To say that the Lady Charlotte Gramont, of Basse-Navarre in Basque, was unhappy was an understatement. The truth was that she was wholly, completely, terribly, utterly crushed. Her heart was broken, shattered into a million pieces, and it hurt so much she could barely stand it. Her chest actually ached with how much she hurt. And it was even more devastating because ( she was a goddess. )

There were times he really hated his job. It was bad enough having to deal with those who did not reciprocate the affection of another, but this was a thousand times worse. As an erote he understood that love played by no rules, it appeared when it appeared no matter if it was convenient or wanted or not. He understood that distance and time away from a loved one could change one's feelings, especially when there were close by options. What he couldn't understand was the impersonal and cruel way that women were using to break things off with their men who were off fighting for their country and freedom.

A 'Dear John" letter had to be the cruelest torture a soldier could suffer. Anteros was tempted to ask his mother why, if it was in response to one of the many times that Love and War were at odds. He was sure that Ares hated the effect it had on the moral of his troops. Perhaps that was why he took such a personal interest in avenging those whose love was tossed away while they were off defending their country. Though truthfully, if he was honest with himself, maybe he was doing it to in some small way, connect with his Father. He didn't expect any response from Ares though, no sense in hoping for things that were never going to happen.

He had exacted his last revenge for the night though. Things like this always took their toll on the erote, and he needed a break. As he walked through the streets of Chicago, he thought back to when gangsters like Al Capone ran the town. It was a more dangerous time, for sure, but it was part of what gave Chicago it's flavor.

Anteros stood in front of the bar. It was quite a bit off the beaten path and to call it a dive was being extremely nice. It was perfect. His plan was to get stinking drunk and forget about work for a while.

The interior was dimly lit, but the bar was fully stocked, and truthfully that was all that mattered tonight. 'Ter grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered two whiskeys. He downed the first one quickly, and then slowly started to sip the second as he scoped out his fellow patrons.

Sometimes, Rosmerta reflected, as she watched the pastel skirts of another woman whirl past like petals on the wind, you just couldn't improve on originals. Which didn't mean that people wouldn't try. Which was what was happening now, with this silly little dance that was so shocking and affronting proper men and women of upstanding virtue. Rosmerta didn't find it scandalous at all. ( She found it boring. )