Spot didn't enjoy working for the god of death. There was no job security, and Hades rarely appreciated it when he showed initiative. Which hurt, because Spot was only trying to help.

Right now Hades was cursing his name and sending threatening messages, instead of looking at the bigger picture. Spot took this as yet another sign of poor leadership, and judgment. The apple was obviously dangerous, and keeping it locked away in the vault was stupid.

The hound had reasoned that it would be much smarter to test the unknown magical object as soon as possible, instead of locking it away and hoping nothing bad happened. That way if it exploded or did something nasty, at least they would know for sure.

He blocked Hades’ messages and continued to trudge up the rough hewn stone steps towards the surface. Spot found himself grumbling about the time it took, cursing the god of death for being too cheap to install an elevator.

Spot had grown to hate those stairs. Whenever he died they were there to greet him (as well as a wicked hangover from the Stress his ability caused). The hound didn't mind risking his life for Hades, but he drew the line at unnecessary cardio.

Things had been much better when Persephone was around. The goddess would let him go outside whenever he wanted, instead of locking him up. Sometimes she even let him sit on the couch with them when they were watching the scrying pool. That was leadership. That was employee appreciation.

“Screw this,” Spot said as he looked at the thousands of steps in front of him, “After this mission, I'm going to go live with Mom.”

***

In the beginning of their relationship, Francis and Willow had established a rule. No matter how busy things got, they would take the time to go out on a date at least once per week.

The rising threat level had made it necessary to bring guards along, which the Marine begrudgingly accepted. He might be willing to risk his own life by walking through the city alone, but Willow was worth protecting.

A half-dozen guards milled through the street market as the couple shopped, while Shiv’s people mostly stuck to the rooftops and shadows. Unfortunately, the added security didn't make Francis feel at ease. If anything, it was a constant reminder that people were intent on hurting those under his protection.

The Marine was beginning to see why so few of his fellow gods made public appearances. But that way led to isolation and operational stupidity. Francis was a grunt, he needed to be there on the ground to see things as they really were. Because if he didn't put himself out there, he would be no better than those rear echelon motherfuckers back home.

Willow rubbed the back of his arm, bringing him back to the present. “Hey. I've had enough walking around for now, let's go get a beer.”

Francis smiled and nodded. He would welcome a chance to get off the busy street. The tension had been building up between his shoulder blades as the evening wore on. “Yeah, a beer sounds good. Did you have a particular place in mind?”

The Death Cleric looked up at him with a hint of mischief in her green eyes. “Well, we could get a quiet drink at the Frog, or…”

“Or what?” Francis asked, pulling her in close.

“Have you ever wanted to see an orcish tournament? I got an invitation from Maber’s High Priestess.”

The Marine took a second to think. Orcs considered the tournaments to be a cornerstone of their civilization. They were one part competition, one part religious ceremony, and three parts brawl.

Francis felt his mood lift. “Sure! It sounds like fun.”

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***

Several hours and bruises later, the happy couple watched as flames lit up the night sky. Between the baking, brawling, and eventual arson, it had been a pretty good date night. Maber and Palho, the orcish gods responsible for the tournament, were equally pleased.

“That was a good one,” Maber said as she settled down on the grass next to them. The tall orc held a battle ax in one hand, and a large multi-layered cake in the other. “Otis Bloodstealler is really coming along with his cream cheese frosting. He will be one to watch at the finals.”

Palho set down a checkered tablecloth and started handing out plates. The battle scarred orc nodded sagely. “His presentation is still sloppy. I'd like to see a bit more attention to the finer details, but the flavors are excellent.”

Willow accepted a slice of cake and handed the other one to Francis. “I’ll have to thank Mela for the invitation the next time I see her. We had a lot of fun.”

“Ah. See, that's what it's all about,” Maber nudged Palho with an elbow, “Most deities take everything too seriously. I prefer to take a more relaxed approach.”

“She does,” agreed the grizzled orc as he slowly ate his cake, “Personally, I'm not quite there yet.”

The orcish goddess reached over and patted Francis’ leg. “Don't worry. You'll figure out what kind of god you want to be, eventually.”

“What do you mean by that?” Francis asked, suddenly self conscious about the cake crumbs all over his beard. “I think I'm doing alright.”

Maber tried to find the words. She wanted to give the younger god some useful information, without seeming condescending. That was always hard. The act of giving advice implied that she knew more than he did, which could be misinterpreted as her looking down on him.

She lay down on the grass and let out a sigh. It felt good to relax after spending an entire tournament on her feet. “Being a god here in Vahnis is a bit like being a parent. One day you wake up, and everything is different. You aren't really that much more powerful than you were before, or wiser, yet everyone treats you like you're special.

“You did the thing. You’ve achieved divinity. But you also haven't done much as a god yet. So, it's pretty common for new gods to feel out of sorts, or like an imposter.” She rolled her head from side to side, taking in the beautiful garden. “You’ve done well for yourself, but we both know it could come crashing down at any moment.”

Francis looked down at his cake. It was a masterwork of sugar, butter, and flour. But after hearing the goddess speak, it was settling in the bottom of his stomach like concrete. “Yeah, I get it. I don't like it, but I get it.”

Palho glanced at his partner. “I believe she was trying to say that you should embrace it. At least, that was my interpretation. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.”

“That was more or less my point,” agreed Maber as she pulled out a bottle of sparkling wine, “Some wizard could send Bloodport to the bottom of the ocean tomorrow, or turn all of our followers into mice.”

“Or someone could try and take over the tournament again,” Palho added with a shudder, “Those were dark days.”

The goddess decided to ignore him and started filling champagne flutes instead. “Anyways, you have to embrace the possibility of failure, recognize that it will be a hard road moving forward, and keep going despite it.”

The Marine nodded. “You’re saying that I need to embrace the suck.”

“Exactly!” Maber handed him a glass of sparkling rosé. “It’s the only way forward.”

Willow lifted her glass. “To embracing the suck.”

“And moving forward,” added Francis, taking a sip of the sparkling wine. It was sweet, and tasted like strawberries. He didn't know if this was supposed to be some kind of top shelf wine, or buck a bottle hooch, but it went wonderfully with the cake.

“Hot damn,” the Marine said, smacking his lips with appreciation, “This is pretty fucking good.”

Maber let out a soft chuckle. “Well, I'm glad you like it. And, for what it's worth, I hope things work out for you, and your city.”

“As do I,” added Palho, “You welcomed us freely into your city, and let us hold a tournament. That’s pretty rare. Most people are too afraid of what might happen.”

“Awe hell,” said Francis, downing his glass and holding it out for a refill, “It isn't really a party unless two fire trucks and a paddy wagon show up.”

“Damn straight,” agreed Willow, switching to Grunt once her glass was empty, “Now, are we going to sit around all night eating cake? Or are we going to get some friends, hit the bars, and raise a ruckus?”

The goddess looked at her partner. “It’s been a while since we got a chance to cut loose. I think I might have forgotten how.”

“Oh. Don't worry about that,” Francis assured her, summoning a bottle of Fae whiskey from his inventory, “We can help you remember.”