(no subject)
There's a barrel that Cupid's found in the kitchen and he's kind of got no idea what to do with it. Well, except leave it in the kitchen because this is so not his problem, not even when the whole label says 'TO CUPID' on it. There could totally be another Cupid, like Cupid Jones and this could be his barrel of oddly shaped, weird-tasting little hearts that makes him think of limestone.
He sets down his bow and leans over the barrel to dig out another handful. "You are a tiger," he reads aloud, tossing it over his shoulder and hearing the clatter on the floor. "Fax me? What does facts have to do with love and hearts? 1-800 Cupid?" As if there's more than one of him, please. Except troublemaking Cupid Jones, of course.
The mystery isn't really where this came from, it's more what Cupid's going to do with them all. They taste horrible so he doubts they're an aphrodisiac and he probably can't even use them as little trinkets of affection.
"Aw, Love Bug," Cupid announces, turning to show off the little pink heart in his hand. It's cute and all, if you can get over the fact that they taste like they've been in Olympus ever since creation and all.
He still has no idea what to do with them. Maybe he could spill a couple on the floor and stage dramatic slips, coaxing people to catch their friend-in-need in the hopes that no one breaks their ankles and some kind of love will bloom. Or lust, because he's really not picky anymore without the power of his arrows.
He sets down his bow and leans over the barrel to dig out another handful. "You are a tiger," he reads aloud, tossing it over his shoulder and hearing the clatter on the floor. "Fax me? What does facts have to do with love and hearts? 1-800 Cupid?" As if there's more than one of him, please. Except troublemaking Cupid Jones, of course.
The mystery isn't really where this came from, it's more what Cupid's going to do with them all. They taste horrible so he doubts they're an aphrodisiac and he probably can't even use them as little trinkets of affection.
"Aw, Love Bug," Cupid announces, turning to show off the little pink heart in his hand. It's cute and all, if you can get over the fact that they taste like they've been in Olympus ever since creation and all.
He still has no idea what to do with them. Maybe he could spill a couple on the floor and stage dramatic slips, coaxing people to catch their friend-in-need in the hopes that no one breaks their ankles and some kind of love will bloom. Or lust, because he's really not picky anymore without the power of his arrows.