Ares can tell that Charles didn't really expect to travel to Shanxi in a small alcove in a vessel hauling goods from the Citadel to the human colony. He's sure the man had the idea that they'd be on an actual transport ship, but that would've left a paper trail, so to speak, even if they used false identities. Ares never liked that possibility, often choosing the best vessels he could find with inconspicuous cargo and a captain willing to accept money to alter their manifests to account for the extra weight without suspicion. Credits often keeps them silent, and when it doesn't, Ares uses some good intimidation to make it seem much smarter to keep quiet.

Luckily, he didn't have to go that far on this trip with Charles at his side. Not that the man would notice past his obvious distraction. Ares has been so used to Charles' chatter before that the silence seems more obvious now, the only sounds the hum of the ship's propulsion systems and the creaks of the cargo, their locking mechanisms obviously having enough slack that any sudden movements won't snap the binds. The thought does give Ares some reassurance that, should something bad happen, he and Charles won't be crushed by pointless cargo. He'd much rather not be killed by, as the labels state, crates of clothing, cosmetics, and other stupid souvenirs. The irony of that actually happening doesn't amuse Ares all that much and, with Charles in his state, he knows his company wouldn't even hear him if he actually tests his—probably horrible—humor with the man.

Exhaling heavily, Ares stretches his legs out from where he sits and leans his head against the cold metal wall. He has already read every last 'comic' Charles insisted would be interesting and is only left with more questions than answers. He'll admit he wasn't all that interested in his own people's forms of entertainment as a child, but he's pretty damn sure that turians at least didn't make things for kids that would only confuse and baffle them. Ares is an adult, and yet, he can't even manage to make sense of anything in the comics, often left to wonder just how insane the writers of the things were. He doubts the fault is his own—who even thinks of a man sticking to walls like a pest? Any questions he directed to Charles didn't get much of an answer, so he finished reading in silence, only to set them down in a neat pile, far away from himself, when he was done.

Ares closes his eyes, resting for just a moment after staying alert the entire trip with the bare minimum of sleep to function. He made sure to keep awake while Charles slept—for the eternity he did—to keep an eye on the crew of the vessel. The man still hasn't slept much, compared to his usual, and Ares knows it isn't the tight quarters they have. Charles has plenty of room to lay out when he sets his head in Ares' lap, but Ares knows the anxiety has kept the man from getting his normal amount of sleep. At some times, Ares insisted the idiot sleep, reminding Charles that he'll lose focus, fuck up, and regret it all because he won't rest. Ares isn't sure how much sleep humans need exactly—or if it even compares to the Hierarchy's mandatory xenostudies—to function, but he'd rather force Charles to get more sleep than he needs than watch the man falter in his search for revenge.

Eyes still shut, Ares begins to hear the subtle shift in the ship's mechanical thrum. Opening his eyes, he looks around the cargo hold for any signs of the reason. He glances Charles' way, but figures the man doesn't hear the shift by his continued withdrawn look. Ares leaves the man to his thoughts as he climbs to his feet and rolls his shoulders to ease the ache there. He glances down to Charles and hums. "I'm going to see if we're landing. Apparently, the crew down here in the hold aren't alerted to any shift in the ship's movements."

A wild looking spark of panic fills Charles' eyes for the briefest of moments before the man's lips press tight, and he seems to stamp it down. He pulls his bag a little closer to himself and brings his knees up to his chest, nodding to Ares.

Ares leaves Charles in their alcove, walking down the small path that cuts between two large stacks of cargo and absently flicks the straps holding it to test the tautness. He turns around the corner of the stacks and sees a human worker down the new path, the sight of the cargo doors directly behind him. Odds are the man doesn't know shit, but Ares will have to go through him to get to the bridge, so he figures he might as well ask. "Are we docking on Shanxi yet? Is that what I hear?"

The man looks up at him with wide eyes, apparently uninformed of Ares and Charles' presence on the ship. That, or he does know and is just too deaf or unaware of what goes on around him to hear Ares' approach. After a moment of staring up at Ares, the man visibly swallows and shakes his head, brows furrowing. "What do you mean 'hear'? I don't hear anything…."

