Get Some

 An ecstatic cry rings out through the expansive cluster of trees.

 The luscious, sensual dream fades as quickly as his voice, though the evidence of such imagined debaucheries lies on and around him in quickly cooling splotches and strings.

 He chases that beautiful fantasy, all teeth and heat and pleasure, rolling over and into the mess.

 Dionysus opens his eyes. “Aw, shucks.”

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“Επαίσχυντος. — Shameful.”

The woman appeared as though a snake in the grass, venomous and poised above the fattened creature, single eye narrowed as she regarded him with disdain. 

“Δύο φορές γεννημένος, — Twice-Born,” The Moirai intoned, wondering why her sisters had not yet pulled this fool's thread to be cut. Alas, he was a god and a god's death was not so easy a thing. 

She had been called here, pulled by the realm to appear in a shift of smoke and mist. Was it this God's doing? She doubted it.

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 “Nothin’ shameful about it. Just a bit messy is all.” Replying in his native tongue, he heaved his corpulent form up and onto all four feet. Once righted, he was able to regard the other wolf properly. Tilting his head, Dio padded round, circling at a trot.

 “What happened to your face? And your neck…” Halting, the young buck leaned in as close as he dared, looking up at the stranger through his lashes. “What’d the other guy walk away with? Worse I’m sure - amiright?”

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Atropos, the owner of the golden shears, did not appreciate the scrutiny she was placed under, the criticizing questions aimed at her. “θεός Διονύσου, είναι προς το συμφέρον σας να σταματήσετε να περπατάω γύρω μου σαν να ήμουν θνητό πόρνη. — Dionysus, it is in your best interest to stop circling me as if I were a mortal harlot.” The rasp of her voice was sharp, filled with vitriol that was aimed at the God of Wine and drunkenness. Sloppiness. 

“Έχετε δει Clotho ή Lachesis? — Have you seen Clotho or Lachesis?” She asked, intent on finding her sisters in this strange existence. 

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 “Can't say that I have, Po-Po.” He replied, plucking the most egregious styling of her name from his branch of options. 

 Dio ceased his circling, not because she asked him to, but because he'd made himself dizzy. Blinking up at the fate, he finally took a moment to survey their surroundings, and their furry forms.

 “Think this is a dream?” He asked his involuntary companion before he began walking down a leaf-littered path. Dio turned back towards the singular fate, one lone and wriggling part of a whole, like a severed arm. “Comin'?”

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The moniker was met with a still-stony countenance, judgmental gaze not lifting from the portly wolf as he rounded back into view. She held no love and no hate for the Godling, nor did she for any other. Atropos was a being of time, of fate; little mattered to the Goddess save for her sisters and their duties. There was some vague interest as to the reason she was here, but beyond that, the Fate merely wondered at what her task here would develop into.

Without a word, the red wraith stepped forward, her lean and limber form moving with that otherworldly grace afforded to her by being as old as time itself. His question drew little response from the red furred wolf, a contemplative sound the only thing that broke the air between them. She chose no words simply for the fact that there were no words to choose. Did it matter if it was a dream? They were still here, still present, still corporeal. The reason they were here also held no meaning. They would get through this life, and the next. Or they wouldn't. Who was to truly say?
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