Perched on top of the old Victory Motel in the Junction of Brooklyn, Enyalius had much to think of.
Just when he had been convinced that his own asshole of a Father had become a pussy because of too much blond-whore taint, the old man went and proved himself otherwise.
Patricide. Funny.
The urge must run in the family.
This show of bravado didn't deter Enyalius from wanting to do something to Ares to cheer his mother up, but first things were first. The rest of the brat-pack that Ares had fathered had always irked Enyalius off to no end. This had nothing to do with the fact that Ares slept with the other Greek wenches about, but just the natures of those that were even less than the station of a war god.
Love, marriage, peace - who the hell needed those?
Which made the interesting case of exactly what he thought of Adrestia, his half-sister and cousin. She could throw her punches - but was certainly no better than he was, in his honest opinion - which made her just an inch better than the rest of the others, and it was just perfect that Enyalius had no problem in punching women and little girls.
Whether or not the Fates themselves heard his musing, the sense of something both familiar and distasteful alerted Enyalius from his perch and broke into his thoughts. A malicious grin spread across his lips as he tossed aside the joint and waited for the moment to say "hello" - which pretty much meant drop out of the sky and land a foot into his half-sister's gut.