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[ he thinks to say my best friend got turned into a tree, but he finds he can't. he can't laugh about it, he can't joke about it, he can't even say it in a detached way by feigning it's a joke — it's still too raw for him, his anger continuing to thrum painfully beneath his skin. though he doesn't doubt she may have been laughed at for being turned into a cat, perhaps she can look back at it now and not feel the sting of anger that may have sparked within her at such insolence being displayed toward her. it still sends him into intense rage — zeus had struck thalia down as a tree instead of saving her. ]

[ he takes note of her glare, feeling slightly bad for laughing, but without the context, it's all he can truly do. he continues to smile, but he doesn't laugh. his brows crease, ] Why did you turn into a cat? It's a mistake, I get it, but — Did you pull a hair from the wrong hairbrush?