Aphrodite's palace is alive with song and laughter: another night of merriment on Olympus of which she seems to never tire. Dionysus wades through the crowd with a barrel and taps Ares on his shoulder. Even the sullen, sulking God of War has a smile on his face. Ares turns, and Dionysus pours a goblet's worth of fine wine into his open mouth. When the two begin to stare into one another's eyes in a drunken haze, it becomes clear what they intend... which means it is time to put your gaze elsewhere. Your eyes brush past Zeus devouring a roast hog's trotter, past Hera in a drunken sleep on a bench, and even past Athena shifting about awkwardly in the corner. You instead look to Aphrodite, who leans against a table carving herself a pomegranate with a golden dagger.