[The 2nd day of Boedromion, year 4 of the 696th Olympiad, early autumn]

"Oh, sky and feathers, what are you wearing?"

Eros looked up from his pub lunch in irritation. Peace, quiet and fried chips in the mortal realm was all he'd wanted, not this aggravation. A youth in jeans and a stylish leather jacket was looking down his nose at him in amused contempt. Eros shrugged a careless shoulder inside a comfortable jumper. "What, don't you think this aspect suits me?"

Sharp green eyes ran over Eros. The young man snorted and sat himself at the picnic table without invitation. He plucked the sliced pickle from the plate and bit, leaning back as Eros swatted at him. His aspect flickered, a blinding shimmer that revealed his true self for a moment.

"Get hold of yourself," grumbled Eros. "And get your own pickle. Yasou, Pothos, son of Zephyrus."

"The same, son of Nyx. What brings you... here?" The sharp featured face looked about the pub terrace, his expression speaking volumes.

"Summer's warmth holds yet. I'm having a bite to eat. Relaxing. Experiencing the human condition. You've heard of it, I presume."

"Oh, don't lie to me, elder cousin," Pothos sighed. He signalled for the waitress, gave his order and admired her backside as she moved to help another customer. "Mm. I take it back. This place does have a certain country charm."

"Spare me. What are you doing here?"

Pothos lifted a shoulder. "Oh, much the same as you, I expect. It's the same old, same old. Looking for carnal company but hoping for a little entertainment as well." He tossed a small shoulder bag with sharpened metal points poking out the flap on the wooden planks of the table.

"Mischief-hunting, are we?" Eros' hand strayed to his quiver by his hip. To the eyes of mortals, it appeared as a battered leather briefcase. The arrows were mostly show, fulfilling mortal's expectations, though potent. In truth, Eros could influence mortals by touch and focus of will.

"Of course. Anyway, I happened to be passing overhead. I saw the glow and said to myself, 'Why, surely that isn't old Eros sitting alone and miserable in a forsaken ale-hut in'... Where is this place?"

"Maidenhead, Berkshire."

Pothos rocked back with laughter. "Perfect! Though I won't count on finding any - rare as hen's teeth in these modern decadent times."

Eros sighed and took a sip of his cola. He wanted Pothos to bugger off and leave him to his burger and chips but it was obvious his fellow erotes was determined to plague him. "Good luck with that." His tone dripped with insincerity.

Pothos shot him a hard look. "Fortune doesn't come into it."

"If you say so. How's it going for you then, the starry-eyed lover business?"

Pothos' mouth twisted "Rotten. Oh, you can laugh. But damn it, I am so bored with how they moon about! It's pathetic. I mean, my powers serve well enough getting them into bed, but who can stomach them afterwards? And if it's not me they're after, it's some other poor mortal sod who just got in the way. Where's the fun in that? Skies, sometimes I wish I could just give it all up."

Eros lifted a brow. "I don't see how you can escape being the God of Longing. What of it?"

Pothos grimaced. "There were a few too many bolt-grazed that were making my life hell. Complete stalkers. Had to flee Europa for a while. Still, when I'm not the prey they're after, it's good for a laugh at times."

"Your sentiment is truly touching," murmured Eros. "By the way - what have you there?" He tilted a head at his cousin's satchel but was careful not to reach for it.

Pothos' face lightened. "Something new! Look." He opened the flap and drew out a small handheld crossbow. "I saw it online and had Hephaestus craft me a similar one. Only good for short-range shots, but it's quite accurate." He lifted a feathered bolt for inspection, grinning. "Cunning, isn't it?"

"Mm, rather nice." Eros admired the weapons with his deeper vision. From the corner of his eye he saw a man with a self-important moustache glaring at them from another table. He glanced back to the shaft his cousin held aloft and looked again with mortal eyes. "Oh, for Nyx's sake! Put it away."

