Out of Milliways: Making bullets
Eros is making bullets for his gun.
In the old days, this was much easier. The gold he would get from tokens meant for him, people praying for his guidance or aid. And he was a god, so he could shape it, getting Haphaestus to help with the difficult parts. There's not much shape to an arrow, after all: just shaft and head, and don't think that didn't remind him of something else. Doves he would catch by hand, plucking their tail feathers and setting them free, because doves need to be free - they just do.
The ... other kind, however, was always harder. Lead would always be heavy and hard to find - no one sends lead to a god of love. Once or twice he was reduced to sifting the impurities from the other tokens sent to him, until he had enough. And then he would have to capture an owl, and kill it, because owls must die - they just do. And he would have to apologize to Athena, who would just sigh and nod. Ah, Athena. In her wisdom, she always knew what had to be done.
He would always keep the two kinds of arrows apart. And for every hundred, or thousand perhaps, that he shot of the first - never missing - he would use maybe one or two of the second. Each time he did fire the latter, he would throw down his bow, and break it, and swear that he was done with it all. But soon he would return, and mend his weapon, and carry on.
Arrows of love, and arrows of indifference.
But now, things are different. The bow is gone. Instead, he has a gun. And he hardly spends days on Olympus anymore; it is quiet there, becoming empty, almost dead. So he doesn't need to wait for gold and lead to come to him - he just goes and buys it.
Still, gold is hard to come by, and expensive. He can afford it, but if he buys too much at once, people become suspicious, and he doesn't like to be anything but loved. Not to mention the fact that the bullets it makes are soft, and prone to almost misfiring (he never actually misfires, however. He's too good at what he does for that.) Doves are even harder to locate. Once he found a place that rented them out for weddings, and ordered a dozen. But once he plucked them, he realized that he couldn't set them free, he couldn't; they weren't his, and if he released them, people would get mad and... hate him. And so he sobbed for a while, and threw away the feathers. They were useless.
But it depresses him how easy it is to find lead now. And owls. They live on, even in cities, hiding out in the attics of old buildings; the rafters of churches. He can catch them with little problem. And he doesn't even know where Athena is, but he remembers the birds, each of them, so he can tell her sorry for each and every one when he finds her. The feathers he burns up, watching them combust until they're little more than ash - and this he uses as gunpowder. The lead makes wonderful, wonderful bullets. Small, but heavy, and cold in the palm of his hand. Each one a breaking heart.
In the old days, this was much easier. The gold he would get from tokens meant for him, people praying for his guidance or aid. And he was a god, so he could shape it, getting Haphaestus to help with the difficult parts. There's not much shape to an arrow, after all: just shaft and head, and don't think that didn't remind him of something else. Doves he would catch by hand, plucking their tail feathers and setting them free, because doves need to be free - they just do.
The ... other kind, however, was always harder. Lead would always be heavy and hard to find - no one sends lead to a god of love. Once or twice he was reduced to sifting the impurities from the other tokens sent to him, until he had enough. And then he would have to capture an owl, and kill it, because owls must die - they just do. And he would have to apologize to Athena, who would just sigh and nod. Ah, Athena. In her wisdom, she always knew what had to be done.
He would always keep the two kinds of arrows apart. And for every hundred, or thousand perhaps, that he shot of the first - never missing - he would use maybe one or two of the second. Each time he did fire the latter, he would throw down his bow, and break it, and swear that he was done with it all. But soon he would return, and mend his weapon, and carry on.
Arrows of love, and arrows of indifference.
But now, things are different. The bow is gone. Instead, he has a gun. And he hardly spends days on Olympus anymore; it is quiet there, becoming empty, almost dead. So he doesn't need to wait for gold and lead to come to him - he just goes and buys it.
Still, gold is hard to come by, and expensive. He can afford it, but if he buys too much at once, people become suspicious, and he doesn't like to be anything but loved. Not to mention the fact that the bullets it makes are soft, and prone to almost misfiring (he never actually misfires, however. He's too good at what he does for that.) Doves are even harder to locate. Once he found a place that rented them out for weddings, and ordered a dozen. But once he plucked them, he realized that he couldn't set them free, he couldn't; they weren't his, and if he released them, people would get mad and... hate him. And so he sobbed for a while, and threw away the feathers. They were useless.
But it depresses him how easy it is to find lead now. And owls. They live on, even in cities, hiding out in the attics of old buildings; the rafters of churches. He can catch them with little problem. And he doesn't even know where Athena is, but he remembers the birds, each of them, so he can tell her sorry for each and every one when he finds her. The feathers he burns up, watching them combust until they're little more than ash - and this he uses as gunpowder. The lead makes wonderful, wonderful bullets. Small, but heavy, and cold in the palm of his hand. Each one a breaking heart.