A stream of liquid poured madly from the palm of her hand as if a river bank had burst. Something had to have happened. Eutostea was distressed, grasping her palms.
Apollo walked slowly out of the pond, hugging Eutostea, who was struggling with shock. Panic-stricken, she was even more afraid of drowning.
‘Alcohol? Alcohol?’
Only then did she taste the clear liquid soaking her lips after licking it with her tongue. She could feel the flavor of white thyme honey. It wasn’t wine. It was common mead. However, it was her first taste of it. It was so sweet that it paralyzed her tongue.
In no time, a tipsy drowsiness engulfed her.
Apollo struggled to balance himself as he carried most of Eutostea’s weight holding her by the waist, but he stumbled down on one knee, a couple of steps away from the pond. She’s never been so drunk before. Moreover, her face was blazing as if she had been soaked in fire rather than liquor. Her body parts mixed together in a pile of uncoordinated mess.
“What is it? Alcohol?”
The very late Dionysus shook off the dirt on his hands. He must have been pulling out the grass with his bare hands. The green eyes staring at Apollo holding Eutostea were fierce. However, understanding the situation came first, a river has been formed in the assembly hall that has been cleared up yesterday.
‘Did Apollo cut down the tree and turn the river this way?’
His newly found suspicions dissolved the moment Eutostea raised her right palm up and he saw the liquid oozing out from it.
“Alcohol… Alcohol…” Eutostea said urgently. “I never prayed for alcohol to flow out of my palm.”
“So this is all your fault.”
Her resentful look struck at Dionysus’ chest.
“Give it to me,” Dionysus came up to Eutostea, scratching his head.
He meant to reach out his hand to her. but Eutostea reached out to him first, unable to hide her tears. Holding it down, Dionysus bowed his head and kicked Apollo’s shoulder sticking to hers.
“Who are you hugging, do you think this to be your chance?”
As he stared down at him like he was looking at a particularly disgusting bug, Apollo, who was shoved out of the way and fell on his buttocks, seemed unusual. His face turned red as if he were drunk. His curly front hair stuck to his forehead like ivy. The red eyes were out of focus and seemed to be caught in a dream.
“It’s dangerous…” Apollo murmured in a dreamy voice.
“Apollo? Are you drunk?”
“Dionysus!”
Eutostea called him urgently, snapping his attention back to what was really important now—the gushing, endless stream of liquid. He seemed to be the only one who could resolve the situation.
“Calm down, Eutostea. It’s not a big deal if you get a little alcohol out of your hand.”
It’s a good thing.
No, it was not.
It was dog shit logic.
“You want to turn the temple that we’ve been cleaning up into a sea of booze? Stop this right now! It’s your power!” Eutostea shouted at him.
“I didn’t do it.” Dionysus retreated back one footstep. “Oh, I am the god of alcohol, but…”
How can he explain this?
Dionysus pulled on his innocent hair.
In the meantime, pure liquor was pouring from the center of Eutostea’s palm. As she created alcohol, she felt a gap in her small reservoir of power. It was beyond the power of Eutostea, unlike Dionysus’ which would have felt like borrowing from a lake-like source of power in his case.
“It is my strength. But I don’t know. I didn’t do it on purpose. Maybe you’ve awakened the power to celebrate that you became my priest…”
“Tell me how to stop this.”
“I don’t know. It happened by itself.”
“It’s not like I pour alcohol into a cup from my hand like you do, this is too much….”
Eutostea looked melancholy as she clasped the palm of her hand which did nothing to stop the feast of liquor pouring down from there like a fountain.
Meanwhile, Dionysus got soaked up to his ankles in the pool she created. The sweet smell of alcohol tickled his nose. It was not wine, but a clear, colorless mead, as if it had melted honey in it.
Never even stopping to speculate on why Apollo had been reduced to that pitiful state, Dionysus casually buried his mouth in her palm. A stream of liquor refreshed his mouth.
‘Wow, this is…’
Dionysus gulped down the wine his priest had made as if he had been thirsty for a long time. The sweet scent rose up to the top of his head showering him in a sensation akin to filling his esophagus with honey.
And it was poisonous.
It is Dionysus, the god of alcohol, who makes alcohol bereft of the hangover aftereffects, who drinks well, and plays well.
However, Eutostea’s face in front of him blurred even after only downing a few gulps. Her palm was like a white glass made of shells. Alcohol was constantly spouting and wetting his nose and mouth.
