Explain the situation truthfully

"It's been a very long morning, Archer. This is all a huge misunderstanding. Cloudy's not a prostitute, she just has a weird sense of - well, just trust me, she's a real freaking little weirdo, okay?"

Archer is unimpressed by your appeal.

You sag in exasperation. "Come on, dude. Have I ever lied to you?"

"Apparently I don't know anymore," he says, looking down his nose at you. "How many other lies have you fed me so far?"

"Oh really. You're getting on my case about bending the truth. Tell me again, who was your source with this secret lover prostitute scoop?"

"James, like I said, and -"

You stop him right there. "So in this hypothetical story, James is now a reliable source of information?"

Archer takes a step forward and lifts his finger in an act of aggression. "James is..." he stalls out. "Shit."

The two of you share a look of mutual understanding. You both love James. He's a great guy. Reliable. But you and Archer couldn't call yourselves his friends if you weren't both intimately familiar with the man's knack for finding drama where there is none.

A girl opting to pass on a second date translates to James lamenting that he'll never love again. James getting a flat tire translates to speculation on whether it's time to buy a new car. And in game, when you're getting third partied, his callouts are never for less than two teams coming in on the flank.

So, James giving a ride to yourself and a strange girl one morning? Well, that equates to a widely-shared theory of forbidden love and an imminent marriage proposal that must be the works.

Archer tips his fedora to you apologetically. "Perhaps I spoke too swiftly. Perhaps... one may say that I even spoke in haste," he says. "But why did you bring some strumpet to work with you? No unnecessary distractions at the office - I do recall those were your words, Hugh, words the rest of us kowtow to with diligent adherence."

What does that have to do with - oh.

You remain the picture of tranquility. "We made the rule to ban **** from the building because we all spent too much time drunk at work," you remind him. "All of us took that vote. You voted for it, specifically. You even gave some speech about the perils of intemperance."

Archer shuffles uncomfortably in place.

"So, back to the facts, me bringing a woman to the office can't be more of a distraction than you keeping a bottle of scotch locked in your desk drawer."

Archer spares a nervous glance over his shoulder in the direction of his office. "I have no clue what you're talking about, and frankly, I'm insulted you'd even accuse me of -" He halts himself and narrows his eyes at you. "Wait. Don't turn this around on me. James may tell tall tales, but he doesn't invent stories wholesale. Why did he think you and Cloudy are in love? What is your relation to Cloudy, and again, why did you bring her to work? Why would you confine such a vivacious young woman to your office, away from the men? The girl's of marriageable age, you do us all a great disservice by limiting her opportunities to meet respectable professionals."

Sounds like Archer's been reading Jane Austen again.

You give your friend a long look and try to find the right words to defuse the interrogation. But Archer's been your friend for years. If you don't tell him the truth now, when will you? The timing may not be good, but do you really think it'll get any better? According to Cupid's charge, the end goal is to help your gaming group find love. AAt least, that's what it sounded like.

Even if Archer won't believe your story, the right thing to do would be to tell him. For yourself, for Archer, as well as for Cloudy. Assuming you can't change her back into a pillow, that is.

You sigh and give in. "You're not going to believe this," you begin, "but up until 24 hours ago, Cloudy didn't exist. She was a pillow, and I brought her to life..."

You tell Archer the whole story of meeting Cupid, of Mars answering your prayers, of waking up with Cloudy in your arms, and with your pillow nowhere to be found. Silent as a stone, Archer takes in your words.

"So there you have it," you say, letting out a great breath. It feels good to have that off your chest. It's been crushing you all day. "On the ride here, Cloudy told James about being mine and sleeping with me, which is technically true, and James invented the rest. I know it sounds crazy, but -"

"I believe you."

You're taken aback. "What? Why?"

Archer moves a hand to his chin and adopts a sly smirk. "I spied on Cloudy during one of her forays into the cubicles. While James's story sounded plausible, it raised one question to which there was no logical answer. Namely this. Why would a lithesome lass of such exceeding beauty have anything to do with you?"

Wow. It'll take a minute. to pull that dagger out of your heart. "Like it's that hard to believe."

"Spare yourself the indignity of your excuses," says Archer, waving his hand dismissively. "We all know James is the handsome one. Moving on, and assuming you are correct, that you were given some kind of power," he says, furrowing hs brow, "why tell me at all?"

"Because you just asked," you say flatly.

"Hmm. Indeed..." says Archer, giving your words the deepest of considerations.

