and awake, the headache I'd been suffering from this morning gone. I exhaled, almost reluctantly and watched as a flood of steamy smolder appeared in the air in front of me, hiding Crypta's smug face in the process.

"Wow," was the only thing I could say.

Crypta grinned knowingly. "I know. It's amazing isn't it?"

"What is it?"

"It's a cigarette made from ambrosia, duh."

Immediately, I recoiled from the cylinder and exclaimed "What!" I had a right to be panicked. Too much of the godly food could be lethal to demigods, whose blood could only handle a small amount of the rich cake at a time. Taken in small amounts, it could heal a demigod's wounds. In large, it could cause them to burst into flames.

But Crypta just rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, idiot. They're less potent in this form than in squares. Why do you think gods like the smell of burnt sacrifices? You can have ten of these in one go and nothing will happen. In fact, if you take two of these every day, you'll never be bothered by sicknesses again."

I relaxed at that. "Really? Do you think you could spare me some?"

"Sure. Take this pack if you want. I have another one."

And so began the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Unfortunately, Nico forgot all about his highly needed weapons and soon came close to demise the next day when a pack of crazed monsters nearly killed him, resulting in another necessary visit to the Underworld. Ah, well. So is the life of the unfortunate demigod.

Fin.

A/N: Yeah, not exactly sure where I'm going with this. I just know that Crypta and the cigarettes are going to make some surprise appearances in several other PJO fanfictions, including my not yet released "The Son of Death… At Hogwarts." Yeah, that title gets tired after a while. So, please review. The new writers need the love.

-Booka

P.S. If you still don't know why I'm signing off as Booka and not JackBungeeKiki, read my profile! It's necessary for you to understand anything!