A stream of liquid poured madly from the palm of her hand as if a river bank had burst. Something had to have happened. Eutostea was distressed, grasping her palms.
Apollo walked slowly out of the pond, hugging Eutostea, who was struggling with shock. Panic-stricken, she was even more afraid of drowning.
‘Alcohol? Alcohol?’
Only then did she taste the clear liquid soaking her lips after licking it with her tongue. She could feel the flavor of white thyme honey. It wasn’t wine. It was common mead. However, it was her first taste of it. It was so sweet that it paralyzed her tongue.
In no time, a tipsy drowsiness engulfed her.
Apollo struggled to balance himself as he carried most of Eutostea’s weight holding her by the waist, but he stumbled down on one knee, a couple of steps away from the pond. She’s never been so drunk before. Moreover, her face was blazing as if she had been soaked in fire rather than liquor. Her body parts mixed together in a pile of uncoordinated mess.
“What is it? Alcohol?”
The very late Dionysus shook off the dirt on his hands. He must have been pulling out the grass with his bare hands. The green eyes staring at Apollo holding Eutostea were fierce. However, understanding the situation came first, a river has been formed in the assembly hall that has been cleared up yesterday.
‘Did Apollo cut down the tree and turn the river this way?’
His newly found suspicions dissolved the moment Eutostea raised her right palm up and he saw the liquid oozing out from it.
“Alcohol… Alcohol…” Eutostea said urgently. “I never prayed for alcohol to flow out of my palm.”
“So this is all your fault.”
Her resentful look struck at Dionysus’ chest.
“Give it to me,” Dionysus came up to Eutostea, scratching his head.
He meant to reach out his hand to her. but Eutostea reached out to him first, unable to hide her tears. Holding it down, Dionysus bowed his head and kicked Apollo’s shoulder sticking to hers.
“Who are you hugging, do you think this to be your chance?”
As he stared down at him like he was looking at a particularly disgusting bug, Apollo, who was shoved out of the way and fell on his buttocks, seemed unusual. His face turned red as if he were drunk. His curly front hair stuck to his forehead like ivy. The red eyes were out of focus and seemed to be caught in a dream.
“It’s dangerous…” Apollo murmured in a dreamy voice.
“Apollo? Are you drunk?”
“Dionysus!”
Eutostea called him urgently, snapping his attention back to what was really important now—the gushing, endless stream of liquid. He seemed to be the only one who could resolve the situation.
“Calm down, Eutostea. It’s not a big deal if you get a little alcohol out of your hand.”
It’s a good thing.
No, it was not.
It was dog shit logic.
“You want to turn the temple that we’ve been cleaning up into a sea of booze? Stop this right now! It’s your power!” Eutostea shouted at him.
“I didn’t do it.” Dionysus retreated back one footstep. “Oh, I am the god of alcohol, but…”
How can he explain this?
Dionysus pulled on his innocent hair.
In the meantime, pure liquor was pouring from the center of Eutostea’s palm. As she created alcohol, she felt a gap in her small reservoir of power. It was beyond the power of Eutostea, unlike Dionysus’ which would have felt like borrowing from a lake-like source of power in his case.
“It is my strength. But I don’t know. I didn’t do it on purpose. Maybe you’ve awakened the power to celebrate that you became my priest…”
“Tell me how to stop this.”
“I don’t know. It happened by itself.”
“It’s not like I pour alcohol into a cup from my hand like you do, this is too much….”
Eutostea looked melancholy as she clasped the palm of her hand which did nothing to stop the feast of liquor pouring down from there like a fountain.
Meanwhile, Dionysus got soaked up to his ankles in the pool she created. The sweet smell of alcohol tickled his nose. It was not wine, but a clear, colorless mead, as if it had melted honey in it.
Never even stopping to speculate on why Apollo had been reduced to that pitiful state, Dionysus casually buried his mouth in her palm. A stream of liquor refreshed his mouth.
‘Wow, this is…’
Dionysus gulped down the wine his priest had made as if he had been thirsty for a long time. The sweet scent rose up to the top of his head showering him in a sensation akin to filling his esophagus with honey.
And it was poisonous.
It is Dionysus, the god of alcohol, who makes alcohol bereft of the hangover aftereffects, who drinks well, and plays well.
However, Eutostea’s face in front of him blurred even after only downing a few gulps. Her palm was like a white glass made of shells. Alcohol was constantly spouting and wetting his nose and mouth.