Pothos laughed. He twirled the purple dildo like a baton and passed it between his hands in a magician's sleight of hand before making it reappear. He thumped the not-dildo on the table. "Don't be such a prig."

"Very clever, that little trick. But no more, please, we're being observed."

"Pfft. Don't worry, I won't out you. Though I seem to have anyway, if the evil glare yon moustachioed mortal is giving us means anything." Pothos seemed tickled. "Maybe he thinks I'm your rent-boy. You do look a bit of an old satyr at the moment." Pothos lowered his lids and peeked at Eros through his lashes in a parody of seduction, a smile tugging up the corner of his full lips.

"Leave off or I'll point you in his direction and jab one of my arrows in your arse, you little twerp." Eros pushed his plate away. Much more of his cousin's company and he'd be driven to flight. Pothos opened his mouth but at that moment their lovely waitress was back with two whiskies. Again the green eyes followed the server as she took an order from the moustache-man, but there a frown creased his young brow. Pothos lifted his glass and swirled the amber liquid, considering.

"You could, you know."

Eros choked on the sip of cola he'd taken. "What?"

"Use an arrow. On me. I'd let you, provided you also used one on the object of my love." Pothos leaned forward. "Just, you know, make sure it's the waitress, okay? I think kissing Moustache would be a bit much for me."

"You're joking!" Eros burst into a roar of laughter which faded at Pothos' lifted brow. Eros stared. "You're not."

"It'd be a lark, wouldn't it? Come on, you're just sitting around here, wearing that fuddy-duddy mortal aspect. You're not even trying." Pothos' tone was coaxing. "You need a distraction. The lass has the buttocks of Aphrodite - and that mouth! All you need do is sit back and enjoy the show. You always used to enjoy that, as I remember. Remember that time you shot that fetching shepherd lad and the middle-aged nobleman who was passing by, oh when was it? Two, three hundred years back?"

"I remember," Eros said, trying to match his cousin's light tone. "They went at it right in his coach. Cracked one of the springs. Most entertaining."

A pity the rest of the tale hadn't been so magical. The noble installed the beloved lad in his château, to his family's horror. The jealous wife, Eros recalled, had the young man poisoned. Driven half-mad by grief, the nobleman had dwindled and lived out a colourless life. But his essential spark had dimmed to the point of being extinguished. Oh, Eros remembered the lad well. Springy curls, laughing blue eyes, and that inner flame. The lad had one of the rare mortal sparks that had caught fire and burned so brightly even immortals took notice.

But their lives were so short. Eros had been there at the beginning of mortal time. He'd seen the bright flecks of humanity arise from the Abyss, born of Chaos and Love, a blooming flower spreading across the earth. Beautiful but as brief as real sparks when compared to an immortal's span. The transitory delicacy of their souls was one reason Eros treasured them. But after aeons of observing so many flare and die, he was, well, tired. There was no better word for it. They prayed, he answered when moved. Eros found himself being moved by entreaties and libations less and less these days - it wasn't as if mortals couldn't find love on their own. He, Eros, god of love and sexual passion, was hardly needed. He heaved an inward sigh and summoned a smile.

"Much as I appreciate your attempt to cheer me up by offering to let me witness your folly, Pothos, I'll decline. You'll have to win her on your own." Eros turned his head away from his cousin. Ah, the moustachioed basilisk had at last withdrawn his deathly gaze from their disreputable selves. Another man had joined him. Snatches of low conversation drifted over, some stiff commentary about the expense of a lunch at this pub.

Pothos straightened up, a scowl drawing lines between his brows. "You're no fun. Heavens, when did you get so boring? Those arrows are wasted on you."

"You think being the god of love is so jolly? As you say, it's not as if there's any challenge," said Eros. "All it takes is a scratch and they just tumble right into my lap like ripe quinces, afire with love. Well, I suppose you'd enjoy that." He himself used to enjoy it more, once upon a time.

