[The huff of a breath Zagreus releases and shakes his shoulders once is supposed to be a laugh, but it holds too much disenchantment, it has little room for mirth. Zagreus leans in, too, and clinks their glasses together gently.] Interestingly enough, we did hang out like this back there. We just didn't have a particular place to do it. I suppose certain things stay the same everywhere you go.

[Isn't that comforting? A chat over a drink, finding common ground on how things can be generally hapless. He guesses that even the Gods must commiserate amongst themselves every now and then.

Otherwise, they would lead an even lonelier life than his.]

I think this is a very close cousin of it. [Another sip, and he considers the effect of it with a slight tilt of his head.] Less intoxicating, that's for sure, but it does the job. Nectar was made to bring down heroes and gods alike.

[Which, of course, made for some interesting moments. Looser tongues, lower shoulders. The occasional sigh as an all-transcendental entity like a Gorgon, a Fury, and the Greatest of the Greeks folded over a counter after telling him most of their sorrows and decided to call it a night-or-day.

(Most.)] What about at yours? Did you celebrate like this often? 'Birthdays,' was it? [Immortals don't celebrate those, having lost track of the day they were born after a while.]