Aphrodite: Pfft. That's Not The Point. Follow

I Couldn't Believe I'd Come This Far, Lost Tyson, Suffered Through So Much, Only To Fail - Stopped By A Big Stupid Monster In A Baby-blue Tuxedo Kilt. Nobody Was Going To Swat Down My Friends Like That! I Mean... Nobody, Not Nobody. Ah, You Know What I Mean.

Part Of Their Problem Was Percy. He Fought Like A Demon, Whirling Through The Defender's Ranks In A Completely Unorthodox Style, Rolling Under Their Feet, Slashing With His Sword Instead Of Stabbing Like A Roman Would, Whacking Campers With The Flat Of His Blade, And Generally Causing Mass Panic.

Just Because I'm Native American Doesn't Mean I Can Track Furniture Through The Wilderness." She Deepened Her Voice: "'yes, Kemosabe. A Three-legged Table Passed This Way An Hour Ago.' Heck, I Don’t Know.

I Sat Up In Bed. "what Did He Say?" Tyson Groaned, Still Half Asleep. He Was Lying Facedown On The Couch, His Feet So Far Over The Edge They Were In The Bathroom. "the Happy Man Said...bowling Practice?" I Hoped He Was Right, But Then There Was An Urgent Knock On The Suite's Interior Door. Annabeth Stuck Her Head In--her Blonde Hair In A Rat's Nest. "disembowling Practice?

But Magic Is Neither Good Nor Evil. It Is A Tool, Like A Knife. Is A Knife Evil? Only If The Wielder Is Evil.