Backward, Turn Backward

Backward, Turn Backward, Part 7
By Scribe

Welcome

Strife was sleeping much more soundly than he'd anticipated. He'd lain awake for a while the night before, tensed and waiting for the sound of someone tiptoeing in, but gradually he'd decided that his strategy had worked--Dite didn't have any personal ambitions toward him. Once he'd stopped worrying about that, the sheer emotional stress of what he was doing took its toll, and he was out as thoroughly as he'd ever been.

It was excusable that he was a little out of it when the warm bundle of flesh and feathers crawled on top of him early the next morning. He didn't open his eyes, just saying, "Oof. Bliss, be careful where you put the feet, okay?" He looped an arm over the little body and dragged him down to his side.

"Okay, but I'm not Bliss," said the childish treble.

Strife opened his eyes, peeking down at the little blonde boy. "Right. Sorry. Not awake yet."

"Who's Bliss? Is he a little boy you know?"

"Yeah."

"Is he YOUR little boy?"

"Mmm, kind of. His daddy is nice enough to say so."

"Is he...?"

"Enough questions!" He grabbed Cupid and lofted him into the air. Cupid giggled and flapped his wings, hovering. Strife reached up, grabbed a foot, and jerked him back down. "Time to get up."

Cupid thumped onto the mattress, reached down, grabbed his own ankles, and began rocking. "Yep. You prob'ly need all the time you can to get ready for Mommy's party this afternoon."

Strife sat up, glad he'd decided to sleep in the loose bed trousers. "I know I look a little rough when I first get up, but I need THAT much work?" he said wryly.

Instead of automatically assuring him that he looked fine, if not stunning, Cupid cocked his head and considered him. "You looks pretty good." He pointed at Strife's hair. "But my Mommy always takes at LEAST a turn of the hourglass on her hair."

"Yeah?" Strife thrust his hands into his hair, spiking it even more. "I'm good to go." That got another giggle from Cupid. Strife crawled out of bed and gave a sinew-creaking stretch, scratching along his ribs. "Um... Let's see... Dite's idea of informal." He giggled. "That means no crowns an' scepters."

Cupid made a face. "She's gonna try to make me wear shiny pants again, I bet."

"Shiny pants? Isn't that Apollo's fashion statement?" Strife blinked on a hunter green outfit and looked down at it critically. "What do you think?"

"Auntie Demeter would like it."

"It goes." He made it a soft, pastel green instead. "How about this
"S
"She still would," said Cupid sensibly. "Now it looks like spring 'stead of summer. Not GOLD shiny pants. Use'ly red or white. I kicked an' bit when she tried to make me wear pink."

"Good man. I don't know of any man who can get away with pink except Jayce of Corinth, and he's..." Cupid looked at Strife expectantly. "He's a special case. You mean your ma makes you wear satin britches?"

Cupid crinkled his nose. "Them or those softie kind that feel like a baby kitty."

"Satin and velvet. Zeus. Your ma is a great woman, kid, but she's never quite got the idea that her fashion don't suit everyone." He looked down at the outfit again, frowning, and it was suddenly a screaming, almost GLOWING Kelly green. He arched an eyebrow at Cupid. "Well?"

Cupid grinned, clapping his hands. "Oh, yeah! They don't got that color NOWHERE on Earth 'less someone MAKES it!"

Strife held up a finger. "Artificial! JUST the look I'm goin' for. Just a little tweaking..." He added lemon yellow piping, then a sash and soft leather boots of turquoise. He changed his variouticlticles of jewelry to emerald and citrine, then stood in front of the room's full-length mirror. Turning, he gestured at himself, eyebrows arching.

Cupid stood on the bed and began hopping up and down. "You look won'erful! Just like one of my paintings."

Strife laughed, thinking that a child's sense of color co-ordination was a wonderful thing. His eyes gleamed slyly. "Tell you what, laddie--why don't -I- dress you?"

Cupid stopped hopping, and regarded him thoughtfully. "You gonna do it wiffout touching? I don't know you good enough to let you dress me touching."

Strife sobered. *Shit. Even on Olympus a beautiful child like Cupid has to be careful. I'm just glad that 'Dite is still letting him be a kid while she keeps an eye on him. This reminds me--I need to draw up a list of creative tortures, so I can be ready in case anyone messes with the Blissmonster. Don't want to put 'em out of their misery too fast.*

Strife tucked his hands behind his back. "That's real smart, little man, but I can do it from here, and not even Hermes could catch a glimpse of your hienie."

