Part II - Scheming, Dreaming and Avoiding Reaming
Pacing, oddly enough, made the God of Mischief feel more at ease. The repetitive strides to and from and around eased that raging pain that kept forming at the base of his neck. Though each look to the figure still asleep in his big comfy chair reminded him of the eternal butt-kicking he was in for.
"I don�t even WANT �im!" Strife whined loudly to no one in particular. The mortal sleeping in his chair shifted, but didn�t bother waking up. Which was good, since the godling had no intention of stopping. "I mean, OK, sure, he�s a good source for energy. I nevah seen a more natural mischief-maker in my life, even when he ain�t tryin�. An� every time he travels with Zeen an� that blond harpy, I�m so charged up I float�" Another look to the chair and Strife couldn�t stop the wail that came out. "Tarrrrrtarrrusssss!"
Without his favorite chair to flop in and sulk, the godling had to flounce on his bed, sprawling out on the black cotton sheets and blanket. His eyes were riveted on his visitor, still sleeping. Strife clutched a matching pillow to his chest, resting his chin on the top of it. "Unc�s gonna tear me a new food chute over this one. I mean he�s been pissed at me before, but this�" His gaze again fell on Joxer. "Never mind what he�s gonna do to you, boy-o. Once he pulls the skin offa you, then he�ll start gettin� ugly. What goes through that melon on yer neck, anyway? �In your service.� How well you think Unc�s gonna take that bit? They�re gonna write epic poetry about this ass-smackin�, you better b�lieve it." A chuckle beat out all that nervousness. "Maybe good ol� Gabby can write it. At least then not too many people�ll read it�"
At the mention of the blond�s least favorite nickname, Joxer whimpered in his sleep, twisting and wiggling, almost as if he were trying to burrow into himself. "Ya sound like Graegus when ya do that," the young immortal smirked, calling to mind an image of the much-heralded Dog of War lying on his side and chasing rabbits - or mortals - in his sleep. Feet twitching, jaws slobbering, and fussy little noises coming from his cavernous mouth.
Only� Joxer wasn�t off after rabbits. His face puckered a little, brows folding in and helping to paint a very upset picture. He seemed to want to curl into a pillbug-ball, but the chair and his position weren�t letting him. He was trying to� "Ah, don�t worry, Jox. I�m sure it won�t be that bad." Strife would have had no problem lying to the mortal when he was fully awake, so slumber made no difference. "Unc�s got a temper, but he ain�t totally unreasonable. I only seen him really fly off the handle a couple�a times and mosta them hadda do with Her Warrior Princessship anyway." Another unhappy moan piqued Strife�s interest and he cocked his head to the side, studying his subject. A thought barged into his head, past the images of what the God of War was going to do to him, and plopped itself down in Brain Central. Clambering off of his bed as slowly as nature would allow, Strife advanced on Joxer quietly, hoping the creak of his leather wouldn�t do what his caterwauling hadn�t. Crouching down near the chair-arm that supported the mortal�s head, the god decided to try something.
"Unc�s gonna kill us both." He watched Joxer for a reaction to his stage-whisper. Any reaction. Nothing. Not even a flinch. "Blast us inta tiny bits of idiots." Again, he waited. Again, not a hair moved, save for breathing. "Izzit me? Strife? I gotcha buggin?" Apparently not. "Graegus?" He had to take a shot. But the lack of a flinch or moan made Strife both flinch and moan. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, not really wanting to see this.
"Xena."
Unclenching one eyelid, Strife peeked out to see Joxer�s sleeping features sour again as the young man turned his face into the chair. A thin stripe of energy tickled up Strife�s spine, but it tasted bitter. He knew he should be all for milking some power, but this felt icky. The distress plaguing Joxer was a tangible entity. "I hate ta do this to ya, but�" Strife leaned closer, bracing himself against the side of the chair in anticipation of the usually pleasant zap he was going to get from tormenting someone in their sleep. For once in his immortal life, he wasn�t looking forward to it.
