Fuck You, Eros

Eros' unnamed replacement original concept by Rubyswallows, everything else is the product of my own boredom.

Chapter 1

I fucking hate Valentine's day. Valentine was an alter-boy-loving...

Emotions... control...

That's better. Where was I?

Today is the day boys run to Safeway at the last minute and buy whatever their month's allowance can get to tide angry girlfriends away until sexy season, spring. Here at Svensworth University, I get the unique pleasure of seeing the worst of them. Everyone's loaded to their ears with deadlines, reports are due, homework is backed up, jobs on the side, and they're all so busy procrastinating by hitting the bars and throwing parties that they have neither the time nor the money to make it through the semester. Yes, they actually think it's a good idea to date people at times like these.

"'Nother Heartbreaker for you, hon?"

"Keep 'm coming; thanks."

Take that barista, for example. No tits, no ass, no confidence. It's no surprise she fell over herself for the opportunity to date some stud that offered to take her to bed at a party she somehow wound up at a few weeks ago. Since the inevitable rejection, she spends her nights at singles bars and mixers because she doesn't want to let go of the feeling of being needed by someone. Poor, stupid girl. Not her fault she didn't know any better to give her first time to Mister One Night on your Back.

The gentleman in question is now hugging his toilet with the certainty that his shit-stained reflection is the most beautiful sight this Earth has to behold; you're welcome. Yeah, it was me. I do a number of other good deeds as well, but only in my spare time. Right now, I'm on the clock. See that couple over there? Damn shame, but they're a pair that seem serious about it. Both are glowing this matching red color that makes me wish today was named "All Lovers' Day" instead of that faggot asshole some pope decided to cannonize.

It almost breaks my heart to see them parted, but rules are rules. The brass wants one or both of them to feel the sting of my lead tips, and my protestations would only fall on deaf ears. The gentle fuzz of delicate canary feathers brushing against my thrumming fingers by my right pants pocket keeps me sharp on my duties, as does the extra-special bitter coffee my tragic barista is kind enough to keep me supplied with. Oh, how I'd love to bless them both with a pair of like-feathered yards of cloth from the pouch in my back instead, and I'd even throw in busy Marsha as a gift; she could probably use the experience and I'll bet she'd grow as red as them with just the right nudge.

The barista notices my thrumming fingers, but she doesn't see what isn't meant for her eyes. She asks if I need to switch to decaf. Right, like the gods on high ever watched their caffien intake. Neither she nor anyone else notices the arrow pouch strapped to my thigh or the one to my back; they see only adorable me and my yard-long shortbow. To them, I'm Betsy Heart, student and Olympic hopeful in the archery competition. To my bosses, I'm Bethsida Everheart, Bearer of the Arrows. Long story. By that, I mean a story your short-lived ass wouldn't live long enough to hear. Just take my word for it.

The bell on the door rings when someone comes in. My back is to the door and I'm waiting for my shot. It shouldn't be taking so... oh there we go; Mister Perfect (pet name; don't mind me) has been putting away the rich stuff since he came in here at eight this morning, and he forgot to pee before he left the house, excited as he was about today. Hm... time to make... my move.

"Excuse me, was that guy your boyfriend?" asks me upon approaching Miss Everything (again, don't bother me about my stupid pet names. You have no idea how much time is taken from me and my Xbox staking people out).

"Yeah... and you are...?" The cautious girl's fire-like coating of heart-warmed rich red color flashes so quickly to that sickly green color that I nearly lose my precious coffee all over wool cardigan. That color always makes me sick and I wonder how anyone can bear having it inside them without getting sick themselves.

"I'm Betsy," of course, "from the archery team?" Hold the bow up for credentials. Yeah, I carry it with me. Can't hide it from the common eye as easily as a closely-strapped quiver under baggy winter clothes. Those of us on the team have a good laugh at the kids from the fencing team that have to have their weapons thoroughly packed away from sight on campus or else get a visit from the campus police. "I'm sorry for not just minding my own business, but I got this really stupid idea, since it's Valentine's day and all."

Her color switches back to that warming red again. So trusting; no matter she fell so easily in love. It's almost a shame to waste even one of my precious arrows when a quick lie and a flash of thigh could do all the work. But you know, reputation and everything.

