exsiliumlogs | beneath the stars came falling on our heads

[ Oh blast. Anne has a couple choices here, and either way it feels like choosing sides. In truth she met Donny first, and this is probably for the better given how often he said she didn't reciprocate (Anne had seen something there, but maybe it was just possessiveness of a toy). Max seems to have better connections, though, and even if she isn't the artist, she is able to sponsor many. There is of course a way to play both possibilities to her advantage, there always is, and she thinks her best on it.

Her expression hardly changes during this mental battle that takes place in a matter of seconds, and it soon ends with an easy sigh and shake of her head, stepping forward and moving to place her hand behind his back (careful not to touch) so that she might guide him in. ]

Please, you look so frightful standing out there in such a state. Please come inside and warm yourself.

I'm-- I'm r-really-- I'm really sorry.

( Pleading with her, begging her to forgive him, because he doesn't know what to do, and he knows this is the wrong thing, but he just--

Donny takes a step forward, but stops short, just barely positioned where her door could be closed. ) You w-were uh, g-going-- going to the p-party.

( But she'll be late, because of him, and he's holding her up. She could be having fun, she could see Max. She's a friend to Max, Max likes her, but he's here and he's messing things up, and he's not sure he can keep standing under all that. He might sway, slightly. ) I c-can, uh. You d-don't have to.

( Deal with this. He can go. He'll--

things will be better if he goes. That's the way it was always meant to be. )

[ His swaying somewhat seals the deal, especially since his stut only seems to worsen with every moment. Amazed he's lasted a few days on his own, even, she puts a little more force behind her invitation and actually presses her hand to his back, her other hand oh-so-gently settling over his arm to further guide him. ]

Please, now I have already made up my mind. Will you force me to stand in this doorway catching a chill myself when I have no cloud about me yet? There will be countless parties, but I think there to only be one Adonis in my mortal life.

Sit and make this your other home, and I will make coffee. Do you know of it?

O-okay.

( hesitating only a half second before he nods and steps in, gratefully setting down his bag and staring for a second before it registers.)

Y-yeah I uh, l-love coffee. Good for um, staying up. Awake. I don't-- like t-to sleep.

( stop talking. )

I l-like titans b-better than Adonis.

[ Could care less about discussing Greek culture at the moment, but she is despite all her posture annoyed her evening got interrupted. She'll have to do to make the best of it, and so the coffee is as much for her as for him.

His bag is taken as soon as he relinquishes it, using both hands to carry it into the living room so that she can set it beside the couch. She'll then let him stand (she's not to over-baby him) or sit as she earlier invited, before disappearing towards the kitchen. ]

Do titans not sleep, either?

W-wouldn't uh, wouldn't b-be able to hold up the w-world, if they did.

( Atlas can't sleep. He can't afford to, and he's remembering that all the more now that Max is gone, now that he can't find the way to sleep.

After watching her disappear, he gives in and sinks into the sofa, fingers tearing through his hair. He's almost curious to see if she' heard any mention of Atlas. More and more, he thinks he should give Adonis up, and just be Atlas alone. )

[ She's just trying to get him to talk about something other than Max. For now. He needs to calm down, much as he's able, before he can make more sense to her. Maybe coffee isn't the best for that, but there's nothing against feeling alive, either.

The coffee takes time to brew, though, so once that is set up and she is to wait, Anne finds the bottle of wine she had been drinking from earlier and pours them each a glass of a red wine, so she doesn't walk back into the living room empty handed. ]

Well here you are not required to hold up the world, but to drink and forget your troubles.

[ A pointed look at his bag as she bends over to hand him his glass. ]

Where have been you been laying your head?

Thank you.

( Quietly, and though he might not be much for drinking normally, he is grateful for the wine. ) Oh, that's j-just, um. It's m-my uniform, I j-just finished p-patrolling.

( A smile, albeit wobbly, and he distracts himself from it with some wine. He should still be patrolling, really, but he couldn't keep his mind on it. He was barely doing anything useful, standing on rooftops and trying desperately to gather up his thoughts, and even that was not a success. ) I'm staying w-with uh, Scott? Or sometimes I um, sleep at the st-- studio.

[ He has a uniform? Well, how odd! Vigilantes were outside the law, why would they bother with a uniform. Now she's staring very openly at the bag while having a drink of her wine, then oh yeah he's talking again and back to him. Smile. Sympathetic smile. Yes, perfect. ]

Your friend Scott will not allow you to stay with him every night? But it must be cold at the...studio.

He w-would, b-but um. Usually I d-don't finish um, finish p-patrol until late? I d-don't want to um, to d-disturb-- yep.

( Noticing how she's looking at the bag, and he leans down, tugging at the zip and drawing out the mask. So what if she doesn't think much of Atlas? There isn't much to him, anyway. Atlas is a fraud. Holding it out to her, he shrugs a little, something lost and hopeless in it. )

[ Oh boy. She sits down next to him, setting her glass on the coffee table so that she can reach for the mask. Everything about him right now is pathetic, it's sad to see how much effect Max's rejection took. Truly she does hope he moves on... Not out of malice for the woman, but more out of respect for both of them. This sort of lingering can only add cracks upon the soul. ]

A part of your uniform? How beautiful.

