Bliss, God of Joy and Happiness

The Dangers of Bullying

His name was Myron, which meant fragrant, and that explained a lot. Centuries later there would be a song about a Boy Named Sue who grew up scrapping and fighting because of his name, and this case wasn't much different. When the other guys had names that meant 'brave' and 'giant' and 'lion', they tended to snicker at someone who was named for the scent of a posey. From an early age Myron had found that whipping the crap out everyone he could get his hands on tended to cut down on the derision.

By the time he was fifteen he'd pretty much managed to beat respect into everyone in his village who was younger or smaller than he was, and there weren't many who were his size. The adults noted his bulk and the vicious gleam in his piggy little eyes and steered clear. By the time he was firmly entrenched in adolescence he had to look for other reasons to beat up the vulnerable. Luckily they weren't hard to find.

This had been a good morning. He'd made his younger brothers do his chores of feeding the pigs and gathering wood, so he had a free day. Well, free once he'd ducked out of class. He'd managed to avoid it for the first ten years of his life, but his father (who was still bigger than him, darn it) had finally put his foot down. "It's obvious you aren't going to make a farmer--you're too lazy. Maybe if you learn to read and write you can find some kind of work eventually." Myron thought this was utter nonsense. He intended to be a mercenary, or maybe a barbarian, or a warlord. Not a warrior--they didn't always fight in overwhelming groups. Too much actual danger. Possibly an assassin. Stabbing in the back was preferrable to open confrontation. They all seemed like equally cool jobs.

Myron had decided to go swimming at a spring in the woods near the village. If he was lucky, maybe he'd surprise some of the village maidens bathing. Lately he'd decided that girls weren't so yucky after all. While Myron's growth hormones were perfectly fine, he was a late bloomer in other areas.

He was walking along the path to the spring when he heard something off to the side. It was someone singing, and it caught his attention. Mainly it caught his attention because it sounded like a little kid, and little kids (especially little kids alone, away from adult protection... eh, supervision) could be a lot of fun.

He started to push his way through the bushes toward the voice. Finally he came to a little clearing, one he hadn't even realized was there, and there was the kid. Myron grinned. Oh, this was just his meat! The boy couldn't have been more than five or six, and he wouldn't come up much higher than Myron's bellybutton.

The kid was marching up and down, singing. "I'se Bwiss! Bwiss the Mighty! My gran'ma's name is Ditie! She wears a nightie! My gran'pa is big an' bad, an' I gots not one, but two dads! I'se Bwiss! Bwiss the Mighty, just like Joxie! He says..." The kids's voice faltered. "uh... he says..." The kid's voice brightened. "He says don't be naughty, but Daddy Stwife says..."

Myron stepped out into the clearing, and the kid stopped singing. He stared at Myron, looking surprised but completely unafraid. *That'll change.* "Hello, drip."

The boy looked puzzled, but he smiled, perfectly willing to be friendly. "I'se not Dwip. I'se Bwiss the Mighty."

Myron walked over to him, examining him. The kid had something that looked like a badly mended pot, one that had been used for dart practice, on his head, but Myron could see fluffy gold curls peaking out from under it. They looked like they'd provide a good grip. "I said you're a drip." He bent down and pushed his face close to the boy's. "You gonna argue with me?"

The kid (Bwiss?) blinked. "Gran'pa Joxie says it innt good to fight. Gran'pa Rees says sometimes you gotta."

"You listen to your Grandpa Rees, drip." He flipped the excuse for a helmet off the kid's head. "What are you gonna do about that?"

The kid frowned. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I wanted to. I can do anything I want to, and there's nothing you can do about it." He gave the kid another look. Hey, wait a minute. He was wrapped in a beautiful black cloak. It covered him head to foot, puddling on the ground around his feet, and it was decorated with a silver pin that was set with a large red stone that had to be a real ruby. "Say, that's a nice cape you have, drip."

Bwiss nodded. "It's my Gran'pa Rees's. He said I could bowwow it, an' Joxie let me use his helmet. He don't use it much anymore."

"You can keep the helmet, but I'm taking the cape."

The kid hugged the cloth about him. "It innt yours. You can't."

"I told you--I can do anything I want." The kid tried to dodge back, but Myron caught hold of the cape and jerked it off him. He was going to take his time admiring his new possessions, but something distracted him.

Bwiss doubled up his little fists and raised them, his cherubic face as hard as it was possible for it to get. "You give that back!" Myron gaped. Yeah, the sight of such a puny kid offering to fight him was ridiculous enough to gain attention, but it was the wings that got him. The kid had a little pair of snowy white wings, about as long as his arms, on his back. They were flapping now. It must be a sign of agitation.