"That's because you're deaf compared to a turian," Ares says, walking towards the man in a way that it's obvious he wants by. The fool doesn't understand and merely backs up a step, eyes wary. "Move. If you don't know anything, I want to talk to someone who does. And you're in my way." When the man looks around, for whatever idiotic reason, Ares drops his hand on the human's shoulder and physically pushes him towards the wall. "That usually means get out of the way, human."

Ares watches a scowl flicker over the man's face, but he doesn't stay long enough to let the man speak. He hears an 'asshole' shouted at his back, but sticking around to get into a pissing contest with the human just isn't worth Ares being unprepared for their arrival on Shanxi. Hitting the command to open the cargo bay doors, Ares takes a step into the long hall dividing bridge from the rest of the ship and watches the captain as he stands at the navigation console and directs his pilots with hand gestures. Ares assumes the voice he hears the captain talking to is the communication from Shanxi's Air Traffic Control.

"Understood, ma'am," the captain says, glancing over his shoulder when he obviously hears Ares' intentional footsteps and quickly turns around to add, "I'd appreciate it if we can speed along the docking procedure." He huffs a strained laugh. "I'm a bit late on my schedule, and my boss would kill me if I'm late to my next delivery. Anything you can do for me?"

There is a long silence, and Ares crosses his arms, seeing the captain glance his way in his peripherals.

Finally, the woman across the comms speaks, "Alright, sir. But only because we don't have anyone else requesting dock right now ahead you. I'm transferring the access confirmation for the SSV Atlanta to you right now." She pauses, and in a moment, the captain's console flashes with incoming data.

The captain seems to visibly relax as he opens the confirmation and quietly—but still audible to Ares' ears—exhales. "Thank you, ma'am. You're doing me a huge favor."

"Dock with number twenty-three on wing bravo. And you can thank me only if you're the one bringing in some of the latest fashion from Thessia."

Ares rolls his eyes—a human gesture he's made sure to learn—at the woman's energetic and hopeful tone. Why anyone would want asari 'fashion' is beyond him. What is the purpose of wearing clothes with zero functionality and rife with so many features to entice species and flaunt their bodies? It isn't like they don't already make a living flirting with every person that has a pulse. Humans, despite his ability to find so many of the species lacking in intelligence, are more tolerable than the asari and their goal to fuck anything in the galaxy just to pop out more of the same thing: asari. A species that lives as long as they do can't pass to Ares as being trustworthy, especially with the way they attempt to 'keep control'. At least with krogan, Ares can read their intentions, but asari are notorious for abusing power and their knack for manipulation.

Ares glances to the captain when the man chuckles and answers, "Why, yes, ma'am. We are that ship." Ares swears the woman makes a feminine, high-pitched noise, but the comm is cut before the sound can really pierce his ears too deeply.

Turning to the captain, Ares motions to the cockpit and the pilots. "When will we arrive and actually be able to get off this ship?"

The captain lets out another weak huff before trying to smile at Ares. "So ready to leave us?"

Ares knows the question is obligatory to a man trying to keep the peace, as if not being passive would get him and all his men killed. He ignores the attempt at levity and turns to return to the cargo bay. "We'll be off the ship as soon as the cargo doors are open."

Activating the console for the cargo hold doors, Ares finds that at least the idiotic human no longer stands where he would be in Ares' way again. He has no idea where the nuisance went, but as he draws closer to the alcove he and Charles have been using for the transport, he hears not only Charles' voice, but that same bastard Ares thought he wouldn't have to put up with again.

"If he's hurting you—"

"He's not," Charles says, starting to sound agitated as Ares rounds the corner to the path that'll run right back to the alcove and saw the same fucking man from before.

"Are you sure, because it looks like—"

"He's not hurting me. He's my … he's just mine." Charles snarls, pulling his bag a little closer to him, his hand moving towards the pocket he'd stuffed the tin holding his razor into. "Okay? So fuck off."

"I can see a turian's bitten you."

Ares steps directly behind the man after shifting his footsteps so that he walks silently. Charles visibly relaxes—and even struggles to fight back that smirk Ares is used to. Growling, Ares sees the man jump, then tense as his shoulders hunch to the sides of his head, as if to defend his neck.

