Yup, still here and still tormenting my boys. Sadly, they're still not mine. But I'mma stick around and see how the muses drag me, and you stick around and enjoy. The action is just beginning.
The King of the Gods lounged indolently, having finally finished dealing with the day's petty squabbles. Honestly, Olympus would fall apart without him to sort through every little thing. He snorted, dismissing Ganymede with a quick gesture. The youth flashed a grin and disappeared, still juggling an odd assortment of scrolls that needed to be delivered to various and sundry temples.
Zeus reached for his goblet of wine, wondering if perhaps Hera was busy enough not to notice if he should slip down to visit that lovely young girl again today... what was her name again? Frowning, he brought the goblet to his lips and sipped delicately at its contents just as the collective bellowing from Cupid's temple reached him. The elder God startled, wine sloshing a dark path across his blue toga. With a scowl he blinked himself clean and over to the younger God's temple... only to find himself in what appeared to be Cupid's bathing chambers.
A brow arched in slow condescension as he eyed the clustered trio of Gods.
"You bellowed, children?"
"Oh, pops, we have to help him. The poor... well.. You can't really be serious about no one interfering with.." 'Dite found herself on the receiving end of one of her father's less benign looks and faltered into silence, wringing her manicured hands in agitation.
"I will not here any more about Strife."
Ares stepped forward, favoring his father with a glare that would've sent mortals screaming for the hills. Zeus eyed his aggressive son dispassionately, daring him to say anything. To the elder God's surprise, it was Cupid that risked opening his mouth.
"Zeus, please... he needs help. Let Ares..." and he too was silenced, Zeus making an abrupt gesture that indicated he would hear no more on the topic.
"No God shall interfere with Strife. I thought I was quite clear on that point. Now, I will not be disturbed by this matter again."
Zeus favored the trio with a domineering gaze once again before he flashed out of the temple, a peal of thunder sounding in his wake.
Aphrodite was horrified to discover she had begun chewing on a nail during the interlude and she jerked fingers away from her mouth with a little squeak. Cupid maintained a stony silence, hands clenched at his sides. Only Ares seemed... pleased, somehow. A smirk began to inch its way onto the War God's face, those dark eyes narrowed in intense thought. 'Dite cast him a sidelong look, wondering if she should worry about whatever he was planning.
"Zeus said no God could interfere, but a mortal... he didn't say anything about mortals," he finally murmured, looking thoughtful.
"I already tried that, yanno... left him with Herc and now look what's happened," mumbled Cupid, feeling betrayed and guilty all at once.
"Hercules is hardly what I would consider a fitting guardian for Strife," Ares sneered, though a reassuring pat on one of Cupid's broad shoulders took the sting out of his words.
Aphrodite just watched the two in a sort of dawning amusement and relief. There was obviously some sort of plan being formed here, and it was probably best that she knew as little about it as possible.
"Well, boys... just let me know if I can help. Yanno, maybe keep an eye on Cupid's duties for a bit," she offered in an offhand manner, feigning nonchalance with ease. All right, maybe she was plotting a bit too, but a girl needs some fun, right? Giggling as her son's expression shifted from guilty to downright pole-axed, she flashed out of the temple, fully intent on repairing the damage to her manicure.
After departing Cupid's temple, Zeus flashed down to the mortal realm, shocking his son. Hercules stared for a long moment, suspicion chasing surprise from his tanned features.
"Zeus."
He spoke evenly, the name thrown down like a challenge. The King of the Gods smothered a sigh and stepped towards his son. Iolaus chose that moment to come barreling out of the woods, dangling a battered water skein. He skidded to a halt, doing an admirable impression of a goldfish.
"Herc! Urm... why is he..." he broke off with a wordless gesture, trying not to squirm under the God's amused gaze.
"He can see you. Why can he see you, Zeus? Usually you're more for the invisible tormenting," the demi-god practically hissed, drawing his smaller friend behind the broad shield of his own body.
