Phoebe looked at Aphrodite, her eyes gleaming with an angry spitting, roaring fire. "You can have him." She spat at her, it burnt through one of her 'pretty' feathers, she was careful however not to set her whole outfit on fire, after all she looked like a walking disaster.
She smelled horrid, weed, mints and alcohol. Along with a faint smell of Vegas, (cheap and unlucky masked with pretty lights and flashy shows.) She curled her nose, but the tear was still there hoping to burst free but she would not. A phoenix should never cry over the dead.