"You're right," Ares says, leaning closer to the man's ear and lets his anger radiate through his vocals. "And you're still in my way. You're not very smart, either. When a man tells you to fuck off, it's best you do before I show up." Smirking, Ares grips the man's shoulder, digging in his talons and watching the man wince, still frozen in fear. "For bothering my human, how about I teach you why you should've made yourself disappear instead of digging your grave coming here."

"I-"

Ares snarls to shut him up and uses his grip to lift the man up, turning around to throw the human at the cargo crates. He hears the thump of contact and a snap, probably the sound of something breaking if the weak whimper and gasp of pain is any indication. Ares lets the man scramble to his feet and give one wide eyed look—the eyes of wounded prey—to Ares and Charles before sprinting away as fast as he can. Ares catches Charles' smartass wave from his peripheral and smirks at the sight of the annoying human running for his life. Had Ares been in a worse mood, that run probably wouldn't have saved him.

Looking down to Charles, Ares tilts his head and flicks his mandibles. "Ready to go?"

Charles' smirk fades. "We're there?" He sucks in a deep breath when Ares nods, then pulls himself to his feet, sliding his hooded jacket on over his head and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Stooping down, he scoops up the comic books and stuffs them into his backpack before pulling his hood up. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

Satisfied with the answer, Ares nods and motions for Charles to follow as he leads the way down the paths between crates towards the large cargo bay doors. He looks to Charles as the man steps to his side and Ares asks, "Do you want to stay at an actual place, or do you want to do what I'd do alone?"

"I don't really want to be seen here." Charles tugs absently at his hood, glancing up at Ares. "There's still people around who'd recognize me … and aside from that causing us problems, I really just don't want to deal with any of them."

"That means we'll be moving constantly, sleeping in places much like we did on this ship." Ares isn't so much questioning Charles' decision as informing him of the reality of how Ares lives on jobs, not wanting the man to develop expectations.

"I can handle it," Charles says, offering Ares a weak, unconvincing smile.

Ares chooses not to carry the conversation forward, knowing it'll go nowhere with both their minds already made up, but rumbles in wordless thanks for Charles not unintentionally forcing him to change his usual routine while on jobs. If anything, getting a place would only make it feel like the two of them were trapped should anything go wrong. Instead, he puts his hand on Charles' shoulder and squeezes, giving a dip of his chin in understanding.

Before either can do much more that accept the decision, Ares hears the hydraulics of the cargo bay hatch sputtering, hissing as the heavy door begins to lower. Watching it lower and groaning at the loud screech of metal rubbing metal, he reminds himself not to hire this ship again until they manage to repair the damn ramp to stop it from catching against whatever else was in the way. When the sound finally cuts off into a heavy slam of the ramp hitting the dense concrete and metal of the docks, Ares looks down to Charles to gauge if the man is ready to return to his birth place.

Ares steps down the slight lip and onto the ramp of the Atlanta, opening his tool as he checks Shanxi's time. It's late afternoon and a perfect time to begin to set up their first hunt. He has an idea that Charles won't feel the same killing this target as the ones who defiled and murdered his sister, so Ares has already thought about how the hunt for the target will begin. He doubts anyone but him would notice the subtle shift in Charles' movements as he starts walking lighter, making less noise.

Closing his tool just as they reach the bottom of the ramp and step onto the solid ground of the colony docks, Ares stops and scans the docks, seeing nothing but a sea of humans. Charles does the same, head moving from side to side as he takes in the docks laid out ahead of them, tugging at his hood again. His eyes narrow as he looks around—something Ares knows helps humans to see a little better—before he turns his gaze to Ares, seeming to wait for his direction.

"You were right about humans being everywhere," Ares says, not looking down to Charles though his words are directed at the man.

Charles pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket, shaking one out against his hand. "It's Shanxi, not just a human colony, but the human colony. The only one to have been surrendered during the First Contact War." He puts the cigarette between his lips, stuffing the pack back in his pocket before using his lighter. "The people here wear that shame like a badge of honor. They're all a little fucked in the head … you're not going to find much help here."

Ares grunts and huffs a laugh. "Like I need it." Motioning at Charles to walk with him, he heads for the exit for the docks, ignoring the numerous humans gawking like pyjaks frozen in the beam of a bright light. He doesn't see much difference between the disgusting animals and the pyjaks now that he's surrounded by so many. "You have that ID I gave you?"

