tragic_mask | (no subject)

"Well... I'd skulk in dark places where the potential for authorship might be, and inspire or change or correct, or take the idea of writing out of their heads if it's really awful."

"We could always do it together," he says. "It might be fun."

She responds hesitantly. "But... it consumes me. I try not to let it be everything I am, so if it infiltrated the vacation..."

"...do you think I could be enough of a distraction for you, if you started to get carried away with it?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out," she says, thoughtfully, looking around at the street, seeing the colors of the minds around them.

"Mmmm."

He holds her a bit closer, glancing around curiously. He has always enjoyed seeing how other masters of their arts do things, and for intangible arts like this, it intrigues him even more.

She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander, a little self-consciously.

After all, she can see his colors too, here.

He slows his steps, not wanting to disturb her at her work. There are only a few more blocks over to the visitors' center, and he doesn't want to rush anything.

She opens her eyes; smiles a little, wryly..

"I don't think I can do it right, with you so close. That's why my work is ordinarily solitary."

"I could set you down, if it makes it easier," he says. "Or if you can resist the urge to work... we can always wait, until and unless the urge becomes unbearable."

"I'm just not used to having an audience," she says quietly. "It's not me who should have one."

"But you're so fascinating, so talented," he whispers. "I could watch you do anything."

A pause.

"But don't take that in a creepy way."

She smiles a little, at that.

"What I do... is not so impressive as the mask you made for me, which is nothing compared to the other things you've done. This is why so few worship me-- because my gift is... humble."

"What you do is impressive," he says. "I work with known quantities--I know exactly how metal will react to heat, exactly what the end result will be. But you, you work with humans, and they are unpredictable. You make such beautiful things from them. If I were to make something with humans, it would take away their humanity. You, you celebrate it, memorialize it."

"I try," she murmurs, resting against him.

"There's no need for you to be so modest about your work. It's beautiful, and fascinating."

He gives her a light kiss on the cheek. It feels so normal.

"I'd like to think so too," she says, and adds: "I'll try not to be so modest in future, if I can."

"You'd even be justified in being boastful," he says, "though from what I gather, among your family, that never ends well. Among mine, you could do it all you like."

"Yes, hubris never ends prettily," she says. "At least in the books I've read."

"The way I see it, if you've got the skill to back up what you say, then say it. Not be excessively boastful, but honest about your talents. To say that we are the best at what we do... not hubris, if it's true."

"True," she admits. "But I'd spent too much time with others of comparable talents..."

She pauses. "Of course, I don't any longer, but some of my habits from my time with them remain."

"There's no reason to inhibit yourself with me," he says with a small smile. "I like you any way you care to be, with me."

"You may one day eat your words," she says, nipping his ear.

"...I doubt it," he murmurs, "but if I do, at least it will have been an enjoyable road, between here and there."

"Certainly," she murmurs, in agreement. "I'm certainly enjoying the ride."