"Why don't you wait outside the bathroom and surprise him? Get him one of those cute chocolate cookies they made for today."

"Hey, that's a great idea! Thanks!"

Oh, please don't be such a gullible bimbo. Surprise him? Yeah, right. One of my favorite jobs I'd done was on a pair wherein the girl thought it'd be a good idea to show up at her boyfriend's house early on such February the fourteenth. He'd had his plans already, and she managed to shut them down by throwing herself in his face beforehand. A few pricks from me, and it was all over. They just didn't realise it for another four years.

Off she goes, and I with her, both of us giggling (I'm faking, of course. I've seen true love, not this giddy flight-of-fancy fair-weather bullshit) to the bathrooms. The "His" door faces the "Hers" door and a body can quite easily watch someone coming out of one from peering from behind another. Neither can see me hiding off in the dark of some boxes a ways further back in the shop with my bow finally drawn for the big kill.

I hate waiting.

My arms start getting stiff. This stupid bow was made for that precious little baby everyone was sooo ga-ga over back when he was spawned. I'm five-foot-fuckin'-five and I've been doing this for the last... five thousand years? No one else will take the stupid thing, but can't I at least get one custom-made for me? Wait, score.

The door to the boys' bathroom opens. Single-serving, only one person in there that can possibly come out. Same on the other side, and a line is growing by the look of people straining their necks around the corner to see what's taking so long.

"Surprise!" comes the caterwail of the enthusiastic girlfriend from the other bathroom, weilding her spicy chocolate cookie and flopping tits.

"Surprise," I whisper from my hiding place, loosing my tension in my left fingers, feeling the taut bowstring sliding free. In another moment...

"Surprise!"

"What? Where'd you... mmmff!" Truthfully, I could feel him before I saw him, that sexy smell that comes from a man's sweaty armpits that's strong enough to knock you on your ass and make you ovulate all at once. Little bastard snuck up on me from behind and had his arms around me before I knew what to do with myself, and he was making me melt with his special kisses on my usually-vacant lips.

Strength to resist, to do anything, drained from my body as he kissed me. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around him and drag him onto the floor, through the floor, into my bed and never let him go. I could feel my bow slipping through my fingers as his masculinity took me. "Take me to bed, you monster," was what I said.

Fast forward to tomorrow morning. If you don't mind, that is, only I can't remember much of last night (or the rest of the day earlier, to be perfectly frank). My body feels ravished and I have this sense of satisfaction that keeps a stupid, rediculous grin plastered on my face. I can't move my hand to pull the thin cotton sheet up past my breasts to keep the cool air off me, that's how fucked I am.

My boy walks in from the shower with a fluffy white towel polishing his smooth, bald head, bulky muscles rippling, barely fitting through the door. His long penis bounced against his rippling thigh, balls throbbing in time with his heart. He was glowing a sort of even, clear color that you almost couldn't tell was a glow except for the way his aura thing distorted the air around it. It was the aura of a person perfectly content, wanting nothing more than a cigarette to round of a night of hot sex.

That is, until he saw me sprawled out on the bed with my curly hair a perfect mess and my poor tits lying open to the world with hickies covering them and my neck. Then he turned a dark shade of puce; he was proud as hell at what he had done and the condition he had left me in.

"Morning," the cheeky bastard says. No cup of joe to help bring me to my senses; and most importantly, no firey red glow. Whatever this may look like, we're not in love. And I'm fine with that.

"You shouldn't have done that," I say in protest. He doesn't believe me, I can tell. If only I were able to wipe the disgusting grin off my face to make me a little more believable. "I was in the middle of a job when you did your little 'pay attention to me' thing." Oh yeah, the job. Oh well; I at least fired one arrow. Raven feathers, too. They shouldn't even be able to look at each other now. At least one of them, only I'm not sure which one.

"Couldn't resist myself, being what day it is and all," the cheeky bastard says. I say "bastard" because he was born out of wedlock. I say "cheeky" because he stops my mouth with that lengthy dick he packs when he's had enough of my lecturing. I still don't remember much of last night, but my throat remembers being stretched so well that his dick, still soft (for now) slides easily down. It's a rather comforting experience that doesn't just make me wet, I feel like I get all the fun parts out of relationships without the stupid hangups like everyone has that I was watching at the coffee shop.

