Sharon of the Seven Veils...a dancer and therefore a loose woman. A little gold, a lot of flattery, and she would be his. Easy.

Too easy, he thought as he looked her way again. When she wasn't performing her erotic dances, she served the patrons of the tavern. Her eyes, as green as jade, flicked toward him, then darted away when she realized he was staring at her. He reared back in his chair and propped up one foot on a stool. As he tipped back, the stool tilted forward. She was interested, no doubt about it.

He watched her wend her way through the crowded room, a large wooden tray resting against the curve of her hip, her free hand plucking empty mugs by the twos and threes from the tables. Frequently, she would sneak a peek at him then return to her task.

Ares smiled as she broke through the worst of the crowd and headed straight for him. Too easy, he thought again as he rocked back in his chair pushing against the stool...and water sloshed from somewhere, wetting her shoes and dampening her hem. Her wooden tray slammed down on his table, the reverberation skidding through him.

"Clumsy clod!" she snapped and whacked his knee with the back of her hand. His foot slipped off of what he'd thought was a stool, tipping it over...and water cascaded over the floor and her feet. A bucket of water, he mused as he lost his balance, the chair teetering on its two back legs. His arms flailed the air as he tried to remain upright and one raked across the collection of mis-matched mugs sending them crashing to the floor.

At last, he was able to grasp the edge of the table and pull himself up.

"Big oaf! Look what you've done!" she cried out and glanced over her shoulder. A long strand of dark brown hair, gleaming with red highlights even in the dim lighting of the tavern, fell across her shoulder. When she turned back around, her green eyes were dark and angry...and frightened, he realized with a shock.

He leaped to his feet. "It was an accident..."

"Yea, you're an accident awaiting to happen," she muttered as she bent down to salvage what she could of the mugs.

"I'll pay for any damage--"

"Nastes will be sure that you do!" she promised as she swept up shards of pottery and broken wood handles with her hands.

"Nastes?" he asked and squatted beside her.

"The man who owns this tavern. He'll have my hide--"

Ares reached out to help her pick up the pieces. "But it wasn't your fault. I'll tell him that."

"If he'll listen. If he don't raise the roof with his yelling." She scraped up a big handful of pottery bits, then dropped them. "Owww!"

"You've cut yourself," he said and took her hand in his. Before he could wipe at the welling blood, she snatched it away from him.

"'Tis nothing," she murmured and pressed the end of her apron against the wound.

"Why don't you get a broom and I'll--" Ares drew in a deep breath unable to believe the next words that would pour from his mouth. "And I'll help you clean up."

"And have Nastes yell more for making a patron do drudgery? I think not." She tilted her head to one side and eyed him from beneath a fringe of dark hair. "But I thank you kindly for the offer."

Then her eyes lit on the empty bucket laying on its side and the softness that had come over her when she first looked into his eyes dissipated. "I'd just filled that, too. Now, I'll be hauling water the rest of the evening."

"No," Ares found himself saying. "No, that was my fault as well. I'll refill the bucket and I won't take no for an answer."

She nodded her head sharply. "I'll take you up on that offer. The well's out back. Watch the rope, it's almost threadbare. I'll get a broom."

"And take care of that cut." Ares called after her as she stood and strode from the room. He couldn't believe the drivel that was spewing from his mouth. All because of a bet.

He looked down at the bucket. A flick of one finger and the bucket would be sitting up filled with water. But he had sworn by the Styx not to use his powers for a month. He had meant that he wouldn't use his powers in relation to winning the woman he chose, but in his inebriated state that wasn't what he said. He sighed heavily. Menial labor was not his area of expertise, but he bent and retrieved the bucket. Balancing it on his shoulder, he made his way through the crowded tables, toward the back.

Easy, he reminded himself. It will be easy!