ARIADNE.

* I think, you have to pay for love with bitter tears. ❞

Sends a hand-embroidered handkerchief to @spokenspirits with a Happy Father's Day card.

...right. She'll take her leave, then? xitter.cf/spokenspirits/status/1…

Clears her throat.

Elusive boy.

Shoots a glare towards Comus.

She can change, if that would make life easier for him. xitter.cf/spokenspirits/status/1…

Was the instrument really necessary? xitter.cf/spokenspirits/status/1…

— *

/ OUCH. xitter.cf/undlvine/status/100446…

-- her tea, humming in response to the soothing it brought. “Perfect choice, darling. Thank you.”

Doing her best to mirror Hestia's smile in an attempt to put on a brave face, Ariadne gestures to the counter, heading towards the oven to pull out her fresh casseroles and serving her friend from three different pans. Handing her the plate, she then takes a sip from --

-- means about a million. Stress cooking isn't exactly cutting it, but the food has to go /somewhere/.

Holding Hestia close, Ariadne sighed into her shoulder, taking a moment to close her eyes and relish the comfort the goddess provided. Pulling back with a sniffle, she took one of the teas from her hand. “Are you hungry? I've been trying some recipes.” By some, she --

-- exaggerated, a hint of sarcasm bleeding through what she intended to craft as a well-meaning, small-talk response. “You?” She asks out of politeness, almost dreading the answer as soon as the query slips from her tongue.

-- words. “You are many things, Dion, but stupid was never one of them,” she began in a quieter tone, setting her testing fork aside once she had assessed perfection. Turning to her side to face him straight on, Ariadne sighed. “I'm swell. Never been better,” she --

-- she should have had her hopes up in the first place. “I'll let the twins know to swing by around then, too.” Setting the two pies on the counter, she cast him a wary glance at his question, averting her attention to poking at the pies as she mulled over her --

-- grin kindly, a relaxed, pleasant simper ever present, the goddess stirred the pot once more, moving to pull the pies out of the oven. “I see,” she replied simply, doing her best to keep her disappointment out of her voice as she took note of the absentees. Not as though --

Racking her mind for the last time she could remember Dionysus being in the kitchen with her, this involved in the affairs of the day, Ariadne found that such a memory was indeed still there, still intact. A little faded, a lot distant, but intact. Taking in his sheepish --

-- a gentle smile in return, she nods in appreciation at his handiwork, lifting the lid for him.

Opening her mouth to protest, she decides against it, having discerned that he's sober. “I'll bet,” she echoes, wondering whether any of them will actually show up. Though she quickly brushes it aside—wishful thinking never has gotten her very far around here. Offering --