"Now, Hercules, I've never tormented you," Zeus chided gently.
"Never been much help to him either," Iolaus shot back before Hercules could catch him with a sharp elbow. Huffing, he settled back into silence.
Zeus merely quirked a brow at the impudent mortal. No wonder Aphrodite liked the boy so much, with spirit and a mouth like that.
Hercules cleared his throat, drawing his father's attention back to the duo.
"I just thought I'd stop by, say hello... ask if you've seen anything unusual lately," apparent disinterest dripped from the words.
"What do you... wait. Strife. You're talking about Strife. Where is he?"
"What a conclusion to jump to, Hercules. I didn't know you even cared for the boy," and Zeus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from bestowing a pleased smile on his son.
"This isn't a game, Zeus. He's new to his mortality and you just abandoned him. Now tell us where he is."
Iolaus grimaced, placing a restraining hand on his friend's arm. Antagonizing Zeus? Probably not the best way to go about things, not to mention the fact that Iolaus had no desire to be visiting Hades again any time in the near future.
"What he means is, we'd really like to make sure that Strife is all right. If you could tell us he doesn't need our help, or if he does, you could tell us where he might be," the hunter trailed off, looking hopefully at the King of the Gods.
Zeus couldn't help but laugh, applauding the small man's attempt at diplomacy.
"Ah, Hercules. Your friend has always been the tactful one- charming, that silver tongue of his. 'Dite would be proud," and he bestowed a fatherly smile on the blushing hunter.
"Zeus. Where is he?" Hercules repeated his demand, determined to get a straight answer.
"Unless I am mistaken, someone will be along very shortly to request some help rescuing the boy. He... at least, I think it will be a he... knows where Strife is."
Zeus was no fool- Ares would've caught the way he phrased his rules, and certainly the War God would exploit the obvious loophole. In fact, Zeus was counting on it. His only uncertainty was the matter of who would be sent to watch over the former God of Mischief. Ares himself wasn't likely to risk giving up his godhood for any amount of time- not that the rest of the pantheon would allow such. Perhaps one of his underlings? Or Aphrodite could loan out one of the lesser members of the House of Love. For some inexplicable reason, the Houses of Love and War seemed to be conspiring together of late... and that perplexed Zeus more than it worried him. Not as if the union of the two Houses was unheard of, as Cupid's very existence proved.
A tug in the back of his awareness assured him that someone had just given over their godhood, though Zeus couldn't pinpoint anything beyond... ah. House of Love it was after all. Nodding serenely to his bewildered son and an uncharacteristically silent Iolaus, the King of the Gods disappeared with a clap of thunder.
Thirsty. Thirsty and hollow. Disconnected, watching boots come and go with a detached interest. Needles whispered in and out of abused flesh, tiny rings left in their place. At some point a bucket of water had come and gone, leaving a feeling of raw and cold. None too gently blood and other bodily fluids were scrubbed away, milk pale flesh peeking through grime and around bruises. A patchwork of darkness, redness, shininess... artwork on the canvas of a slender body. Words and phrases repeated until someone had been satisfied, mocking laughter chasing away the last of the light. Something surfaced, swimming up behind the vacancy in dull blue eyes before the clink of chains drowned it again. A voice drove everything back into despair and hurt, fine tremors returning to accompany the thirst and the hollowness.
"Ready for your next lesson, pretty?"
And someone was screaming without sound as the lesson began.
Cupid staggered, feeling vaguely if his insides had been suddenly and violently rearranged. It wasn't but a moment or two later that he found himself staring up..(up?)... at a concerned Ares.
"Cupid. Breathe."
Dizzy, the God of Love complied, drawing several deep breaths before the room ceased spinning in sickening circles around him. The floor seemed to have stopped trying to buck him as well. Reassured, he risked an effort at sitting up, wondering why he felt so wrong.
