Welcome to AresJoxerCupidStrife

Hi! Here's another little fic. You can thank my
kitchen sink for this one...
Enjoy
Kristina

Author: Kristina Andersson
Raiting: PG-13?
Archive: AJCS, any one else, please ask.
Feedback: Always welcomed, saved and read over and
over again when I'm feeling down.
shanna_se@yahoo.se
Category: Angst, a lot of angst
Warning: It's dark, very dark, probably the darkest
I've ever written.
Summary: Strife takes a moment to think about daggers.
Notes: My kitchen sink muse strikes again. This one
came to be when I almost cut me on a knife...
Hugs to Carrie for beta.

Double edged

Strife had always considered daggers to be safe. There
was something calming about the steel and handle,
which fit so well in your hand. With a dagger, you
always had something to do if you got bored. Twirling
it around, finding its balance when making it stand on
edge. Stabbing it between your fingers, faster and
faster, coming closer and closer to the moment when
you might lose a finger or two. Throwing it at
something, or some*one*. You could even use a dagger
to clean your nails.

Even as a child, Strife had liked daggers. Daggers
were safe. When Eris arrived with a dagger in her
hand, it meant they would be making art. Making him
beautiful. The danger was when she came empty handed.
Then you never knew if you would wake up hurting the
next morning.

Or waking up at all.

When Eris had a dagger, she was calm. She talked with
a gentle voice, almost cooing. And sometimes she even
hugged him! She used to run her fingers through
Strife's hair, caress his cheek, telling him how
beautiful he would become.

And then she'd begin. Making him so beautiful. Marking
him as hers. Telling him how exquisite he looked with
the red marks on his pale body. Knowing how lovely the
marks would be transformed to silver scars. Beautiful
scars. Scars so pretty, only Strife and Eris deserved
so see them. A treasure he still kept hidden under all
covering leather. Proof that his mother really loved
him.

Why else would she try so hard to make him beautiful?

When Strife had been taken from Eris, to be trained by
Ares, the art making had stopped. Eris had left
completely, and in her place was Discord wearing his
mother's body. Discord saw him as an rival, not as
some one who could be made beautiful. But Strife still
had his treasure, and his daggers.

Making art all by himself wasn't as good. But
sometimes when life was too painful, adding a scar or
two made it bearable. So his treasure grew.

Not long after his training with Ares had began, he
learned other uses of daggers. They could be used as
tools or as toys on mortals. You could stab someone
with it, slash him, cut small body parts off, skin him
or throw it through a heart. Kill a person, torture
him or just nick him a little. A dagger could have so
many uses. Most of the time, if you where in a hurry
and didn't have time to have some fun, all you had to
do was to threaten to use it.

When he officially became the God of Mischief, he'd
been awarded the spider as a totem. He was well aware
it was out of pity, and only because no one else
wanted it. But he got to chose his other symbol
himself. He choose the dagger, dreaming of seeing his
private symbol of safety, being worshiped by mortals
everywhere. That didn't happen. But he still had his
great companion.

The daggers never let him down.

Daggers even had personality. Some were simple, plain,
practical. Always sharp. Fitting nicely into your
hand, great balance. Ready to do the work. No nonsense
allowed. Others were fancy with elaborate decorations.
Pretty, expensive, but of no practical use. Some were
a little of both. He loved them all. They where his.

But as the blonde bitch shoved the plain dagger in his
abdomen, daggers didn't seem so safe anymore.

The End