Cupid hopped down. "Sure. But no shiny pants, huh?"

"Why d'you think I'm dong this?" Strife thought, reminding himself of one of his favorite outfits on the adult version of Cupid. He blinked slowly, and Cupid gave a small squeal, wiggling, since it tickled a little.

Cupid looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of brown leather pants, decorated down the outside seams with alternating scarlet hearts and golden arrows. He wore a matching vest that opened in the back, giving his wings room to move comfortably. Cupid peered down at himself curiously. "I gots a flap." He grabbed the loincloth that hung in front, lifting it, and peeking under.

Strife quickly clapped a hand over his eyes. "CUPE! That's for when you need to use the chamber pot, NOT for entertaining the public."

"Oops. Sowwy. You can look now--it's down." Strife opened his eyes when a tiny hand grasped his own. "Let's get breckfas'. If we hurry, you c'n make me some honey cakes 'fore Mommy gets up."

Strife let himself be led toward the common dining room. They passed what was obviously the main bedroom, and Strife's steps lagged just a little. There were unmistakable sounds coming from behind the elaborately carved, pale wood door. Cupid said matter-of-factly, "That's just Mommy an' Daddy Heph wakin' up. They usually roll aroun' an' stuff before they come out. Mommy says it's her 'eye op'ner', an' Daddy Heph turns red, like he been working at the forge."

"You ever heard the expression--the more things change, the more they stay the same?"

"No."

"You will."

About a half-hour later, Aphrodite and Hephastus strolled into the dining room, arm in arm. Their guest was sitting at the table with Cupid. They seemed to be playing a game that involved seeing how close to the edge of the table they could se cru crust of bread by snapping their fingers against it. Judging from the small pile of bread on the floor, neither quite had the hang of it.

Strife poked Cupid in the ribs, and the little boy gave him a conspiratorial look (one which included a wink so broad that it would have fit right into a farce). Cupid hopped down and hurried over to his parents. He turned in front of them, arms outstretched. "Look, Mommy! Look, Hephy! Erin made these for me. Aren't they GREAT? Can I wear 'em to the party, Mommy? Can I, huh, can I?" He glanced at Strife, who made a discreet rolling motion with his finger. "Can I, can I, can I, can I...?"

"YES, baby!" interrupted Aphrodite. When Bliss clapped, beaming, she sighed. "Anyway, I suppose so. I had the sweetest pair of crushed velvet pants picked out, but if our guest was gracious enough..." she trailed off, then smiled. "Those ARE nice hearts. Thank you, Erin."

"Ah, sure, it's nothin' at all, kind lady," drawled Strife. "It was me pleasure to do a little something for the lad--a small token in thanks for your graciousness."

Cupid frowns slightly as he listened to Strife. He had crawled up in a chair beside him again and, as Aphrodite and Hephastus sat and began to create their own meal, he said quietly. "How come you talk different now?"

"Hm?"

"When you got up, you sounded diff'rent."

Strife swallowed, suddenly realizing that he must not have been using his accent when he was alone with Cupid. *STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!* his mind screamed. Cupid was the person he felt most rel wit with, that he trusted the most. It had unconsciously carried over, and that could be BAD here. Dite and Heph were quietly discussing the upcoming party, so Strife leaned over and whispered to Cupid the one thing that might keep a child from blabbing, "I'm playing a trick on everyone. Don't tell?"

Cupid giggled, hazel eyes dancing, and nodded. "Okay. You gonna tell hat hat the trick is?"

Strife pushed a soft yellow curl up off the godling's forehead. "This will sound odd, laddie, but I'm not sure of it meself. Hopefully we'll BOTH know--later."

*****

As Cupid had predicted, Aphrodite spent the rest of the morning twittering over her appearance, making changes so minute that Strife was sure they were invisible to anyone who wasn't a woman, or didn't have a magnifying glass. He spent part of the morning teaching Hephastus the 'goal kicking' game he'd been playing with Cupid.

The God of the Forge was fascinated. He got a quill and parchment and began making designs, muttering busily to himself about how it could be improved if they put it IN an enclosed table, then provided bars with various knobs and such to swat at a little ball instead of a bread crust. "I have so much to do that I'll only be able to work on it in my spare time," he explained, "but it's fascinating. I think that it may be ready in a couple of dozen centuries, but I have no idea what to call it." He showed Strife a sketch. "See, the actual playing pieces can be carved to represent men, so that it's as if two teams are opposing one another."

