exsiliumlogs | beneath the stars came falling on our heads

You know m-my name.

( Goodness, Anne. With the last step, he brings a pause to their waltz, takes a step back, and kneels. )

Atlas of House C-Casey, m-my lady.

( Why does he keeping thinking joking will help? The smile in his voice is convincing, he hopes, at least if someone wasn't really looking it might be, and maybe it comes off as a valiant attempt rather than ringing false. )

[ He is not as skilled at it as her, the game of masques, and it is only for the sake that he is a man that she dismisses his moments of weakness and pretends not to notice. He can never master such skills so long as he wears crooked masques.

At his kneeling, though, he suddenly seems more like to collapse than to ride off and fight a dragon for her. She moves both hands to settle atop his head, stroking his hair and tickling along the edges of his mask. It's even tempting to pull him against her then, like one might a child who is in need of skirts to cry into, but that much she resists. ]

Your quest would be to find who is in truth the most delighted at my company, and should you find the man more delighted than you so claim, you must bring him to me.

( Honestly, he's relieved for the contact, for the window of being able to keep his head bowed, for her hands stroking his hair even if it's painfully familiar, if she doesn't play through it the way Max used to, if the hands at the edge of his mask would have, two weeks ago, made him tense. It doesn't matter any more.

He prepares a grin before he glances up at her, nothing if not bright. ) W-what if I am c-convinced I'm the m-most-- most delighted?

Then you must convince me.

[ Her hands slowly pull away and draw up to touch her breast as she leans over with a smile showing her own false brightness. ]

How to assure me of your affections, and yours alone?

Edited 2013-09-22 11:19 (UTC)

( Apparently it's not the convincing people when he cares about them that's the problem. It's the fact that he cares so much. Atlas does not falter, and even so, he doesn't really know what the next step is that he's meant to take in this game.

There's a moment of consideration, before he jokes, ) T-take out the c-competition?

( So helpful, Adonis. )

[ Her eyebrows lift a touch in surprise, but her smile is pleased, if edgy. Sometimes one may not know how far teases and flirtations reach and where the subtle exchanges end. No, he is too soft, he does not even know what he says.

But still she thinks it's good, it's good for him to think that way, and Anne breathes out a husky chuckle. ]

That might convince that you would possess. But what would convince of love?

I think l-love, um. W-would be t-to let you choose who m-made you happiest. N-not-- not p-possessing at all, b-but-- having what w-was g-given freely.

( Quieter, and he's not joking any more. It's not love, to possess someone, at least, not in the way they're talking. He could say he's Max's, because he would gladly give anything that she'd need. He would lay down his life for her. He doesn't want to possess her at all, and he thinks that's part of loving someone. )

Your heart's yours t-to give, n-not-- not for anyone t-to take.

( In an entirely different context, it might be awkward that he's still kneeling. As it is, Atlas opts to start drawing himself up, slowly. )

[ It had been the perfect set up, really, an offering rarely enticed, and Donny...had botched it.

With the moment effectively ruined, Anne's smile falters, and her sigh is one of the mildest of disappointments, as she straightens up. She needs not to be lectured on what love is... Hasn't he already preached something like that to her before? Did he think her so ignorant she didn't understand that she controlled who could take her heart?

Maybe the talk of love had hit too close to home, and it was too soon. But as hard as she tries, as sweetly as she has tried to coax enjoyment into their night despite, he keeps insisting on making everything as cold and damp as it is outside, and it not only irritates her, it offends her, and she draws up just as he. ]

Is that so? You suddenly speak easily on love, when it seems your heart was stolen away long ago. You have so long been without that you cannot even recognize.

I m-meant--

( No, stop. Atlas isn't meant to falter, not like this. He watches her with confusion, not entirely sure where it went from him being genuine and saying that it couldn't be taken by force. That convincing someone of love seemed to miss the point, and he stands there for a few moments before he shakes his head. )

I think anyone who w-won your love should b-be honored. ( Quiet, because clearly he's made her angry, and her words sting, even if he is able to absorb them more easily as Atlas. It feels like she's tearing pieces off him, but he nods to himself. ) What am I m-meant to recognize?

