Back to work (forget the heart on your sleeve) ---
Pothos didn't know how long it had been since his last conversation with Aphrodite - since the moment he knew he lost Himeros - sweet, sweet Desire - for good and to the clutches of some ragabond Underworlder. He didn't know and he didn't particularly care. All he wanted to do was sulk (albeit elegegantly, mind you). Get drunk (although, technically, gods didn't really get drunk if they chose not to be and he certainly wanted to be). Party (all his fears, tears, leers) away.
But even as he did this, he was atill a good little erote - Ha! - and he threw himself into what made Pothos Pothos. Yearning and Passion rampant within him and causing havoc in the mortal world, finding a haven there at least. No Love to spy on him, as good and righteous as her intentions were. And no chances that he might run into his Desire not anymore with that smug, self-serving bastard.
Yes, the mortal world was better and there he threw himself into controlling mortals' lives like a puppeteer with his wooden puppets, delighting in the way they followed his every subtle command, like the strings attached to their limbs. But this time they were strings to their emotions - visible to him and only him. Love would be proud.
It made him feel powerful (empty) and triumphant (lonely).
Immersing himself in all this, Pothos was trying to do one thing and one thing alone --- forget. Consciously, subconsciously, unconsciously. Forgetting was the best course and here he was trying hard enough to make his head hurt and head hurting enough to make him drink more and drinking more to make him feel drunk and feeling drunk to make him not forget as much as he wanted to.
Lovely.
But even as he did this, he was atill a good little erote - Ha! - and he threw himself into what made Pothos Pothos. Yearning and Passion rampant within him and causing havoc in the mortal world, finding a haven there at least. No Love to spy on him, as good and righteous as her intentions were. And no chances that he might run into his Desire not anymore with that smug, self-serving bastard.
Yes, the mortal world was better and there he threw himself into controlling mortals' lives like a puppeteer with his wooden puppets, delighting in the way they followed his every subtle command, like the strings attached to their limbs. But this time they were strings to their emotions - visible to him and only him. Love would be proud.
It made him feel powerful (empty) and triumphant (lonely).
Immersing himself in all this, Pothos was trying to do one thing and one thing alone --- forget. Consciously, subconsciously, unconsciously. Forgetting was the best course and here he was trying hard enough to make his head hurt and head hurting enough to make him drink more and drinking more to make him feel drunk and feeling drunk to make him not forget as much as he wanted to.
Lovely.