A miracle. No other word came close, by miles. 

Dionysus foiled. No hands lost. No damage of consequence to the [i]Plousius[/i]. Mynx, untouched. Redana, safe and sleeping, her dear heart battered, but still beating. 

A miracle. Wrought, in some small part, by his own hands.

Dolce eyes wrinkle in an enormous smile, even as frightful tears leaked from the corners. “Well done. Well [i]done.[/i] I promised her she wouldn’t, and she hasn’t. Thank goodness. Well, well done.” He wipes at his cheeks. Pats them dry. Misses a little. Finds his chin. Over-corrects. That’s wool, now. Oh dear. Oh, dear...

The bridge went far away and slowly sideways. On the other end of the universe, a wobbling bleat.

Then, merciful silence.

**********************************************************

So Iskarot [i]did[/i] know how to flatter a person. The old softie. A flicker of warmth lit her face. “What do you know? I suppose I did something right after all.” She raises her bowl to her guest. “To survival, evading self-destruction, and being worth it.” And she meant it. At least half of it, anyway. A good record by her standards. As to the rest: A work in progress? A performance yet to be bought? Another lie for the pile?

She'd sort it out later. There was victory coleslaw to enjoy.

“I must say, to the first two points.” She continues between mouthfuls. Since when did the Order of Hermes bother with cooking secrets? [s]She’d have to tell Dolce.[/s] “If I have to sit alone in my room for another day, striving to reach competence with basic food preparation, I will critically jeopardize [i]someone’s[/i] survival. Possibly my own? I plan to play it by ear.” Did she need to stab her chopsticks into her bowl so forcefully? Absolutely. The need was dire. “Please. [i]Please[/i] tell me you know of something I can do with myself that doesn’t run afoul of Zeus.”