[ 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

[tragic_mask]

She raises a brow. "So you'd rather forget things as you live them? Have a night, then leave it behind forever, and start fresh in the morning?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I burn away some of my memories," he says, "when more suitable materials for crafting cannot be found. Some, I would never give up, but some are... expendable, you could say? That one will be burned someday."

[tragic_mask]

She blinks. "Hm. I wish I could recycle some of my memories. But then, sometimes I think I couldn't do without them. Be myself, I mean. The tortured, poetic soul I am."

[mechanicalswans]

"Surely you have so many, by this point, that you have forgotten a few, or wouldn't miss a few if they disappeared. Not the ones that shape you in large ways--I would not give up memories of my brothers or parents, and the only way I would ever give up a single memory of my wife would be to trade it to have her back again. But the dull summer afternoons when there's nothing going on, or waiting for trains, or whatever it is happens when you're waiting for other things--those are expendable."

[tragic_mask]

She's clearly thinking about it, or maybe just looking at her empty glass. "Maybe. Though I've gotten some interesting stories out of people, waiting for the train."

[mechanicalswans]

"But that would be something to remember, not just standing and waiting. The standing and waiting, you don't need. I've made things out of standing and waiting, and didn't miss the memories at all."

[tragic_mask]

"What have you made?"

[mechanicalswans]

"You get out of it what you put in," he explains. "If you put in waiting, you get out--you know how when you are waiting, it can feel like an eternity, when really it has only been ten minutes? I have made a device that distorts the perception of time. You can appear to move so quickly that someone else will not have a chance to react, because for them, they are feeling the stretched-out time of waiting for a train."

[tragic_mask]

"Wow." She thinks about it. "That's a powerful device."

[mechanicalswans]

"It should be," he murmurs. "I burned through the equivalent of... about two solid years of standing around, for it. It makes it worth it, in the end, if you can get some use out of it."

[tragic_mask]

"And you did?"

[mechanicalswans]

"...well, as far as making a device, yes. I haven't had the occasion to use it much yet. This is what we do--there are cycles of fighting and of building weapons. So we build, and eventually we will use them. And I have the advantage."

[tragic_mask]

"That can be important," she says, pretending to know anything about the matter.

[mechanicalswans]

"That's why I like taking commissions," he says. "I get new ideas, or... people will ask for something, and it will lead to something that I have never tried before. So I charge much less for projects that inspire me."

[tragic_mask]

"If I charged, I'm sure I would do the same." She nods.

[mechanicalswans]

"When you could either..." He pauses, opening his eyes and glancing up at her. "Either do another story about someone who loves someone they cannot have, or a truly novel tragedy--are there any completely new tragedies? I would think there are only so many bad things that can happen to people, but an infinite number of ways to express them, to turn them into art."

[tragic_mask]

"There are different ways of telling the same story," she says, slowly. "All the words in all the languages can be put together in different ways."

[mechanicalswans]

"You are about the how," he says, and gives another light kiss to the side of her neck, "and I am about the what. The difference between words and metal--but I find it intriguing."

[tragic_mask]

"It is," she says, quietly, with a small smile. "Despite the differences, they are similar in some ways-- though not too similar or I would feel usurped."

[mechanicalswans]

"You turn the process of tragedy--the feelings, the longing and despair--into beautiful tapestries of words. I turn the end results of tragedy--the blood, the other parts, occasionally the memories--into tangible metal things. If you are ever at a loss for stories, I could give you a few of mine..."

[tragic_mask]

"I'd love to hear them. I need to expand my horizons, in any case."

[mechanicalswans]

"The ones I've endured," he says, "you probably already know. The ones I've caused, those are much more numerous. Like I said--or if I hadn't said it before, I am now--I'm not particularly nice, generally speaking."

[tragic_mask]

"So I understand," she says, but too lightly.

[mechanicalswans]

"I have a goal set out for me by another. I must pursue that goal, and sometimes cruelty is needed for it. I may not want to do it, but if I am ever to have my freedom--"

He shakes his head. "And then, there are some people who simply need punishment, and if there are no other gods or mortal authorities to do it, well, it's something to do."

[tragic_mask]

"That's one way of looking at it," she says wryly.