The wine they drank that pleasant afternoon in the tavern was a particular kind – a soft pink color, fruity, sweet, with a pleasant smell that reminded them of berries. It was also somewhat light, and Hesiodos knew that to get drunk he would have to drink quite a lot of it, which he was willing to do since it was really good, if a bit expensive.
The arts festival was still raging on outside, but Hesiodos couldn’t pass the chance to invite his old friend Bastilliade for a drink or two, or maybe six. After all, it has been a while since they meet, and the bard wanted to spend some time with him. That’s how they ended in a tavern – which Hesiodos knew had the best wine in Argothia – sitting in a table in a quiet corner, drinking a selection of wines. Hesiodos offered to pay, and while he suspected all the money he earned for posing for the Dionysus painting would go down on this, he knew it was money well spent.
He took the cup off his lips and let out a pleasant sign, “What do you think, Bas? Is it good enough for you?”, his head was already a bit light from the wine he drank previously, but it was not an unwelcoming feeling. By drinking as much as he did, he had quite a resistance.
“You have to tell me about your adventures, my dear”, he said after another drink, “I’m sure you’re eager to hear about my exploits of the past… if you didn’t already”, he said with a chuckle. Stories about him spread like wildfire, though he had to see if the man before him believed them.
Basilides could see where this afternoon was going from miles away, and while he knew he had it in his power to stop it, he was quite positive that the flowing drinks and fine company would not encourage him to do so. It was a dangerous game he played, mixing work and fun, and then using the excuses caused by one to excuse wrongdoing with another.
He would feel guilt later, as he always did, knowing that just hours ago he was planning to purchase a gift for his lover, Zephyrus. His young lover always suspected the worst, and usually was wrong about it. This time, there was no guarantee that he could look the young man in the eyes and say all was well when he returned to the troupe in a few days time. Perhaps...a bit more wine would help the situation.
If anything, he could blame it on Dionysus, a god who demands to be honored through abandon of inhibition in moments like this. While he doubted that sort of reasoning would hold up against Zephyrus, it was definitely convincing enough for Bas to put those thoughts aside as he finished another glass with a broad smile.
"What, the wine or the company?" he teased, his deep voice lilting in jest, "Both are fine enough and only improve with a bit more." As he made his point, he picked up the rest of the bottle and drained it between their two glasses, lifting the bottle high in the air for the droplets to splash against the walls of the glass. Basilides loved a good flourish.
"Oh, mine pale in comparison to yours, I am sure," Bas said, flapping a hand as if to brush away talk of the troupe, "And I assure you, yours involve far more swordplay and far less paperwork." He laughed a bit at his own words, his head light and slightly swirling from the amount of wine in his system. It seemed, in festivals such as these, the best way to assuage the coming headaches and nausea was to drink more.
"Is it true that you duelled the Pharoah's personal guard and then bedded him to get into the palace?"
“That is true!”, he said, toasting messily like him, celebrating the abundance of the rich, pink wine, “To wine and company!”, he said as he drank, slowly, enjoying the fruit of the wine. He made a mental note to buy a bottle just for himself, and perhaps one for Bas as well. He would have to see…
“Swordplay, yes, and also daring chases and steamy sex scenes…”, he said without a hint of humility. That didn’t fit him at all, “And don’t paint yourself modest. I’m sure you have amazing tales to tell…”, he said with a flattering tone. While not everyone led exciting lives, he loved to hear all kinds of stories… if they were well told and creative, that’s it. Creativity was a must for him.
He made a thinking face, as if it was something he had to recall, “Yes, it is true. The Pharaoh wanted a private performance, but the personal guard didn’t trust that a random Greek jackass like me could be as good as they said… you see, I took offense in that, so I dueled him, and won… but then felt bad about him and took him to a healer. I made sure he was correctly patched up, but realized he was quite handsome without his armor…”, that last part he said with a particular tone, one they both knew well, “So… I gave him a consolation prize, right there on his sick bed. That gained me entrance to the palace.”
Hesiodos knew that a man like Bastiliade could see through the tall tales and the bullshit, even when drunk, but he also knew than a thespian like him could appreciate a good story.
