Cupid looked up casually from the scroll he was reading, glancing at his husband. His eyes returned to the scroll, then bounced back up to Strife in a classic double-take. "Strife, what are you eating?"

Strife swallowed. "Ihth a th'nwih."

*blink* "I beg your pardon?"

"A th'nwih."

"Once again?"

Strife went through some vaguely alarming facial contortions, then said, "A than... Thar'aruh!" He put down the object he was holding and materialized a piece of parchment and a quill. Scribbling quickly, he showed the results to Cupid.

Cupid read. "A sandwich? What, pray tell, is a sandwich?"

*sigh* Strife wrote again, longer this time, then passed the paper to Cupid, picked up the object in question, and took another hefty bite.

Cupid read aloud. "Sandwich--filling between two slices of bread. Named for the Earl of Sandwich, who legend tells us invented the food so that he could eat with one hand and play cards with the other, thus not interrupting his game. You know, I almost hate asking you a question, because the answer usually leads to a string of questions. What's an earl?"

*munchmunchmun...* *sigh* "Thuhn off a bih. Uthah minnih." Strife once again put down the thing... uh, sandwich. Once again he went through the strange range of expressions. At last he said, "Fuh it." Opening his mouth, he stuck his finger in and scraped vigorously.

"Strife, what are you doing?"

The finger was now decorated with a pale brown gob. "I'm tryin ta get where I can talk ta ya. An earl is gonna be a sorta minor noble among tha humans."

"Is going to be?"

"In a thousand years or so."

"You've been in the Halls of Time again."

"Course I have. It's expected."

Cupid pointed at the glob. "What's that?"

"Peanut buttah. Ya know what peanuts are, dontcha?"

"I should, considering the amount of shells you left lying around when you went through that 'cravings' stage when you were pregnant with Impetua."

"Well, ya grind tha peanuts to a paste an' add maybe a little sugah, a little salt."

"Since when did you get domestic enough to do that?" Strife showed Cupid a jar. "Jiff? Sounds like the fourth name if Joxer, Jett, and Jayce were quadruplets instead of triplets."

"I prefer it ta Petah Pan, an' don't even ask me what that means. Besides," Imp had toddled in and was tugging at his leg. "Choosier mothahs choose Jiff. Hey, Punkin."

He lifted the baby up onto his lap. She pointed at the sandwich. "Want."

"Nuh-uh, baby."

Her eyebrows lowered and her bottom lip poked out. "Want!" She emphasized the demand with an ear splitting squeal.

Cupid wiggled a finger in his ear. "Better give her some."

"I said no an' I meant it. This stuff isn't exactly fah little bits like her."

"Why? It isn't spicy, is it?"

"Tartarus, no. It almost defines 'bland'."

"Well?"

Impetua was flapping her wings now. "Want!"

"Imp, no!" said Strife.

She gave him a calculating look, then glanced at Cupid. *Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!* *Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!* *Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...*

Cupid clutched his head. "Strife, please!"

"Why, you little snot! Okay, toots, you asked fah it." Strife held the sandwich up to Impetua, who took a big, messy bite out of it. Peanut butter squished out the sides of her mouth. Strife tutted, materialized a cloth, and wiped it away. "So ya got yer way again--shock shock. Ya like it?" Imp nodded vigorously, chewing. She swallowed, then pointed at the sandwich again. "Nah, one bite only." Her expression darkened, and she drew a breath. "Oh, ya gonna yell again? G'wan."

"Strife," said Cupid in dismay, "Don't encourage her!"

"Wait."

Imp finished filling her lungs. *Eh---* She looked surprised, then tried again. *Eh---* Nothing. Looking very puzzled, she began to scrunch her face up. Cupid could see her tongue poking around her cheeks. Her eyes grew wide in surprise, and she looked up at Strife, who was grinning at her. "Dah-ee..."

"What?"

"Ahn... dah... Uff..." She scowled.

Strife put her down on the ground. "Come back when ya can talk." Imp left the room, trying to mutter to herself, but not having much success.

"What did you do to her?" asked Cupid.

"Nothin. Just let her learn from experience. Peanut buttah tends ta make yer tongue stick ta tha roof of yer mouth."

Cupid smiled. "That's ingenious!" He chuckled. "Man, she was frustrated."

"Ya think that's funny? I once fed some ta all three of Cerberus' heads." Cupid thought about that, then collapsed, laughing. "Since he had paws, he couldn't scrape it off tha roof of his mouth. It is possible to lick peanut buttah off, but it takes time, dedication, an' effort." Cupid was still laughing. "I want ya ta considah how that could fit inta *ahem* food play." Cupid stopped laughing abruptly, looking thoughtful. "Right. I'll leave a jar next ta tha bed."

"I wouldn't mind trying a sandwich now, but I'd rather not lose the power of speech."

"I can fix that," Strife assured him. He waved his hand. Bread, and several bowls of other foods appeared. He pointed, saying, "It ain't so bad if ya mix or add somethin, like sugah, honey, jelly, syrup, bananas..."

"Bananas?"

Strife nodded. He sliced some bread, spread it with peanut butter, and began to slice a banana onto it. "Tha food of Kings, baby.~"