May 30, 2001
This is for Madder-Akka and Girlyskin, because they're sweet and wonderful and awesome. (*grin*)
Twisted Arrows: Eros and Psyche
[ Part I ] [ Part IIa ] [ Part IIb ] [ Part IIc ] [ Part IIIa ] [ Part IIIb ] [ Part IVa ]
It took some convincing, but Eros finally got Psyche to agree to stay at the chateau, at least for the next few weeks. The temple priests were bound to be on the watch for her, since they wouldn't want her to reveal their role in her attack. There was no telling what they'd do to ensure her silence.
He was just looking out for her because of his guilty conscience. That was all.
She asked for his name. He hesitated before answering, "Eli."
He still wasn't sure why he hadn't told her his real identity. So that she wouldn't laugh at him? Mock him? Fear him?
Despise him?
The latter was likely. He was a god, and after spending time in her company, he discovered Psyche wasn't a big believer in gods. He wasn't certain how he felt about that.
Actually, after finding out that this was Apollo's chateau, Psyche had no choice but to acknowledge that gods existed, but it was obvious she didn't place much faith in them. She didn't think they helped humans at all. For some reason, she had the impression that all the gods did was drape themselves over love-seats in Olympus, half-naked and sipping ambrosia from golden goblets.
You've obviously never met any of the Furies, Eros observed.
He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Psyche glanced at him. "Who are they again?" she asked.
His expression was wry. "Doubtless they won't be flattered by your lack of recognition."
"Doubtless." She grinned. "I was always too busy thinking about my sketches to pay attention to school lessons."
Eros found that he wanted to know what Psyche had been like as a girl. Had she daydreamed in class? Bossed her classmates around, or faded quietly into the background? He couldn't picture her fading away. She wasn't easily cowed, by either man or god. And he reluctantly admitted that that wasn't always a bad thing in a human.
"The Furies are the goddesses of revenge," he clarified to her. "They punish anyone who escapes justice."
Psyche looked skeptical. "They do?"
"Yes." He didn't add that that was why his scars hadn't healed.
His treatment of goddesses, pre-scar period, hadn't been exemplary. He'd used his looks and easy smile for his own pleasure, disregarding the feelings of others. Charming them, lying to them, hurting them. Oh, he'd never physically hit them, of course, but there were many ways to hurt a goddess without laying a finger on her.
He finally went too far in manipulating Ocypete. Did you really expect me to care for you? he'd laughed in her face. You're an ugly Harpie.
Ocypete had been too distraught to react. Her sister Aello, however, suffered no such qualms. With her claws she scarred him, and when the Furies found out, they made sure the marks stayed.
Their power usually extended to mortals, whom they'd drive mad to death. But since a silent, collective agreement seemed to have formed among Olympus's female residents regarding Eros's attitude toward females -- and since they couldn't drive a fellow god to madness nor to death -- the Furies had flung scalding liquid in his face. Not only had it hurt like Poseidon's wrath, it also ensured that his scars would last as long as he lived. Eternity.
It had always been about goddesses, he realized. Back then he'd felt nothing but contempt for mortal women, and mortals in general. He watched Psyche now and thought it was funny how perspectives could change.
Psyche didn't notice his dour expression as she explored the great hall. She wandered around inspecting the displayed crockery. Eros frowned and shook his head to get rid of the memories. They were of another life, another god -- they shouldn't have the power to pain him now.
"Are you a god?" Psyche asked, studying one of Apollo's favorite pieces.
"No. . . a spirit." Another lie.
"Spirit. Not mortal, but not god either, right?"
"Yes. You must've paid attention in school that day."
She grinned. He noticed that her eyes twinkled with mischief whenever she gave that grin.
She gestured at the dishes. "This is quite a collection."
He inclined his head in agreement. "Most gods adorn their resorts with exquisite sculptures or paintings. Apollo has plates." Eros shook his head. "I'll never understand that god."
She laughed. "Do you work for him?"
"Yes." In for a lepta, in for a drachma. The lies just keep on building. He'd better remember what he said now if he didn't want to be tripped up on them later on.
"What do you do?" Psyche addressed the question to him, but her gaze was fixed on three blue-rimmed porcelain plates on a high shelf. That worried Eros. Especially when she began looking for a stool to stand on. Apollo was an amiable god, but would do his best to kill his fellow immortal if Eros ever got his prized plate collection broken.
"I, uh, run errands for -- by Olympus, woman, what are you doing?"
Psyche was already on top of the stool and stretching for the shelf. "I want to get a closer look," she replied plaintively, an isn't-it-obvious tone in her voice.
"Oh no you don't!" He grabbed her waist and instantly set her down beside the stool.
Psyche stared at him in open-mouthed shock.
"Excuse me?" she finally demanded.
"I've yet to tell Apollo I'm keeping a mortal in his chateau. There is no way I'm telling him you've tampered with his crockery!" Eros raised his hand and counted off his fingers. "Heed these rules, woman. One: you'll not touch the plates, ever. Two: you'll stay in your room. Three: you cause even a crack on a tabletop and I will tie you up and -" what? "- and -" what? "- and make you cry!"
As threats went, it wasn't a very good one. Which was why Eros thought it was a very good thing he was just the god of love and not the god of war. That would've been really embarrassing.
Psyche glared at him. Like she was thinking of ways of making him cry.
"You're giving me rules?" she seethed.
Eros didn't know whether to be relieved that she no longer feared him, or to be indignant that she no longer feared him. Honestly, there was no pleasing a woman.
He pointed to the door and put on his fiercest expression. "To your room, mortal! I have enough on my mind right now, and will not have you compounding the problem!"
"Ex. Cuse. Me?"
He tried again. "Begone, wench!"
Psyche's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did you just call me wench?"
"Er, yes. I believe so."
"You called me wench?"
Eros might be immortal, but he wasn't stupid. He knew when he was treading on perilous ground. "On second thoughts, I believe you may have misheard me. I said 'bench.' Yes, that's it. Bench."
"'Begone, bench'?"
"Yes." He swiveled his finger to point at the piece of furniture in the corner. "We must displace of that monstrosity at once. It hurts the eyes."
She eyed him hard, then gave a sniff. "I do not appreciate being called wench."
"Ah." He nodded in understanding. "I suppose it is all right for me to call you 'hussy,' then."
Her eyes widened and she choked. "Wha -?"
"Nymphomaniac. Strumpet. Queen of debauchery." He tapped a finger on his chin contemplatively. "Haridan. Fornicatress. Minx. I like 'minx.'"
Psyche stared at him, open-mouthed, then lunged at him as he burst out laughing. He couldn't stop the chortles as she tackled him to the floor and tried her best to wrap her hands around his neck.
"You can't kill me!" he wheezed in between his laughter. "I'm a g - a spirit!"
"I can try!" she roared, or rather, attempted to roar while doing her best to look furious. She would've succeeded, too, if she hadn't had to smother her own giggles.
It stunned Eros that he was laughing. It'd been so long since he'd experienced such pure, unadulterated joy, such freedom, that he nearly didn't recognize the feeling. Or recognize himself, for that matter. Right here, right now in this tiny pocket in time, there was no pressure or harsh responsibilities weighing down his shoulders. He was living life anew, breathing air for the first time, his jaded eyes given new sight.
Flying. Weightless.
And he didn't realize that the laughter had faded until he was staring at Psyche's face hovering above him, and he didn't realize he was drawing her down to his lips until they touched and melded.
And the only thing he realized then was that nothing else on earth or Olympus had ever felt so right.
Part IVb twisting its way towards you
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