Charles glances up at Ares, lifting an eyebrow. "Of course."

Ares nods and reaches into his pocket to take his out in signal for Charles to do the same. When the two reach a scanner for their IDs, Ares taps his own to the scanner—ringing—his false identity revealing him to be a cargo ship's worker out for a quick exploration while waiting for the next trip—before stepping out of the way for Charles to scan his own, equally unassuming, ID card. Ares vaguely hears the attendant keeping the scanners functioning advising they have a nice visit as he and Charles head deeper into the city. They get stares, though mostly aimed at his own turian body than Charles' out of place, hooded form walking beside him. Flicking his eyes over the crowd, Ares catalogues every human with fury in their eyes, reading their body language without turning his head towards them.

None show signs of moving against him, their aggression nothing but a show that only makes them feel better, and figures they damn well knew Ares could easily break them if they chose to attack first. Even as an outcast from his people, he doubts the humans—on Shanxi of all places—would want to bring more attention to themselves by attacking a turian. The Hierarchy would act out of principal, the turians not a people to just let other species think they can move against them without retribution.

Ares knows the route to his destination by memory, having studied it rigorously in the long hours on their transport vessel. Deeper into the city—and apparently towards the section of the city meant not to be really frequented by visiting tourists given its location deep into the civilian district where outsiders aren't bound to visit—Ares and Charles arrive at just the place Ares chose to scope out their first target. It's a bar nestled between some kind of strange smelling restaurant and a building that's purpose he can't place, with its odd face, named The Black Diamond. Charles' step slows, and he looks up at Ares, understanding darkening his gaze. He doesn't say anything, though, just tugs at his hood again.

"You choose how this goes," Ares says as he walks towards the bar, knowing Charles stays at his side without looking. "This is all for you to choose."

When Ares does glance down, mere footsteps from the bar, he sees Charles nod, still silent, but much closer than before. It's a good enough acknowledgement for Ares as he opens the door and steps inside, holding it open for Charles to follow. He scopes out the room, dim and smokey as it is, nose plates flexing at the stale smell, and reminds himself that this is far from the Citadel's bars but nowhere near as horrible as Omega's. His examination finds a small booth with perfect sight on the door, the rest of the bar's floor is open and situated so that he only needs to turn his head to see everything, everybody. Hell, he can probably see it all without making it obvious he's looking around if he sits just right at the booth.

He doesn't need to look down to know Charles is beside him, he can practically feel the tension rolling off of the man pressed at his side. Best Charles sticks close anyways, as Ares would rather attention be on him and Charles together than separately. Less likely to have Charles recognized that way. Stopping at the booth, Ares points to where he wants Charles to sit, somewhere allowing the man to see but also have Ares between him and any bar patrons. It might slow Charles down if anything happens, but until then, Ares would rather be a barrier between anything and the man.

Sitting once Charles takes his place, Ares reaches into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes. Placing one in between his mouth plates, he searches in his other pocket for the lighter among the various small blades and few pieces of ammunition he keeps close at hand for instant use, enabling him to get a few shots out before needing to move to his actual ammo belts. Before he can find the damn thing, he sees a flicker of fire out of the corner of his eye. He looks over just in time to see Charles lean over and offer his own lighter, making Ares nearly lose grip on his cigarette in surprise. To keep from dropping—and wasting—his cigarette, he clamps his mandibles and cups a hand over Charles' to protect the fire against any gusts, leans forward, and uses the offered flame to light his cigarette. Charles smiles at him with a softness in his eyes, and he waits until the lighter is extingushed with a flick of the man's wrist before rumbling in thanks, giving Charles a nod.

"Get comfortable." Ares' voice is low, barely loud enough to be heard as he leans in to speak to Charles. "We might be here a while."

Charles takes a drag from his cigarette before picking at the edge of the wooden table, tearing off a splinter with his thumbnail. "He's a drunk, if he still comes to this shithole, it won't take him long to show up, but he'll be here all night." After taking another drag, he opens his omni-tool, and Ares sees him access an extranet search page before typing in his father's name.

