dionysus was frequently faced with consequences from his father for laughable wrongdoings—turning up to a celebration already inebriated, opting for mortal clothing over his typical robes, mistaking a relevant individual for an insignificant partygoer. this time, dionysus’ transgression had been considerably severe.

he’d unintentionally served a goblet of ambrosia to about forty mortals. naturally, they had descended to the underworld—a euphemism for ‘they had died a horrific death’—within a matter of seconds.

this had all occurred during the winter equinox, where even hades had been present in olympus to witness dionysus’ blunder.

his punishment? to remain amongst the mortals and imitate their lifestyle. and so he’d been unceremoniously thrown from the clouds and flailed down to los angeles.

within a handful of weeks, he’d been employed at a major club, bartending. oftentimes, he was tempted to pour ambrosia into the glasses of particularly impudent mortals, but he refrained and instead subtly drank entire bottles of wine whilst on the clock.

it was a late evening, saturday—the club was bustling and the scent of sweat and alcohol permeated the air like a pungent smoke cloud from a cigarette of people. dionysus was behind the bar, taking deep swigs from a vintage bottle of wine. it wasn’t as though his manager was there to ensure he was sober.

if she was, he figured he’d disintegrate her, anyway. his wine-red eyes snagged on you as you approached the bar. bottle still in hand, he straightened from his half slouch and canted his head—his dark brown curls tickled at his nape as he moved. “what can i get for you?” he lazily inquired. propping up one elbow on the surface of the bar, he seemed boyish.