Chapter Text
It was Friday night at Taggerdy's. Usually one of the two busiest nights of the week, on this particular evening people were crammed into every available foot of floorspace. Trevor noted with glee that you couldn't have fit a well oiled nymph between all the mortal men and women jostling, rubbing and otherwise making lots of very hopeful physical contact. There was enough friction in the bar area alone to heat downtown Chicago. All he asked from tonight was that a few of the physical sparks flaring to life around him would catch. If just one or two people made it past that bleary, rumpled morning after wake up surprise he might, just might get a bead or two from this evening's festivities. He was an eternal optimist, emphasis on the "eternal". After all, the god of love couldn't afford to be a glass half empty kinda guy.
Sure, tending a small Chicago bar was a long way from the vaulted halls of Mount Olympus, but all things considered, as far as punishments went this one really wasn't so horrible. After all Jupiter had been known to come up with some particularly nasty means of making others see things his way. Giant liver-pecking eagles, for one. It kind of put the notion of making endless Margaritas and dumping ash trays into perspective. Yeah things could be worse.
On the other hand, there was a certain degree of mean-spirited irony in the fact that he'd been set down amidst a city full of sexual revolution veterans, but was absolutely forbidden to make use of his own prodigious talents to bring a little personal joy to their lives. In other words he was under strict orders, look, don't touch. He wondered briefly if Pluto had made a snide suggestion or two to The Boss on the matter of his punishment. A little physical frustration mixed with psychological isolation, you had to hand it to 'em, it was pretty damn ingenious. Tantalus was now someone with whom Trevor could fully empathize.
Sighing gustily, he shook off the first creeping tendrils of depression before they could take root. He was determined that he wasn't going to spend another cold Midwestern evening gazing glumly over his earthly prison. Nope, tonight he was going to make a love connection if it killed him. All he needed was a hundred couples, just a hundred and he was back in the Olympians' good graces. And he already had...well, to be honest, pitifully few. Still, he was working without his powers here, no bow, no arrow, no nothing but his own cunning and centuries of experience. It was just taking a little time to get used to, that's all. He was just finding his stride, as soon as he shook off the two or three minor gaffs he'd made since receiving his eviction notice from the Mount he'd be fine.
Valentine's Day was his new goal. It just seemed so appropriate. The one day he actually got some attention and adoration from the modern heathens would mark his ascent back to the land of ambrosia. Three months seemed more than enough time to rack up the requisite love points. That thought alone put a smile back on his malleable features.
Rose, an auburn-haired firecracker of a waitress, staggered through the mass of humanity. She thrust her tray out like a shield and practically vaulted to the bar. "Trevor! Trevor, hey are you still single?"
That brought him up short, all the employees at Taggerdy's were well aware of his claims of godhood, and his psychologist Claire Allen's opinion on his somewhat shaky mental health. She couldn't actually be trying to set him up with someone, could she? "Ah, well that would depend on your definition of 'single'..."
"Are you seeing somebody right now?" she reiterated.
"I'm seeing lots of somebodies, lots of thirsty somebodies, so I've really gotta'..."
Rolling her dark eyes expressively, she grabbed his arm and growled, "Danny can handle the bar, right now I need your body."
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Right here? In front of everybody? Wow, Rose, I'd heard rumors about you, of course, but this exceeds even the infamous 'Alpha Ki Omega House Party' story. They say it's always the quiet ones."
"Keep dreaming, Trevor, and shake a tailfeather, we need another single guy to fill out our Bachelor Auction. Laurence backed out at the last minute and I need someone I'm reasonably sure won't hack whoever buys him into small, refrigerator-sized pieces. That means you."
"Um, Rose, in case you'd forgotten I am currently under psychiatric observation."
She grinned back at him, tugging him around the end of the bar and into the throng. "Oh I hadn't forgotten, I'll just tell the woman who gets you to lock up the silverware for the weekend."
"Wait--you--did you just say 'weekend'?" He twisted around in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of his safehaven, but the bar completely obscured by bodies. Not even a single bar stool was in sight. His whimper was drowned out by the incessant thrum of the jukebox mixed with several dozen full volume conversations. When they reached a relatively clear spot near the small stage in the back Trevor pressed up close to Rose and muttered, "Why didn't you snag Danny for this little exercise in humiliation?"
"Danny's married," she reminded him rather primly, while removing his apron with a deft tug. "So quit your bitching and get that cute little ass of yours up on stage."
"Can't my cute little ass just watch this whole thing from the bar?" Trevor whined as the waitress gave him a firm push towards the other nervous, uncomfortable looking single guys. "I'm telling you, Rose, I could snap at any minute...I can legitimately plead insanity...I've got the papers and everything."
The determined woman had long since stopped paying any attention to him whatsoever and with a final shove herded him into a group of guys who might just as well have had the letter "L" tattooed on their foreheads. They all looked at him as if facing their own messy executions would be preferable to a horde of women who'd be eying them like meat on the hoof. In fact if there'd been a viable escape route he'd have happily lead the retreat, tail firmly between his legs. Alas he was about as likely to get out of here as a virgin was to sneak out of Caligula's palace.
