“Did someone just call me the wine dude?” he asked in a lazy drawl. “It’s Bacchus, please. Or Mr. Bacchus. Or Lord Bacchus. Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don’t-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.”
― Rick Riordan
I met the greatest optimist in the world,
at Club Dionysus,
one of those places where,
as far as the eye can see,
which isn’t far as the lighting is dimmed down low,
all edges are softly burred,
everyone is the greatest something in the world.
She was the kind of dame,
who didn’t mind being called a dame,
she didn’t care what you called her,
that was your problem,
especially if you wanted her to answer your call.
She did have a problem though,
one which made her turn wine into water,
running from her fingers,
to her toes,
causing her cup to overflow.
“Apollo nodded and Dionysus bowed to the room, sweeping his arms out to the sides with a flourish. And then he was gone.
I shook my head. “Okay. Who else thinks he was high as a kite?”
Hands went up across the room and I grinned.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout
Props to the props,
which were part of this Dionysian adventure,
especially to the wine,
of which only the bottle remains.