[ with weyland in nyc ]

[tragic_mask]

They step through the door, and find themselves on the cracked sidewalk outside of a lively bar. A sign glows: "Blue Owl."

It's nighttime, but the city still glows with all kinds of light, and shakes with the noise of honking, shouting, music, the clinking of glasses, all blending together into the cacophony and symphony of the city.

Melpomene looks around. "Well, we're back... Right where I started."

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[mechanicalswans]

He walks along beside her, looking around warily. New surroundings tend to make him nervous, though he tells himself that there is no war here, and even if it is the same world as his, no one would be looking for him here. He can relax and enjoy the evening.

"Is this one of your usual haunts?" he asks, glancing at the sign on the bar.

[tragic_mask]

She stops before getting too far, and turns, reflectively.

"Yes, I always end up here eventually, smokin' and drinkin'. It's really cozy, and some great writers have come into the place. Makes me want a cigarette. Do you have one to give me, perchance?"

[mechanicalswans]

"Always," he says, producing and lighting a cigarette from midair before offering it over. "It looks like a very comfortable place, the sort of place a person can be a regular in. I think we need places like that."

[tragic_mask]

"Thanks," she says, taking a drag.

"You're right. Actually, when I don't want to be around people, there's a park nearby that no one seems to know about. It's perfect."

[mechanicalswans]

He lights one for himself as well.

"I have a coffeeshop I go to sometimes, at home, and a bar when I'm in the mood for it. And there is always nature around outside the city, if I'm not in the mood for people at all."

[tragic_mask]

She closes her eyes as she exhales the smoke. "Sometimes it's good to be alone with the birds and... all."

Beat.

"Clearly, I haven't been in real, unadultered nature for years."

[mechanicalswans]

"Do you ever go hunting?" he asks, and takes a slow drag on the cigarette. "I used to go a lot more than I do now, but I don't believe in hunting with guns, and that's what the locals use. Arrows, or more usually knives, those are more my style. Give the animals a fighting chance."

[tragic_mask]

"I'm more of a... vegetarian, as far as that goes."

She halts their progression along the sidewalk, and points to a small space between two bushes.

"Look, we're here. Just go through there."

[mechanicalswans]

"Hunting is strangely relaxing, to me, whether or not I am successful. It reminds me of my childhood."

He nods once, and moves toward the space between the bushes. "How did you find this place?"

[tragic_mask]

"I... don't remember. I was wandering around New York, and I must have really not been paying attention to where I was going."

She grins, and slips through the space into a grassy area, where the trees provide such a thick cover that only a sliver of the moon shines through.

[mechanicalswans]

He follows her, glancing around with a bit of a smile.

"It's lovely in here," he murmurs. "A pleasant break from the rest of the city. Such a dreamer you are..."

He prefers being in nature to being in the city.

[tragic_mask]

She nods; drifts towards the patch of light. "I like it, too... You can still hear the cars from here, but this is as alone as one can get in the city. I like that solitude, sometimes."

[mechanicalswans]

"I hope I'm not disturbing your solitude, then," he says, and takes another drag on the cigarette. "That you're in the mood for at least a small bit of company tonight. Your hair is very shiny in the moonlight, you know--quite beautiful."

[tragic_mask]

"No, no," she says, pulling him towards her to bask as well. "Solitude doesn't have to be enjoyed by just one person at a time.

[mechanicalswans]

He wraps his non-cigarette-holding arm around her waist, leaning lightly against her.

"We've got shared solitude, then," he says. "Alone together--there is us, and then there is the rest of the world, outside this park. Let the rest of the world stay out there."

[tragic_mask]

"Yes," she says, leaning her head on his shoulder, "It's quite poetic, really."

[mechanicalswans]

"There are moments of poetry now and then, I have found."

He leans his head against hers, relaxing. "There just isn't always someone to share them with, or a reason to mention them aloud, that's all."

[tragic_mask]

"It's good to seize them when they do come around."

[mechanicalswans]

"Live for the moment," he murmurs. "Enjoy them, but not cling to them to the avoidance of newer beautiful moments. And... I find it helps to not try to write the poetic moments down."

[tragic_mask]

"A hard thing to tell someone like me," she says. "I always want to immortalize the moments with words. It seems they last longer that way..."

[mechanicalswans]

"But your words are more beautiful than mine," he says. "Mine are a craftsman's words, while yours are your craft. There's a difference."

[tragic_mask]

"You're right about that."

Melpomene sits on the grass, pulling him with her. "Come sit with me. The grass here is like a blanket, and you can see the fireflies better, flickering in the darkness."

[mechanicalswans]

"See what I mean?" he asks, settling in beside her, one arm draped lazily around her shoulders. "Even something so simple as that, you make into poetry."

[tragic_mask]

She rests her head on his chest, watching the night lights.

"Well, that's how I see things. Poetry is... truth. Or maybe truth is poetry. Or both," she muses.

[mechanicalswans]

"It makes it more permanent," he says softly. "A man can do things--wondrous, or cruel--but if there has been no poem, no song to tell others about it, it's almost as though it didn't happen. How many people have lived without living, because they had no poems..."