dion here!

Eyeing the man with faint amusement, the corners of his lips curving upward at that brief display of dramatic surprise, Hephaestus offered a lazy shrug in return, one shoulder lifting in some semblance of nonchalance as he straightened with a groan of discontent - what he wouldn’t give for a good night’s rest. “I’m good … could be better; but I have to admit, your little show right there killed the woe.” His brother had always possessed a flair for the dramatics, so much so that at times it had been difficult to discern if he was being serious or not. A serious Dionysus was a strange sight, indeed, but not so strange that he found the whole situation impossible. 

“Save me from myself? I ain’t no damsel in distress, Dion.” The blacksmith scoffed, fingers tightening around the very bottle Dionysus had sneakily ( but slowly, too damn slow for the drunken eye to catch until it was too late ) attempted to take from him - but he’d refused his gesture of aid, choosing instead to guzzle down beer like there was no tomorrow … until the bottle was empty and there were no more barley-made beverages to save him from. “See? All gone, just like magic.” Yeah, if magic came equipped with greedy suction cups people liked to call lips.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, Hephaestus cast the other male a smug, bleary-eyed look, taking pride in the fact that he’d out-paced Dionysus. You had to be quicker than that if you wanted to catch the big fish. “Am I usually imposing? Huh - that’s kind of ironic when even small children take one look at me and laugh. Laugh. Like I’m some damn mascot at a party.” Maybe he just had one of those faces - a horrendously painted clown face, only good for a few laughs and nothing more. “Nah. I’m fine. Save your bar-side therapist skills for someone who actually needs them. I’m just having one of those days, I guess.” Didn’t everyone?

Surprised when the owner of the bar continued to engage them in conversation, practically ignoring the activity going on around them in favor of directing all of his attention - both professional and personal - on them, Klara instinctively shuffled closer, pressing against the edge of the counter as they wrestled with their confusion, hoping to slap it back into place once they reached some kind of conclusion about this male whose very presence reminded them of home; not so much a place as it was a plane of existence - something with which they might have shared. If only they could recall exactly where they knew him from and why his presence should incite such a strong, nostalgic feeling within them when they themselves failed to recover memories believed to be significant to their previous identity. 

Perhaps, if they were to learn his name, the last puzzle piece to this mystery would fall into place and they would finally be able to solve the riddle of his existence and what it might mean to them - if anything.  “What should I call you?” Klara boldly, almost challengingly, held the man’s gaze, fingertips gently tapping against the wine glass in a staccato rhythm - in concert with the steady thump of their heartbeat.

                          Anxiety?

                      No. 

               Not anxiety.

       This was something else.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it impossible.” Just implausible. Trying to ignore the heat of their skin where his eyes touched her - a warm blush overspread their cheeks, threatening to derail their unyieldingly calm demeanor ( an irony in itself, given their past designation ) - they lifted the glass of merlot to their lips for an experimental taste, intending to luxuriate in the richness of a flavor they were certain they’d never experienced before, a blend of complementary ingredients that would each add something unique to the flavor. Or so they believed - naturally, they wouldn’t know until the wine actually touched their tongue. But judging from its scent and the confidence of its creator, their suspicions probably weren’t that far off. 