You shake your head. "More importantly, I still don't know why touching my pillow turned her into a walking infomercial, or what the prayer was that Cupid came to answer." You give Archer a second, searching look. "If you made a wish or said a prayer to get a girl though, I know some people might think that's ****, but I'd understand. It's hard being single. But knowing what the wording of the prayer was, exactly, might help me get a handle on what's going on."

Archer scoffs at you. "Before hearing your story, I thought the Hellenistic pantheon was a matter of fiction. As a religious man myself, praying to the gods of the Greeks would be a great sacrilege even if I thought they were real - so I assure you it was not I who summoned their aid."

You give him a hard look. "I thought you were an atheist."

He dusts off his collar unnecessarily. "Please. I may have been an atheist when I was in college, but I'm much wider read now. I've long since opened my eyes to the reality of the spiritual plane."

"So... who do you pray to?"

Is Archer a Buddhist or something? You can't picture him attending church in a fedora.

Archer straightens out his shirt. "Odin, obviously." Ah. Obviously. "The Norse texts are the most convincing religious documents science has given us to date. And when you cross-reference the cultural and economic success of the Nordic countries with the history of European global imperialism -"

"I want to hear all about it, but later," you say. "If you didn't say the prayer, who did?"

Archer makes the same face he makes when a Door Dash delivery guy messes up his order. "If it wasn't you as you claim, by the raw process of elimination, it would have had to be James or Daisy," he deducts. "Yet'st, the responsible party is of no consequence. Understanding the power given you must come first."

You flex your fingers warily in front of you. "It didn't exactly come with detailed instructions."

"Science must be our ally in that case," says Archer. "What are the facts as we known them?"

"We have exactly one data point. However charming Cloudy is, you can't plot a graph with one point."

"We actually have two data points," Archer corrects you. "One. You touched your pillow before it turned into a woman. And two. You've touched other objects since, and they haven't turned into women."

You finish the thought, unhappy with its conclusion. "So until I turn something else into a woman, we can't know exactly how this thing works."

"Unless you're willing to call on your heathen gods for answers," says Archer, "which I advise that you don't. Tempting the Greek gods never turns out well for anyone. In all stories of their mythology, their whole pantheon is populated by irresponsible assholes, except maybe for Hephaestus, and even he let Prometheus steal from him."

Argh. It's like you feared. It could be that your power works when you touch an object with both hands in a certain way, or for a certain period of time. Maybe it only happens once a week, or once a year. Maybe there are some objects that you can bring to life, and others you can't. Or it could be entirely random! You won't know until it happens again.

"That's not reassuring," you say.

"What's not reassuring?" asks Cloudy.

You and Archer turn around. The blonde woman hangs in the doorway of your office, very much awake.

"You're supposed to be asleep!" you hiss.

She yawns. "You were talking too loud. It woke me up," she complains. "And it's not even seven. We don't usually go to bed until 11 or midnight. If I oversleep, I might miss your bedtime. Now that would be a disaster."

Archer eyes Cloudy up and down, wrinkling his nose at her baggy clothes. "Hmm. So you are Hugh's fabled $500 pillow." Actually a $150 pillow. "I should have known, you look the part."

You honestly can't tell if that's a compliment or a dig at her, but Cloudy beams. "Thanks!" But then she turns suspicious. "Wait just a second. Hugh said I shouldn't tell anybody that I was his pillow."

You step forward. "It's okay. I told him."

Scandalized, she gasps. "How could you?"

You sigh. "That was a rule for you, not for me."

"Wow, I didn't know rules worked like that," says Cloudy.

"That's how they work when Hugh's the one making them," says Archer, folding his arms. "How does it feel knowing you belong to a tyrant?"

"Feels great, up to ten degrees cooler than a traditional pillow," says Cloudy, with a smug look on her face. "Did you know that 1 in 3 adults don't get the full amount of uninterrupted sleep they need to protect their health?" She points directly at Archer. "You could be one them."

He huffs. "Don't point at me."

Cloudy angles her finger at you instead. "Can I point at you?"

"I'd prefer that you don't."

Disappointed, her arm drops to her side. "When are we going home? These computer work people keep saying that NASA is too slow. I want to go back to bed."

Archer leans in toward you. "What's with her and NASA?"

"Born from space," you whisper, confusing Archer further. You proceed at regular volume. "We need to figure out what to do about her. I've been stuck babysitting this lady all day. I mean, what do I do? Does she just live with me now? Do I get her a job? She doesn't even have a Social Security number."

Archer strokes his beard. "For tonight, I think what we do is simple enough," he says. "You go home and rest up. I'll take her off your hands for now and keep her out of trouble."