“What about you?”, he asked then, “I heard one of your play was enough to make the Lords of five different provinces cry tears of joy… oh, how I wish I could have been there to see that…”
A muffled rumble of a laugh sat low in Basilides' throat as he echoed his friend's toast, "To wine and company!"
The wine was sweeter than his usual preferences, which tended towards dark, dry, and a touch of bitterness. The issue truly existed in the crispness of the flavor which almost had an effervescence from the fermentation process that seemed to bubble on the top of the tongue. It was a dangerous wine, one where if not careful, it was easy to lose track of the number of glasses. Usually, given his height, it took more than a few rounds to truly cause him be affected. However, sitting across from the bard with a few empty bottles before them, Bas could truly feel the effects warming the inside of his chest and tingling his lips.
Tonight would be a dangerous night at this rate.
Bas was mid-sip when Hesiodos added the aspects of swordplays and sex to his summary, causing an involuntary laugh to escape Bas' nose and which in turn sprayed the rose-colored wine from the glass and into air in a fine mist. His hand immediately rose to his face to try to wipe away the mess, around his face and he set down the glass with a clink, eyes narrowed briefly at the bard as if to blame him for laughing. It was likely a common look the man received.
In trying to finish the wine in his mouth and wipe away at his face with the back of his hand, the other hand flapped delicately as if inviting the man to continue....and to breeze past the idea that Basilides actually had interesting stories to tell. As the bard told his tale, Bas felt his eyebrows rise and fall with each interesting moment in the story, and occasionally shaking his head in disbelief at certain points. His hands throughout were occupied with attempting to wipe the beads of wine into the wood. As the story ended, Basilides could not help but scoff and roll his eyes.
"Either you're the world's most brilliant liar, or you have more lives than a cat. I'm honestly not sure which one I'm more inclined towards," Basilides said, matter-of-factly, following it up with a successful sip of wine through a smirk. At the next topic, Bas inclined his head, though it was followed by a slight sigh.
"Yes, it is true, to an extent," Basilides started, leaning forward, "Phineus decided that for a scene, instead of releasing doves into the air, he wanted our dancers to be the doves - masks, feathers, and all. It was horribly expensive, but...it was honestly one of the most ridiculous and hilarious things I have ever seen in my life - all these dancers and acrobats cooing and vaulting and flapping across the stage. Feathers. Everywhere."
Hesiodos was completely amused by Bas’ outburst with the wine. If he were a younger bard, more inexperienced, he would have laughed like an idiot, unable to tell his story, and probably spilled the wine, adding to the mess. But he knew how to control himself during a story… and the man seemed to like it. He gave him that very look of people that didn’t mean to laugh but did… oh, how he loved that damn look. Made him remember why he took this profession.
That, and the facial expressions of the thespian as he kept telling the story. Just as he suspected, he didn’t believe him, not one bit, but he liked the story nonetheless. It was like that time he told that story about him getting drunk with satyrs, bedding nymphs, and composing the world’s most wonderful songs… but being so drunk they ended up burning the scrolls where it was written. He then proceeded to play and sing for them the ‘replication’ of the song, which was something he composed himself a while ago. He was sure the most keen people didn’t believe him… and those who did, well, they clearly enjoyed themselves, like children.
“I’m a bard”, he said, giving him a third option to his assumptions, “I’m quite sure that tells you everything you need to know”, in fact, it did and didn’t, at the same time. He was an adventurer, did all sort of daring and exciting things, and generally could sing stories about his exploits… but most of them were liberally embellished, tall tales, or straight up bullshit.
He looked at the man intently, like a good audience, when he told his own story. A smile crept upon his face, and then he showed teeth, white as milk. As chuckles escaped the bottom of his mouth as he told, and in the end he ended up laughing, “For the love of Dionysus, I wish I’ve been there… I would have probably passed out from laughing so hard”, that happened to him, truth be told. He knew how to control himself… but when he didn’t have to, he laughed hard, and truly, and cried tears of joy. He felt, and wore his feelings like a badge of honor.
“It’s the wonder of art”, he said, with a dramatic flair, “It can produce so many emotions… and that’s what I’m after. Joy. Wonder. Expectancy… lust”, that last part he said with certain emphasis, looking at his companion with a cocky smile, “I’m sure working together could result in oh so many things…”