Characters: Dionysus and Ariadne Date/Time: Evening of January 17th Location: Seattle Rating: PG, at least to start. Warnings: None so far. Summary: The wine god misses a friendly voice.
Dionysus sighed as he set the bottle back on the coffee table-- empty, again, just like the others on the table already. Despite the casualties of the night, he felt regrettably sober; some places inside himself just couldn't be touched, no matter how much he drank.
Since his return from the mansion, he'd been able to find a place to crash at easily enough-- a local artist, used to having strangers show up and stay for a month or two. He still remembered his last memories before waking up in the mansion, of course, and he had long sworn bloody revenge against the people who'd blown him up. And yet, even that thought left him cold tonight.
This won't do at all he thought to himself. And as he did, he suddenly realized that since leaving the mansion, he hadn't really talked to anyone. Oh, there were the usual nights of sitting around with kindred humans and outdrinking them all, but it wasn't the same-- he needed, after all, the people who really did understand him.
No, he thought to himself, you need...her.
He reached over to the phone, picked it up, and dialed a number in Bellevue.