[ 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]

"I don't feel guilt for the things I've done," he says. "That's the strangest thing. There's regret, and wishing it hadn't had to be that way, but not guilt. I can think of only one thing I've ever felt guilt for, and even that was mostly regret."

[tragic_mask]

"Maybe because you see all of your actions as justified?" she suggests. "Guilt comes from doing things without a reason. Or when the reason doesn't seem to be enough."

[mechanicalswans]

"Exactly," he says, after a moment. "Or if you realize after the fact that you should have done something differently, that you didn't think it through completely before acting and were not prepared for the results."

He glances up at her. "Do you ever feel guilty?"

[tragic_mask]

"I have, in the past... before I was myself, as I am now. But lately I have felt nothing except what I was designed to feel. Sorrow and gravity."

[mechanicalswans]

"You feel nothing but that, with regard to your work, or nothing but that at all?" he asks, and takes another drag on the cigarette.

[tragic_mask]

"In regard to my work. But I don't think about much else." Not strictly a lie.

[mechanicalswans]

"We'll have to change that," he murmurs, "for both of us, for a little while. Have you ever tried not doing your work? Is it possible for you? Or does it find you, even as you try to avoid it?"

[tragic_mask]

"It's hard to shut it out."

[mechanicalswans]

"And if you are in Milliways, or someone else's world?" he asks. "There, I cannot resist, but I know there is a forge there for me to use. Here, I am pleasantly distracted by other things, though I haven't been here that long."

[tragic_mask]

She nods. "In Milliways, it's much easier to forget, given that I cannot see thoughts there. If I think hard enough, I can see people as people rather than tools."

[mechanicalswans]

"Do you have to try to see thoughts, or do you just... see them, as part of the appearance of the person?" he asks. "Do you see mine, for instance?"

[tragic_mask]

"I make an effort not to, when I don't have a reason to," she murmurs, looking down and not really answering.

"In any case, it's not individual thoughts I see, really... More the grand, sweeping stories of emotion. I could never be a psychic, naming your card or number, unless there was some memory attached to it."

[mechanicalswans]

"In that case, I'm afraid I would make a very dull subject," he says. "My patterns are strong but predictable, and my memories aren't exactly secret. Do you use that to find the people you inspire, or to find stories to give to other people?"

[tragic_mask]

"Both. Either." She shrugs. "That depends on the person."

[mechanicalswans]

"How do you go about your work?" he asks. "If there are trade secrets, that's fine, I don't need to know that, but I am curious what your average day is like, when you are working on someone."

[tragic_mask]

"Not a secret," she says. "Just... hard to explain. Is it conceited to believe that you'd have to experience it to understand?"

[mechanicalswans]

"The mark of a master," he says. "You would have an understanding of the nuances and possibilities that someone who is not in that line of work would not understand, and it would be very hard to explain. I could try to explain to you the subtle difference in color between metal that is ready to be worked and that which is too hot or too cold, but I doubt it would mean much to you--like that?"

[tragic_mask]

"Quite," she says, and leans back.

[mechanicalswans]

He settles back against the couch, watching her.

"So here we are," he says quietly, putting his cigarette out between two of his fingers and folding it neatly back into whatever strange portal he'd pulled it from in the first place. "You really don't get tired, do you?"

[tragic_mask]

"I get drowsy, sometimes, from too much drink or a boring conversationalist. But that's different from tired." She looks at him carefully. "Are you hinting something? Do you want to be given the apartment tour, terminating in a soft bed?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I wouldn't want to impose, or to be a bad guest," he says, "but it has been a long day, and I doubt I'll be sparkling conversation for much longer. I can sleep wherever would be convenient for you--wherever I would be in your way the least, in case you need to do things around the apartment in the meantime."

[tragic_mask]

"Come to the bedroom," she says, standing with an effort. "Unless you count staring out the window 'doing things,' I don't do much. Which is why sleep, if not necessary, is a good way to pass the time."

[mechanicalswans]

He stands as well, stretching lazily. "It depends on whether there's anything interesting going on outside the window or not, I would think. The city has potential."

[tragic_mask]

"I love this city, but you'd be surprised how people might change their opinions of the vivacity and excitement of it if they had permanent insomnia."

[mechanicalswans]

"I hope I never have that problem," he says with a small smile. "There is far less to do in St. Paul, and I would go mad from boredom... or wind up buying things off late night television, and nobody needs that."