It hurt - hurt like it was the first time he'd ever felt pain, and it was cutting him through the flesh, sawing down to the bone - but he got up. He weighed down against the stranger, pinning the stranger to the chair, calloused hands curled into the neat, unwrinkled collars of the shirt.
Ares stared and stared in silence, dark eyes studying the hollow eyes that looked back at him. If he stared long enough a name might come to mind.
If he stared long enough he might suppress the urge to rip the long spine out of the flesh casing.
Why he had to suppress it, he didn't know. He never used to; he said everything that came to mind and acted out violently on impulse, and it drove the other Greeks insane.
"Two ways out. Walk, or Balcony." If Ares' grip got any tighter, 'walk' wasn't going to be an option.