(Untitled)

[mothersmucker]

Scott isn't really expecting anybody to show. If anybody does, it'll probably be students from class-- he offered 'em a whopping letter increase in their grade to bribe them, and of course the permanent esteem of their favorite professor into the bargain-- though it's possible some people might stumble in on a whim, lured by the promise of free

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[winged_cupid]

He's supposed to be good at this because hey, what's romance without a little poetry and so he's made his way to the front of the entire gathering, clearing his throat as he winks and generally turns on the charm. "Hi, I'm the god of love, some of you may remember me from falling in love for the first time or your horrible breakups in which you curse my name in vain. Don't worry, I don't take it personal," he guarantees, brushing off a wing. He draws out a small book from behind one of them. "Now, I know, I could write a sonnet and a dozen in my sleep, but that just ruins my mystique, so I'll read this Rilke poem for you called Love Song and all you little lovers out there can keep canoodling," he promises.

He opens the book and clears his throat. "How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn't resonate when your depths resound. Yet everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin's bow, which draws *one* voice out of two separate strings. Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song."

"Deep, huh," he says with a profound nod. "Anyway, have a good night and just remember the person sitting next to you could be the love of your life!"

[mothersmucker]

Turns out, Scott's the person sitting next to him, so when Cupid comes back to his seat, he leans over a little, not wanting to discourage the next reader.

"Hey, man," he says, the grin on his face threatening to sprain some muscles, "thanks for this. You lend poetry a kind of unbelievable air of credibility, you know?"

[winged_cupid]

Cupid hates chairs. You know? It's one thing to make them with firm backs, but it's another to ask a former-god with immobile wings to sit down in one and just be happy that he's got planks of wood shoved into private areas. "What can I say, I do my part for the sake of love," he announces dutifully, hand over his heart. "Someone has to while Mom's espousing sex."

[mothersmucker]

"Now all I have to do is get Hamlet in here for Soliloquy Night," he jokes-- he's pretty sure they don't have a Hamlet here. Then he pauses. He wants to ask about Mom, but it doesn't seem polite.

But it's Scott, so the half-minute passes and he can't take it any more. "Mom... like, as in Aphrodite?"

[winged_cupid]

"That's Mom," Cupid agrees, neither cheered nor disspirited. All he can do is shrug and stew while he smiles fondly. It's a complicated reaction, but hey, it's family and family is just...well, due fondness and irritation all at once. "I think she's gone back to the revealing clothes now that the weather's back, so she could cause a scene up here."

[mothersmucker]

It'll never really get old, he thinks. He's just got to resign himself to a perpetual state of starstruckness for his time here; this place is as close to geek heaven as Scott thinks it's possible to get.

"Yeah, I believe that," he agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "How are you guys taking the mundanity of all this? Is it tough?"

It's one thing to be a bestselling writer who could occasionally 'port into a pocket reality adjusting to the no-magic policy, but being a god? It's gotta be tough.

[winged_cupid]

"My wings don't work," Cupid points out evenly and without much joy at all. In fact, he's pretty grumpy about the whole thing. "Also, I'm finding it totally rough what with the whole 'not being able to see my wife and kid. Bliss is one hell of a handful and I'm not sure Psyche's gonna be so cool with me being gone so long."