I tell a lie. Ambiance did matter. I wanted to get into a good, chair-smashing, pitcher-flinging, table-splintering brawl, and the seediest dockside wineshops were exactly what I needed. I was looking for the kind of violent distraction that was just not to be provided by some fucking group of well-to-do fops swilling high-priced wine and singing "My Mother Was The Keeper of the Hestian Light".

The Brazen Wench had seemed exactly what I was looking for. The taproom was crowded with sailors, street toughs, and out-of-work mercenaries. The mood was surly, and I was sitting in a corner, nursing a stein of something as strong as it was vile, waiting for a fight to break out. No singing here.

And as of yet, no fighting, either. I drained my mug and got another. If a brawl didn't shape up soon I was gonna start one.

I was just deciding which unwashed thug to hurl a barstool at when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, into a pair of magnetic dark eyes.

"Hey," I mumbled. "Jus' who I wanna see. Wanna help start a fight?"

Ares pulled me up by the coarse fabric of my shirt. "Jasne," he breathed in my ear, "As charming as that sounds, I've got something even more entertaining planned." He wrapped his other arm around my waist and walked me into a shadowed corner. "There's someone who'd very much like to see you."

I wasn't drunk enough not to be put on edge by THAT little comment. But what the fuck was I supposed to do about it? "Want another drink."

"Later." He turned me around to face him. He was staring at me. He looked totally serious. On any other night I would have been scared sober by the calculating look he was giving me. "Time to go, Jasne."

"No— "

But it was too late, of course. He let go of me, and I staggered, not quite falling, but it probably looked pretty damn funny.

So. Stay vertical. Right. Ok. Where the fuck am I, and what's going on?

Where the fuck I was, was almost familiar. Stone walls. Stairs in one corner. If it was the same room, though, it'd been remodeled. The rack thing was gone. There was a big pile of cushions on the floor. Strife was kneeling on the floor, next to them. He didn't look so hot. He kinda had the air of someone who's just been in a fight and lost, bigtime.

In the center of the room was a metal pole, running from the floor to the ceiling. A way up it was bolted a length of chain sporting a pair of manacles. I really really didn't want to be here.

"Why darling, you shouldn't have." I knew that voice. Oh was I ever fucked. I didn't want to turn around, didn't want to have to know for sure... but I'm just not that smart, even when I'm not thoroughly drunk. I turned around.

Discord. Of course, Discord. Grinning like a 'friend' who's just turned you in for the reward money. Holding a wooden practice sword. Advancing on me with WAY too much spring in her step.

"He always brings me the sweetest gifts when he's trying to kiss and make up." The closer she got, the bigger that damn grin got. She poked me in the chest with the wooden sword. I looked to Ares. He was sprawled on the pile of cushions, gripping Strife by the hair, whispering in his ear. This just kept getting worse and worse. It couldn't be real. I mean, it just COULDN'T. I closed my eyes and waited to wake up.

Big fucking mistake... but I'm sure you guessed that already. The hand on my collar hauling me backwards kinda clued me in, and the cold metal manacles clicking shut around my wrists pretty much confirmed it.

"You're not gonna get any bonus points by making it easy for me, you know." Damn, but she had a vicious little voice. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

I couldn't open my eyes. The room was spinning enough as it was.

CRACK! At first I couldn't figure it out My mind wouldn't make the connection, wouldn't let me see the link between the dull thudding noise and the sudden pain across my shins. It did get me to open my eyes, though.

"If I didn't want you to see what I was doing, I'd have gouged out your eyes already. Disobey me again and I will."

So she WAS pissed off at me. I stood there, just looking at her. The chains held my arms at an awkward angle. It was really uncomfortable. I tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't provoke her any further.

"Stupid little mortal bitch," she muttered, more to herself than to me. She bent down and pulled something shiny out of her boot, holding it up for me to see. A sharp-looking little knife. I had to fight to keep my eyes open as she leaned up close to me and laid the blade along my collarbone. "Touching me, actually TOUCHING me with those grubby little paws of yours. I ought to cut them off. Make you eat them."

She grabbed a handful of my shirt and slashed at it with the knife, then tore it the rest of the way off. Had it been this cold in here last time? It didn't really matter. She flung down the knife and the rags that had been a cheap but serviceable shirt. She raised the practice sword again, and hit me across the ribs. The impact slammed my back into the metal pole I was chained to, and strained my aching shoulders.

"Dumb little bitch. Stupid mortal cunt." Each insult was punctuated by another blow from the wooden sword. Each blow slammed me into the unyielding metal. After a while she stopped saying anything. I guess she was saving the energy to hit me harder, or maybe it just felt harder by then. I slipped, and hung from my chained wrists. That REALLY hurt. Discord was in mid-swing, and wherever she'd been originally aiming that blow... well, it got me in the head.

Things got a little fuzzy after that. I thought I heard someone shouting, a long way away. My hands felt like they were about to snap off. Discord had stopped hitting me. Why? I peered blearily around. Oh yeah. Because Ares was screwing the shit out of her over on that pile of cushions. I tried to get to my feet. Everything would be ok if I could just get to my feet. But my legs wouldn't move. I think that's when I blacked out.

I woke up slowly. It was like my brain wouldn't let me wake up until it knew things were safe. The first thing I was aware of was that I was lying on something soft. Somewhere nearby a fire was crackling contentedly to itself. Something was touching my face. No... someone was touching my face. Stroking it or something. I couldn't remember anyone touching me like that. I opened my eyes.

Strife was looking at me. It took me a moment to decipher his expression. It wasn't one I was used to, at least, not on people looking at me.

"You look worried." Fuck, was that my voice? It sounded like a wet cat. "I though gods weren't supposed to worry about anything."

You already know, don't you? I'd said the wrong thing. Again. His face did that turn-to-ice thing, and the hand that had been stroking my face and hair grabbed me hard my the throat.

"You're right. We're not." His grip on my neck tightened with each word. "What do you recommend I do about it?" I was starting to gray out.

But as soon as it started, it was over. He jumped to his feet, letting go of me as if I were forge-hot metal.