#winewomenwit

“What can I say? When you’re as good as me, you’ve earned the right to it. You have a name to go with those rosy cheeks?”

Where the god goes, bon esprit follows–so it has been from his second birth, so it will be to the end of time. The air around him feels exactly the same way champagne tastes, tart and sweet, sharp and bubbly. He is infected. He is infectious. Joy spreads from him like a disease and ravages the room, bringing with it laughter like a whooping cough, doubling over especially the hardiest of those present. Wine-dark eyes, ancient and amused, seek out new game in the teeming mass of humanity, some new sources of amusement, unique fun, pleasure to be had in any way it can be taken: when they lock with LeFou’s, all hope is lost.

(W͝͠ḩy d̛̛͞on̴͘'t͞ ̧̡y̢o͘u̕͠ ͠c͡o̸m̀e h̵e͟r͠è̢?̕)

It’s hardly more than a whisper in the back of his mind, of course. Dionysus delights in speaking softly to those he would ensnare. It echoes and emanates forth, manifests as chills as it moves throguh the only astral plane mortals can touch and ends as a stray thought planted in the man’s mind. It’s a suggestion, more or less, but a very powerful one, compelling mostly in its strangeness. This invitation, as far removed from him as the mind of the mortal he left it in, is coupled with an inviting smile. Let that and his unbroken gaze serve as his welcome tonight: he hardly ever needs much more.

Jacques found himself-- captivated by a man in the lounge. He’d had a pretty rough night and was eager for some form of company. Someone who might listen or even offer him companionship for the evening. He didn’t care-- a tiff with Gaston had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he wanted to forget himself. From across the bar he met eyes with the stranger, rising from his seat to cross the room.

He tried his best to portray confidence-- men responded to that, but the smile on his features indicated his nervousness. It was genuine and warm, but still apprehensive. 

“I never thought that you would be a hard man to find, brother.” Persephone stood in the doorway, and pulled her traveling cloak from around her shoulders, her dark eyes glittering in the half light. The goddess set her guest gift -- a small basket of blood red pomegranates decorated with gold filigree -- down on a nearby table, before moving to embrace the other god. “Nobody seems to know where you are anymore... Or maybe I was just asking the wrong people.”

Persephone did her best to smile, but the expression did not reach her eyes. These days, she looked more the part of the Iron Queen than the springtime goddess, but with the chaos wrought by the fall of Olympus, it was only to be expected. The realm of Hades had been in utter upheaval, with new souls flooding in in numbers worse than even what they had seen in the second world war. Eventually, her husband had sent her to New Olympia, thinking things might be vaguely safer there, while he struggled to bring order back to the world of the dead. It hadn’t been, nor, Persephone had heard much to her dismay, had Hades been very successful in his endeavors. There had been rumors of shades and other things best left in the dark slipping back into the mortal realm. And things were no better here, between the infighting and the secrecy... She was tired. Worried. They all were.

she sits by his side on a shoreline, head on his shoulder as the quiet waveslap around their feet. silence is rare for them, but it had been the end of thegreat dionysia, and even gods could grow weary. he ran slow fingers throughher hair, she kissed his skin, just over his collarbone as the maenads dancedand the fawns played behind them. the god and his queen held an unusualcourt, but it was no less beautiful for it.

she’s dying, and she knows that. it isn’t death that she fears, it’s losing him. he needs her, and it isn’t ego or self preservation that is saying that. her lifeis slipping away, and she can see his frantic eyes, his panic that this is nota thing he can do to stop this. a weak hand pulls him close. if her life is to end,she wants it to end peacefully, with his love.

he sees her throughout the ages, although things rarely line up as they shouldfor the pair. once, she’s a nun, so that’s just out. another time she is married tosomeone else, in love and happy, and he will not interrupt. let it not be said thatthe god lacks manners. but here and there he contents himself with a stolenkiss or even just a smile across a room. it isn’t much. it isn’t enough.

finally she sees him. she truly sees him, unattached and with that quiet longingin his eyes that he just can’t seem to extinguish no matter how hard he tries. atfirst she just assumes it’s attraction, but the dreams which have plagued herduring her lifetime now start to show his face. his dear, forgotten face. but to arational, modern mind it just seems impossible, and she ignores it. the affair ispassionate though, and one day it all falls in line that their names aren’t merecoincidence and that the dreams are memories. she’s crying in his arms, outof relief or fear of another parting, ariadne couldn’t say. he kisses her tearsaway, his arms almost too tight around his reclaimed queen.