Cupid, sitting on Heph's lap, unplugged his thumb long enough to say, "They kicks it with their foohtsies."

Heph blinked. "Fooh--?" Cupid wiggled his feet. "Oh, feet."

"Foohtsies," Cupid agreed.

Heph looked thoughtful, and muttered, "Foohtsball?" He shook his head, rolling up the parchment. "It'll come to me. Erin, something amusing?"

Strife choked down a giggle, thinking that he'd just seen the invention of a bar and pub staple. "Just life in general."

Even though this was to be an informal gathering, it was held in a large audience room. After all, open house on Olympus could bring down a ton of guests, especially when it was rumored that someone new and interesting was going to be there.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Hermes was the first to arrive. Being the unofficial God of Gossip, he felt it was his duty not to miss a thing. He was followed closely by Apollo, who arrived in a bevy of Muses. *The better to make a grand entrance,* thought Strife wryly as the God of the Sun approached him. Apollo was smiling brightly, but he was also giving Strife a ng, ng, appraising gaze. Strife felt a twitch of unease when he realized that there was more than a little sexual speculation in that look. Various levels of incest weren't uncommon among the gods (witness his relationship with Cupid), but Apollo had ALWAYS grated on his nerves. He went beyond even the usual 'I'm a god--you should be flattered' attitude, and whenever he was met with smug vanity, Strife felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to puncture it.

Apollo had never shown him all that much attention, so this initial interest was a bit confusing. Apollo held Strife's hand longer than necessary after the initial handclasp, and complimented him on his tan, wondering aloud if it was 'all over'? *All I can imagine is that since I was around from birth, it was the ol' familiarity breeds contempt bit. Now when he's suddenly confronted with Erin, a fully matured stranger, he sees things differently.* Apollo offered to provide the rays any time Erin wanted to erase any tan lines--in private. Strife held back a snicker, thanking him and turning him down in as graciously vague a manner as possible.

Some things were remarkably the same, some things were pointedly different. Zeus was still a pompous, condescending jackass, HeraHera still watched narrowly as he flirted with the nervous mortal priestesses who had been detailed to serve at the gathering. Hestia brought him a gift of cookies. Bacchus arrived drunk and immediately pinched his ass and propositioned him. Luckily he was easily distracted, and all Strife had to do was wonder out loud how Hecate was keeping that low-cut gown over her bosoms. Strife was a little surprised to see Hades and Demeter acting civil to one another till he realized that Persephone had not yet been born, so their feud had not begun. Artemis offered to take huntiunting. Athena was cool, but civil. He had the feeling that the Irish pantheon's defeat at the hands of their mortal worshipers put him in a distinctly lower caste in her eyes. *Snooty bitch, as always.* Poseidon made a brief appearance, bringing the smell of brine with him. He was cordial 'since your namesake land is an island nation, and your people live closely with the sea.'

But as the party went on, the two that Strife was most anxious (and most dreading) to see had not arrived. Aphrodite came over to wherin rin was sitting, surrounded by a number of the younger godlings (who were always happy of someone new, of their own generation). "Having a good time, Erin?"

"Lovely, just lovely. All these fine people are makin' me feel right at home. But," he glanced around, "am I wrong, or are we still missing a few?"

Aphrodite glanced around casually. "I don't know... It looks like a full turn out."

"I'm thinkin' that, uh, well, I'm not seeing as much leather and metal as I'd expect."

Aphrodite flicked her hand and giggled. "Oh, that's right! The House of War is tardy--again. Phonos is over there, glowering at Zeus because he still refuses to include Executions in his godhood--says he's saving that for when we get a God of Justice, or Retribution, or something. But as for Ares and Eris," she shrugged. "They're always late. I think he sent some excuse about having a civil disturbance to oversee, but Zeus made attendance mandatory, so they'll show up eventually." She wrinkled her nose. "I just hope he has the good grace to CHANGE before he comes. Sweaty, bloody battle dress is NOT my idea of party fashion."

Strife continued to chat brightly with the others, trying to hold down his rising impatience. He knew that if they didn't arrive soon he was going to lose it and cause some mischief--there was just too many carefully dressed people and too much food and drink waiting to go flying for him to resist if he wasn't distracted.

He felt the two familiar power signatures well before the crackle of energy and red flash that announced their arrival. Ares and Eris appeared near the entrance to the room, side-by-side, glowering at the bright, colorful crowd. Strife couldn't repress his sharply indrawn breath, and the godling on his left misinterpreted it. Obviously thinking that this flighty, fragile (at least to the unobservant) visitor was frightened, he patted Strife's knee and whispered, "It's just War and Discord. Don't be nervous--they wouldn't dare try anything with Zeus himself here."