Turning away from Charles' personal searching, Ares inhales a long drag before exhaling as he watches the patrons of the bar wander about. The place is empty compared to the constant flow of people in the bars Ares knows, but he assumes that has to do mostly with the actual day and night cycle. He supposes it's not really a societal norm to drink during the daylight hours. That, and leaving a bar drunk while the sun is still out would definitely be uncomfortable. At least, the light would be too harsh for his eyes—eye—after a good swim in the strong stuff he prefers, but it could just be a turian thing. He never knew a human he could ask about that sort of thing.

As the bar begins to awaken, more humans arriving at what Ares assumes must be the end of a workday—or just the beginning of the night, if Shanxi's cycles have a different amount of sunlight than Palaven—he starts to hear a muffled grind. He pulls his attention from the bar's incoming customers and looks down to Charles, nose shifting as he smells the sour scent of grief mixing with the hot spice of rage. Ares watches as Charles' eyes stay on his omni-tool and stamps out his spent cigarette on the scuffed, dirty table. Seeing the way the man's jaw shifts, the muscles along his jaw twitching, Ares now knows the source of the grinding sound, but he doesn't let it continue. He reaches over and grabs Charles' chin to still the movement. If humans are anything like turians—which he doubts—then forcing the jaw to move unnaturally causes pain, and damage in the long run. The two of them have enough problems without Charles making it so that he can't even function properly after they kill those they've set out to hunt down.

Charles' chin jerks at the contact, but the man's eyes found Ares', and he stops the movement even if he doesn't relax his jaw. He sucks a slow breath in through his nose before tugging his face free of Ares' grip, running his fingers over his omni-tool. A moment later Ares' own tool pinged.

Checking the message, Ares hums in understanding. He doesn't know what it's like to lose a mother, at least not in the same way, but he thinks seeing his father die will help Charles. At least it'll hopefully keep him from pulverising his teeth with that disconcerting thing he was just doing. Unable to really say anything to Charles, Ares looks back out into the bar and stares intently at the door, waiting for the entrance of his target.

It can't have been more than half an hour before the door opens, and a volus of a man steps in. Ares knows humans can form into volus shapes, their stomachs wide and bulbous, but at least his target isn't exactly the size around as a volus. That would've just taken the fun out of it, if the man's health was affected by his weight to the point that he keeled over before Ares could even do anything to him.

Watching the man approach the bar and climb onto a stool, Ares agrees with Charles that there is no way this disgusting ass didn't kill his—by comparison—healthy wife. It doesn't compare to the fear he now smells on Charles, hands fisting tightly enough that the skin turns white just before he pulls them down beneath the table to settle in his lap. Ares doesn't like the change in Charles even more than the fact that his mother was abused to the point of death.

He's going to enjoy killing Charles' father, and he selfishly wants to be allowed to be the one to do it.

Hours pass, filled with Ares smoking nearly all of his opened cigarettes, before Charles' father is, apparently, too drunk for even the bartender to deal with him. There is a great deal of shouting coming from the shitfaced man, but the only response his belligerence gets him is a swift urging out the bar by one of the only men not even slightly intoxicated. Ares figures he's just been removed by whoever this bar considers bouncers, and that was the signal to move that he's been waiting on all night. Laying a hand on Charles' shoulder to get the man's attention, Ares stands up from the bench, keeping his eyes on the door, and waits until he feels Charles' presence at his side.

Knowing he doesn't need to ask Charles if he's ready, suspecting that the man wouldn't really have a steady answer about facing his father after all the shit the man put him through, Ares navigates through the crowd, ignoring the mix of shock and fury in the patrons' eyes. He won't let them stand in his way of righting this first wrong, not when it'll help Charles in the end. He makes sure Charles is still with him when he reaches and opens the door, nodding when it looks like the man never even left his side. Stepping out into the dark Shanxi night, Ares turns his sights first north, then south before spotting Charles' father swaying as he stumbles down the street.

He must live close.

"Keep up with me," Ares whispers down to Charles before following his target, stride no longer shortened in order for the smaller species to keep up. Charles might need to speed up his pace, but Ares wants to stick close enough to Charles' father that nothing stops them from arriving at his home—and the scene of his death.