An idea occurred to him and he brightened momentarily. "Hey, what about Champ? He's..."
"Already up on stage." Rose finished with a jerk of her thumb.
Indeed, his gorgeous roommate was already attracting the eye of nearly every woman in the assembled crowd. Of course the man had the physique of a young Adonis coupled with the sort of chocolate-bronze skin that seemed carved out of stone rather than flesh and blood. Add to that charm, wit, intelligence, and sincerity, a smile that would've put Helios to shame, and a penchant for reciting poetry and he was bound to be a hotter commodity than IBM stock.
Trevor wilted slightly and hit Rose with his most powerfully pathetic expression. It was the last act of a desperate man, and one he usually reserved for only the most dire predicaments. So far only Claire had managed to build up a resistance to it, though if he added a tear or two even the Ice Princess herself had been known to melt like an Eskimo Pie on a summer afternoon. Unfortunately Rose seemed naturally immune and shook her head firmly. "Sorry, Trev, this is for a good cause. We need to raise money for the homeless shelter around the corner, c'mon, be a sport."
Assuming his most martyred air, he finally slumped in defeat. Even a god knew when he was outclassed. "Of course you realize," he growled, "this means war."
"I thought you were the god of love." Rose quipped.
"Mom says I take after my dad, but I'd always assumed she was referring to my more obvious physical attributes."
--
As Trevor ascended the stage he exchanged a rather rueful glance with Champ. Apparently his thespian roomie wasn't any too thrilled to be up here on the auction block either. Gazing out over the assembled crowd, Trevor spotted a familiar face here and there from the singles group he attended, and in his own mind at least, co-ran.
Suddenly a new song on the jukebox caught his attention at the same second that his dark eyes landed on a very familiar face indeed. Claire Allen smirked up at him from her perch near the stage as "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" played in the distance. Trevor felt his heart actually stop. Her expression said loud and clear that payback was a bitch, and for the first time since he'd been banished to this bustling berg, he truly regretted being such a smart-ass. He was going to pay all right. "I've been goosed..." he moaned, "Goosed by the Gods!"
Champ followed his gaze and smirked. "I'd say that's a pretty safe bet. She's gonna' own you before the night is through."
"We shall see oh tall, dark and gloating one." Trevor's eyes were flitting around the room once more, taking in everything and everyone and processing all the information with the speed of a Pentium II. "So who's responsible for unloading this merchandise on the unsuspecting women of Chicago?"
"Local radio personality, name's Doug Sopp, or the Soppster, WGRR." The actor/bouncer rolled his eyes dramatically to express his enthusiasm. "The man's a morning d.j."
His roommate shuddered. "So we're talking loads of inane chatter, completely assanine jokes, and all the sparkling wit of your average fast food employee...Leads one to believe that perhaps 'radio personality' is a bit of a contradiction in terms."
"You've just described the Soppster to a 't', we are in for one long night."
"That so?" Champ actually groaned aloud when he caught sight of the expression on his roommate's face. Trevor's grin merely widened and he wagged his eyebrows in a particularly lecherous manner. "Care to place a little dinero on that?"
"If by 'dinero' you mean money, then no," the other replied frostily. "The desperate need for money is what put me on this stage in the first place." He paused and eyed his companion speculatively. "What exactly are you doing up here? I thought you were planning on encouraging a few of the sales from the other side of the transaction."
Trevor grimaced and muttered, "Rose drafted me for duty after Laurence weenied out. Looks like I'm supposed to take one for the home team tonight. It never fails to amaze me to what levels of personal degradation one can be driven in order to pay the rent."
"You know I've done a lot of embarrassing things since becoming a 'starving artist', but I think this one may well go down as rock bottom."
"Yeah well at least you have a chance of getting out of here with someone who'll be content with a romantic dinner and a little dancing. Unless I miss my guess Claire will have a few more...imaginative...ideas in mind for me. I'm thinking something involving a heaping helping of humiliation and menial labor. Of course, that's assuming she's the top bidder."
Champ looked at him askance. "I'm sorry to say this, but Trevor your current state of mental health isn't going to be a big selling point. And then we've got the Soppster to deal with..."
"Ah yes." Trevor gazed over at the master of ceremonies for the evening's festivities with an obvious sneer. The man was dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo, one that had (to put it mildly) seen better days. In fact, Trevor was pretty sure he could spot at least two old pasta stains from a good twenty feet away. His tie and cummerbund were both made from a fabric that could very well have been manufactured and proudly worn during the decade of the seventies. His long, dirty brown hair was pulled into a rather clumsy pony tail and he had the kind of figure that screamed 'I spend eight hours a day sitting on my ass.' In short it was a pretty safe bet that Doug still lived in his folks' basement and drove a Firebird. Trevor sighed, "This will not do."
