It was rare this time of year that he was able to sit down and put his feet up on the tasseled hassock in his study. Which was why, as he settled into the cushy plumpness of his red velvet chair, Santa began mentally reviewing his to-do list for today. Did he really have time to enjoy his peppermint hot cocoa, or had he forgotten something that would require his attention?

( The List )

It took some time after the filthy Norseman left before Enyo did anything of substance. There had been a momentary thought that he wasn't quite as filthy as he was in past times. She couldn't speak for their Nazi camp meeting, since she'd barely had time to absorb anything other than the bullet he put in her. But it seemed that he'd at least discovered soap and maybe a flea comb. Still missing a hand. She didn't understand why he just didn't repair his corpus, or at least get a hook or something.

But everything else, she hadn't given it any consideration until a number of days later. She still wasn't really considering the likelihood that Lefty would have just happened upon the Brat to ask her to take him to Violence's Olympic temple. ( It was just awfully coincidental that the one he found happened to be her niece.  )

If Harmonia thought seeing her mother had been a difficult and daunting task, it was nothing compared to what she was doing now. There was hurt here, and perceived betrayal. She had never really hated her mother or anything like that, but Balance wasn't exactly super close with her either. Aphrodite was her mother and Aphrodite would do as Aphrodite would do. Besides, it always seemed like Love loved Eros best, anyway. Even so, seeing her mother had been hard.

Hard enough that she was putting off reunions with any other family members until she could deal with the hurt, bit by bit, and move past it. Sure, most of it was Hephaestus' fault with the stupid necklace that was again in her pocket, but there were underlying abandonment and neglect issues too. Meeting the Norseman had been a nice distraction from doing what she had to do, even if talking to him had reminded her of the pain she was trying to work through. Philotes bringing her to meet Idun had done a lot to put a band-aid on some serious emotional hurt.

( And Idun was so wonderful. )

Ares liked to treat his love for Aphrodite like it was a game. There were rules. There were boundaries. He broke them and crossed them as he saw fit, he showed defiance and acted like he was demonstrating some great skill in doing so. But it was all rather defensive. If Ares acted as though he didn't take the emotion seriously, it was no longer serious. He was War. Villages needed burning, people needed to be slaughtered like the sheep that they were. Ares didn't have time to peer out a window and sigh loudly as he thought about his beloved. That made their relationship easier for Ares to handle. Love didn't make him weak. It didn't complete him. It didn't change him. Aphrodite was just one factor of many in his very violent, very bloody life.

( That was all a load of shit, of course. )

Ares didn't actually need a reason to stay away from Olympus. If someone couldn't figure out why he'd prefer a blood-soaked battlefield or a treacherous sandbox to a bright, shining pedestal on which Zeus could plant his smug, obnoxious ass, well, it wasn't like Ares was going to explain himself. The pieces weren't too difficult to put together. Unless the Underworld decided to rise up and storm Olympus, the glorious mountain just wasn't as fun as Ares preferred. He hadn't been back in a while. Years, possibly longer. It was hard to tell. Time was such a dull thing to keep track of.

It wasn't like Ares was difficult to track down if he was truly needed. ( One need only follow the blood trails and the turmoil. )