"What the Tartarus?" Myron dropped the cloak and grabbed the kid roughly, half turning him for a better look. As usual, he didn't bother to be careful and his fingers bit into the slender shoulders, drawing bruises. The kid squeaked in pain, but Myron ignored him. "I'll be damned. You're deformed. No wonder you're out wandering around in the woods. I bet no one would have you anywhere near them."

The boy squirmed. "You let me go! You a bad boy, you gonna get in trouble."

Myron laughed. "Oh, and who's gonna give it to me? You? Maybe your dad?"

"Yeah! My dad could kick your butt--either one of 'em."

Myron snorted. "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna be worried about some wimp who produces a kid with feathers. I bet he has wings, too."

Myron had just been trying to be snide, but Bwiss nodded hard. "An' he gots a bow an' arrow, too, so you better be careful."

"Ooo, I'm so scared! I bet I could whip your entire family. I bet they're nothing but wimps and whores."

"You take that back!"

"Make me." Myron howled as one hard little foot contacted with his shin. "You little shit!" Myron grabbed one soft wing and jerked as hard as he could.

The kid's blue eyes went wide in shock and pain. He hitched in a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out in a scream. "Daaaaaaaady!"

"Yeah, go ahead and cry, you baby! Nobody's gonna hear you out here, and..."

The sky was clear, but suddenly there was thunder and lightning. The weird thing was that it wasn't just the usual white lightening--it was red, blue, and... pink?

Myron looked up to find himself surrounded by four large, pissed-off looking adults--three men and a woman. His grip on the little boy loosened and the kid ran sobbing to a big blond guy, who grabbed him up. "Bliss! What is it, son? What did he do to you?"

The boy was crying so hard he couldn't speak, but he waved his hand back at his wings. One of them, the one Myron had pulled, was drooping a little. The man touched it gently, and the child wailed, pressing his face to the bare, tanned shoulder. "Oh, baby!"

Another man, slender with dark hair, held out his hands. "Give him to me, Cupid. I'll take him to Asclepius. He should be with Strife by now."

But Bliss clung to his father's neck, wailing. "Where Daddy Stwife? Want Daddy Stwife, too."

The dark haired man rubbed the boy's back soothingly. "He wanted to come, but he had to stay with the baby till someone else could take over. Come with Gran'pa Joxie, honey, and I'll take you to him."

The kid wiped the tears off his face. "Kay." He went into the other man's arms, hugging his neck. "Joxie? You won't tell Daddy Stwife I cried?"

Joxer hugged him. "No, love, but I don't think he'd care." Joxer directed a glare at the stunned older boy. "Well, not that you cried. Maybe why you cried." There was a blue flash, and the man and boy disappeared.

Myron blinked. He stared at the people who were now closing in on him. One was a beautiful, sexy blonde in a not quite opaque dress. He'd have been really, really interested, if it wasn't for the snarling expression on her face. The other was a big, dark haired, beared man who had to be a warrior. He didn't even want to think about that guy's expression. And the blonde who had held the kid... That had to be Daddy--witness the wings. *And I said he was a wimp,* Myron thought numbly.

Wings? That other guy had called him Cupid, and the kid was singing about Gran'ma Ditie. He took another look at the woman, who still radiated sex, even though she looked like she was thinking of ripping his intestines out. Aphrodite. He looked at the menacing bearded man. Gran'pa Rees. *Oh, shit. Ares.*

Aphrodite narrowed her eyes at him. She materialized a file and began to file her nails. Cupid said gruffly, "Mom, this is hardly the time for a manicure."

"Don't try to teach your mother to suck eggs, darling. I'm putting points on them."

"L-look," stuttered Myron. "I, uh, I'm sorry about what happened. I was just trying to... to help the kid up. Yeah, he tripped on that cloak and fell, and I was trying to help him up, and I grabbed his wing by accident, and before I knew what I was doing..."

"What do I look like, the God of Liars?" growled Ares. "Hermes isn't here right now, and I don't think even he would protect you in this instance." He moved closer. Myron tried to cringe back, but one direction would have brought him to Cupid, and the other would have brought him in reach of Aphrodite's nails.

Cupid was cracking his knuckles. "Dad, what say we tie him to a tree and I do a little target practise?"

Ares and Aphrodite both frowned. "You're going to...?" Ares started.

"I mean with some of your arrows, not mine."

Ares grinned fiercely. "That's my boy."

Aphrodite spoke up. "Arrows are too merciful, son. What about darts?"

Ares was flexing his fingers. "I'd rather just rip him to bits and get it over with."

"Oh, but that leaves such a mess," Aphrodite protested.

"All the better, as a lesson to other bullies."

There was a crackle of energy and a burst of red sparkles. Myron suddenly found himself dangling from the fists of a tall, pale man dressed all in black leather. He only found himself there for an instant, because the next moment he was flying across the clearing. He landed in a clump of thistles. A yell followed him. "Ya hurt my kid, ya prick!"

