To Alexa's credit, she only takes half a step back from the window. Which is good, since her legs are insisting that she should be tackling the pair of beauties by her side and bullrushing them down the corridor. They'll just have to clack together with the nervous energy and be happy with it, okay?

Gods. Join with Ares? Wouldn't that just be the ultimate betrayal for the father who worked so hard to destroy him? She, the ultimate expression of the Warsage's mastery, the embodiment of his martial techniques, turns around and invites him in, sinks into the madness of battle?

And with Isty right next to her! Next to an Ares-driven warmachine! Her mind floods with visions of what could be, and red is a prominent color in most of them. A blood-mad Pallas, standing over a broken furry body! Or worse, somehow, that they stand together, eyes alight with unstoppable fury! Who could stand against them, halt them in their course?

But what's the alternative? What can love to do stop a battle? She tears her gaze away from Ares' leering grin to stare at the bar.

...Granted, if there's somebody who could stop her, it'd be Isty. Not two minutes ago she was feeling how strong those msucles were, how that fur sits on top of layers of iron sinews. And Ramses--she's felt the adept strength in those tentacles. She'd stop her if Alexa went mad, right? Might even be an entertaining end to the eveni--

Her heart drops into her iron shoes. No, Alexa. It's thinking like that which brought you to this point, remember? Letting your groin do the thinking? What makes you think they even care for you? What makes you think you're worth--

It's peculiar to notice a silence. But the moment Aphrodite stops flicking his lighter, the way that little [i]chk-whrr[/i] cuts out, is so quiet as to be deafening.

He's glaring, he's gotta be. But when she dares to meet his gaze, it's more than even her practiced face-reading skills can interpret. Anger? Pity? Frustration?

She's pretty sure there are deserts that are wetter than her mouth right now, but she pulls up a chair and strikes a match for the god of love's cigar.

"I."  Dammit, what does she say? "I can't let them. Can't let the Alced go through that again. But I don't know how to stop them."