<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v252/HlySd/HotMenChart_Michael_Churchill_11-1-1-1.jpg)</div><strong>Name/Alias</strong>: John Aaron / Ares<br/><strong>Origin</strong>: Olympus<br/><strong>Location</strong>: John’s bedroom<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: No one<br/><hr/><br/><br/>John was seated upon his empty bed. The fur pelts that had once covered it had been dashed into the fire due to the floral perfume that had soaked them. He was unenthusiastically engrossed in his flat-screen television whose volume echoed throughout the empty space of his bed chamber. His forehead was pressed against the wood of the bedpost, while the remote was angled over it so its eye could continue sending commands to the receiver.<br/><br/>John was blindly flipping through channels. He hadn’t understood what the magic mirror did, but it showed him things that could have been real or fake. What had been on currently hadn’t interested him. The News had been showing highlights of the battle that had went on Downtown, and John was in no mood to recall that fight. The fight that had interrupted his double date, and proved just how weak he was without his ability to kill.<br/><br/>The teenager’s arm lazily flopped to his side. The remote slipped free of his slack grip and clattered across the stone floor. The television was showing reruns of<em>gLee</em>as they were doing a shitty cover of some song he had never even heard of. Thump, thump, thump, was the sound of John bashing his skull against the bedpost.