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]

"Really?"

[vineleaves]

He nods. "I think in France you're supposed to be 18 nowadays. ...Maybe it's 16, actually? Something around there." He takes a bit of the chip he grabbed before. "Oh, this is good!"

[futaille]

"How strange!" He dips a chip himself and has a bite. "Oh, that is good."

[vineleaves]

"Oh, I'm glad you like it!"

[futaille]

"Were you worried that I wouldn't?"

[vineleaves]

"You never know! Sometimes people don't like things!"

[futaille]

"That is true, but I don't think I've ever disliked a single thing you've created."

[vineleaves]

"I didn't create this! You did!"

[futaille]

"Quite the contrary. I merely assisted you."

[vineleaves]

"You did all the smushing and the mixing, which is roughly 90% of what goes into making guacamole, therefore, you made it." He eats another chip.

[futaille]

"I didn't even know what guacamole was," he points out. "Yours was the mind directing my actions, therefore, you made it."

[vineleaves]

"I don't think that's how that works, dear."

[futaille]

"It's absolutely how that works."

[vineleaves]

"I am merely the cookbook in this scenario."

[futaille]

"I'm merely a utensil."

[vineleaves]

Dionysus makes a show of looking Grantaire up and down as best he can, given they're both sitting at a table, then says, "Nonsense, you're must more than just a utensil."

[futaille]

"And you're more than just a cookbook."

[vineleaves]

"You should try a taco and tell me how they are."

[futaille]

He promptly picks up a taco and takes a big bite. "Mm," he says once he swallows. "I made an excellent choice."

[vineleaves]

"Oh good," Dionysus says before picking up a taco of his own and taking a bite. It is good. That's good, considering a lot of it was hinging on the quality of Mystery Cooked Meat From The Fridge.

[futaille]

"Whoever first invented this dish is a genius."

[vineleaves]

"Shame it wasn't me, imagine if I had taco powers."

[futaille]

"... Could you make a grape taco?"

[vineleaves]

Dionysus laughs. "Depends on what you mean by grape taco. I can do this--" he makes a very large, tortilla-sized grape leaf with a little pile of sliced grapes on the inside for the 'filling'. "But I'm not sure that counts as a taco."

[futaille]

"I suppose that would depend on exactly how you defined a taco."