A.N. I decided to take the concept of Sally and Poseidon and put my own twist on it. That means that I changed how Sally looks, her age when she had Percy. Let's face it, Rick Riordan left a story untold and I want to see how it could have gone. I own nothing. I just love Rick Riordan's world and wished to play in it a little.

Sea Mist and Butterflies

She tilted her head back, she saw herself in the rear view mirror of her parents battered old station wagon. She was nothing special. Her hair was thick, red and curly. Her face still holding the fullness of a girl on the cusp of being an adult, her lips were plush and full, a size too big for her face. She was tall, tall enough to join the girl's basketball team had her parents been able to put the money together to buy her uniform. Instead of joining the girl's basketball team, she was regulated to the status of being a freak. Even the taller boys wouldn't date her, she wasn't fragile enough. She didn't have the delicate glow of the smaller girls. Even the size of her breasts didn't get her a date but they did get her noticed. The boys would make comments behind her back, the girls would sneer that she had obviously had surgery. None of which was true, but none of the girls felt like believing her. They were cruel, manipulative monsters that liked attacking in order to cover something dark about them.

"Mom, we there yet?" She asked. her voice rough from disuse. She had pouted in the backseat of the car from the moment her father opened the door. She hadn't wanted to go on vacation. She wanted to go to camp but her parents couldn't afford it. They couldn't afford anything.

"Not yet Nuala, settle back, Maine is quite a distance from the city."

"It's Sally!" She interjected. She hated Nuala, her father had insisted that she was named that to carry on with the family heritage. As if being a full-blooded Irish was still something to brag about. In a world of growing, global travel being full-blooded was being increasingly rare. Everyone seemed to be half one thing, half another or another mixture of everything.

"Nuala is a good strong name," her father chimed in, his eyes briefly leaving the road to look in the mirror. "You should be proud of your heritage, not many people can claim that they are still a pure blooded-"

Sally rolled her eyes and sank back against the worn seat of the car. Her father would go on to talk. His speech was the same one that he had used for years. "Yeah, if Ireland was so great, how come you and mom didn't stay there?"

"That's enough, try to enjoy yourself," her mother said softly. She rested her hand on her husband's arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They had won the trip unexpectedly. A summer long vacation, everything was included except for the transport. It was located in Maine; they would have a private beach. All they had to do was take care of the house. It'd be the last family trip they would take before Nuala… Sally would go to college.

How am I going to enjoy myself? I'm miles away from everyone. I'm going to have the worst summer, she thought.

At seventeen, she was trying to be older than she was. It left her with more of an attitude and less maturity. She lowered her head against the window and sighed. There was only so much of nature that she could take. She was used to the hustle and bustle of the city. She missed the sounds of cars; she even missed the sounds of her neighbors as they yelled through the too-thin walls. She didn't miss the private school that she got into because of a scholarship but if that was all she had to hate, she considered herself lucky.

She kept dozing, unable to find any silver lining in the cloud that was the vacation. Gradually, she came to realize that there they had stopped and her parents were getting out of the car. She climbed out slowly and stretched. She turned her face skyward and basked in the cool sun for a moment before she felt a bag connect with her chest. "Oof! Damn it dad!" She yelled as she had to clumsily grasp for the bag and hold it to her chest. "You could have warned me!"

"You were wool-gathering. I thought it would wake you up."

Sally scoffed and shifted the bag to one hand. She walked to the trunk of the car and grabbed another. "I got it mom," she muttered as she turned away and headed up the steps into the cabin. She wrinkled her nose as she smelled mothballs and old wood mixed with seawater. "This place stinks," she said. She walked into the small room on the main floor. A single wrought-iron bed frame holding a twin sized mattress was pushed in the corner; there was a dresser, a closet, and a nightstand that completed the empty, cold room. The window was open, the white lace curtains pulled back, exposing the ocean only a few hundred feet away. The only good thing about the room she had picked.

She dropped the bags on the floor, sat down heavily on the bed and winched when the bed let out a loud squeak. "Great, I have a prison bed," she grumbled. She leaned down, her hair falling out of its tight braid. She unzipped the bag, pulled out the clothes that her mother had folded and stuck them in the dresser, uncaring in what drawers they landed in or if they remained neat. Her photo album was put on the nightstand, her small stuffed owl was set on her bed, and her nightlight was plugged in, not wanting to have to deal with sleeping in a strange room in the dark. She tossed her grandmother's quilt over the foot of the bed, tossed two blue pillows at the top and regarded what she had done. "It looks sad," she said with a shake of her head.

Sally gave the room one last, long look before she left, closing the door shut behind her. "I claimed that room," she said to her parents, pointing over her shoulder to the room that was off of the kitchen. "I figured you two could have the upstairs," she said.

The young woman caught the looks that her mother was giving her father. The sly, secretive looks that her father answered with a fleeting touch to her hair, his hand traveling down the side of her face. "Ew, I'm still here," she said as she slid around them. She closed her eyes and forced herself to ignore the sound of her mother's rich laugh and her father's pleased, rumbled answer.

Her feet hit the firm sand and she hurried away. Her parents would be busy for a few hours yet and though she was used to the sounds of their lovemaking since their apartment was so small and the wall were so thin, she had an entire expanse of beach to escape to. Her parents deserved privacy.

Wind picked up. It teased more hair out of the braid; the sun disappeared behind a cloud. She kept walking, staying just out of the way of the growing tide. Her footprints were left in the sand briefly but the tide washed up unexpectedly and washed them away. She yelped when the cold water hit against her feet. She darted back, her shoes soaked. "Great."

She sat down heavily in the sand, her fingers worrying at the wet knot that held the laces together. She grunted, pulled and finally just wrestled the shoe off. She tossed it behind her, and then removed its twin. She would get them on the way back. She pushed herself back to her feet, just in time to miss the next wet lap of water. "Knock it off!" She yelled into the surf, as if it could understand her.

"What the…" She shielded her eyes as she saw what looked like a young man out on a surf board. The image couldn't seem to be brought into focus, as if there was something preventing her from seeing it truly.

"Oh…Gods," she whispered as she realized something. The man was paddling towards her. Her heart lodged itself into her throat, her mind a swirl with different emotions. Get a hold of yourself girl. You haven't even seen him yet. She reminded herself. Yet, he kept moving towards her. The fog that seemed to settle in her mind wasn't becoming any clearer; sometimes it looked like he was paddling towards her. The next it was like the water was lifting him from the water. She was torn between the desire to run away and the desire to stay put.

She stood up, her body tense, preparing to run. Stranger danger. Remember, just because he might look good from far away doesn't mean that he looks good clos…

Sally felt a jolt. He was close enough to see his outline, not enough to see his face. It wasn't his face that she was looking to at the moment. Her eyes were locked on the gold, three pronged weapon that he carried in his left hand.

"That… is definitely not a surf board."

A.N. So ends the first chapter of Sea Mist and Butterflies. The next chapter will be from Poseidon's perspective and should be done in a couple of days. Leave me feedback if you like it. If you don't, I'm more than willing to listen to your complaints but remember, I am using the books and the movie as mutual inspiration, meaning that I am drawing from them and also from my own head. Everything will make sense, I promise.