"Grab him, Cupid!" Ares cried. "He won't leave anything for us."

Myron tried to scramble up, but found a foot planted firmly in the middle of his chest, pinning him down. He was even too scared to enjoy the view up Aphrodite's toga, and if he hadn't been about to wet himself, he might have wondered how Aphrodite had managed a spike-heeled sandal. He was starting to sting all over his legs and arms, but one glare convinced him to lie quietly.

Both Cupid and Ares had hold of the maniac. They were digging in their heels, but the thin guy was still plowing forward, dragging them along, tearing gouges in the turf. His arms were extended, fingers hooked into claws, and his face was set in a grimace of hate. "Lemme go, Cupe! Lemme go, Unc! Give 'im ta me."

"You'll get your chance, Strife," said Cupid.

*Strife? Oh, shit! I messed with the kin of War and Mischief? Why didn't I just go to the underworld and pull Cerberus's balls? At least then it would have been over quickly.* "I'msorryImsorryImsorryImsorry..."

"Oh, you're sorry, all right," snapped the still struggling God of Mischief. "But let me get my hands on ya and yer gonna be seriously regretful."

There was a blue flash and the man who'd taken Bliss away reappeared. He assessed the situation quickly and went to the struggling trio. "Strife, calm down."

"Back off, Joxie! Ya can't tell me you don't wanna castrate him, too. I know how ya feel about kids in general, an' Bliss in particulah. Ya started out as a warriah, and ya dedicated yerself ta protectin tha helpless, an' this scuz..." Joxer put his hands on Strife's face, gazing into his eyes. "Oh, crap! Don't do that! Dammit, Joxie, no fair usin yer powers!"

*Joxie? Oh, Joxer, that new God of Peace. Thank Zeus he's here. Maybe I'll get out of this with my nads still attached.*

Strife calmed down. Well, as much as it was possible for him to calm down. "Ya can let go. But Jox, ya bettah have a damn good reason fah stoppin me."

Joxer sighed. "I do, and none of you are going to like it. First off, let me tell you that Bliss is all right. Asclepius looked at him, and it's just a sprain, the wing wasn't broken or dislocated. He's bound it up and put a compress on it. I'll be staying over with you and Cupid for the next few days, Strife, to help take care of him, but there shouldn't be a problem." He smiled, "Though it may be a job keeping him from doing too much at first."

Strife grinned. "Yah. He's an active lil squirt."

"All he really needs is rest and some pampering, and I know you and Cupid can handle that. But this one," he glared at Myron, who shrunk a little. Such a stern expression did not sit easily on this man. He seemed meant for gentler things, and it was all the more disturbing for that. "We can't do anything permanent to him."

"Sez who?" asked Strife pugnaciously. Ares, Cupid, and Aphrodite all echoed him.

"Says The Fates."

The others groaned. "Why?" demanded Aphrodite. "I can't imagine that drip being of much significance." She glanced at her ex, and Strife. "Unless you boys have use for him in the future?"

Ares shook his head. "The boy hasn't got a scrap of the true warrior's spirit. He'll never be good for anything but tormenting the vulnerable, and there's never a shortage of those sort."

Strife shrugged. "Not me eithah. Fahget smart or clevah, he can't even manage low cunnin. Imagine, goin off on a kid who's related ta everyone on Olympus."

"He's not important himself," explained Joxer. "I can't even kick him in the nuts, like I wanted, because it might endanger his chances of fathering children, and he's scheduled to sire one of the greatest poets of this age in a few decades."

Myron breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned. "Wait a minute--a kid of mine is going to be a sissy poet? I'll have to beat that out of him. Unless it's a girl. Poetry's all right for girls, I guess, as long as it doesn't keep them from doing the housework and making babies."

Aphrodite pressed down a little harder. "Somehow I don't think even Hera would welcome your support. Shut that nasty mouth, or I'll get one of Arachne's needles and sew it shut." Myron shut up.

Strife stamped his feet. "That's no reason! Tartarus, ya can't turn around without trippin' ovah some verse slingah. What's one less?"

"You'll want to assure this one's existence, Strife," Joxer told him. "A couple of thousand years from now, thousands of high school and college students will be driven to the brink by having to study and analyze his poetry."

Strife's eyes got big. "Ooo, required readin?" Joxer nodded. "Okay, I guess he can live, but he can't be allowed ta get off scot free."

"He doesn't. The Fates assured me that as long as he is capable of procreating and lives for at least another forty years, it's all right." He smiled at Strife and Aphrodite, then Ares, stroking his husband's arm. "I figured I'd leave the punishment up to you guys. You all have more experience than I do."