Before the rim of the glass could touch their lips, however, he abruptly sprang into action, all but lunging over the counter to capture their hand in a firm, albeit nonthreatening, hold meant to deter consumption of a wine he even went so far as to insultingly label grape juice. Startled, Klara threw him an assessing look rife with suspicion and awareness, a fiery tingling sensation shooting through their veins like an electric charge at his touch. A sensation that ended just as abruptly as it had come upon them, dissipating the instant his hand fell away to retrieve a different bottle, this one a deep burgundy. Pursing their lips at the challenge they could easily discern in his tone, they studied the bottle for a long minute before finally accepting his challenge with a wave of their hand. “I’m not most people,” they professed, a simple declaration made to signify their intent to take him up on his challenge - and come out the victor. "We can even make this interesting if you want.” A bet to kick-start this party. “If you manage to knock me out with whatever’s in that bottle, it’s your win … But if not, it’s mine.”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t figure it out yet?” Dion clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth but didn’t seem all that offended, coming off as rather jovial, throwing the pretty stranger a wink and flourishing out his arms—as if by showcasing the vast assortment of wine bottles behind him might give hint. “Is it not obvious?” Dionysus drawled, playing out the dejection and going overboard on the melodramatics mostly just for the fun of it, going so far as half falling back against the bar, spine arching ridiculously, hand clutched to chest like in great pain. “My fame fails me. What has the world come to if the god of all the fun things can’t be recognized.” He harrumphed, whined even, but couldn’t keep back the giggles, mouth twisting crookedly as he turned to the beauty and straightened back up, arm held out so the large of his hand was open in offering. “Dionysus, at your service.”          Ironically, he still couldn’t figure out why they seemed so familiar.                                      And how could someone be familiar without looking familiar?                                                                He’d remember a face this attractive, he knew he would.     So what in blazing Olympus was going on? He just went with his instinct — it could be remarkably on point sometimes — and switched up her drink. This stranger with the masculine jawline and feminine eyes intrigued him, but then again he’d always been one to blur that line, but what else could one expect from a man who’d grown up wearing togas, flower crowns and gold bangles? Besides, he hadn’t quite pinned down the species of this rare beauty, other than to narrow out not human, perhaps whatever she was didn’t have a set gender. 

                                                               It wasn’t within the realm of impossibility. 

Speaking of that--     “Never say never sweetheart, implausible or not. The world’s taught me that much.” 

Inclined to believe him - he didn’t possess the aura of a liar, from what they could tell; but outrageousness … that was an entirely different story - Klara glanced from that appealing face to the hand still attached to the glass, just above their own, their fingers almost intertwining. A close call if ever there was one. “Worried? No,” they replied, a candidness about their tone that added credence to their words. “I merely wanted to return the favor … ” of a free drink - “Fair warnings work best in that capacity.” Any warning would, they were sure.

When they felt the intensity of his gaze on them - it felt as though they’d come under microscopic study - the maniae who’d found themselves stripped of everything, including madness, returned the scrutiny with a narrow-eyed, suspicious look of their own. Now that they thought about it, the familiarity with which this male gave off reminded them of something - a faint memory determined to pierce through the obscurity that had so easily overtaken their mind; the humans’ doing, no doubt. Not only had they given Klara a body to contain the spirit of madness that had swept across the land, inducing insanity with nothing more than their incorporeal presence, but they’d gone so far as to drain them of every last drop of madness they could generate, unleashing it on other creatures in their misguided efforts to see if manufacturing a drug with such a powerful ingredient was possible. 

         The humans had taken everything from them.

    And it hurt, this dark, barren void that had taken the place of their madness - an emptiness that grew with every passing day.

“Doubt it,” they answered simply, wondering if perhaps they’d known this … being in their former life - but as a spirit and not as a weak, lowly human. “You see, I tend to drive people mad with just my presence alone.” Well, they used to. Klara doubted they would manage to obtain the same kind of results now. “And you look quite sane to me - unless you’re an expert at hiding it.” They couldn’t exactly discount that possibility either.

At his flirtatious comment, however, they blinked, slightly taken aback. So he considered their face attractive to some degree? That was news to them. Sporting an amused smile themselves, they gave a small shake of their head, as if to say they didn’t - couldn’t - take that comment seriously. “If that’s your master plan, then you’re not as devious as I originally thought you to be.”

Dion could feel the heat off the other’s fingers, a tantalizing tingle that was electric between the fine thread of space separating nearly tangled hands. Strange as it was, he couldn’t quite beat the compulsion to hold onto the glass, there was something almost hypnotic about the other’s eyes. It was infectious, and the trace of a smile poked at the corners of roguish lips. Utterly mesmerized. Maybe it was just that he couldn’t quite discern if he was looking into the exotic eyes of a man dressed like a woman, or a woman with boyish features. Either way, it was compelling— this was androgyny done right. 

