InsaneJournal

Ariadne hadn’t been back to her flat since her meeting with Asterion, preferring to spend her time between work and Dionysus, Dionysus and study. She was fond of her flatmates, but they didn’t understand the goddess in her. What she’d told Tuck a couple of weeks ago was true; she’d been a little reluctant to step fully back into the words of the gods to start with, but now?

Now she was having a hard time remembering why she was reluctant. She’d spoken to her brother. She had a dancing date with Erato and Terpsichore and a bookish date with Clio and maybe she’d flirt a little more with the Friar later, so she was in such a good mood and wanted it to continue. Heading back to her flat to pretend to be someone else wasn’t just didn’t feel right, at least for now. She felt like she was shining, she didn't want to hide it.

On Saturday morning she woke well before Dionysus and pulled herself out of the tangle of sheets (and vines) to do a couple of hours reading before he woke up. When she’d joined him back in the bedroom later, all the curtains were open and the sun was pouring in over the bed and his body while he lazily swiped through Grindr. She leaned against his shoulder and gave her opinion on a few of the penises, then logged back in to tend her own Tindergarden before it withered away. She hadn’t opened it since she found him again, but hey, why not? It was hard to remember any inhibitions at all, lying next to Dion while his ankle distractedly stroked her leg.

She browsed through, replying to a few messages before one came in from a golden haired chiseled jaw that had caught her eye yesterday, and she couldn’t held the wide smile spreading across her face. Freyr! It had been an age since their commune broke up and they decided (a decision encouraged strongly by the feds) that it might be better to go their separate ways. Those had been good times, learning to fight from Freyja, getting her hands deep into the rich, fertile earth with Freyr, all of them surrounded by pleasures.

They’d had a good flirt yesterday and she’d found herself utterly delighted by the fact that he didn’t recognise her. It had been since the mid seventies, and most of her photos on Tinder looked like they’d been taken, y’know, two decades into the twenty first century, so she didn’t blame him. But she had to meet up with him again, face to face. She had to see the look on his handsome mug when he realised who she was.

When he suggested an art show she agreed profusely, pulled herself out of bed to find something to wear and said goodbye to Dionysus (‘suck a dick, baby!’) before heading out the door. She was practically skipping. Husband, brother, old friends, old lovers… she’d loved Baltimore, but New York was feeling very quickly like home.