[ The point is that there was no point; that they were playing as they would poetry, and does he not understand the words of Greek poets better than most? To suddenly dash the magic with a preaching she hardly requires or wants is the worst to do to a lady attempting a masquerade.

Quietly at first, allowing some time to pass for hopefully the stings of her words to fade and her ire from his, she reaches up to pull the plainer dark mask from her face. ]

Had you spoken true to earn my affections, you might have won my love yet, and we would see who is honored. [ Her smile is sad, and she does little to hide it, because it isn't for herself. ] But your heart, that heart I see fractured, cannot heal until you fetch your love back, and learn to keep it for yourself. You are worth loving, Atlas.

H-have you read The Iliad? ( Softly, fingers tracing the outline of his own mask, fingers slipping under the edge. ) "The g-gods envy us. They envy us b-- b-because we’re m-mortal, b-because any m-moment may b-be our last. Everything is more beautiful b-because we’re--" ( A hitch of breath, just barely. ) "We're d-doomed."

( No. He shakes his head. ) You d-don't know m-me, Anne.

[ His quotation makes her squint, possibly in curiosity or possibly just in bemusement. Maybe it's not the quote, but his quaint little claim. Once again, in response to her attempts at play, comfort, or heartfelt advice, he has only insulted her in his self-deprecation. So determined is he to scorn himself that he seems not to notice who else the lightning strikes. Now she is the one to feel low and lonely. ]

No. You have made it clear you wish to remain a stranger.

[ A look is cast to the tray, now forgotten on the table, and she moves to begin gathering it up, the dark blue blanket slowly dropping to the couch as she crouches over. ]

You may rest your head here tonight, stranger or no, and hopefully awaken for the better. The lounge here is free, and most comfortable.

I d-don't-- don't want to.

( So genuinely lost. If he knew he hurt her, then he'd take it back in a moment, but he's-- too caught up in this, in how broken he is, because it's the only thing he was ever taught consistently. ) I d-don't know how um, how n-not to be. A stranger, I m-mean, I--

( God, he's an idiot. Slowly, he draws away his mask. ) I admire you m-more than I know how t-to say. And I think I j-just-- say the w-wrong thing.

( More of that honesty, that seriousness, and he shrugs, moving to help her with the gathering up. )

[ Her hands brush against his to keep them away, as she'd be perfectly horrified at a guest handling all of this no matter how mad she is. It would be best if she had a servant but she doesn't, so not only pride but decorum dictates this is her jurisdiction. Just as love and beauty ought to be, but that is squashed no matter how much she tries. His compliments are met with a somewhat chilly gaze as she straightens up, so used to admirations and flattery that she hardly thinks it sincere. He's just trying to make is so she isn't mad anymore, that's all. She struggles with knowing when and where to humor him, for his heart is broken.

But her own was broken the moment she was brought here, it broke for her family and country and the mourning of her own identity, and there is nobody to comfort her. But this is bitterness and she tries to overcome it... How can she preach Christian charity if she does not showcase it properly? ]

But you did so agree to let me teach you, hm? What to say.

[ Which is precisely what was going on. And he was doing so well, too, during their dance. ]

You are not as willing to learn as you claim, for you fight me at every turn of the corner. I am not fond of wasting my time, for I do not think it so easily reversed as like the Initiative. As I draw you into the warmth you pull back into the cold, and you pull me with.

( He has no idea how to fix this. Even Atlas has slipped beyond his fingertips. Isolated away from Max, of his own doing, and now he has hurt Anne as well. As I draw you into warmth you pull back into the cold, and you pull me with. Another person who tried to help him who he hurt, but at least Anne hasn't had Asteria playing through her memories and her mind. Anne, though, has been dragged into a horrible vision of the future, one without the people she wants around her.

What can he say? She's right. He is a waste of time, he hurts the people closest to him, the ones who try to help. He hurts the people he tries to help, as well. And the only solution he can grasp, the thing that he keeps thinking of, that seems like it would at least be a relief and give the people around him space to breathe, the Initiative has taken that away from him as well. Anne might not believe that there's any value in time being reversed, but Donny wishes they could not undo his own death, because he has been caught on that blade for a very long time. At least before there had always been the hope that if he died, Max would be safe, Asteria would lose interest; now there was nothing. There was no break, no release. )

I'm v-very sorry. ( For hurting her. For wasting her time. ) That wasn't-- ( That's not what a good friend should do. )

[ Again he struggles with his words, and she struggles with her patience.

