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[tragic_mask]

Arriving at the Visitor's Center, Melpomene takes a look around.

"Well, this is it. In all its touristic glory. "

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[mechanicalswans]

"I could separate you," he says. "Give you control over it, so that you can turn it off and back on. Let you be as at peace as you like. But you would have to trust me."

[tragic_mask]

"I trust you. But... I wouldn't, after the change. Trust is for the weak. The naive."

She sounds doubtful: wanting to know him better (the dark things she can see, despite her efforts-- threads of memory winding through his mind), not wanting to lose herself in the process.

[mechanicalswans]

"You know yourself better than I do."

He looks up at the waterfall, around at the other tourists on the boat.

"But whatever you need, whatever you want--I can give you. I know I can."

[tragic_mask]

"Well," she says. "What about a festival, with hundreds of attendants from around Greece?"

She smiles, wryly. "There are some things I think can't be reproduced... which is why my glory is faded."

[mechanicalswans]

"We can make new things, my little one," he says. "Let me create, let you refine--we will be unstoppable. And if you want a festival, just give me some time and I will make it happen."

[tragic_mask]

"Well." She looks at him. "We'll do this, then. No holds barred. The gods we were made to be... we will be."

[mechanicalswans]

"We will," he agrees, looking into her eyes. "The only question is where."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, not here," she says, with a trace of a smile. "Wouldn't wreak that on these innocent tourists."

[mechanicalswans]

"Of course," he says. "It will be completely your decision, when and where it happens..."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, we'll have to go back... I think the purpose of the vacation is destroyed, if we're not pretending to be anything we're not."

[mechanicalswans]

"Now, then?" he asks. "We aren't very good at the pretending, it seems. It keeps bleeding through."

[tragic_mask]

"Yes," she says. "But you're better than I am. Which is ironic. You'd think the storyteller could tell a story."

[mechanicalswans]

"Artifice," he says, "is my specialty. And if I want something to be true--really want it to be--I'm very good at self-delusion."

[tragic_mask]

"Well, strip away the mask," she says. "And I'll put mine on. I haven't worn it in hundreds of years. But... it helps define me."

[mechanicalswans]

"I almost never take mine off," he says with a humorless chuckle. "Quite a pair we are--just look at us. But I think we can be mended."

[tragic_mask]

"I know you're capable of making the repair. Though it could be difficult."

She runs a hand over his face, as if to find the mask there, and remove it.

[mechanicalswans]

"Nothing worth having ever comes easily," he says. "And something so powerful--it should be difficult. But certainly possible."

[tragic_mask]

"Good. Then let's go," she says. "Though I'm not sure when the door will open... I've never figured out the rules to that."

[mechanicalswans]

"I wouldn't advise trying to find one here," he says, glancing around. "Do we want to go back to the hotel, pick up the car and go back to New York? Or stay here for a while instead?"

[tragic_mask]

"I don't mind," she says. "Depends how eager you are to see..." she makes a face-- "my dark side."

[mechanicalswans]

"Curious," he says, "but not exactly eager, not if it will make you uncomfortable or unhappy. We take this at your speed, not mine."

[tragic_mask]

"It's okay. When the boat comes back in, we'll... go back."

She feels slightly awkward now, wavering between the illusion and what she knows herself to really be.

[mechanicalswans]

He nods, watching her--and then takes the camera back out and snaps pictures of the waterfall, the boat, the other tourists.

It seems like the thing to do.

[tragic_mask]

She watches him taking pictures industriously with her head tilted, resting her hands on the railing of the boat. It's a peaceful moment. Almost normal. But she can see inside his head, when she thinks about it, and--

-- it's not.

[mechanicalswans]

The camera lens gets duly soaked; he attempts to wipe it off, guaranteeing that all subsequent pictures will be smudged and blurry.

Not that he minds.

He looks back at her, with a smile.

"We'll have to get some of these blown up. There's that space in the hallway that could really use a picture."