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Peregrine's Story

*Of all the minor gods, Peregrine was by far the most average. All of his 751 years of life, Peregrine was never the smart one, or the strong one. He was simply Perry, minor god of chariot (and later car) ornamentation.*

*He considered this as he worked under a carriage. It was 1850 in a rather snow-covered New York, and he was working as a carriage repairman. The chilly autumn air of November was nipping at him, biting at everything, actually. Rather like a rabid chimpanzee in Ireland during a drought. Perry grunted in frustration. One of these days, Apollo's dratted curse would wear off and he would be able to make a decent metaphor again. No, wait... Simile. That was a simile. He lifted his wrench again, tightening an axle. It felt good to work. Olympus was great and all, but the endless summer and joyful singing got on his nerves, rather like how a small submarine with little scientists might get on the nerve of a whale with diabetes.*

*...Ugh.*

*Why did he even try anymore?*

*Peregrine finished tightening the axle and came out from under the carriage. The man in the long coat with a face like a sea lion on drugs (WHY) was frowning impatiently. He had brought in the carriage a mere eighteen minutes ago but had heard rumors of the youthful repairman's speed. Peregrine scratched his neck, stretching. He'd gone a little overboard with his godly enhanced abilities the first week or so. He'd slowed down, of course, and was now trying to fix at a more average speed... ...but maybe a bit faster nonetheless. The man checked his watch and sighed. He handed over the agreed $3 and was soon back on his way. Peregrine watched him go with satisfaction. A polite cough sounded behind him, breaking the otherwise chilly silence. Perry spun around, expecting yet another customer. Instead, in a badly disguised yellow "taxi carriage" pulled by an equally yellow horse, was the biggest pain in the butt to ever grace the earth. Apollo himself, grinning from atop his chick magnet.*

*Peregrine groaned inwardly. His arrival was about as welcome as- Nope. Not even trying.* Oh, hey Apollo. Long time, no see. *Apollo wriggled his eyebrows pleasantly, almost as if he didn't remember or care that he had cursed the lesser god not 35 years ago.* Ah, Peregrine! My favorite cousin! *Peregrine tried to smile pleasantly, though it came out as more of a baring of teeth.* How can I help you, Apollo? Need to test out another curse? *Apollo chuckled jovially, jumping down and slapping Perry on the shoulder.* Oh, no. Far from it. Actually, my chick magnet needs some repairs. *He cocked an eyebrow, looking at Peregrine inquisitively.* You aren't still mad about that, right? That was ancient history! *Peregrine grimaced.* Apollo, you cursed me _thirty-five years ago_. Have you been cursed that long? Ever? It's worse than a snowfall in a factory that makes toothpaste! UGH! *Apollo considered this a moment, tapping his finger against his chin.* Hmm... How would you feel about _earning_ the lifting? *Perry scowled. He didn't have much choice, did he?* Fine. I'll take the task. *Apollo grinned, slapping Peregrine on the shoulder again. Ow.* I knew you would see reason! Now fix the chick magnet!

*Peregrine relaxed. Chariot repairs? Easy as falling out of a tree into a ball pit full of Lego bricks. Trying to ignore that horrible metaphor, he grabbed his toolbox.* Give me twenty minutes. I'll get it done. *Apollo clapped his hand on the minor god's shoulder again, which was really starting to hurt.* I'll be back in twenty minutes then! *He sauntered off, looking ridiculous in his over-exaggerated taxi drivers' uniform. Watching him go, Peregrine couldn't help but feel a zing of pleasure. Finally! He could get rid of this stinking curse!*

*Twenty minutes later, sweaty but satisfied, Peregrine surveyed his handiwork with contentment. It had been an easy fix, really. The wheels had just been jammed with monster dust, making them turn lazily. And of course, there was the fact that the steering function was sticky due to congealed hydra blood. That had been inconvenient. But now that those few handicaps were cleaned out, the sun chariot should be much easier to drive. The warm, homely smell of fresh bread permeated the lethargic atmosphere of the garage. Peregrine wheeled about to find an overly smug Apollo eating a warm pretzel, likely bought from the street vendor on Sixteenth.* I see you finished the repairs. *Apollo said, mouth full of the steaming bread. Peregrine winced. He always hated seeing people talk with their mouths full of food, be the food delicious or nasty.* Yeah. I finished. Just some monster remains stuck in the wheels, and some blood clotted on the steering wheel. You could've just taken a hose to it. *Apollo swept his hand over the side, coming away with some black grime. He glanced up at Perry, displaying the hand.* You messed up the paint job in the process. The second task, make my ride snazzy. A new paint job, bumper sticker, the works. You have until sunset. *Peregrine bristled.* I didn't agree to a second task. *Apollo grinned.* And you didn't deny me permission to give one. So deal with it. *Perry glared, fists clenched. He should have specified one task and no more. Too late now.* Fine. I'll clean up the chariot. Happy? *Apollo nodded, finishing his pretzel.* Very. See you in... *He glanced at an imaginary watch.* Oh, about an hour. Have fun! *And with that, he turned into a golden eagle and flew off into the darkening sky.*