About that time, the computer on my bedside table begins singing some epic tale complete with full orchestra led bravely by French horns and fifty or seventy violins.

"Goddammit," I grumble inwardly before I can pull myself free from the meaty meat. The picture on the screen tells me what I already know: that the boss is calling, and she doesn't want to talk over hte phone. "Morning!" says I.

"We need you to come in," my boss' secretary says rather coldly. "Right now, if you please."

"But I have..." There's nothing indicitive in the room but that muscly, rather well-endowed mass before me, "class."

"We'll expect you in half an hour." Click.

Yeah, right. Who does she think I am, Hermes with winged wings of going really fast?

"Hey you, with the dolly-wanger, make yourself useful and help me into the shower."

Take a shower, get dressed, dry my hair, put on my makeup, walk down to the bus stop, wait for the bus, talk to my boy who calls just to flirt with me, miss my bus... the boss is gonna be pissed.

"I'm pissed at you."

Yeah, the boss is pissed.

"Sorry I'm late; I missed my..."

"Yeah, I was watching the little flirting match you were having. You really fucked me this time."

"I said I was sorry; I'll set my alarm next..."

"I'm not talking about being late, silly girl!"

"Sorry, Your Honor." Her latest title. Her name is Athena. The Athena, Greek hottie of the Moon and kicking boys' butts and having of an extremely cute owl fast asleep on her shoulder at all times. Bubo glows that warm red color whenever he's near her that makes me forgive her own shades of red that can't decide amongst themselves which of them is the big dog.

I actually have a hard time not chuckling to myself when I look at her. Back then, before TV and stuff, she actually looked alright, being happy with a nice toga and a wreath of ivy or something holding her curly hair up. Now she's got this startched white shirt with its buttons all polished, wrapped tightly around her fake tits that're way too big for her. I'm telling you, TV knocked half of us down.

At least Rodi is keeping it real. That's Aphrodite, the hottie of love and all. It's her stupid son whistling his fool head off as he wanders throughout the courthouse all day whose job I'm doing, shooting arrows of love or spite into people's unknowing asses. Like I said, long story. Rodi, meanwhile, no huge boobs to make her feel more woman. The rest? Forget about it. The woman is a bigger mistake of plastic surgery than that anal bleaching girl ten years ago. You'd think being immortal and the hottest woman ever would mean you set the standard for hotness. But like I said, TV.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Done... done... "You mean with Terminus? We do that all the time; I thought everybody knew."

"I'm not talking about your blasted son!"

Dang, settle down. Oh, by the way, that handsome piece of man of mine? Terminus the Ender? He's my son. Another long story.

"I sent you on a simple mission to break up a couple, and what do you do?"

"Shot them with the 'arrow of breaking couples up'?" I suggest.

"Did you?" she asks with a glare, and it's not a glare I like. More because the red of anger glows hot around her, the red hot that burns your eyes to look at rather than keeps your warm and makes you feel at home.

"Umm... yes?" Suddenly I don't feel so good.

Athena signals to her secretary who's dressed as a court recorder or a legal secretary or whatever they're called. The secretary hits a few buttons that causes to be brought up the security recording of the scene of yesterday's job. There's me in the back of the shop, though I'm hidden rather well as skill may have it, and there's the two of them coming out of the bathroom. Everything looks good so far...

Then there's Terminus sneaking in through the back to find me. I spend a lot of time at that shop during my current matriculation, and he's spotted me more than once staking the place out for a good hiding spot to shoot my stuff. You'd think my awesome station would allow me a hat of being really hard to see or something awesome. Nope, I have to hide so no one accuses me of firing a deadly weapon at someone in broad daylight.

There's him putting the moves on me (the backs of the hairs on my head stand up), and... oh, damn, there goes my arrow, right past the intended couple and smacking some poor elderly gentleman right betwen the eyes right as he's looking upon... oh, shit.

"Do you know who that is?" Athena questions.

"No," I answer, not bothering to shroud myself from the shit cesspool I seem to have stepped in.

