HE DIPS HIMSELF IN ambrosia and fires all the same and still he has the audacity of calling himself a god. dionysus is the only one humans have never feared and he supposes that it’s only fair — he depicts all their worst nightmares, but in ways they have made tangible centuries ago. he is vices with no virtues — all that makes them human. they do not need him anymore. he is not like the other gods — there is nothing holy about him.
perhaps this is why he agrees with the mortal world. dirt people don’t trust diamonds and gold; they trust the dirt, and few know it better than dionysus. but he bears himself with dignity he does not own, and he trudges through their crowds with a confidence that almost translates into arrogance had it not been for his godly given charisma. this is the only scene in which yedam can be king: only by having everyone else be pawns first. it is a game for cowards, but he does not care as long as he’s winning.
when he enters the casino he knows his luck will not surpass that of any other mortal man and it’s this knowledge that makes the adventure exhilarating. he sits by the poker table, memorizing the cards he has now facing down, and he waits for his turn with that cocky smirk of his that he cannot erase. it’s a good a pokerface as any.
but this is not why he’s here.
dionysus has the uncanny ability of just knowing, and he knows he will find her here. he is not the only one drawn to the odds — the bets, the chances of winning so slim when the opportunities to lose presented themselves like beads on a string. she will be there, he is sure, and that is when he catches sight of her. «dalia,» he calls out before she can pass him unnoticed: he knows there is a chance she would’ve preferred that. dionysus has always been a man to test limits when applicable, and if possible he broke them. they mattered little to gods anyway.
there is that ungodly smirk, eyes like coal, a gaze like a hunter’s. «reckon i’ll have any luck tonight ?»