Prometheus's Gift XX - Eros

    Miss Ogyny, a Queen of Drag known for her high wigs and stunning legs, strutted the glittery stage lip syncing "I Touch Myself" (The unmatched Divinyl version).  All around the rainbow tinted club bustled, genderless and sexually ambiguous, a popular haven for any desiring to just be themselves.  Such was the visage, for better or for worse, as this scene had been replayed one way or another, ever since man grunted his first words from deep within the caves.  And how it will continue to play until there is no more...
    Prometheus watched the show, sipping a Bloody Caesar extra Tabasco, eyeing Miss Ogyny like the cat eyes the mouse.  Miss Ogyny, for her part, smirked back at Prometheus when she could.  A private hissy and a growing rivalry:  He had been scooped, he had been rehearsing that very song for the last week and she knew it.  Worse:  She had the gall to borrow the miniskirt and stilettos she wore for this very number.  Worse yet:  Her tanned and shapely legs matched his.
    Almost.
    He turned his nose up and sipped his Caesar, watching the show with a pretend indifference (and very well rehearsed for them both).  He knew he'd have his revenge on the bitch, you don't cross a Titan or you pay with your soul:  He'll keep that wig and fabulous gown she lent him earlier that month.
    The claws of The Glamour Queen run deep.
    Done with both the Caesar and exchanging dirty looks he turned then pushed his way to the bar.  He ordered another drink. 
    He held The Envelope up.  It was pulsating now, only he could see the aethereal waves.  The time to enter or exit history was nigh.  Do something, it whispered, I am as inevitable as the celestial sky-rocks and the earth's angry osculations.  He knew this to be true and right now he hated it.  If things were to go back to they way they were...  No, it said, there is no going back, this is not what you or I are about, you and I exist for a purpose.  But what purpose could that be..?  That, it said, is for the mortals to decide... and you must let them.
    The clanking drink cracked his trance.  He paid then turned...
    He had George drop him off here, The Oasis, his oasis from it all.  He was now craving mortal companionship, he wanted to be amongst people that weren't weird or creepy and talking to things that weren't there.  He wanted beings that knew that water was water and soil was soil.  And this was such a place, he had a certain individual in mind.  He spotted him:  Joey, sitting alone, a little ways down the bar.
    It was time for the perspective of the most important player in his little game:  A mortal.
    "Hullo, Joey," Prometheus said, sitting next.
    Joey turned, his face lightened.  "Hullo, Johnathon," he said with a smile, for Johnathon was the name mortals knew him by.  He hugged his dear friend then sat back, studying.  "Umm... Interesting look.  Leather and skulls over baby blue silks?  Please say you're not going butch on me."  His tone and mannerisms were stronger than Prometheus's, but softer than most.
    As if it mattered.
    Prometheus noted the vest he still wore, forgotten until now.  Perhaps a bit of a comical look, but he didn't care.  Not now.  "Oh.  A gift from some very old friends of mine."  He sipped his Caesar several times.
    Joey read the body language.  He put a hand on Prometheus's forearm.  "I heard Jaime broke up with you. I'm so sorry, Johnathon."
    "That was fast."  Prometheus raised and eyebrow.  "I only found out myself last night."
    "Squabbling hens with nothing to do and text messaging, girl.  Soon news will get around before it happens.  How are you holding up?"
    "Oh, I'm doing well enough."  He sighed then sipped his Caesar.  "We had been drifting apart for weeks, even before The..  Event.  Really, it had become a matter of when, not if."  He couldn't tell Joey he hadn't really been bothered by the whole thing, that he simply had too many invisible monsters clamouring for poor, poor psyche.  This was often the case throughout the centuries, melodrama and crisis juggling were, perhaps, his true specialities.  He once thought maybe they should've been part of his divine description.  But, he had to get back to the matter at hand:  "I have a question for you, Joey.  A thought experiment, as it were, in the realms of the fantastic."