"But they're really in love!" said Pothos. His voice was rising. "Using my bolts isn't enough. Yearning. Pah! They're always starving for attention! At least with love your mortals are content. None of that constant staring after one with those needy eyes, even after you've given them everything they could want."

"If it'd be so terrible to have yon waitress pining for you, then why in Hades don't you just use one of your so-charming bolts on yourself?" Eros' voice dropped, hard and grating. "Go on. Do it. Want her, chase her, try to win her. Perhaps if she's not too terrified she'll have you. When you reach the end of her days, you can weep at never having achieved that which you wanted most because it wasn't enough. It shouldn't take too long. Oh, but wait - never mind. No one loves a stalker, and absolutely no one wants a hopelessly mooning god hanging about the place. It's just so - how did you put it? Pathetic." The expression stretching his lips wasn't a smile.

"You shit." Pothos grasped wood planking until it groaned. "Where do you think you get off, talking to me that way. You know your problem? You're in the same boat. Oh, poor mopey Eros, those multitudes of mortals falling for you. But they don't fall for you at all, do they? They fall to your arrows. And you don't love them back anyway, not really. And then they die, and you feel bad, oh, boo hoo. So fucking what? That's what happens. Nobody loves you. No one has. No one ever will, not without your little shafts of bliss."

Eros held tight to to his own mortal aspect as rage unlike any he had known in ages flared within his breast. In spite of his control, his voice rumbled with depth, the hint of his god-self trickling through the mortal cover. "How dare you."

Pothos had the audacity to laugh. "Oh, not so funny when the sandal's on the other foot, is it?"

Eros uncurled the fists his hands had made and laid them flat upon the table but didn't look away from the erotes' mocking eyes. "Fine. True love passed by the god of love, irony of ironies. But I will dispute your last point."

Pothos lifted a brow. "What, you think you can get someone to love your true self? Love a god?"

"It's indisputable."

"Not going to happen."

"Care make a wager, oh my cousin?" Eros said.

Pothos straightened. "Stakes?"

"Oh, why not toss everything on the table," said Eros. "The sky's the limit."

Pothos' reply came fast. "Your quiver."

Eros didn't pause though a stab of doubt pricked him. "High stakes, indeed. Is this how you hope to opt out of being God of the Stalkers? But I get yours in exchange. Agreed?"

"Yes. Now to terms. No arrows, no grazes, no little 'accidents'." Pothos picked up the dildo-bolt and tapped the table at each phrase.

Eros snorted. "That goes without saying."

Pothos eyed him. "Oh, I don't think it does, you old trickster. You also aren't allowed to show yourself in your glory, not even partially. If the mortal is god-struck, the bet is forfeit."

"Agreed, since they then would be driven either mad or at least love-crazed." Eros had seen such mortals, and their fan-sites. The art was both disturbing and hilarious. But the consequences of a mortal seeing a god's true form were real. Eros took full guise for casual visits to the mortal realm such as today. In his case, even a partial guise that showed him as more or less himself caused problems. Handsome and exuding sexual love, he garnered dangerous amounts of attention. It could damage mortal psyches.

"How about a time limit? Say, a year?"

Eros snorted. "I doubt it will take that long."

"And I think it would be best if you seduced the mortal in your native element."

Eros thought. "In darkness? Tricky. But again, I agree."

"Lastly..." Pothos stopped. Eros waited, a slight smile on his face. "I get to choose the mortal."

Eros rocked back. That was a hard one to take. "No one ill, old or completely unsuitable."

Pothos waved the bolt side to side, the illusion of silicon wobbling around it. "Fine. The mortal will be of good age, excellent health and reasonably attractive."

"You don't get involved with the mortal either, troublemaker," Eros said and Pothos grinned but nodded. There was a short silence. "Anything else?" Eros queried.

Pothos shrugged. "What if I lose the bet?"

Eros' lips curled up into a sweet smile. "Oh, is that all? Very well. If I win... if I win, I'm going to do as you suggested. I'll find another appropriate mortal and ensure you fall in love with each other. Agreed?"

