[ 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]

"Though you seem to wield mine better than I might wield yours."

And after that tongue-twister, she flops down on the bed.

[mechanicalswans]

"I imagine I've been called upon to use yours more than you have mine," he says with a smile, slipping his trousers off and moving toward the bed. "If you'd have interest in learning mine, I'm sure lessons could be arranged, but you seem to do quite well keeping yourself in one piece."

[tragic_mask]

"I suppose my sisters and I were made that way because we were meant to be ornamental," she says, following.

[mechanicalswans]

"And I was not," he says. "If I keep my scars hidden I am not displeasing to look at, but of the two of us, I would wager, most people would rather look at you. Do you have a side of the bed that you prefer?"

[tragic_mask]

She thinks about it for a moment. "Left, I suppose."

[mechanicalswans]

"Mind you," he says with a nod, climbing onto the bed and sliding over to the right side, "I have very little use for people who are physically attractive but cannot do anything useful. But I see no need for deliberate ugliness when beauty is easy to achieve."

[tragic_mask]

"Yes, that's valid. I much prefer being useful to being an ornament."

She slips onto the remaining space.

[mechanicalswans]

"Fair enough," he says, slipping his pocketwatch under the pillow. "One, you have little control over--anything can be pleasant to look at. But the other, that takes some measure of merit, of talent."

He looks over at her. "Do you mind... physical contact while sleeping? It keeps some people awake, but I find it comforting."

[tragic_mask]

"No, I don't. Mind, I mean."

[mechanicalswans]

"Good," he says, sliding closer--right up against her, in fact. It does reassure him while he is sleeping, having someone close. It's something his mechanical woman cannot replicate, for all her artistry--the feeling of having a living, breathing person beside him, warm and not ticking.

[tragic_mask]

And she normally sleeps--when she does-- with a draft of air on her back. It's a nice change.

Her eyes close, restfully. "You're a good blanket," she murmurs. "I mean, you're good for other things, but being a blanket is at the top of the list."

[mechanicalswans]

"I shall put that on my resume," he murmurs, with a smile, "right between 'drives manual cars' and 'can reach things on the top shelf.' You're very pleasant and warm, yourself."

[tragic_mask]

"One of those qualities on which I pride myself," she says, with a straight face he wouldn't be able to see anyway.

[mechanicalswans]

"As well you should," he says. "Was it already on the list? If it wasn't, it is now... as well as good taste in bedding. Very comfortable, very relaxing."

[tragic_mask]

"I think insomniacs probably have better taste in bedding than most, because they have to deal with it more than most."

[mechanicalswans]

"I spend very little time awake in my bedroom, so the bedding there is nothing special to look at," he says. "Dark red in winter, blue with stripes in the summer. It does its job, but doesn't particularly inspire me to spend more time in there."

[tragic_mask]

"That does suit you," she says. "The utilitarian approach to the bed."

[mechanicalswans]

"I go in to sleep, and that's really all. I'm there in the dark, and have no need to spend lazy mornings lying in bed--there are things you may do if you have company, someone to talk to, but my mechanical companion is not one for conversation, and I don't often have other company."

[tragic_mask]

"Right," she says, but has nothing more to add so lies quietly, enjoying the tranquility of the moment.

[mechanicalswans]

It is a beautifully peaceful moment, of a kind he hasn't been used to in a very long time. But if he stays very still, and closes his eyes, he can allow himself to pretend that it isn't so rare, that this is how his life is.

That he belongs right here, with her.

It's comforting.

[tragic_mask]

(And in the morning, they leave two empty glasses and a faint dent in the bed when they step through the door again. Nothing more. But a perfect moment can't last forever, even for gods.)