Strife shot him an incredulous look, but quickly morphed it into a smile. No one knew better than he what his uncle and mother were capable of, but the idea that Mischief, himself a major force of Chaos, would be sent into shivering apprehension by the mere sight of them... *But I'm NOT Mischief--now.* "Oh, I'm not worried. I'm sure they'll be as gracious as has everyone else."

Now it was the godling's turn to look incredulous. He muttered, "Well, I suppose you can always hope."

Ares and Eris had gone directly to the refreshment table, ignoring all around them, expressions disdainful, and a little irritated. Strife bit back a titter as he saw Dite making a beeline for them, brows drawn down and a determined look on her face. She was going to be the good hostess and see that her guest was given proper courtesy if it killed EVERYONE.

She started talking to Ares in a low, rapid voice. He glanced over to where Strife was sitting. Strife's skin prickled. That might have looked like lazy indifference to anyone else, but he knew that his uncle had missed NOTHING. Ares shrugged, and started to turn back to the wine. Aphrodite grabbed his arm--not something many people would dare to do with the God of War, and continued talking. She tilted her head toward Strife as she spoke. It was obvious that Ares and Eris were being ordered to get over there and make nice.

There was a hint of a snarl in Ares' voice when he answered her. The mischief thick in the air was giving Strife more of a buzz than the wine he'd consumed. Aphrodite spoke again, and this time you didn't have to be a lip reader to catch 'Zeus'. Ares looked over at his father, to catch his grim expression. He grunted, set down his cup of wine roughly enough to make it slop over, and said (loudly enough to be heard by Strife), "Let's get this over with."

The crowd parted as he strode over, Eris following two steps behind. The more senior gods and goddesses trying not to look as if they were scrambling to get out of his way. Strife stood to meet him, and that earned him an arched eyebrow. Showing the proper awareness of Ares' position and power was a good starting point.

Aphrodite had scurried along after him, probably upset at having to look undignified to keep up. As Ares and Eris stopped before their guest, she said, "Erin, allow me to introduce Ares, God of War, and Eris, Goddess of Discord. Ares, Eris--this is Erin, God of Humor and Pranks."

Ares' upper lip twitched. "As if we don't have enough trouble with Loki to the North and Coyote to the West--another trickster." He sounded singularly unimpressed.

Strife held up a finger, "Ah, not exactly, your worship." Ares looked at him suspiciously, seeking traces of mockery. Strife smiled charmingly. "They're more in the mischief making lines, I'm more of an..." he held out his palm, and a white mouse appeared. He put it on his head, where (much to Cupid's delight) it began to play hide-and-seek in his hair, "entertainer, of sorts. Now, if I was like them, that wee mousie would have gone down the cleavage of that bonny lassie standing beside you." He winked at Eris.

She frowned at him, but... *I have to be seeing that wrong. Is that... Does she think that's FUNNY? Zeus, is that really Ma? It looks like her, but normally a remark like that would have had a dagger at my throat by now.*

The look Ares was giving him clearly said that he believed that Strife was insane, no matter what he said. "Mm. Well, welcome to Olympus. Maybe we can get together some time and you can tell me exactly how you lot managed to lose a war with a bunch of mortals. But wait for an invitation--the Halls of War tend to be a little, er, unforgiving of people who come in unlooked for and unannounced." He turned away.

Eris started to follow him, and Strife said quickly, "Oh, don't be taking the sunshine of your presence away so soon." She stopped and stared at him. He smiled. "Yes, it's an awful line, but it got your attention, didn't it?" He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Despite what I told your brother, some of my work could be related a bit to your own. Ye ine in charge of Discord, eh?" She nodded. "Pranks can fall into that domain." He chuckled. "Ever see what a properly motivated team of horses can do in a crowded market--particularly in the pottery section?" She smiled slowly, and he offered his elbow. "I'd be pleased if you'd join me for a chat somewhere a bit more out of the way." When she hesitated, he held a hand over his heart. "Strictly professional." Then he crossed his eyes.

Eris made a startled sound that was almost a laugh, then cleared her throat, and spoke to him for the first time since his arrival. "Sure, why not?" She glanced dismissively at the crowd around them. "You'd almost have to be more interesting than them." She took his arm and allowed him to lead her toward an unoccupied alcove, and as they went, Strife wondered if he had, indeed, imagined that wistful tone in her voice.