Ares and Peitho, around a bit after 3am
Ares was drunk. He was in a good place, head cloudy, good mood, wine in hand, enjoying the ambiance of the place. Sometime after he'd come down from his brief Muse high, he'd been making the rounds, testing the waters of who might want to fuck a drunk war god. He'd already made his way to the bathroom to throw up once- or twice?- and replaced the liquid he'd evacuated in similar volume.
Writing poems, even dirty ones, was a weird experience. Tomorrow he will likely not remember a word of them, so Peitho better have kept all those napkins with his scribbled words on.
Speaking of Peitho. He needed to find her and convey his thanks for a great party. They hadn't had a blowout in too long. He was finding it hard to locate her, though, so he decided to just stop and let her come to him. After all, he did have a war cry that could rattle the teeth of the enemies.