(This isn't the first time that Percy has visited Gyro at his clinic. But this is the first time he's been nervous about it. After some recent events, Percy realized even more how out of his depth he was and how 'winging it' wasn't going to cut it. Not with this anyway. That wasn't to say he hadn't tried to figure things out on his own though. He had watched an extensive amount of videos and even went as far as to struggle reading through some more detailed manuals. It was a lot like driving though. Reading only told you the rules. It didn't really do much about improving technique.
The annoying as hell thing was that he had been too flustered to actually practice on himself. Something that made him a little pissed off, frankly. He has been through literal hell before but he couldn't wedge his fingers between his legs? Maybe he was just overthinking it but it still felt intimidating to him in a way that monsters never had.
So there he was, waiting outside of Gyro's office for him to finish up for the day. He stood around in his pair of dusty, worn converse from back home, a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pale blue hoodie. Remarkably unremarkable and unassuming in every way a teenage boy could be. The only thing saving him was his natural looks. The windswept hair from flying out there and the bit of flush in his cheeks from it. He had spent the past ten minutes gnawing at his own lip too and that hadn't helped him any. Hanging off one shoulder was a backpack, loosely filled with a few things.
Now he was simply waiting for the man in question.)
[Action]
The annoying as hell thing was that he had been too flustered to actually practice on himself. Something that made him a little pissed off, frankly. He has been through literal hell before but he couldn't wedge his fingers between his legs? Maybe he was just overthinking it but it still felt intimidating to him in a way that monsters never had.
So there he was, waiting outside of Gyro's office for him to finish up for the day. He stood around in his pair of dusty, worn converse from back home, a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pale blue hoodie. Remarkably unremarkable and unassuming in every way a teenage boy could be. The only thing saving him was his natural looks. The windswept hair from flying out there and the bit of flush in his cheeks from it. He had spent the past ten minutes gnawing at his own lip too and that hadn't helped him any. Hanging off one shoulder was a backpack, loosely filled with a few things.
Now he was simply waiting for the man in question.)