    "Wonderful," Joey said, clapping his hands.  "I love fantasy.  Get me out of reality and never bring me back."
    Be careful for what you wish, Prometheus smirked.  "If you..."  He put his elbows on the bar, thinking, trying to find a way to put this without sounding like a raving kook.  Perhaps there simply was no way.  "If you were presented with a fantastic power, would you accept?"
    "Power?"  Joey smiled, coyly.  "Like in the comic books?  Super Joey leaping buildings and crawling on walls in his sexy spandex tights?  That does sound like fun."
    "As a start."  Prometheus sipped his Caesar then decided to let it out:  "More.  The power of immortality.  The power to shape the past, the present, the future.  The power to influence the thoughts of the masses and turn world events away from war or peace.  To have grandiose temples built in your honour and to change entire nations into your own personal playground.  This power would have no limits so long as people believed."
    "Oh.  You mean godhood."  Joey frowned then took several gulps of his beer, thinking.  "Forever is a rather long time to live."  His brow furrowed, Prometheus waited patiently, allowing him as much time as needed.  Then:  "It doesn't sound like much fun to me.  Having so much control over things seems rather dull.  It seems to me the more power you have, the less power you have.  There could be no surprises, no life bettering challenges to overcome.  Nothing but repetitive routine that would never end.  What, then, would be the point of existing at all?"  He finished his beer then clanked it on the bar, assured of his decision.  "No, Johnathon, I wouldn't accept it.  I have too much to live for."
    Prometheus slurped the last of his Caesar, hiding his reaction.  True, he had left out a few subtle details, not that least being forever doesn't exist, even for gods.  Still, Joey's words did rattle around in his head.  When he was at his peak, when he had temples and followers and the belief of half the known world, things were rather...  Predictable.  Nonetheless, he refused to let himself believe his existence was pointless, then or now.  The mortals had to of made him for a reason, Tartarus if he knew why.
    "But," Joey went on, "that's just me.  What's the point to all of this, Johnathon?"
    "I don't know any more," Prometheus answered, distantly.  He produced The Envelope, the air crackled in a way only immortals could feel.  He looked around the club, noting new and powerful bodies scattered about.  A few he knew, most he did not.  They had been surreptitiously filtering in, drawn by power and purpose, all anxious to see his final decision.  They couldn't stop him, not a one tried.  He turned back then showed Joey The Envelope.  "What do you see?"
    Joey snorted.  "An envelope, silly."  He reached to touch it...
    Prometheus pulled back.  "No no.  What does it say?"
    Joey squinted in the poor light.  "It's addressed to Jaime.  Did you write him a letter?  How sweet.  Do you want me to pass it on?"
    Prometheus blinked then turned The Envelope back.  All he could see was glyphs, supposedly history's first written language.  But... addressed to Jaime?  So The Envelope was influenced by him?  It shouldn't be, it's the ultimate gift, fettered to the mortals and beyond the ken of any god.  Then, he remembered Joey and Jaime were good friends, Joey would be thinking of him often for at least the last two days.  "Oh.  No.  I'll do it myself, thank you."
    "Very well," Joey said, raising an eyebrow at the eccentric display.  Eccentric, he thought, it was well known that Johnathon's friends were as mysterious as they were odd.  He stood then hugged Prometheus.  "I must go, work always comes far too early.  Good to see you, as always.  When you feel better give me a shout.  We'll find something fun to do."
    Joey made his way towards the exit.
    Prometheus ordered another drink, moving into the doubles.  He scanned the club.  That fraud Miss Ogyny was gone, replaced by a male stripper.  Pretty and painfully well endowed, he couldn't help but stare for a minute.  Around, more immortals had come, mingling unnoticed amongst the accepting crowd.  Apollo leaned on the second floor balustrade, attracting lascivious looks from the boys, still as perfect as ever with the beard and ponytail.  The divine bookends Thoth and Ma'at sat motionless, eyes never leaving him.  The Amazons and The Valkyries, mirror images in their own way, had taken over the pool tables and glanced his way often.  He smiled at the fearless Daphne, looking most cute in male drag.  More, those he knew nothing of, of every creed and complexion, unnoticed, watching, waiting.
