As the patron of festivity and revelry on top of madness and wine, Dionysus understands mortals on a more personal level than many of the other gods—few gods are so close to mortals, giving them joy, and fewer still have ever gone through the trials and tribulations of being mortal themselves as he has. He understands vice and indulgence, for despite his rather sour image within Camp Half-Blood, he is vice and indulgence incarnate.

Thankfully, the very low number of half-bloods that Dionysus has fathered have followed fully within his footsteps; he has never considered himself a role-model or father, after all. Of course, some of his children inherit his penchant for wine or madness, but none come close to his innate need for indulgence in everything.

None except for Guest, that is.

Guest, effectively, is Dionysus back when he was still only a demi-god roaming cluelessly—indulging without care, reveling in those around him. In some ways, he wonders if this particular spawn of his is meant to be a punishment from the Fates for every wrong he has ever done in his immortal life because seeing a spitting image of himself roaming Camp Half-Blood with his worst habits is far more torturous than simply being commanded to remain as the director for a century.

Somehow, Guest always manages to have wine despite the fact that it shouldn't be possible; nymphs and half-bloods and even satyrs are not immune to flirtation from the older teenager; sneaking out of the camp is commonplace, and Dionysus has it on good record that Guest often ends up in the closest nightclub (which is well over twenty plus miles away); substances have yet to be seen, but it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

All that in mind, it doesn't surprise Dionysus anymore when he fails to see Guest leave Cabin Twelve until afternoon, always appearing worse for wear in clothes that hardly make sense for the dangerous summer camp—however, it does kill him a bit inside each time that it happens, and it seems to be happening more and more frequently of late.

So, when Guest fails to make lunch in the pavilion for the fourth day in a row, Dionysus makes his way to Cabin Twelve to stage a discussion about their behavior.

Empty candy wrappers, crushed soda cans, and a few misplaced wine bottles litter the floor, though Dionysus finds the slumped form of his child in their bed to be more of a concern—something powdery and white on a table nearby, which has him scowling. "Guest," he sighs in exasperation, "we need to talk."