Charles jogs at Ares' side, sticking to the patches of grassy yards where his steps are muffled. When Ares sees Charles' father begin to stumble towards one house in particular—and the one Ares knows belongs to him based on the pattern of ascending numbers emblazoned on each house they've passed—he picks Charles up with an arm under his waist and moves, faster than the man could have on his own, to reach a vehicle parked at the neighboring house. Sliding into place, he and Charles crouch behind the vehicle. Ares listens to the uncoordinated footsteps as his target stumbles up through the grass, over pavement, then grass again, a crunching type of stone, and finally pavement again. He waits until he hears the soft chime of a lock deactivating, the opening of a door, and then the closing of the door before he looks over the top of the car to check his target's position. He finds nothing but clear yards speckled with the occasional vehicle in a paved driveway.

He looks to Charles and rumbles in reassurance that they are really doing this. "Last chance to take the lead here."

Charles looks down at the ground in front of them, then shakes his head. "Not … not with him."

Ares doesn't know why—perhaps because of the bitter smell of fear on the man—but he leans closer to Charles and presses his forehead to the human's temple, giving him a quick purr. It ends just as quickly, leaving a strange feeling that Ares doesn't have the mind or time to look into, and he gives Charles a last look, taking in the shift of emotions to something more akin to gratitude and deep trust in the man's eyes, before standing. He gives a hand signal from his days in the military to direct Charles to keep low and quiet, but he isn't sure if it translates. Doesn't quite matter, though, as their approach is quick and silent, Ares instantly opening up his omni-tool to run a hacking system for the door lock. It doesn't take long to crack the flimsy code, and Ares closes his tool right as the door slides open and gives Charles a last glance over his shoulder, catching a nod come from the man.

No longer in need of staying low and hidden, Ares stands, hearing his spine pop softly, and quietly steps from the entryway with his ears primed to seek out his target. He hears sounds to his left, towards a kitchen, and sees the man banging around in his cabinets, apparently in search of something. The clearly intoxicated idiot shouts swears, damning people who apparently wronged him, as he tosses some things out of his cabinet before finding what he wants, a bottle of even more liquor. He doesn't even notice Ares standing in his entryway—and Charles is overshadowed by Ares' size—as the drunk staggers past and into the direction of the living room. Just as the slob flops into a chair, flips it open to recline, and activates the large vidscreen, it's sound obnoxiously loud, his bottle is already open and raised to his lips.

Ares winces at the sound, way too loud for his taste, but before he can move deeper into the house, he feels a tug at his jacket sleeve. Looking back to Charles, he is handed a rounded bar of wood that's width increases down its length. Ares thinks he's seen this before in association to some sport, but he can't place a name to it. Still, he knows what Charles offers and nods, smirking. If Charles wants to see him beat the shit out of his father before killing him, then who is he to argue? It might actually be fun, and with the television so damn loud, the neighbors won't even hear anything out of the ordinary.

Ares tests the weight of the wooden tool in his hand, tossing it from hand to hand as he quickly makes his way to the back of the chair. Standing directly behind Charles' father, Ares lightly taps the end of his weapon on the man's head, grinning when the disgusting pyjak jumps high enough to spill some of his alcohol.

"The fuck?!" Charles' dad shouts, stumbling to his feet and, in his attempt to turn, trips over his own feet but remains standing. "How the fuck did a fucking bird get in my house?! Get the fuck—"

Before the man can finish, Ares kicks the chair between them hard, bashing it into the man's legs to send him toppling. "Now, now, Roger. Is that any way to greet guests?" He grins and pats the wooden club into his palm as he rounds the chair, putting his large foot on Roger's chest to shove him back onto the ground. "I'm offended."

"Is that my fucking bat—" Roger can't finish his sentence as Ares shifts his foot and slams it down on one of Roger's knees, hearing it break with a resounding crack and the man's pitiful scream.

"Wrong question," Ares says, growling under his words before he taps the—apparently—bat on the broken knee. "How about a better one or I break the other knee."

"Fuck you." The man grinds his teeth, eyes flicking across the room before focusing just past Ares. "You!" he hisses, and Ares automatically knows the subject of Roger's visible rage. "You fucking queer! You let this goddamn piece of shit into my house? Not man enough to face me yourself? You're pathetic. Pathetic, worthless." He huffs a weak scoff. "What? Feel bad about leaving your mother just like you left your sister to die?"

