exsiliumlogs | beneath the stars came falling on our heads

( 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.

( He hopes it'll be worth it. Rummaging, he finds his utility belt, drawing out a few pieces of metal, holding them in his palm. As the heat escalates in his skin, flares from his hand, he glances to Anne, reassuring, before he's watching the metal again, melting, pooling in his hand. )

I'm g-grateful. That you um, that you-- that you t-took the t-time.

( Awkward, embarrassed, actually, but he is grateful and he's so poor with words, but he can make metal dance. it rises from the pool in his hand, three ribbons of liquid metal that twist and spiral in the air, catching the light. )

[ Oooh. Now this is more akin to a magic trick, which is more acceptable in her mind somehow. She does after all like having her fortune told for certain things.

This is much prettier to look at than a fortune, though, and is actually metal, as far as she could see. Though hesitant at first, she inches closer to watch, then claps when it glints in the light just so. ]

This is um, h-how I-- m-make stuff? With g-glass or uh-- yeah. Or sculpting, sometimes.

( Commenting, quietly, as the metal dances around itself, until it's a single spinning sphere. Gradually, pieces start to peel away, to shift and change, until it's a blooming rose, still liquid, but holding it's shape. )

M-magic, um. Is w-what let's m-me be stronger. When I'm Atlas.

( An explanation, the reason why he and Atlas are different. )

[ The beauty of it, of witnessing it unfold, is staggering. She has her breath held, both hands clutched together in anticipation. As it hovers there, and he explains, she releases a soft sigh, leaning in once again with one hand dropping to rest between them. She is charmed. ]

Then does that leave me to use mine own magic to make Adonis stronger?

( Slowly, the metal cools, turns solid, and when it's safe to touch he let it come to rest by Anne's hand. His smile is still sad, he can't imagine it being anything else, but Anne did try to help him, and comfort him, and that means a great deal. )

One d-day I'll um, m-make you something that isn't a f-flower. ( He's just not at his most imaginative, right now.

The smile wavers a little. ) M-maybe. Or um, maybe I should j-just be Atlas all the t-time.

( Part a joke, and part a serious suggestion. Maybe he should just stop being anything outside his uniform.)

It is fine! Such wondrous beauty, and all for me.

[ She likes flowers, especially roses! So she isn't complaining. This is the kind of thing she can actually display... Which she does, after fawning over it a moment with her fingertips, leaning over to carefully set it just in the center of the coffee table. She might need to find a velvet cushion for it to make it proper, but for now it is fine enough. ]

Shall I call you Atlas instead, then?

Yep.

( It stings, in a way. In unintentional reminder of the bracelet he made Max, the charms that he'd shown Anne so long ago, and he draws the envelop carrying the bracelet out of his pocket, crumpled and worn through, looking at the bracelet inside before he drops it onto the bag. It was nice, that Anne liked what he made. It sucked that Max had been so sad. That art could make her that sad. )

Only w-with the uniform. ( A little serious. ) W-when I p-picked the name, I um. N-never thought about how Atlas is d-doomed. Atlas and Adonis. G-good work, huh?

[ She leans back from the table, near shoulder to shoulder with him again. No stop moping stop it now. ]

Apparently, I am told that history can be altered. Why not legend?

( Fair point, winning a slight smile, even as it fades before he drinks a little more of the coffee. )

You're right.

( He can concede that, even if the words are rasped out. It's more complicated, he thinks, but he doesn't really want to argue over something pointless, that would turn confusing with his struggle to articulate his ideas. )

[ She's back to wine, now. Anne likes her variety. ]

Why can you not use your magic on yourself when you are not in uniform? Mayhap become someone other than Adonis or Atlas.

Huh?

( Articulate, as ever. He takes a moment, rubbing his forehead. ) I'm-- m-my magic only is um, elemental. F-fire and uh, and earth. W-water, sometimes.

( A little. It's more dangerous for him to use than the others, but it's not the point. ) Atlas is-- l-like a symbol. When I have m-my uniform, I c-can, um. Forget I'm Donny C-Casey.

