"Mmmhm, wooden, leathery grapes, hints of berries and bullshit," Lyra agrees, forgetting her resolution not to swear in a cemetery— but the bull softens the shit, surely. And it ain't like they actually sitting on anyone's grave right now, probably? Unless this hill is a burial mound? Lyra considers it for a moment, then tips out just a little of the wine after Rosario passes it back. "For any thirsty spirits," she says, and she means it lightly, but it gets her thinking 'bout what else might be under the ground. Not just human corpses and human spirits, but other things that she knows are wine-lovers. Makes her wonder if there is something down there, something gonna take the offering of wine like an invitation to come through.
She doesn't hate the idea. She should, but she doesn't. It's been on her mind, almost constantly, ever since Mother's Day, and sporadically for weeks before that. Like an itch she can't stop scratching, thinking about, talking about. "Y'know what tonight is?" she asks Rosario, brushing a little sugar off her coat (another offering for anything sweet-toothed out there...) "S'like, this time last year was the last night I spent not in the real world. Weird that that's tonight, huh?"