Open: it's time now to sing out though the story never ends

[vineleaves]

[This is being posted early, but it is meant to be occurring on the one year anniversary of Dionysus arriving at the mansion.]

There's a room in the mansion Dionysus discovered somewhat recently that is, for lack of anything better to call it, a dance studio. Shiny hardwood floors, one long wall of mirror, the opposite wall featuring a mounted barre. If anyone happens to be walking by it today, the open door might catch their attention, as Dionysus has his cd player set up playing music, which he is dancing to at the moment. He's wearing a pair of gauzy, loose pants that sit low on his hips, complete with a gold belt with dangling chains that serve to help emphasize his movements. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, finally long enough that he can get all of it up with only a minimum of strands sticking out oddly.

He has been here for a whole year. To be fair, he's only slightly certain he's got the date correct, but even if it hasn't been a full year to the exact minute or whatever, it's close enough. A whole year. A year trapped, held prisoner for some unknown reason, unable to break out, kept away from all of his friends and family. A year in which he has been given the wonderful opportunity to meet people he couldn't possibly imagine living without now, in a place where anything, even stopping death, is possible.

Dionysus is fairly zoned out as he dances, so if anyone decides to duck in and say hello, it might take him a while before he notices.

Comments

[futaille]

"It will lead to very scenic views."

[vineleaves]

"Yes, because I'm very tall."

[futaille]

"A towering colossus!"

[vineleaves]

"So statuesque," he laughs, and starts scooping some of the meat out onto tortillas.

[futaille]

"Even more so than some actual statues."

[vineleaves]

"Some of my statues are pretty small," he says, holding his hand about six inches or so above the countertop.

[futaille]

"Oh, that's not a bad size overall."

[vineleaves]

"Not for certain kinds of statues, I suppose," he laughs and switches to putting the toppings on the tacos.

[futaille]

"You would know. You invented them."

[vineleaves]

"I suppose I am the expert then."

[futaille]

"More than anyone else is, surely."

[vineleaves]

"Oh, undoubtedly!"

[futaille]

"Praise to Dionysus Chthonios, inventor extraordinaire!"

[vineleaves]

This causes him to burst out laughing so hard he has to set the spoon he's been scooping ingredients with down and hold on to the countertop.

[futaille]

This makes Grantaire laugh as well, of course. "I was sure you'd like it, but I didn't know you'd like it that much."

[vineleaves]

"I liked it a lot," he says, still grinning.

[futaille]

"Oh good! Although I do regret that it delayed the food."

[vineleaves]

"Okay, okay, just a minute," he says, and finishes assembling the tacos.

[futaille]

"It looks delicious!"

[vineleaves]

"Hopefully they taste as good as they look. If they're bad it's clearly all fault of the meat that we didn't cook." He picks up the plates with their tacos and heads over to the table. "Will you bring over the chips and the guacamole?"

[futaille]

He promptly scoops up the chips and guac and spirits them over to the table.

[vineleaves]

Dionysus sets the plates down, then quickly makes them some wine. "Figured you'd appreciate this more than a juice box, like you had the first time you had tacos."

[futaille]

He laughs, taking a seat. "Thank you. I will point out, though, that I could have had wine then too if you'd watered it down a bit."

[vineleaves]

"Well yes, but they don't call me Dionysus Acratophorus for nothing," he says, completely ignoring the fact that he has, actually, watered down wine on many, many occasions before.

[futaille]

"Where would schoolkids be without watery wine, though?"