“Ah that they do, don’t they.” Dion murmured softly, hand belatedly falling away, but not before stealing a dragging touch. “Warning heeded.” Blinking, the former god of chaos who’d mellowed out as of late kept up the eye contact. There was something nagging at him still, something so very familiar. He’d taken the other fully in, the eyes, the hair, the body, the clothes, the posture, the gesturing, the infliction on their tone and none of it sparked true to what he recognized, but there was something. 

An energy maybe. 

A presence.

“Is it so impossible?” Dion whispered, gaze circling around the other’s face. He could not place where or why or how he knew this attractive stranger, but he could tell that whoever they are, they were missing something— something chaotic, fun, nothing like that relaxing drink he’d just handed over. With a startled jerk, Dion whipped forward (practically falling over the bar) and caught the hand that held the glass just before it made purchase against the plush of a lip. “Wait— don’t ruin your palate with this grape juice.” A beat, eyes locked and held for a riveting minute. “I have something better for you.”

“Well,” All Apollo could do was shrug, unable to claim the statement as a fallacy. He had given up on humility long ago. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean. Do you only recognize me by my ego? Surely, you did not forget all of my virtues since we’ve last spoken as they are rather difficult to.” His light, golden laughter briefly filled the air between them. If it had been anyone else– with the exception of Artemis –Apollo would shut them down with a pretty threat, spoken so lyrically you wouldn’t realize it was one in the first place until he carried it out. 

He found amusement in his siblings’ frustration. It seemed so small compared to what Apollo lost. His ability to give mortals the power of prophecy– gone, taken from him like it was such a menial power to have. It was their mistake for taking away something that could benefit them. He was sure something much worse than Troy burning would happen. “That’s appalling! However, I do certainly blame you for growing too much of a liking to your taste. There’s no possible way I can wait so long. It’ll be agonizing.”

The ex-sun god cocked a brow to Dionysus, taking another sip of the wine. It definitely had been too long since he’s had a drink this fine. “Nothing new, I’m afraid to say.” No Artemis. His sister continued to be absent and it plagued him endlessly. Not that the other had to know. “My night club is a few blocks away, if the mood ever strikes you must come. It’s quite the scene if I do say so myself.”  

“Haven’t you?” Dion teased, eyebrows disappearing behind the mop of dark curls. “To be fair, your ego is the biggest part about you.” Apollo didn’t frighten him, sure the Sun god was renowned for a fiery temper and haughty disposition, but at the heart of the matter Dionysus knew him too well. He was too enthralled with partying and chaos to mean any real threat to the god of all that and besides, they’d spent too many hot days in the desert getting wasted together. Apollo was one of the few gods who’d survived partying with Dion’s Maenad’s.

Whether an innuendo was meant or not, Dionysus couldn’t help the lick of a smirk that stole away the cherried pout of lips. “My taste?” He left it at that, laughing as he reached across the bar to take the nearly empty wine glass off the other man — whom in the end, didn’t surrender it so much as held it out and Dion, being rather the agreeable sort these days, filled the glass a second time without fight. Though his eyes did catch and hold the other man’s. “Agonizing indeed. Not my fault you stayed away so long.”

She paused when he introduced himself for he obviously expected her to recognize the name and she felt herself feeling rather bad for not knowing who or what he was. Rebecca quietly racked her brain, going through tonnes of various creatures. When she realized who it was, she felt the urge to smack her head against the bar. Instead, she blinked in a fashion that was reminiscent to an owl. “Oh, the Greek God of wine and other um stuff, right?” 

Was she wrong, oh she was probably wrong. She had always been bad with names, especially when it came to other people that she didn’t need to know the names of. And she certainly hadn’t even needed to know the names of Gods from a completely different area of the world - oh how badly the humans had messed things up.

“Oh the traditional way, that does make sense.” After all, tradition was tradition for a reason - stemmed from years of practice it made perfect. Nothing more to it than that really. “The more work you do, the better the results. The prize of a race hard run is sweeter than the prize a cheater receives.” 