Before the pondering god of love could act, the Soppster stepped up to a nearby microphone and tapped it until the feedback caused everybody in the bar to wince dramatically. "Heh, guess it's working." He paused as if waiting for a laugh, when none seemed forthcoming, he shrugged and continued, "Well, good evening ladies and gents...and particularly you ladies. Tonight you're in for a real treat, Taggerdy's in conjunction with my very own WGRR, 'Grrr, Radio!', welcome you to the 'First Annual Bachelor Auction for the Homeless'."
The audience applauded and hooted its approval as Simon LeBon crooned "Hungry Like the Wolf" on the jukebox. Doug waited patiently for the crowd to settle down before announcing, "Ladies, I want you to dig deep in those purses of yours tonight, because we have got a selection of the finest male specimens in metropolitan Chicago. And any one of these gorgeous studs can be yours for an entire weekend..." He drew out the last word and gave the women time to scream, holler, and wolf whistle to their collective hearts' content. "But more than that, gals, you can also help out Chicago's homeless. So I wanna see a checkbook in everybody's hands, 'cause this auction is now officially underway!"
Trevor eyed Doug keenly as he approached the milling merchandise just off the right side of the stage. When the man reached for Champ's arm, Trevor moved to intercept him. "Doug, Dougie, man you can't put my buddy up there first."
The d.j. glared at him and growled, "Why not?"
"Because you don't start with the filet mignon when you've got a case full of ground chuck to unload." He tugged Sopp aside and murmured, "Look, you've gotta' put a few of the, shall we say 'less fortunate' up there first. Warm the crowd up, get 'em in a spending mood. Save Champ for when the crowd's already whipped into a frenzy, I guarantee he'll bring in a small fortune."
"You've done this kind of thing before?" Doug actually seemed surprised.
"Only in the Athenian slave market," Trevor returned, his expression utterly ingenuous.
The other man did a startled double take, then shrugged and reached for a rather reluctant Nick. The singles group member gazed forlornly at Trevor who clapped him on the shoulder and cried out, "Go get 'em, Tiger!"
Doug presented his first bachelor with all the flair of a sideshow barker. For his part, Nick looked like he'd happily sink through the stage and right on down to the basement should the opportunity present itself. He slumped dejectedly and gave a half-hearted wave to the crowd. "Ok ladies, you see before you a prime specimen, a handsome gent named..." He leaned over from the microphone and whispered, "What's your name?"
"N-Nick..."
"Nick here is ready to show one of you lucky gals the weekend of her life. Yes ma'am, he's obviously the kinda' guy who knows how to treat a lady. So do we have any bids?"
The only sound in the place for several seconds was the song "Girlfriend". Everyone seemed to be staring at the stage expectantly. Doug was beginning to sweat and Nick looked like he was about to bolt.
Champ shook his head slowly. "He's dyin' up there."
Trevor rolled his eyes. "Rigor mortis has already set in. The man must be stopped." With that he leapt out into the center of the stage, much to Doug and Nick's amazement, and relief. The d.j.'s saccharine smile faded as Trevor put an arm around his shoulders and leaned in to speak into the mic. "I think what my friend Doug here was trying to say is that sure Nick looks like he's ready for a casting call for Saturday Night Fever III." He paused to give his friend a conciliatory glance before going on, "But ladies, I can guarantee you that my boy here has hidden talents." A snicker ran through the assembled crowd and he grinned. "Get your minds out of the gutter! Though I cannot personally vouch for this man's abilities in the bedroom I can tell you that he is a genius with anything mechanical or electrical. Tell me something," Trevor leaned down, pulling the mic and Doug with him. Pointing at a blonde in the front row nursing a Bud Light, he asked, "Do you have any gadgets around the house that haven't worked in years? Maybe a Honda Civic that's been making a weird little 'Kak, kak' sound?"
The woman smiled hesitantly and nodded. "Then I am here to tell you you can't afford not to bid on this man. Think of what a weekend with your own personal handyman could mean; no more leering repairmen, no more condescending mechanics. I ask you all, is there a woman here who couldn't find something for my man Nicky here to do?"
The crowd cheered and several women raised their hands immediately. "And did I mention that he tells a helluva Camaro story?" Several more hands went up as Trevor easily slipped the mic from Doug's loose grip. "Who's got a number for me? C'mon, just yell it out!"
"Fifty!"
Trevor grimaced and muttered, "Why that's almost an insult. Who's got a real bid?"
"One hundred!"
"Now that's more like it we've got a hundred, who can do better?"
Within seconds the total was nearing three hundred dollars and Trevor was convinced the woman who seemed determined to get her hands on Nick was the best he could hope for. "We got two seventy five, any other bidders?" A sweep of the bar confirmed his suspicions. "Right, the lady in the Flashdance outfit goes home with the prize. Ok, Jennifer Beals, just make your way over to the table to your right and pay the nice waitress and you can claim your man." He turned to the bachelors to choose his next sales success and noted that the once glum men had cheered up quite a bit with Nick's purchase.