"That was the dean of medicine from your school, and that was his wife he was taking morning coffee with when you shot him with your Arrow of Broken Love."

"Yes, Your Honor," I answer as automically as possible to get this all over with.

"Betsy?"

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"Do you have any idea what we do here?"

"Keep the world safe from itself," I recite a bit dully. Not the whole world. Athena, in her wisdom (that part isn't exaggerated, whatever you've heard about her), was put in charge of the Americas while the big bosses stayed on their lofty mountain. Rodi came with her as I mentioned and her son; her husband came too, and her lover came flitting along. Called himself "his sister's muscle."

"And we do that through carefully-caculated actions. Breaking a couple apart, for example, so a young man can rise to prominance after careful studies in university and marrying the right woman."

"I didn't know you could see the future," I said in jest.

She didn't take it kindly. "Careful calculations," she repeated with a bit of grinding teeth. "If he gets too distracted by this girlfriend of his now, it could comprimise future greatly. We have decided not to allow this to happen, and you were charged with correcting it. Now the dean of medicine will lose credibility with his peers when he decides to divorce his wife of thirty years, and when we needed stability in this school. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sorry I picked up some asshole's bow? No offence, Rodi."

Rodi glowed a bit of red herself for the moment. She keeps it better contained than most, being better at my job than I am. Pissing her off is not the way to go.

"The role is yours, as is this task. But now that you mention it, I think perhaps you're right."

"Really?" Have my bow taken away? There's a concept. No more immortality, but no more stupid responsibility I wasn't born into.

"Yes. Sherrif?"

The sherrif is Aries, of course. He's dressed in uniform according to his role of court sherrif as his sister is dressed as a judge without the robe. Rodi is the only one way back with her long evening gown showing off everything she was born with.

Aries grinned at me with his stupid red eyes, came right up to me and snatched my bow from me. He took my quivers too. What he didn't take was the sting of immortality. I've been used to it for so long, I never realized I had it until a good thirty years after I got the stupid job of shooting people. My dad said, "Damn, but you haven't aged a day." I took a look in a pool, and he was right. I didn't feel any different than than I do now. I'm still shy about getting stabbed or something, which fortunately has never happened to me before.

"Now go forth from this place and fix your blunder." The flickering colors... goddammit, I still have the sight, stopped tousling, switching to something more even. She'd finished speaking to me and was ready to focus her attentions onto other matters of worldly import.

"That's it? Do my job, just without the tools that themselves are the definition of the job?"

The secretary bumped me out and Aries did that grinning thing at me that was his joy someone wasn't doing what she was told and it would be his pleasure to put things right. If he had that grin, it was best for me to get moving.

"God, I hate them. I never asked for this, you know."

"So why do you stay?" Marsha asked, softly patting my hand.

So I explained even more, each word a violation of various oaths people trained for years to understand, where as I undertook responsibility of them just by grabbing a goddammed stick of wood with a string attached to both ends. With nowhere else to turn to, I had invited Marsha out to drinks so I could melt my brain. We had never spoken, and she was strangely comforting to be around. Too bad one of the brass will wipe her memory and give me a talking-to in the morning. Too bad; I'm in pain, and I need a friend right now.

"So, that guy you were with yesterday, he's your son, not your... boyfriend?"

"He's both." I grinned at the memory of my once-lanky little boy who stared at an orange for an hour after seeing it fall from a tree before he came running to me to tell of his discovery. I'll never forgive that bitch Newton for getting that particular spotlight with his worm-ridden apple when my Terminus obviously had the whole thing figured out at twelve.

"Back when I was still new at this, maybe a hundred years, two, I slid on down to Iceland to see what was up with the Norse immortals."

"Really?" she asked with fascination. While she probably didn't believe I was a Greek immortal, what with not having the nose for it, she was a big myth buff and she was loving each word of my stories so far. "Did you find them?"

"No, and they told me no one in Swedin or Norway or the Netherlands had seen or heard of anything of them as far back as any of the stories go."

"What about Finland? Isn't that part of Scandinavia too?"

"Different tribes there," I explained, "none of the other ones understand a fuckin' word the Fins say. Better rock bands there, in my opinion. Anyway, I did run into some frost giants."

"Really?" she said with even wider eyes.