It was an awkward second before Dion realized she didn’t recognize the name— that’s a new one. His was a strange name (at least in this day and age) but it was one that stuck out for its oddity, and for it’s association with wine and festivities. His smile hung suspended, handsome head cocked a degree too far to the left, eyebrows perking in titillating fascination and waited…

Ah, there it was. The eureka moment. Dion winked, lifting the bottle of wine to pour himself another round. It was quite easy to drink the shit like grape juice when it didn’t get you drunk. “Of inciting madness, of chaos and the downtrodden.” Good humored enough not to be slighted in the least by her lack of knowledge into his providence, Dion raised his glass in a toast of sorts and said, devilish of grin: “Funny how it’s the wine everyone remembers.”

Another wink and he sipped from his glass, one hand casually sprawled out against the counter, fingers stark against the dark of the obsidian. “I suppose you’re right,” Dionysus murmured, eyeing the doll like wonder with amusement. “I did invent the method after all, of curing juice from grapes, you know how much work it was, traveling around the world and teaching that art to everyone?” Dion mused aloud, lost momentarily in a reverie. “But now I can find a passable wine at a grocery store.”

Was she scared? 

She was terrified, mortified and even felt a little ill, but she raised the glass to her lips anyway. She could smell it then, fresh and bright, and she knew what it would taste like without even needing the taste. Except, she wanted it, horribly so, and one little sip wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Slowly, lifting the glass further, tipping it against her mouth, Hera’s eyes fell shut, and she took a small, slow drink. Savoring the taste, for it was the only one she would get, the only one she would allow herself. Just one taste, and nobody but Dionysus would need to know about it. 

“It has life to it.” She spoke after a moment, opening her eyes to gaze at him once more. So distracted by his churlish expression, Hera didn’t even notice when she took another sip. “Bright, but not overly so. A hint of berry and something almost spicy, woody maybe, and something like…honey? All in all, this is a very good blend, my dear.”

Was it cruel to delight in watching an addict take to a tightrope?

Maybe. But he’d been a god of madness, one so successful he’d nearly conquered the whole world (except for what is now Britain) back in his more ambitious days. Sue him for slipping a little, for while he’d age like a fine wine, becoming overall a more calming experience, there was still a bite.

Eyes, big and bright, watched gleefully, as the glass was brought to lips and— success. Such a sweet victory. Dion even smiled — genuinely — and dimpled in the one cheek. “You sound surprised,” he said, staging mocking offense with a palm to the chest. “Mothers give life, it’s only fitting they should have a wine to match.”

“You,” he groused, striving for irritability but falling short of it as always when Dionysus unapologetically swept into the picture. His half-brother was a barrel of laughs, quite capable of turning misery into laughter with a well-timed utterance of some nonsense or other, and honestly that was what he needed most at the moment. “Just seeing your face is the biggest buzzkill of all.” He harrumphed and took a deep swig of his beer - before setting it aside to give the other male his full, undivided attention. Gods, but he’d missed seeing that pretty mug of his. 

           Well, pretty by his standards. 

      Others might think differently given the facial hair. 

“Is there some law against feeling woeful?” He quirked an eyebrow, amusement welling at Dionysus’s side comment. He supposed if anyone would know how unpleasant drowning in beer could be, it’d be the god of fertility, wine, and all that fell in between. “So - what? You came over here to lecture me or somethin’?” Doubtful - but worth asking. 

“Me!” Dion mockingly jested, hand flying to his chest in a dramatic show of shock — like he was surprised he himself was here, the gesture ending on a bow that came equipped with a wink. “How you doin’ old man?” The ex-god chirped, keeping a disdainful eye on the ale his brother drank. It looked like swamp water. Probably tasted like it too.

“I came over here to save you from yourself, you goddamn animal.” Dion made a face that could only be labeled as empathetic disgust and slowly inched his hand towards the beer that sat as an insult on his counter. Hephaestus should know better than to order a barley made beverage in the house of grapes! “Lemme jus— “ the bottle was snatched away from his slow-moving grasp. “Hey, I was just trying to help.”