Pothos' gaze flickered. "All right. But that's no punishment. The stakes are uneven."

Eros' smile broadened. "Oh, but they are even. You just don't understand, do you." His voice dropped. "I've seen the consequences of love as you have not. I've witnessed the suffering that often walks shoulder to shoulder with bliss. And mortal lives are so, so very brief - just as you learn to appreciate love, it will be gone. So if you lose, you'll love, and lose your love. Try to enjoy it while you can."

Pothos' head went back as if struck by a blow. "Well played, cousin. Well played." His face was wary. He hissed a sigh. "Fine. We have a wager. Shall we drink on it?"

Eros nodded and picked up his cola. Pothos wrinkled his nose but clinked his whisky glass to it. They drank. Pothos drained his, throat working, and crashed the glass down, catching the edge of Eros' plate. "Whoops! Sorry about that." Eros shook his head and concentrated on picking chips from his lap while Pothos picked up the scattered cutlery and the remains of the burger. "Where's the blasted knife gone?"

Eros glanced under the table but saw nothing. "No idea."

"I've got just the right mortal picked out," Pothos remarked.

"What, already?" Eros frowned at him.

Pothos smiled. "Over there. That one's not hard on the eyes. Bright, too."

Eros glanced in the direction indicated. "Not the moustache, Pothos, please. He's wearing a wedding band."

"No, dolt, the other."

Eros focused his attention on the man's companion. He was a bit small but appeared fit. His eyes were odd and slanting under a crop of curls in an unusual red-gold. Gorgeous mouth, though. "Vivid hair to be sure, but..." He looked once more with his deeper sight. His breath stopped. Vivid within as well as without - the man's soul-spark was an incandescence that made his companion appear dim in comparison. Eros' mouth went dry.

"Martin, I don't know why you persist. All that money for that medical exam," Moustache was saying.

The younger man dropped his gaze, his expression unhappy. "A, a pilot is required to have a class one medical check every year to keep his CPL. And if I'm to keep doing interviews, I need my qualification, Simon. You don't have to get involved, you know."

"Well, someone had to drive you today. Why Dad left you that old van, I'll never know. Won't even start half the time."

Martin's head stayed down, but his soul-spark flared in annoyance. And determination, Eros thought. Such inner resolve. Had Pothos noticed it? Uncommon, that spark. And so very bright!

Something unfamiliar bloomed within him. He took a deep breath, ready to agree to using the stranger in the wager.

A stab of pain in his hand jolted him. He jerked his gaze away from the young man to see Pothos tucking his bolt back into his satchel. Blood trickled from a scratch on the back of Eros' hand before the small wound closed. A sickening sensation clutched at his chest. "What's this?" he breathed. "What have you done, Pothos?"

Pothos gave him a smile of surpassing sweetness. "Given you a taste of my medicine, cousin. Enjoy mooning after your mortal."

Eros had never been closer to throttling another being. "Why? Damn you! The wager was fair."

Pothos stood and slung his satchel over a shoulder. "Two reasons. To give myself an edge in this wager - you are much too charismatic with or without love arrows, you know."

Eros looked back to Martin, the bright beauty cloaked in that unassuming body, and felt sick. His heart ached, a deep bruise within him. The insidious poison of need for the mortal was already spreading within him, tainting his perception. "And your other reason? You bastard son of Chaos."

Pothos was already strolling away. "Fun, cousin. Just having a little fun," he tossed back.

The waitress approached, eyes widening at whatever she saw on Eros' face. "Your bill, sir?"

Eros' eyes smouldered as his cousin left, teeth clenched to hold back the oaths that longed to spring forth. The little dung-heap hadn't even left any money. "I'll take care of it, yes."

Notes: Dates used are according to the Hellenion calender.

[The 2nd day of Boedromion, year 4 of the 696th Olympiad, early autumn] = Sept. 2nd, 2008