( He's not doing well at explaining this, so he scoops up the bag, standing carefully. ) M-may I um, g-get changed? Somewhere.

( She won't understand it before she sees it. )

[ She tilts her head at that, too curious to say no, and so she nods and stands, both hands resting demurely against her stomach as she waits for him to stand and follow. ]

If you so wish, you may use my apartment.

[ Because as much as she hates that idea, the idea of sending someone into the privy to change is horrible. She already hates that the bath is in there.

So she'll open up the door to her room and curtsy a touch while waving him in. It's a lot like one would expect an Anne Boleyn room to look like, if slightly barren of her normal glory. Funds are limited, after all, and selection on Exsilium even more-so. ]

( He might look slightly scandalised, but he also doesn't know how to say no to such an offer, so he'll nod and tag along. He really just meant he could change in the bathroom, but oh well. Being in someone's room is so personal.

Right then. At least when he changes it's quick - you have to get speedy at changing, in this line of work, and he strips away his clothes, dragging on his uniform. The matte black that makes up most of it, black boots and gloves, the red of the toga, the clip of the utility and then the gold of his armour, all meant to be fire and earth together, before he pulls on his mask. And then there's the part where he folds up his other clothes and neatly puts them in his bag, but when he straightens up, he's someone different. Taller, no more slouching - flawless posture, actually.

Also, those sure are some skintight clothes and lots of muscles, just saying. It's only a moment before he's easing the door open, not sure if Anne is waiting there, or will have returned to sit. )

[ She is remaining outside, because that's her bedchamber and she's definitely eavesdropping because you don't trust men. Period. But she's quick, and she'll move once it sounds like he's nearing the door again, standing several feet away, close to the living area, so he has space.

Well, she is used to men in tights, at least! So that's no big deal. Maybe they have more than a toga over that, but...the armor helps draw attention away, as well. It's not nearly as fancy as she would make, but then she does like extravagance.

The change in stance is immediately noticed by her, of course. It makes him seem a little taller, and of course the mask only adds mystery. ]

You stand taller than any titan could. It is as if I have attended a masquerada! Are we to have a party of our very own here, then? I fear I am dressed as nobody.

Edited 2013-09-21 06:06 (UTC)

( Even as Atlas, he can't cancel out the fact that he feels lost, miserable, but at least for Atlas it's easier to pretend. He musters up a grin, before bowing low - a reverence, as she had told him. Still, he doesn't speak, but inclines his head to the sitting room, offering his hand, palm down, as if this truly were some far more formal occasion. A little more playful, a lot more confident. His chest aches, but he has to be Atlas.

It's terrifying because she knows Adonis and she knows the truth of the transformation, but he almost doesn't care. Nothing matters so much. He's still so tempted to leave Adonis behind completely and be Atlas at all hours. )

[ It is strange to see him act so (all courtiers must smile through their pain, does she not do the same through her fear?), and pull it off well enough. She lets her hand rest over his, though just enough space to keep from physical touch, since he's playing it up so proper.

Teasing it as a masque is well and good, but his change in demeanor is unnerving. It only makes her a little more unsure and suspicious of his nature. He clearly can change, so why does he need the uniform?

Smile, smile...and then half-turn as they reach the living space. ]

Surely there must be somebody left that I can create a masque for. Phoebe is already taken, how sad. I would so love to shine like the moon.

( Perhaps it's for the best that she does not voice her concerns, her uncertainty. It would hurt beyond thinking to know that in trying to become Atlas, to be this better side of himself, he was making causing her discomfort. As it is, her suggestion makes him grin, and he reaches for the notebook in his utility - maybe this will make it less confusing. That Atlas does not speak, will not speak, so that all that weakness and uncertainty in his voice not longer matters.

He takes only a moment to jot down two possibilities, before he passes her the note. )

Tethys was the embodiment of the water, and that got to shine with the sun and the moon. Or there's Mnemosyne, the mother of the muses. I don't think I've met anyone here who appreciates the works of the muses the way you do.

( Sure, there's some teasing in it, but it's good natured, and he's only working with her comment of shining like the moon. )

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