#onehourstories

The plastic seats were not designed with a cupid's bottom

in mind, Abe thought. He reread the beginning of the manual to take his mind off of it while he waited for his test to be graded.

Like any precision instrument, a level of training is required for responsible use. Any time the lives of mortals are impacted we need to...

Abe read a paragraph more without registering it and then just dropped down to the bullet-points, though -- naturally -- they were arrow icons instead.

DO!

Research your recipients! In most cases, one arrow will do the job and keep down Influence Index numbers for your department.

Be patient! By waiting for the mid-February peak you will give the relationship a firm human grounding and higher chances of enduring than a random date.

Be prepared! Most of you will be working several concurrent cases. You don't want to be left arrowless at a key moment: non-requisitions lead to non-reciprocations (NR=NR for short).

Abe sighed and wished, for the hundredth time, that he'd renewed his licence before it expired. He looked around at the Service Heaven office, which had classic Arch Spirituale decor: Abe appreciated the clouds through the open roof, the pilars stretching into infinity. At least that hadn't changed.

There was a harp thrum and Abe looked up to check his number against the sign recently replaced by the administrative angel, who set the other numbers in a gilded box. Still a few to go.

There was a sigh from someone beside him checking his chit. Abe glanced over at him and realized that what he had taken for an angel was actually a cupid cherub like him. He felt a wave of disgust -- unfair or no -- wash over him. The kid had a clearly male gender, the barest hint of chub to his face -- who know how he was doing that, given cupid metabolism.

Why don't you just grow your wings down to the floor? Abe thought, staring daggers at the kid. He hated when the young cherubs dressed like angels. It was unbecoming.

There was another thrum, this one his. Abe jumped up and reported to the desk. The angel finished writing his name, and set his quill down to reach below the counter. When the angel set a small golden crossbow on the desk he knew he'd passed the test, and felt a bubble rise up through his chest.

He picked it up, enjoying the feel of it despite his preference for the old bow and arrow. He almost asked what score he got, but decided that'd be silly. He just signed for it with a drop of blood and an eyelash and moved to the side for the next person.

Who was, it turned out, the kid beside him.

Abe took a moment to assemble his belongings, but really he was eavesdropping on the conversation the kid was having with the administrator.

No crossbow was being brought up, Abe saw with satisfaction, instead the angel was pointing out things in the manual and murmuring in a professionally low voice.

"I failed?" he heard, in a voice that sounded so young and stunned Abe's satisfaction turned in his stomach. It was like when, as a mortal, he'd eaten too much cake: tasted good going down, but then made him sick.

He headed out the door, and the kid trailed behind him. Abe held the gate open for him as they left the text room, their eyes met for a second.

"Shoulda studied, I guess," the kid said. Abe nodded and shrugged, and they went their separate ways.