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Epitaph of Anguish: Frayed String in an Endless Tapestry

Dýo searches for the Doctor, but he is nowhere to be found

Greek name progression for Dýo: Deuxálio Planitis ... Dýoantíthetoi Póloi ... Dýo Pólous... Dýo Polonai

Warnings: slavery, abuse, grief, pining, murder, torture, prostitution, period-accurate homophobia

_-_-_

Though the months passed since Anguish had found himself in the strange world he'd awoken in, he still found himself feeling so truly and utterly far from home. The man that had rescued him from his own death, Hephaestus, had been endlessly kind for him, providing him with a new body, teaching him the language of 'Greece' where he, apparently, had ended up in, and had even provided him with a new name, 'Deuxálio Planitis', further severing him from the past he was reluctant to divulge. He was grateful. Endlessly thankful to the towering, limping being that had saved him. Even if his new body could feel barely any sensation beyond the bitter ache of his lonely heart. Even if the new life he lived was one without his court Doctor.

He was grateful to Hephaestus, and so, when the man called 'god' by the smaller, more peasant-like people that lived and lingered far above the deep-ocean forge came to him and practically pleaded with him to help with a gift for the nine muses, he could do little more than agree, shedding his title entirely to go by a far less regal 'Dýoantíthetoi Póloi' so that he would remain, unquestioningly, a servant until his dear Doctor returned.

And he did wait. He waited. He served the gods he'd given himself to. For years, he bided his time, performing, yes. Always performing, fetching, carrying, but still, his mind merely idled until month-long days felt like they shortened to mere hours, then minutes as they were listlessly swept away by the tide. He did not mind his work. It kept him busy, after all, even if it was far more difficult and taxing than anything he'd been used to before,  it would keep his mind well away from the darkness it would sink to whenever his thoughts lingered on the fate of his beloved for a moment too long. It was when the muses seemed perfectly content in allowing him to linger - an occurrence that seemed to become more and more frequent as those short, numb decades went by, that he found himself falling into that dark, wanting place once more. 

For now, he sat in a regal-looking vineyard, a glass of wine sitting untouched at his side as he listened to Dionysus prattle almost endlessly about some recent gossip. There was no point in associating himself with any deity but the muses and Hephaestus, but listening to the wine god chat at him with such idle openness reminded him of a comfort far closer to home (Reminded him of Mirth, though he'd never dare bring any such comparison to light). Finally, he took a small sip of wine, then sat the glass back down. It had already warmed far too much due to the heat of the fast-encroaching solstice. Even still, his reluctance to drink himself stupid didn't go unnoticed. 

"What was it I said before?" Dionysus chastised, swirling the glass of red and inspecting the color closely, before apparently changing his mind and, with a wave of his hand, causing the wine within the glass to change in color to a strong white, "Ah, yes. No moping in my vineyard, unless you're pouring it out with respect to me first."

Not speaking a word at first, Dýo calmly reached to pick up his glass, and poured some of the wine on the ground, then set the glass back on the ground. He knew that the god was merely there to bask in drama more current than what was already being spread, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. "I have a feeling Melpomene did not like my performance."

"I doubt she wouldn't. It was perfectly miserable," the god chortled, "Unless she said something, I am VERY sure that her 'disapproval' is really just her face. Either way, I enjoyed it, or you wouldn't be allowed in here."

"She has not called me in since last week. She was the only one doing that before." the once-lord commented, finally drinking the rest of his wine. As much as he would prefer it to be so considering how much the god seemed genuinely entertained by him, it was not Dionysus he was bound to.