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]

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."

[vineleaves]

“Good point. I think tacos have less of a definition and more of a vibe. They make ice cream tacos, after all.” He pauses. “I’m not sure if this counts for either though.”

[futaille]

"I think it has a taco vibe."

[vineleaves]

"Your opinion on the subject is clearly the only one that matters, so yes, I can make grape tacos."

[futaille]

"Excellent. A long-awaited conclusion!"

[vineleaves]

Dionysus picks up one of the sliced grapes and reaches across the table to feed it to Grantaire.

[futaille]

He smiles happily as Dionysus feeds him what is certainly a wonderful grape.

[vineleaves]

"I can't get over how beautiful you are."

[futaille]

"Oh. Well. Thank you. You're sweet. You're always sweet."

[vineleaves]

"Oh, probably not always."

[futaille]

"Definitely always."

[vineleaves]

"There could be a time when I'm not sweet. Maybe when I'm asleep and not doing anything, for example."

[futaille]

"No, you're sweet even then."

[vineleaves]

"Oh, am I? What's sweet about it?" He has decided to forego deflecting compliments and swing fully in the opposite direction and just start fishing for them instead.

[futaille]

"What, might I ask, isn't sweet about you being peaceful and adorable?"

[vineleaves]

"I dunno, maybe I steal all the blankets," he says with a grin, then takes another bite of his taco.

[futaille]

"You would do it adorably."

[vineleaves]

He laughs. "What would adorably stealing blankets look like?"

[futaille]

He laughs. "All right, to put in terms I think you'd understand, imagine me stealing blankets."