[ 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]

"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.)