Meetings between Hephaestus and Ares rarely went well. Almost never went well. The fact that there'd been no blows traded between the two gods was testament to both of them and their restraint. All right, mostly Ares' restraint, as the smith was rarely if ever the one who threw the first blow. Still, they'd managed to exchange more than one sentence and neither was bleeding. Props to both of them.
Ares was less relaxed now, though, than when he'd left Sid's suite. He hadn't expected that to last. Truthfully, he hadn't expected most of that at all, but he'd taken it. He'd been grateful for it. Was grateful. He just wanted a little more of the lazy, heavy languor of fighting and sex and good food and drink to last longer. If wishes were horses, or however that phrase went.
He was headed across the compound, back in the direction of the rooms he kept, those that were seperate from Aphrodite's sprawling chambers. Those that wouldn't remind him that she was off trying to tempt yet another witch into doing the right thing, however she was tempting her. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He wasn't sure it mattered. He was sure he was thinking about things he didn't want to think about far too much.
He'd just turned down one of the many paths snaking their way through the compound when he spotted movement and stopped to study it. Him. Pothos. Well then. A visit with his son had definitely been on the short list of things to do now that he was back. Maybe not planned for right this moment, but when opportunity presented itself, you jumped.
So NAres redireced himself, heading for Pothos like a slow but unavoidable missing. "There he is," he called out by way of announcing himself. No point in startling the kid, but he wouldn't be avoided, either. "Somone's feeling good enough to wander, at least."