Ares steps aside when he hears Charles' heavy footsteps rush towards Roger, watching as Charles kicks his father, foot connecting with the man's jaw. "Shut the fuck up!"

Roger groans, and Ares takes the moment to bend down and grab the bottle of alcohol for use later. Setting it on the seat so it doesn't spill, he looks back to Charles, waiting for any indication of how he wants to move forward. With one more swift kick to the same spot, Charles backs away and begins pacing, a crazed look in his eyes as he runs his hands through his hair repeatedly.

"Kill him," Charles says, voice tense, almost to the point of snapping, as his gaze continues to dart aimlessly around the room.

Rumbling in understanding, Ares looks down to Roger with a grin. "Looks like you'll get an easy out." He leans down as realization dawns on the man's face and grabs him around the neck, talons digging into the fatty flesh. "Let's see just how much you like your liquor."

Ares holds the man off the ground for a moment, staring at the face of a man that ruined Charles and scowls, mandibles flicking in rage. Stepping back, he tosses the man away from the cramped area between recliner, couch, coffee table, and the vidscreen, still screaming some nonsense chatter. Roger lands with a heavy thud on the open floor between living room and entryway, whimpering when he lands on his knee.

"Stupid fucking…. Fucker…" Roger continues to curse, trying to crawl away as Ares tosses away the bat, grabs the still mostly full bottle, and storms to Roger, all amusement gone. He pauses when Charles squats down next to them.

Staring straight into his father's eyes, a slow smile spreads over Charles' face. "Beg, Dad. Beg him to stop. Just like you used to make me beg. Like you made mom beg."

Ares watches as the dying flickers of fury flash in Roger's eyes, but the man doesn't move, seemingly frozen on his shaking hands and knee by Charles' joyous revelling. That's all the assurance Ares needs that these final moments will be filled with horror and agony, he grabs Roger's shoulder and slams it onto the floor, forcing the man onto his back. When Ares straddles the man's chest, hungry grin on his face and vocals thrumming in excitement, Roger begins to beg.

"Charles… please…. Please, Charles…." The man stares up at Charles who is still crouched beside Ares, his eyes wide like prey, and his scent heavy with fear and panic. "Please help me…. I'm sorry…. So sorry…. Please…. I'll make it up to you, I promise!"

Voice cold as ice, Charles says, "Not. A. Fucking. Chance. In. Hell." He lifts his gaze to Ares and nods.

Smirking, Ares turns back to Roger and grabs his chin forcefully enough that Ares' talons sink into the skin and fat. He uses his hold to wrench open the man's mouth releasing loud, pathetic whines and sobs as the saltiness of tears fill Ares' nostrils. He purrs in amusement as he shoves the bottle into the man's mouth, cutting off any sound besides panicked gurgles, and releases Roger's chin to grab his nose, pinching it hard enough to feel the tiny bone beneath break. The body below him squirms, hands clawing at Ares' arms as the man tries to scream and tears flow continuously from his eyes. Slowly, and with one final glance to Charles in plea, Roger's fight begins to wane, his strength failing him as his lungs continue to fill with the liquid he so loves.

Ares looks to Charles just as he feels Roger's last attempts to save himself fade, his body no longer able to maintain even the most unconscious of actions to survive. He finds Charles watching his father intently, no expression on his face and eyes as cold as his voice a moment before. Feeling the last jerks from Roger's body, Ares turns back to the sight to see the last of the liquor still in the bottle, nowhere to go with the man dead. He holds Roger's nose for a moment longer before releasing, pulling out the bottle to spill the alcohol across the corpse's face and tossing it aside. He stays on Roger for a moment, listening for any sound from Charles.

Ares hears shuffling beside him and looks to see Charles leaning forward, knees making contact with the floor. He reaches for Ares, and Ares leans into his grab, feeling the small, human hand wrap around his neck and tug him into a kiss. He growls at the force, the hunger, as their tongues fight for control, both of them not caring for their teeth. Mirroring Charles' grip on his own neck, Ares wraps his hand partially around Charles' neck and pulls him even closer, growling into the man's mouth. Charles doesn't resist, pressing closer to Ares' body as he tilts his head into their kiss, as if doing so would close the small separation that still lies between them.