    The Caesar came.  He downed it in one big, sloppy slurp.  He ordered another.  A voice from behind:
    "Ah, alcohol.  The true decision maker behind gods and kings."
    Prometheus, knowing the tawny but feminine voice, turned.  Tall, thin and blonde, she was as beautiful as he remembered her throughout the ages.  More so now, ever since the SRS.  Ever since then she had been simply...  Radiant.  Hold a few sands, he stumbled.  Blonde?  He didn't know she dyed her hair.  Not that he had been around much for anybody in the last while.
    "Something needs to be done," she said, purposefully.
    "Hello, Eros," he sighed, watching her sit next.  He noted the tasteful black and white pantsuit, he knew she had no interest in showing more skin than necessary.  For her it was about mixing in, it was about being one of the girls.  Leave the flirty flamboyance to those of showy ilk, she always said.  And he agreed.  "I love the hair, it suits you well.  I haven't seen so many immortals gathered together in one place since the last Great Convention."
    "Peach cider, please," said said to the barkeep and crossing her legs.  "A couple from Current Management even showed, dithering in the shadows.  A first so far as any of us can recall.  It seems you've caused quite the stir, my dearest of friends."
    The barkeep put the drinks on the bar, keeping an eye on the increasingly drunken Prometheus.  Prometheus's thoughts wandered, pulled in random directions by the booze.  Then:
    "Did you have anything to do with Jaime dumping me?"
    "You know better than to ask such a question," she said strongly.  She sipped her peach cider slowly, enjoying the flavour, a favourite of hers.  "You know well enough I have nothing to do with such things.  I merely bring them together, when I can, the rest is well beyond the range of my arrows."
    Prometheus, realizing he was slouching, sat up.  Unsteady dignified drunk.  "And what of you, dear friend?  All know the time is nigh, I can feel the growing heat even through my leathern garb.  Are you making one last attempt to sway me one way or the other?"
    "No.  My concern is for you, girl.  For all of your gifts you had been quick and decisive, defiant to all the pleas and the shouts, thinking only of the mortals and their needs.  Until now.  I have never seen you falter in this way or for so long.  You must do something, girl, you have already waited too long and you must bestow or destroy it.  Now.  Already it's starting to consume you."
    "Well," he said, placing The Envelope on the bar, "maybe I should just let it."
    "Oh stop it.  And quit being stupid.  You know I hate it when you get drunk and talk this way."
    Prometheus grunted then waved the barkeep over.  "What," he said, tapping The Envelope a little too firm, "does this say?"
    The big man leaned over, squinting.  "Revenue Canada."  He snorted.  "You dealing with those pricks too?  I feel for ya."  He turned then went back to work.
    Prometheus giggled.
    Eros sipped her cider, watching him with concern.  All going well, the worst he was in for was another titanic hangover, already guaranteed.  But that wasn't it.  Their positions had reciprocated many times over the centuries, usually when they were wrestling with their sigmoidal self images.  He was her closest friend, he was the one that gently pushed her into her proper image when the technology became available.  She stared at the hand that held her cider, wondering what the world would be like if all were like those of the Great Pantheons.  Would science still exist?  She didn't know.  Would prejudice?  Defiantly.  The mortals monopolized innovation and invention throughout the ages, not a single god could claim to of contributed a single thing.  Even worse, she wandered on, who would be left to believe in us at all? 
    "Do you remember," she said, off, "that day we lied on the slopes of Olympus?  That wine and that breeze and that cloudless sky?  That day we first sensed it?"
    Prometheus nodded, memories crystallizing amid the cloud despite the booze.  They went back to The Golden Age...