"My wings. You took my wings," he mumbled the hazy accusation at his father upon discovering just why he felt off. The loss of his wings had destroyed his balance, and he found himself wobbling as the older God just stared mildly at him.
"You couldn't go down there with those, Cupid. Wings would have drawn more attention than you're going to want. Just take a minute and get used to it," Ares ordered, a trace of his usual irritation surfacing.
Cupid just grumbled, pacing back and forth until he could relocate his center of gravity. It felt strange not to have to readjust his steps to reduce drag on his wings. Feeling less wobbly, he turned an expectant gaze on his father.
Ares looked the younger God over with a critical eye. He would need... well, a change of clothing to begin. Snapping his fingers, Cupid's harness vanished to be replaced by a loose homespun shirt, the material softer and more durable than typical homespun, and in a soft shade of green. The leather pants could stay with a few minor alterations- like the inclusion of a sword belt and a serviceable blade. Stepping back, he began producing other necessary items- a water skein, coin pouch, bedroll and blankets, some rudimentary salves and clean strips of linens, a bag to carry everything in...
Cupid paced, distantly aware of his father's preparations on his behalf. He knew the older God didn't want him to go running off to Strife's rescue. Ares had wanted to send one of his minions, arguing they were better equipped to deal with the mortal realm- battle ready, ruthless, more experienced with mortals in general. Cupid had waved all of the arguments away, determined to rectify his earlier mistakes... it was his fault Strife was in his current predicament, if only he hadn't left the vulnerable former godling in the care of Hercules. Not that Hercules was a bad guy, but really... he should've stayed.
Swallowing his remorse, he stalked to Ares' side to collect the provisions for his little trip. Part of his mind was screaming- he had voluntarily given up his godly powers, his immortality, and for what? To go traipsing around the mortal realm to help Strife? Strife, the former God of Mischief, the giggling, maniacal, violent, unbalanced... shy, stammering, awkward, lost, vulnerable... oh, Gods. Cupid groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Ares, misinterpreting his son's distress, eyed him warily.
"If you've changed your mind, I can get Deimos or Phobos down there in a flash. They won't be missed any time soon."
Peeking between his fingers, the now-former God of Love stared hard at the God of War. Steeling himself, he lowered his hands and collected his traveling gear. Ares smothered a feral grin at his son's resolution, slipping a blood-red pendant on a leather thong around the youth's neck.
"In case of serious emergency. Zeus won't take my interference lightly, so think about it before you call. Now. Jerkules," and he bit back a pained smile at Strife's old nickname for his bastard half-brother, "is still in the area, so if you need help... I suppose you can ask him. It would be easier for you just to... purchase Strife. No chance of things going wrong."
Neither of them looked thrilled with that plan, but it was by far the most simple way to go about things. Ares was aching to shed the slavers' blood, but Cupid wasn't a warrior... he'd be lucky to escape with his life, much less Strife's freedom. So they'd work in the system instead of destroying it, at least for now. Hefting a bag of coins, he passed it wordlessly to Cupid, who managed a tight nod.
Refusing to get caught up in some distressingly touching father-son moment, he simply nodded in return and flashed Cupid into Thebes. Now both former godlings were truly on their own.
Cupid stood, arms crossed, expression carefully trained into lines of boredom with just the faintest hint of irritation. Narrowed hazel eyes regarded the man before him, raking across the whip held loosely at his side. The man smiled, revealing a row of uneven, yellowing teeth, and Cupid fought back the urge to ram them down his throat with a well-aimed punch.
"So do you have what I'm looking for..?"
"You are more than welcome to take a look at my...wares," Darius' voice was oily, avarice flickering behind dark eyes.
