Elena
Ares drags his feet in going to the Gala, a son arrives to talk business.
Shannon
Ares stood an imposing figure, dressed in a burgundy turtleneck and grey suit pants; his matching jacket haphazardly abandoned on the back of his black office chair. Standing there in his own office, within his own office building, far from where most would except him in his own district; no he was hidden away his Arachne within the district of Poseidonia. The god of war held a tumbler filled to the brim with whiskey in one hand, a sacrilege to most high class drinkers; even to casual drinkers it was perhaps overkill to have it filled that high. But who would tell Ares no?

Sipping from his drink he watched the lines of traffic outside, passing his building as if it was any other office block. Ares scoffed, the fools had no clue how close they were to their own doom. From the Cadmus Block, Ares directly influenced the fate of the world through the secretive Arachne corporation. A network of companies both legitimate and shell that would make the web weaver of the same name jealous. It was a design made specifically to frustrate his greatest rival; that ass of a sister he had, Athena. Steeling himself as he thought of her he did not smash the glass within his hand this time, instead venting his anger out through his nose and breathing in clean positive air by his mouth; before replacing its place upon his tongue with more whiskey.

This glass was simply one of many 'pre-drinks' as the mortals would say. Surely another invention by that bastard Dionysus to bring more idiots into his parties; although it made no sense to Ares for them to be already drunk before the event.

Having given specific orders to the staff of this office block to not disturb him; Ares was enjoying some well deserved brooding, alone, behind the shield of blinds that covered his office away from the cubicles of drones he commanded. Ares had no time for mortal problems today, not when he could be causing his own problems.
.

Moving back towards his desk and away from the window bathed in the evening sun of the port; the dusk coating his office in an orange glow. Ares moved a solitary hand across the handle of his beloved cane. A creation from long ago; a weapon so adaptable that he would never go anywhere without it. One of the employees earlier had suggested leaving the cane behind as the gala would not be a pleasant place for a fight. That employee was now fired. Surely his son would hear about that unnecessary firing eventually; but he would worry about dealing with that hole in the business after.

The plan thus far was simple, an army of demigods to focus not upon Zeus as Poseidon likely would want; but instead on the forces of Athena. Charity shops and homeless shelters would burn if Athena would not face him herself. After all, it was a god war and Ares was not convinced that she was not working with their father. So in a way he was helping Poseidon, ridding the world of Athena would do everyone a favour. The god of war grinned to this thought, now that was a good idea.

His hand abandoned his cane, swiftly pulling out a delicate mahogany box from his desk's drawer; unlatching the box to reveal a set of luxurious Cuban cigars alongside a silver lighter in the shape of a pistol alongside a golden cutter. Gifts from a friend in the Golden Circle, a worthwhile investment that had caused conflicts across the whole of America for a long time now; a valued part of his Arachne.
Thelma
Douglas ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back into place as he stood in the elevator. The demigod, who was as much at home in the stuffy offices of his father's business as he was on the battlefield, gave a sigh as he tried to prepare himself for what was ahead of him. The business shirt and jacket were as crisp and perfect as he could get them and even his shoes were polished to a shine. 

Of the many things Ares had imparted on his son over the years was pride in one's appearance and how one was perceived by others. And Douglas took that to heart, always looking his best, hair in order, clothes clean unless he was coming straight from a training session or an actual fight of some kind, and his weapons always in pristine condition. 

And speaking of weapons, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Douglas looked at his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator and his eyes fell to the dual pistols at his sides. Always his weapon of choice, he preferred guns over most other options. They were simple, clean, and effective, and he didn't have to get his hand quite as dirty. That didn't mean he wasn't proficient in all manner of weapons, the blade slung across his back was a testament to that. 

While his father could manifest any weapon of his choosing, Douglas could also adeptly wield any weapon put in his hand. It was a terrifying combination but fitting the God of War and his son. Douglas closed his eyes as the elevator continued its slow crawl towards the top floor of the high-rise.

 It had been a morning. That was one way of putting it. It had been a day of meetings, discussions, plans, and putting out more than a couple of fires. He might have also started one or two small ones as well, but that was in the job description really. Keep everyone in line, reward those putting in the effort deemed worthy and light a fire under those slacking, and weed out any who were not towing the line for the God of War.

And also dealing with the fallout of his father's short temper and a low tolerance for stupidity- another employee gone unceremoniously- another spot to fill to keep things moving smoothly. Douglas knew it could have been much worse. He had seen much worse. So he was fine to simply add that open position to the list of businesses he had to deal with sooner rather than later. 

He had started on the ground floor and worked his way up the chain of command so to speak and now at last he was nearing the top. The final person he had left to meet, was without a doubt the most challenging one of them all – his Father. Being a demigod was a challenge in and of itself. Dealing with the gods and goddesses was a daunting task. But when your own father was the God of War, it just presented a whole new level of delicate balances to try and maintain. Douglas sighed as he watched the numbers on the display count up with each floor he ascended. With each flash of the numbers, he heard a voice. His father's voice. Counting in his head as the memory played out once again clear as anything in his mind's eye.

His father counting the laps as he ran in the training grounds. His father counting pushups, pullups, and all other manner of workout sets with a stern eye on his son. His father counting targets hit on the firing range. His father counting hits landed during hand-to-hand combat training. His father counting the successes. His father counting the failures. It seemed no matter what he was doing, his father was always keeping score, keeping track, and keeping his son focused on the one goal that mattered- his claim of power.

Douglas was snapped out of his memories when the elevator stopped and the door slid open. One day it would be an actual ascent to power, not just a figurative one as he climbed to the top of the business empire his father was building for himself. As he stood out in the hallway Douglas took a moment to smooth out the imagined wrinkle in his button-up shirt and ran his hand through his hair again as he walked down the hallway and stopped outside his father's office door.

With a moment's hesitation, he knocked on the heavy door and waited for his father to grant him entrance. He knew better than to open the door to his father's inner sanctum without an invite.

||
Richard
*Hugs* All good i will copy it and send ya the google doc ad we can get it up and running whenever you are able