tragic_mask | (no subject)

She takes her time answering. "Well-- it's nice to have someone there. Yes. But sometimes... it's nice to not have to worry what other people are thinking about, or why."

"See, I like having to worry about that," he says. "Or not exactly worrying, but taking it into account. I get so bored with just myself. Don't mind being alone in the workshop, but when I come out of it..."

"Well, I guess I get busy enough inspiring or helping people write, that my personal life gets put by the wayside."

"I've done that," he says, more quietly. "I know how I get when I don't have someone to distract me, and... the world really doesn't need that. That's why I created the company I have."

"Well, I did have several fictional characters I was quite fond of," she says, smiling a little. "But of course, there's only so deep a relationship you can develop with written people."

"...you'd be surprised," he says. "If you ever really wanted to--well, it could be arranged."

She quirks a brow. "Yes? I didn't think even you were capable of that."

"I am. It isn't easy, but nothing worth having is. So it's always an option, when you get tired of my company."

He gives her a small smile.

"Oh, well, I think I'll continue putting up with you, for now."

"And when you get tired of me, I can make you a replica you can program to avoid all my irritating habits," he says. "No off-key singing, no jars full of found coins, no going to dull Scandinavian movies."

"Oh, dear," she says, with mock concern. "I didn't know about all that. Maybe we'd better skip straight to the replica."

The waitress returns, with two steaming plates of food, and a small glass of orange juice. "Here you are."

"And late-night cravings for apple pie," he says, giving the waitress a smile and a murmured thank-you as she brings the food.

"This looks wonderful."

The waitress smiles. "Let me know if you folks need anything else." She moves away.

"Mm," says Melpomene, digging in to the food. "Sometimes eating can be fun."

"I enjoy it," he says, picking up his fork, "especially spicy food, but sometimes I want things that remind me of home instead."

"What, like... ice cream? Italian ice? Iced tea?" she teases. "I guess all I know about 'home' is that it's cold."

"We've also got herring," he says with a chuckle, "and the fabled lutefisk."

He eats in silence for a moment.

"A lot of fish," he says, "and venison. And cheese. Good bread, fresh fruits and vegetables--the apples I remember there aren't like the ones you can get in the stores here. They were better."

"Mmm," she says, closing her eyes. "They sound delicious. I can almost taste them."

"Blackberries, too. I remember warm summer days, finishing our chores or our work and going to pick berries. Having so many berries we didn't want to move anymore, falling asleep in the grass, and later going for a swim."

She smiles. "You should never have left, clearly. Just like I should never have left Mount Parnassus."

"I had to leave," he says quietly. "I was exiled. And after I was able to return, well... it doesn't hold as much allure to be there alone. My fond memories there are always with others."

"Oh," she says, as quietly, and eats.

"I've spent so much time trying to live in the past--but it's not possible. We can't go back. The most we can do is make a faded reflection of it, but it will be hollow."

He sips his coffee. "Just a copy of a copy. But if we change it somehow, it will be new again."

"It is generally good to make a fresh start." She busies herself for a moment with buttering her pancakes. "The past is gone."

"But it's hard to move on sometimes," he says. "Especially being so rooted in the past. Sometimes I feel like I'm just--just reacting to things, not moving ahead of my own accord. If that makes sense."

She tilts her head. "Yes. It really does. But that's why we're here, isn't it? To break out of the rut. Thats the idea, anyway."