"And you made this all yourself? You're incredible!"

Dyssia, it turns out, is a happy drunk. And a careful one, for what it's worth! This is not a large space, and she is a large person, and even through the fog of drunkenness, there's no broken glass [i]anywhere[/i], which is a massive win! She's woven in and through at least a dozen barrels and glassworks, and every little thing threatens a glass-shattering giggle-fit, but she's staying strong!

The bottle in her hand is feeling much lighter than she remembers. It's evaporated away, surely--no, no, look, the cork's gone. Did she open it? She doesn't remember opening it?

Or tapping the barrel, but she must have done that too? There's the glass spigot, and she [i]does[/i] remember nodding to herself about how yeah, glassworks makes sense, because anything metal would just get eaten through, smart, smart, very clever these Hermits. 

And she must have been the one to invite Dionysus to bless the festivities, and invited friends, because how else would there be two--three? Three satyrs? Stop moving so much, you're being very difficult to count.

And it made sense in her head when she first popped the cork on the bottle as an offering. Or. You know, it probably did, or else she wouldn’t have done it, and they wouldn't have agreed. She thinks? Not entirely sure on that last bit. But the [i]important[/i] thing, the thing to [i]remember,[/i] right, is that the alcohol's getting drunk. And the more alcohol inside them, the less there is in the barrels, and the less there is in the barrels, the less there is to evaporate, and the warmer we can make the room!

That makes sense, right?