Part IV - Reading the Fine Print and Serving a Short Stint
"I did WHAT?"
A harsh pain flared along the edges of Strife�s skin. Rejection hurt, no matter how you sliced it. Even if it was necessary. "You said �in your service.� You say that and�"
"And I�m in your service." Joxer wiped his hand over his face. And he�d thought yesterday stunk. "Does it count that I did it without meaning to?"
"Prob�ly not." Strife sighed unhappily. As much as he would have liked an adult worshipper who wasn�t totally banana-cakes, he wasn�t keen on forcing himself on someone�s faith, either. Seemed kind of desperate. And he wasn�t that. Never that. "Unc�s gonna kill me. Pound me. Turn me into mulch for his garden. Grind me up and feed me to Greagie. Spread my dismembered body parts to all points of the compass�" It went on like that for some time, Strife bemoaning his increasingly graphic and gruesome fate.
Until finally, Cupid spoke up for the first time since delivering the news. "It won�t be that bad." He�d materialized one of the dusty scrolls from the House of Intellect, where all this kind of stuff was kept, and he�d been reading up while his cousin and the mortal freaked out all over his breakfast nook. Leave it to them to make him act logical. It was so against his godhood. And reading all those long, multi-syllable nonsense words someone had so thoughtfully added was giving him eyestrain. Couldn�t they just say what they needed to say and have done with it? Must everything from Intellect be a huge, showy production?
"Are you kiddin�? He�s gonna fillet and shish-kebab me for stealin� one of his. You think it matters I didn�t go out to do it? This is power bases we�re talkin� about here. Plus�" Strife gestured sharply to Joxer, which confused the mortal completely, although Cupid seemed to understand.
"Right. Except you didn�t."
"Semantics. I�m still dead. Again." Strife�s pout was interrupted by a friendly nudge of his cousin�s sandaled foot on his thigh. He was almost positive that Cupid hadn�t meant for his toes to brush Mischief�s leather-clad package, but they did. Slowly. Softly. Ooh. And whether or not he�d meant to start a foot-job, it did distract Strife from thinking about meeting up with their Great Uncle a second time. Though had he the blood left in his brain, he�d have considered what messing around with Ares� first-born would have gotten him. Stealing Joxer would have been a fond memory compared to thatwhomping.
"Pay attention." Cupid shifted in his seat, turning to face the distraught mortal man. "Jox, did you mean to bail on Pops and take up with Strife?" A shake of his head. No. "OK, cool. Tell me exactly what you said." Joxer�s mouth worked a few times, but no sound came out. "Never mind. I�ll skim it out." Gently, Cupid�s broad hand rested on Joxer�s forehead and he mentally weeded through the past couple of days worth of speech until he found the piece-meal prayer. Carefully, slowly, he let the words drift through his mind until it was finished. Then, he released Joxer�s head and resisted patting it. As docile and easy-going as Joxer was anyway, Cupid was sure that would be pushing the limit. "I�m not gonna lie, Jox. You�re stuck with Strife." He threw up a hand to silence any and all whining. "But it�s not as bad as you think."
"It can�t be," the God of Mischief groaned and whined at the same time.
"Since you didn�t give the traditional �dedication� prayer, according to this," he tapped the scroll with a firm finger, "you�re still God of War property. In perpetuity. Which means no rage, no killing, and no Pops the Grumpy Psychotic hunting you down until the ends of time."
A huge relieved breath left Joxer and his posture slumped, making him lean back into his chair. "So, what�s the deal then? What did I do to myself?"