Archer possesses many qualities, but altruism is not one of them. You fix him with a narrow look. "You want to take Cloudy off my hands."

Archer's eyes dart shrewdly to Cloudy's form, somewhere between her hips and shoulders. "Well... this was a boon from Aphrodite, correct? To fulfill the desires of our hearts? It stands to reason... that perhaps something happens when a union is achieved. I know what you're thinking, but we can't very well judge the gods by our squeamish, modern sensibilities, now can we? For all we know, not partaking of such a fine gift could be an offense to Ares." This coming from the same man who called the entirety of the Greek pantheon 'irresponsible assholes' not two minutes after finding out they were real. Archer continues. "And since by your own word, you haven't already... you know... perhaps this pillow is a better fit for me than for you."

Before you can argue with him, Cloudy explodes.

"How dare you? I'm a perfect fit for Hugh," she contends, her eyes gleaming with conviction. "I'm memory foam. I'll never forget his shape. When somebody puts his head on you the same way every night, that impression doesn't just fade away by morning. And if his shape ever does change, you know what, I'll just conform to whatever it changes to. Whether Hugh gets old and has back problems, or even if he gets as fat as you one day."

"Rude," grumbles Archer.

Cloudy doesn't listen. "You may not have noticed, but I have an ultra-soft exterior and a patented gel cooling layer. Even if I weren't a good fit - which I am - he gets all the rest he needs with me. Your sleep quality could improve by up to 40% too, but you'd have to buy your own Tempur-Pedic® pillow, because I belong to Hugh, not you, so it's not my fault if you're jealous and can't afford my 3/5 doctor-recommended therapeutic design."

Note to self: never insinuate Cloudy isn't great at her job. You intercede before she can get any more worked up, physically interposing yourself between the two.

"Enough!"

"But -" says Cloudy.

"I said enough," you repeat, looking her in the eye.

She backs down, glaring moodily a the floor instead.

Archer huffs, his feelings hurt. "Forget it, the deal's off. I don't even want to take her home with me anymore. Cloudy's your problem now."

"She was my problem before," you say.

He remains resolute. "And now she still is."

"But I still need to figure out my powers," you say, stressed. Are you alone all over again? "The only reason I was given this boon - this gift - was to help you. To help all of us."

"Oh, I'll still help with your powers," says Archer, "but I refuse to let that disgracious hussy into my bed. She called me fat!"

Cloudy wraps her very soft arms very tightly around your waist and glares at your friend. "You are fat! And I wouldn't want to go to your bed anyway, I don't even know where your room is!"

This is so stupid. "Fine. How about a compromise? Archer, you don't have to sleep with Cloudy. And Cloudy, you don't have to sleep with Archer. In return, Archer helps me figure out my powers, and Cloudy, you stop calling Archer fat. Does that sound fair?"

"And I still get to sleep with you, or the deal's off," says Cloudy.

Man, she's playing hardball now. Archer's a bad influence on her

"And I get to keep a bottle of scotch in my office!" adds Archer, bandwagoning off Cloudy.

God, she's a bad influence on him too! Better end this fast.

"Then it's a deal," you say, offering a hand each to Cloudy and Archer.

They share a disgruntled look, but take your hands - they also take each other's hand at the same time for a 3-way simultaneous handshake.

"Now what?" asks Archer.

"Now we go home," says Cloudy, standing proud.

"Shh," you say, focusing on your stocky friend instead. "What do you mean, now what?"

Archer spreads his hands. "Magic is real. Why are we still at the office? Why did you even come in to work? If I were you, I'd be in the library, poring over tomes looking for spells that actually work, or sampling psychedelic shrooms to prepare my mind for channeling arcane energies," says Archer. "In fact, that's where I think I'll head right now. Do you want to come with me?"

Cloudy follow the conversation much like a teenager would, staring at whoever's currently speaking, but clearly not quite comprehending a single word that's being said.

"Come with you to do shrooms, or go to the library and look for real spells?"

"The library, obviously," says Archer. Ah yes, obviously.

There's an hour left on the clock still, and most of the team stays later than that. You're not sure how you feel about skipping out early.

"Live a little!" Archer prods you. "We'll meet up tomorrow and tackle this problem head-on, at our full power. The office is not the right place to spend your strength right now, Hugh. You could use a break."

Cloudy yawns again. "If we're going anywhere, I vote that it should be someplace with a bed. Hugh doesn't even have a blanket in his office. These sweats are nice, but it's just not the same."

You rub your temples. You can't stand it when people try to pull you in several directions at once, and there's no clear optimal decision. It makes you feel like a piece of taffy, and you hate taffy.