[ 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."

Comments

[mechanicalswans]

"Do you have a preferred method of reverence, then?" he asks with a smile. "Personally, I enjoy music, or a good meal, or an entertaining story. The intangible, the impermanent. Once it has been given, it is gone, and cannot be studied later for flaws."

[tragic_mask]

"Well... I like the tangible, actually. Things that can be... touched. Or the act of touching itself. Worship of that sort."

[mechanicalswans]

"You are in luck again, then," he says, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Those happen to be things I am very good at... and you are inspiring me at this very moment. But I'm sure you could tell that."

[tragic_mask]

"Perhaps," she says, unhelpfully.

[mechanicalswans]

"A man likes to be inspired," he says. "He never reaches greater heights, never has cause to do such wonderful things, as when he has a woman to do them for. All great things that have ever been done, have been done with such inspiration as I have right now."

[tragic_mask]

"You're quite the sweet-talker," she says, quite close to him. "But you know that already."

[mechanicalswans]

"I would make a terrible joke about a silver tongue," he says with a chuckle, looking back at her, "but I can assure you, that is one part of me that is not metal at all."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, I can believe that."

[mechanicalswans]

"It would make it very hard to talk, for one thing, if it were metal. And there are many other things it would not be good for."

For instance, running the tip of it along her ear, as he is doing now. If it were metal, it would be cold.

[tragic_mask]

And yet she's shivering slightly-- one of those mysteries of life, it seems.

"Right, well, it's a good thing it's not."

[mechanicalswans]

"A very good thing," he murmurs. "This would not be half so pleasant--I love the way you taste. Like the turning of seasons."

He gives her ear a nibble. Very different from the last woman he had been with, and even more different from his usual companion--he could get used to this.

[tragic_mask]

"Oh, really. Which ones, exactly?" She tilts her head, just a little.

[mechanicalswans]

"I taste autumn most strongly," he says, after a few moments more of savoring. "A bit of a chill in the night air, the smoke from a bonfire... a hint of apple, I think? The darkness where the world of the living and the world of the dead are closest to one another. But summer has not yet gone completely; there is still wheat in your hair, metaphorically, from the harvest."

[tragic_mask]

"Hmm. I'm surprised you didn't taste any icicles. You know, from my bitter cold soul." This is accompanied by a melodramatic hand on the forehead.

[mechanicalswans]

"No," he says contemplatively. "No, I think I have the icicles covered, and you don't taste of winter, but of change. It may be winter later, but for now... transition and mystery."

[tragic_mask]

"You sound like a newspaper horoscope." She laughs. "Ever thought of making money that way? I hear it's a very lucrative business."

[mechanicalswans]

"I prefer to make my predictions more... individualized," he says with a chuckle, giving her an intent look.

"For instance, I can tell you that this week, for you--the beginning of the week, there is a great deal of potential for excitement, but you must avoid women carrying birdcages. If you do encounter one, you will be tired for the rest of the week. On Thursday, I see an unexpected journey, and for the weekend there is a chance for an argument, but if you follow your heart it will all turn out right."

He can make up horoscopes with the best of them.

[tragic_mask]

"Well, clearly I'm going to have to look for women carrying birdcages just so I can make sure to avoid them..."

[mechanicalswans]

"If they see you, it is too late," he says solemnly, before leaning in to nibble at her neck. "I would stay away from pet stores, and from the ballet, just to be safe."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, thank you for the warning," she says.

[mechanicalswans]

"I would hate to see you get hurt," he says. "Especially when it would be something so easily preventable. Next week, though, the birdcages will be fine again."

[tragic_mask]

"Oh, all right.

"Well, I'm glad. I was planning on visiting the pet store."

[mechanicalswans]

"Planning to get a pet?" he asks, idly toying with her hair. "I could see you having a snake, mysterious and oracular and all. Or possibly a dog, but not one of those that women carry in their purses. Hunting or herding dogs."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, I used to have a dog. A great big bear of a dog. But no. Now I just go to look at the birds in their cages. It's very metaphorical, you know."

[mechanicalswans]

"I used to have hunting dogs," he says. "I suppose technically I still do, or rather the court does, but I wouldn't keep them in an apartment; so I have mechanical pets instead. Do you like birds?"