I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. ... Sorry.
21 May 2006
er, 'cause people seem to have a thing for domestic A/X?
"--Oh, come on, you can find forty different angles of that shot on the internet already. His hand was obviously hit after he released the ball. The foul had no effect on his ability; if he didn't make the shot, it was his fault alone."
"Since when are you such an expert at judging human behaviour? I'm the psychologist, Xena. Don't you think that seeing two hundred pounds of sweaty opponent bearing down on him produced some sort of stress?"
"The court is a battlefield, Gabrielle. You lose focus facing aggression, and with luck you'd only be assigned to warm the bench for the rest of the season."
The lock clicked, and the door opened. Xena and Gabrielle stepped into the living room, where Ares sat, leaning on the armrest of the couch and picking at his worn jeans.
"Hey," Xena greeted, and set her grocery bags on a counter. "I got the stuff you wanted."
"Great," Ares said absently. "I'll get started on the roast soon."
"He's cooking?" Gabrielle's mouth dropped open.
Xena's eyes widened in response. "What's the alternative?"
"Forget I asked."
"Exactly." Xena swatted Ares's hand away from a particularly long thread hanging from a ragged tear. "What's with you?"
Ares looked up, his eyes a blaze of fury. "Ian left Janet for Athena."
Xena made an "O" of sympathy.
"I knew that feckless mound of mouseshit wasn't good for her. She should have known better than to associate with any son of Apollo. He even looks like that blond freak. And Janet ends up being such a wimp about it, too. Fuck, she needs to defend herself more. You'd think you mortals have forgotten why we gave you nails and teeth. If I could just train her for one day..."
Xena caught Gabrielle's look of complete bewilderment. She pushed a couple of wayward curls up off his rage-furrowed forehead.
"His soap," she explained.