exsiliumlogs | beneath the stars came falling on our heads

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.

It's, um. I g-guess-- like a stereotype about England? It's l-like um, the n-- n-national uh, d-drink. ( Quiet, sort of flat, and he's watching how she uses the ginger, copying out of curiousity to see what it'll be like. ) There's um, d-different-- different types of t-tea? And stuff. Lavender and uh, chamomile are g-good if you c-can't sleep. Or um, p-peppermint. It's g-good for when you have a sore stomach, t-too. Ih uh, if you ever-- ever g-get a chance, it's really g-good iced? With um, honey.
( Sheepish, adding a little sugar to his tea. ) Or chai, you might-- m-might like that one. Ginger, and stuff.

( All the while he's been speaking softly, a little unfocused, because it's easier to let his mind settle on anything that isn't Max, any tangent. ) Sorry. I'm-- rambling.

[ Some words she doesn't understand, but the whole of it she does, even through his rambling while she nods and sips her tea. She must chuckle a little at both the comment of it being the 'national drink' and at his apology, only shaking her head and resting a hand to his wrist momentarily in comfort. ]

I can assure you that none in England drink such a thing, but I suppose much changes in the future.

M-much.

( Agreeing, definitely. Oh, although-- ) And uh, you c-can have hot chocolate? With chilli p-powder and cinnamon.

( And then, a quiet huff. Stop talking about food, Casey. )

[ Well it seems to be calming him down...at times. At other times she's not so sure. He's clearly distracted, and no attempts seem to be working for very long.

She lets the silence hang there for a time so that she can enjoy some chocolate with her coffee, before speaking again. She is thinking, fondly, of Thomas Wyatt. ]

It is difficult to unlock a woman's heart... Try as you might, you will never succeed until she gives you the key. Why she may not is not always easy to decipher, for the locks are complex out of necessity.

( He's glad for the silence, and he's glad for her words, as much as they feel like a blow. He sets his coffee back down, as he speaks, because he feels like there's something Anne needs to understand. ) I'm-- I knew I w-was, uh. N-never g-going to unlock.

( A moment skips where he's struggling to find the words, to speak, to do what she says is so simple and so complicated, but the words themselves hurt. ) I'm not-- I'm kn-know I'm um, n-not-- w-what p-people want. ( His breath catches. ) Max should b-be happy.

( She deserves the best, someone who'll make her happy, but that doesn't stop it from hurting, and he hates himself for being so childish. )

[ Anne merely shrugs in turn, like she's been told she shouldn't have too much sugar with her coffee. ]

Whyfor could you not make her happy, or any woman? It is her choice, for certain, what she wants. But you cannot speak for all women, and for all hearts. You can, in fact, speak only for your own.

Many a-woman would be glad for a man to support them, a man with a face that belonged to Adonis for true, one who appreciates both art and food, who shows them how oft he thinks of them, and what he is willing to do for them. Many a-woman would not be lucky enough to receive even that much, so you see you are above what is expected.

( Well. That leaves him stumped. She speaks so many words, such kind words, and he's pressing his hand over his eyes, dragging over his face because he just isn't sure what to do or how to say it. He's no Adonis, he knows that, but he rest he can hope for, he can wish for, even as the desperation in it just makes his chest hurt and his gut twist. )

N-no one should have-- have b-broken things.

( Looking back at Anne, as his breath shudders.) B-being-- thinking of someone is the l-least you should d-do if you love them. You know h-how stupid I am.

( The things he says, the way he gets all wound up. She's been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it, more than once, the painful awkwardness. He's broken, and he has been for a long time, no matter what Morgana says. )

[ Anne is then quick to shake her head, moving to rest her hand over his. ]

You must stop using that word. If I am to teach you anything, it is that some words are daggers, and the worst you might do is turn your own weapons on yourself.

[ Her hand moves to his chest, though it hovers just over. ]

It is not broken yet, much as you might think it, but it will continue to crack and fall to pieces if you make it so. Keep her forever in your prayers, mayhap, but if she is to be free in truth then she must be free from your thoughts.

( For a while, now, it's been that Max was the reason he was keeping himself alive. To protect her, to keep her safe, because she'd given him a purpose, something bigger than just saving one or two people. She's shown him how they could make a real difference to the world. And then he had realized that he has dragged something malignant and awful into her life, and no matter what, he would save her from Asteria. He would kill his sister, to keep her from tearing Max apart. Max would never have wanted him beyond the capacity of Atlas being strong, a hero for her cause, but he himself was hurting her and she'd realized it, then he had no place in her life. And Asteria wasn't here for him to fight. He can't fight, and he can't die, here, and he truly is already broken, he's sure.

For Anne's sake, he nods, as if he could have absorbed that and believe it to be true. Although, very softly, he does manage to speak. ) Sometimes w-we, um. We d-deserve the w-weapons.

( Hoarse, struggling past a dry throat. )

[ She squints further at him. ]

Others will attempt to wield their tongues as blades in your heart true enough, so there is no need to further destroy your own character. Others will see how you hold yourself, and it will only make them more cruel if you show weakness.

( For a long while, there is silence. )
D-do you, um. Think I d-did this to m-myself?

( Destroy himself, made himself so weak and so compromised, such an easy target. It's not angry, not accusatory, just quiet. )

[ Whoa whoa suddenly turned a bomb of a question of her. She is sure to take a drink just as he's asking so that gives her a few precious extra seconds to think. ]

I cannot make any claim on your history or pain, Adonis, but I think that you are much stronger than you allow yourself to be.

( He takes some chocolate, breaking off a piece and nodding as he has a bite.

Sometimes he doesn't know if Anne is genuine, or if she says kind things because of courtesies, because telling someone they're on the verge of collapsing in on themselves, that their foundations are decayed, would hardly be civil. )

You are v-very k-kind, Lady Anne. I appreciate your, um, your g-generosity v-very-- very m-much.

( He can appreciate it and the effort, even if he can't quite believe it. ) I, uh. Yeah.

[ And some, perhaps, is just a collection of pretty words, but Anne is missing out on a grand party for this, so she might as well try to make some progress here. If there is a main reason for her supposed 'kindness', it is out of her own impatience. But the thoughts are, mostly, genuine. He is a catch for those in his same class, that much is truth.

For her, though, he is too low, when it comes to marriage material. Then again, most men here are. Is there even a catch to be had? ]

You must just call me Anne, hm? We are friends. I am not showing you any kindness this night; I fear I have only upset you more. It simply hurts my own heart to see yours in such disarray, and so I wish I could heal it as quickly as an angel might.

Anne.

( Affirming, albeit a little tentatively. He still feels guilty for the part-- but, well. Donny tilts his head, reaching into his bag, rummaging for something. )

C-can I, um. Show you something? It's m-magic but uh, it's safe.

( Rather than just spring it on her, but she's given him an idea. And at least if he's here, and they're friends, he can show her art. )

[ Though she still expects Lady Anne in public...which would be understood in her time. Does he? We'll find out! ]

Magic...

[ Fuck all. Well, Nash uses magic... She really has been forced to tolerate a lot lately. ]

Please, treat this as if it were your own home. Feel free to do as you like.

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