[ 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]

"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.

[mechanicalswans]

"I like to stay busy, and there's not always enough commissions to keep me busy," he says quietly. "And sometimes I want to make people suffer, for not realizing how precious what they have is. For having what I wish I had, and wasting it. I had quite a talk with the devil one day, about that sort of thing."

[tragic_mask]

"Do you think suffering causes them to learn their lesson?" She feels something edging into her voice.

"I've found that pain defeats most humans; makes them useless and cowardly."

[mechanicalswans]

"If you look at the how and not also the what, yes," he says, and takes a drag on the cigarette. "My people are very different--I have the seas of winter in my veins. My grandmother's people drowned sailors for sport, and to make the survivors more grateful for their lives. You cannot make a sword without putting it in the fire, and you cannot make a man truly appreciate the beauty of life until he fears for his life."

There's a bit of hollowness in his tone, all the same.

[tragic_mask]

"A philosophy I know many share," she says. "One that's better than no reason at all, at least."

[mechanicalswans]

"I try to have a reason for the things I do," he says quietly. "They may not always make sense to other people, but they do to me. But you see why I aspire to the ordinary--ordinary people have not had to do these things."

[tragic_mask]

"Ah, but I know for a fact that everyone feels terrible guilt for something. Even the most ordinary."

[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?"