"All right." They all gathered around him, staring down grimly. Myron trembled, and awaited his sentance. Somehow knowing that he was guaranteed to live for at least another forty years wasn't much of a comfort.

Cupid regarded him coldly. "I guess you didn't know it, but that was my son you hurt. He's the God of Joy and Happiness, and I can't imagine him wanting to have much to do with you in the future. That should give you an idea about what your life is going to be like. As for me..." He thought. "You're going to fall in love several times, and it will always be with the most demanding, vicious, bitchy, emasculating woman existing in the world at that time."

Aphrodite nodded. "Good one, kid. My turn." She smiled down at Myron. "You aren't getting any till you're about thirty. After that it will be few and far between, and none of them is going to want to do any of the little tricks you're going to want. Once you father the poet, you're going to run into a string of very nasty, very painful veneral diseases. Ares?"

Ares stroked his beard. "I'd rather just kill him." He sighed. "You're going to join an army."

"I don't want to," Myron squeaked.

"Tough titty. They have these little things called press gangs, and once you're in, they execute you for desertion. You'll be in every battle that starts within a hundred miles of you." His smile was feral. "You're not going to do well, but you'll have lots of scars to impress the tavern wenches." He chuckled, then bowed to Aprhodite. "Oops, forgot. They won't do you much good anyway, will they? And you'll lose a few non-essential bits along the way. Strife?"

Again the lunatic grin. "Dog bites, wasp stings, jock itch, broken toes, broken mirrahs, broken promises, bad breath, bad faith, bad hair, spoiled food, curdled milk, sour buttah, watahed wine, irritable barbarians, mean landlords, sand in yer sheets an' sandwiches, mosquitoes, bed bugs, an' flies are gonna love ya. When ya finally sleep with a girl she's gonna spread tha rumah that yer hung like a hampstah an' have tha stayin powah of a mayfly. That girl yer gonna fathah tha kid with? Her husband's gonna break down tha door about three seconds aftah ya squirt, an' when ya try ta escape butt nekkid yer gonna run inta a squad of Amazons who are all havin a bitch of a period. Aftah that... we'll see. Ya can let 'im up, Dite."

Aphrodite removed her foot, and the gods backed off a couple of steps to let him stand up. Myron was shaking. He looked around at the circle of implacable faces and said meekly, "Couldn't one of you just kill me?"

Cupid shook his head, looping an arm around Strife's waist. "Too merciful. I'm going to speak to Gabrielle about the possibility of setting this down as a warning to other would-be bullies."

Strife nodded. "Blondie should like that, since we let tha jerk live."

Aphrodite primped her curls. "Well, I'm off." She examined her nails, frowning. "I need another few coats of polish." She glanced at Myron, and sighed. "And I suppose I'd better locate the future mother of his spawn and start working on her now." She left in a shower of gold sparks and rose petals.

There was a crackle of energy in the air, and the divinities looked around. "Crap!" Ares said, looking a little worried. "That's Eris coming."

"Don't worry," said Joxer. "This was all explained to her back at Olympus, but you know her--she couldn't let an attack on Bliss pass without doing something." He looked at Myron. "You'll live--I think." He went to hug Ares. "C'mon, sweetie. I want to go get Mjau and bring him to visit Bliss." They flashed away.

Cupid looked at Strife. "I want to get back to the kids. Coming?"

Strife kissed him. "In a minit, handsome. I bettah stay an' see that Ma doesn't spread him ovah tha countryside. Yah, she's been warned, but ya know how she is." Cupid nodded, scowled at Myron again, and disappeared.

There was a red flash and a dark haired woman in armor was standing before Myron. Without a word she punched him in the face, knocking him back down. Then she nodded curtly. "He'll have to eat mush for awhile, but judging from his dental hygine he won't really miss those two teeth.

Strife laughed and gave her a hug, kissing her on the cheek. She scowled, but didn't try to pull away, and even gave him a small hug in returm. Strife toed Myron, who was just sitting up. "In case ya don't know, dipshit, this is my Ma--Eris, Goddess of Dischord. Yer lucky she didn't show up right away." He gave her another smacking kiss. "Always direct, huh, Mom?"

"Quit calling me that," she said gruffly. "And if you dare teach that baby to call me Grannie..." They disappeared together, Strife's giggles seeming to linger behind.

Myron got to his feet and started back for the village. On the way he fell in a stream that he didn't remember being there before, tripped over roots, was lashed in the face by branches, had a bee sting him on the butt, and was attacked by an aggressive squirrel. When he reached the edge of the village he met two girls. One of them managed to snicker and sneer at the same time--the other ducked behind her friend, eyeing him like he was a snake. On the way to his home, he noticed the local warlord's recruitment officer eyeing him.

He groaned. It was going to be a long, long life.