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[center][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/7865f3ee7b2af3a02dbd6aaeaf29c442/tumblr_p73g7dKMyB1tg90d6o1_500.gifv[/img][/center]
[b][center][color=ed1c24]ARES[/color][/center][/b]
[/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=ed1c24][I]SEATTLE UNIVERSITY[/I][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=ed1c24][b]GOD OF WAR[/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr]
[color=gray]After Ares’ entrance, a slow trickle of gods and goddesses followed. From the Greek pantheon or not. Zeus’ arrival was met with a cold, disinterested should from the god of war. Danishes were delicious, but absolutely not worth getting up for and passing his father to get them. It was so obviously a ploy. Which only begged the question: who did Zeus want to shag at the Conclave? That was the only reason Ares could see why the King of Gods would go through so much effort. Athena’s entrance was met with Ares’ owns narrowing. Her mere presence was enough to get Ares on edge. Of course she went straight of Zeus and his poisonous Danishes. At least he was happy to see her confrontation with Shango unfold. ‘Pollo’s entrance was met with a slightly less hostile glare. Of course, the god was good in Ares’ books. He was just sizing everyone up as they entered the Conclave. To see who was here with a purpose and who was just here like a child attending an obligatory course. So far it would appear the later reason vastly outweighed the former one.

And then Ares smiled. Hera entered the room. She looked impeccable as always. A woman who stood her own against the King of the Gods. Ares could only admire her strength. Normally he would’ve gotten up to give her a hug and a peck on the kiss. Though now he was entirely contend to watch her rip Zeus, Apollo and whoever else she got in her sights a new one. More gods trickled in. And then even one stranger who… oh this was perfect. Ares couldn’t suppress the grin when the stranger puked all over his father’s shoes. If he was in private, he would’ve laughed his damn ass off. Other still entered in. Even his boss, whom he greeted with a small nod. Aphrodite’s entrance was met with a lot more attention though. The mere sight of her created too much turmoil in Ares. Guilt, an emotion he had been wrestling with in the last seven years now, reared its ugly head. Yes, he had wronged her. Deeply. He only hoped they could start making amends after the Conclave. Or rather, he hoped that she was at least open to the idea of forgiving him.

[indent][indent][sup][h2][color=black]“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”[/color]
[color=91A6B4]  “Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”[/color][/h2][/sup]
[/indent][/indent]

[center][i]There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy you.[/i][/center]
The God of War seemed calm as he heard the news. Not even shocked. Almost disinterested. The room grew muted to Ares. The yelling and fiery rage of his mother became a muffled whisper. Distant. Unimportant. Movement, in the corner of his eyes, seemed to slow down. As if time itself went sluggish. His own thoughts consumed him. Invisible turmoil, only skin deep. For a good few seconds he just looked at his burning cigarette. Smoke rose from the embers like incense. He knew soldiers prayed like this. In small ways, with muttered words and big, fearful hearts. Always right before bloodshed. How long would he be able to contain his rage now? Not long. Not long at all. Blood would have to be spilled. In name of Olympus.

Slowly but deliberately Ares raised the cigarette and took one long drag as he pulled out his phone and began to type something. A message. With an address, a room number and a four-digit code. He sent it. None knew it yet, but outside the room gears started spinning. Preparations were made. Money moved as zeroes and ones automatically. Thick, black smoke bellowed from out of Ares’ nose. The cigarette itself was firmly put out on the tablet before him. Sure to burn a spot into the fake wood.

Then, Ares finally snapped. Without a word, without a cry or shout, he shot up. Sending his chair flying backward akin to Hera’s. With his left hand, he grabbed the table. A moment later it was flying out of his way with devastating force. With his right, he drew the silenced pistol from his coat and aimed it squarely at the Yoruban god Shango. There was nothing to see on his face. No bitter look of hate. No glee. No satisfied grin. He was cold, except for his eyes which burned with a fire that consumed forests.

[right][sub]Interacting with: [@The Ghost Note][/sub][/right][/color]