Indicating that a guided tour of the slaves would indeed please him, Cupid was rewarded with another greedy smile and a motion toward what appeared to be a stable of some sort. He followed Darius at a sedate pace, fighting to maintain his disaffected facade as the doors to the stable swung wide. The smell that wafted from the depths of the building left the former God of Love reeling, and the sounds... whimpering, pleading, mindless sobbing, the occasional scream... it was enough to break through his carefully crafted persona for an instant. Darius squinted, gauging the supposedly wealthy young man's reaction with interest.
"Troubled, my lord? Perhaps you would prefer to wait for auction day?"
Forcing himself back into the role he had assumed, Cupid managed a firm shake of his head, favoring the slaver with a cold glare.
"I refuse to wait that long. I know what I want and I will reward you handsomely if you have something that pleases me," he hissed, relieved and a little sickened to see the other man's easy acceptance.
"If you tell me what you are looking for in a slave, my lord, perhaps I can help you in your search. A bodyguard? A concubine?"
Cupid tilted his head to the side, feigning deep thought on the subject. His words, when they came, were drawn out and low, as if spoken in great secrecy.
"I wish a... companion. Young. Male. Slender. Someone to serve as a body slave," the former God trailed off, letting the other man jump to whatever conclusions he pleased.
Darius fairly lit up, leading his potential buyer through the dimly lit stable to a series of small pens.
"Ah, of course. You may find something that pleases you here, my lord. Pretty boys, this handful down here. That one's a bit young, but he will train beautifully... and that one has the face of an angel. A pleasure to look upon, I assure you."
First indicating a boy of no more than eleven, who watched them with ancient green eyes set in a pale, elfin-sharp face and then a slender youth with delicate features partially concealed behind a tangled fall of mahogany waves. Aching at the sight of such beauty and innocence pent up in darkness, Cupid could only shake his head. Darius pursed his lips, continuing down the line of pens, describing the attributes of each slave as he passed.
"This one's a bit older, but a nice body on him... good muscles from farm work, I believe. And this lad, a bit delicate but docile as a lamb."
And so it went, Cupid eyeing each slave carefully only to dismiss them in the end. Darius was clearly becoming frustrated, and the former God of Love sought to distract him by indicating the last pen in the row.
"And that one, what virtue will you claim that one has?"
"This one? No interest to you, my lord. Too willful by half, and he has suffered some... damage from being disciplined."
Swallowing his heart, Cupid stalked across to peer within the small enclosure. Someone was curled within, pale body drawn into a huddle in the far corner. Shackles gilded in blood trailed from wrists and ankles, clearly making it awkward to find a comfortable position to rest in. Dark hair, matted and tangled, obscured the youth's features, and Cupid longed for the slave to raise his head... he needed to know...
"You should be more careful with your merchandise, Darius."
"He has to be taught, my lord. So did any of my boys catch your eye? You looked interested in my red-headed angel, hm?"
Cupid held his ground, refusing to let the taller man escort him back down the line of slave pens.
"No, I want to see this one more closely. Wake him for me," he commanded, trying to do justice to his father's imperious tones.
"That one's already spoken for, young lord," rang out a new voice, echoing oddly in the stable's stifling interior.
Cupid didn't have to feign the growl that escaped him as he craned around, trying to glimpse the new arrival. A broad frame stood silhouetted in the doorway, features indistinguishable in the murky lighting. Unwilling to engage the stranger in an argument, especially since his chosen person wouldn't stoop to battling over an unruly slave, Cupid held his both palms up in concession.
"My apologies, then. I was just curious as to how his training was proceeding," he offered to the stranger before settling a weak glare on Darius.
"None of your wares please me especially. I am... disappointed," and ignoring the sounds of protest, he strode forward and brushed past the stranger, disappearing out into sunlight and clear air.
Tartarus, this was unexpected. He and Ares had hardly planned for this, for someone to purchase Strife before he was able to do so. Cursing softly, he broke into a light jog, determined to find another way.
Hercules. Hercules and Iolaus would help him. If he couldn't rescue his cousin without violence, then he would surely take that stable apart beam by beam and take Strife back by force.