[ Experimentally, Anne tries holding it up to her own face. ]

Does it suit?

( Somehow, she managed to pull a little smile from him, though he nods very gravely. ) See, it w-works uh, m-much better on you.

( After just a moment of hesitation, he flips his bag open a little more, so that the rest of it is a little more visible, the armour, the black and red and gold. )

We, um. Your uniform k-kinda-- it's m-meant to symbolize something. So p-people know who you are. M-make criminals fear you and-- and civilians uh, they t-trust you.

( It's sacred, and it's essential, and he's looking at it now like he doesn't even know what to do with it any more. )

[ She leans over to peer at the bag, still with the mask on her face and a smile pulling at her lips. ]

Do you wish for me to model this for you as well? I do not think I am fit for breeches.

It uh, m-might be a little t-tall. And heavy.

( Almost with a laugh. Almost. Instead he draws out a piece of armour, one of the guards for his forearms. After a moment of inspecting it, running his hand over the metal, ) My n-name's Atlas.

( She can know, now. It seems stupid to evade it. )

[ She's quiet at first, holding the mask in place for only a few moments longer before lowly lowering it to peek over. ]

A titan, not a god?

M-my sisters are all t-- t-titans. Phoebe, Selene and Asteria. Atlas w-was uh, their w-war leader. He-- he w-was meant t-to p-protect them, I figure.

( And maybe it was fitting that the titans were doomed. Donny shakes his head a little bit. ) P-people, um. They n-never suspect Atlas c-could be me, because, uh. Atlas is--

( Trying to grasp it, to explain it. ) I c-can be b-better than I am, when I'm Atlas.

( But it's still not enough, never had been. Never would be, he knew. Max had always tried to tell him that he and Atlas were the same thing, didn't have to be divided, but Max couldn't even stand to see him any more. )

Better?

[ She rests the mask in her lap, and reaches again for her wine. ]

How else can a uniform help you so?

Atlas d-doesn't-- t-talk.

( Closing his eyes at his stammer, because it just seems to make this worse. ) P-people, um. They r-respect the m-mask, and--

( Quietly, he sighs. ) You kn-- know Adonis. ( She knows how useless he is, how stupid, how hard it is for him to string together a conversation and how painful it is for him to operate around anyone. )

But you are Atlas, you just said this to me. If you are both, then it is always.

[ She leans over ~~all up in his space~~, the mask sliding off of her skirts in the process. ]

I wonder if you think too much on words. Of speaking. Words are not the only thing needed to convey beauty, they are merely a tool. There is no reason to fear a tool, when you know how to use it. This is part of courtesy, which you have asked me to assist with.

( Well hi there, Anne. He's going to just quietly reach for the wine, cradling it in his hand, though his focus is trained entirely on her.

He wonders how much she understands, really, when she is beautiful and intelligent and eloquent, when she is charming and engaging, and wonders how she thinks any of these tools are really his to use. Words are a tool when you can speak, and he is caught wrestling with the sounds before he can fathom the word itself. )

You uh, m-make it sound-- s-simple.

The most beautiful things are the most complex, and also the most simple. You are an artist, you know this in your heart, so I know I am most able to teach you. But you must be willing...

[ Oh! There goes the coffee timer. Anne wastes no time in suddenly pulling away with a 'But a moment', standing with a flourish and gliding off to the kitchen, leaving him to his struggle with words and names. ]

I am.

( Quiet, but sincere. Earnest, that's how Max has described him before, but there's that edge of something hopeless in it. He's willing, but he doesn't know if there's a point. He doesn't grasp it.

When she stands he's left a little in the wake of it, blinking and scooping up his mask, smoothing over the metal, warming it under his touch. ) I'm w-willing.

( But is he able, and is there a purpose to it? Would it be a waste of time and energy, the same kind of waste and drain that he had been to Max. Anne isn't Max, obviously, but--

There's always so much to consider. )

[ The entire pot of coffee is set upon a tray with cups, sugar cubes, pieces of chocolate, some milk, and shavings of ginger. Everything is arranged as nicely as she can make it in a short time, forming the small chocolate bars into the shapes of flowers at each corner, sugar sprinkled atop each one to add a bit of sparkle for a moment.

Upon returning, the tray is set down atop the coffee table, and she pours the coffee into both cups. ]

However you may like it, Master Casey.

( Holy crap. When Anne Boleyn does hospitality, she does it right. He's sort of intrigued by the ginger, tilting his head a little, and his mouth quirks with a little smile at the flowers before the spark is lost under the weight of everything else again. ) Wow.

( This is very impressive. He takes a sip of his wine before setting it down. ) This l-looks, um, looks amazing.

( At least he's genuine. ) Thank you.

[ She releases a small chuckle, thinking it flattery as would be expected. But it's rather simple compared to many Tudor feasts, really. This is just a quick snack!

Anne settles back down beside him, and for this time she takes ginger instead of chocolate in the cup. ]

I have come to be fond of coffee; Much more-so than tea. I know not when people started drinking that, and why so many are eager to introduce it to me, but it falls far and leaves me forgetting. These flavors here, they cling to my tongue as sweetly as good poetry.

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