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 hops a bit and blows on his hands. "Frigid." A slight pause. "Would you like my coat?"

[vineleaves]

"But then you'll be even colder," he points out. "And, more to the point, I don't think it'll really work with the sleeves on this gown. Maybe it's warmer on the beach?" It could also be colder, who knows. How does the weather even work here?

[futaille]

"Maybe so. We shall at least make the attempt. And if it proves unsuccessful, we can always retreat to the house for warmth and fortification."

[vineleaves]

He kisses Grantaire's cheek. "The beach isn't terribly far, I think we might be able to survive. Just barely."

[futaille]

"We'll be like those explorers of the polar regions, cutting our way through ice and snow until we can go no further."

[vineleaves]

"We deserve medals for our bravery and courage. If we survive this I will make us some."

[futaille]

"That sounds like an excellent idea. Preferably we will even survive with all our extremities intact."

[vineleaves]

"No resorting to cannibalism or anything?"

[futaille]

"Oh, I'd say that depends on how far you're willing to stretch the definition of cannibalism."

[vineleaves]

"That would help keep us warm..."

[futaille]

"Exactly!"

[vineleaves]

"I could build us a little shelter if it ends up being tolerable. Or we could just wait until we're back inside. Or there's the one I already built in my garden--"

[futaille]

"We'll see how our whims direct us."

[vineleaves]

"Ooh yes, I am very interested in your whims."

[futaille]

He laughs. "I've noticed."

[vineleaves]

"And here I thought I was being so sneaky about it."

[futaille]

"Oh yes," he says with faux solemnity. "You are the sneakiest."

[vineleaves]

"Practically the god of it."

[futaille]

"God of sneaky chalance."

[vineleaves]

"That's me alright," he says with a laugh.

[futaille]

"The only reason not everyone knows it is because of the sneakiness."

[vineleaves]

"Some god of sneakiness I'd be if everyone knew I was the god of sneakiness."

[futaille]

"Can you think of a good song about being sneaky from a play?"

[vineleaves]

He immediately and loudly starts singing, "With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal! In silence dread, our cautious way we feel! No sound at all, we never speak a word. A fly's foot-fall would be distinctly heard!"

[futaille]

"Combining your domains so elegantly!"