At least one thing Leo has learned: if you threw something at someone’s head and they didn’t even react; more than likely you were in some serious trouble.
“What?! No one is eating my anything if I can help it!“ He protested, not even sure if the other, whatever he was, was using real words any more. Must be another language. But they didn’t sound Greek.
Wait. Death god?
“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? Dude. I’ve met the god of death before and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t turn into some rabid half-rottweiler or whatever the hell you just were."
So much for the fear.
He threw his hands up in the air and smirked.
”Well I guess I don’t then! You sure you’re Thanatos? Learned some new tricks then, eh?”
"JACKAL. I’M A JACKAL.
NOT A ROTTWEILER.”
If there was anything on this raforsaken planet that pissed him off more than Greeks or Romans–this was it.
He took a deep breath. It’s only a stupid mortal, he told himself. I’m not allowed to smite him. Don’t smite him. Don’t curse him. Don’t do it.
“My name is not T h a n a t o s– It is A n u b i s, Greek.”
