The presence of a tall and imposing woman so clearly burdened by the night's revels is hard for the Prince of Power not to notice. And her demeanor? Her ribbons and obvious irritation? Are hardly a deterrent for Hercules. He takes a seat nearby, and after giving her a nod and taking a swig of his own wine, speaks.

"You seem displeased, good lady. Is the feast not to your liking?" There's a scoff in his words, a sarcastic quip in them, "Or is the situation troubling you?"