She wins. ]

Now you must cease these apologies. You are forgiven, most sincerely. Though it can not be forever, it is easy to step in from the cold for a time if you only allow yourself. To warm me, in turn, can be accomplished again with just as much ease.

[ Anne nods to the blanket fallen behind her on the couch, still holding the tray in her hands. ]

Edited 2013-09-22 13:04 (UTC)

( This is a battle Donny seems to inspire in most people; it might be why he always has an apology (or ten) ready.

He's not sure he's understanding the cue right, but he takes up the blanket, shaking it once, his magic pulsing through it so that it is warm when he drapes it over Anne's shoulders, careful to make sure it won't fall.

Maybe for Anne, he should simply stop trying to explain. Maybe it would be better simply to pretend, so she isn't troubled by Adonis. She had seemed to like Atlas so much more. )

Then I'll b-be a heater w-whenever you n-need one. A l-lady's comfort is a vigilante's first c-concern.

( It can be fun again. It can be light, and playful. It's fine. )

[ But too much of the light is gone in this case, for the smile she offers him in turn is encouraging but not gleeful as before. ]

What if I should need one midst the night?

Then I'll m-make sure, um, n-no one sees me?

( Playful, teasing, but at the same time, acknowledging that he has no idea what actually would be the right thing to say, mustering a bit of a grin.

The loss of that earlier brightness stings, but he remains steady. Don't falter. Not now. )

[ His response actually surprises her, enough to draw more of a smile before she turns away to carry the treats back into the kitchen, calling out lightly in return. ]

Then I best close my eyes and play at sleep for long as I may, so that the gentle warmth of knowing will yet guide me to dreaming and pleasing.

( He tags along, not leaning against the doorframe the way that Donny might, still holding himself tall. Even through all this, his movements are steadier, more certain, more deliberate.

All the knee-jerk reactions of horror that are tied to dreams are pressed down. Don't push her into the cold. ) So you d-don't want to see m-me after all? ( Pouting, just a little, slipping into mock reproach. ) C-closing your eyes to ignore m-me?

( So cold, Anne. )

[ Donny what are you doing... She's not supposed to be watched cleaning up! That ruins the effect. Although, granted, she's kind of saving the dishes for tomorrow and just wrapping the food up.

No throwing food away here, that's for certain. She thinks on these differences often, even through her easy smiles and less easy laughs. ]

Nay, for should I see you, I must name you. And I am still but a maid.

R-right.

( Okay, got it. That makes sense? He mulls that over, and then with great dignity, lays a hand over his eyes. )

So n-now I uh, c-can't see you, my v-- v-virtue is fine?

( If in doubt, be playful and ridiculous, no matter how bad you feel. That was Atlas' talent. He was just voicing it out loud, now. )

[ That ought to be Anne's own motto, for truth. Although sometimes, when in doubt, react in paranoia. This is also quite valid. This is not that, though, and instead opts for ridiculous. But not overly so, as tender as he still is to the thorn's of love's rose.

With one small piece of sugared chocolate salvaged, Anne soon moves close enough so that she can reach to let it hover close to his mouth, letting Donny become aware of her closeness; to know it and feel it and of course there is no denying the scent of chocolate.

Very carefully, coaxing more than coercing, she teases the piece of chocolate at his lips with her other hand hovering just hover his heart. He does so love his chocolate. ]

For it is a kind dream, of pleasing and having.

( Hello there. He is a big fan of chocolate, and the quirk of his mouth isn't at all staged.

Carefully, Donny-- Atlas? Atlas. Atlas grabs the chocolate with his teeth, goes to ease it from her hold. )

For t-true.

( Okay maybe he kind of likes the way she talks. It's so fancy. His own voice is soft, and her hand reminds him of the ache in his chest, though he might seem delighted enough by the chocolate. His hand stays over his eyes. )

beneath the stars came falling on our heads

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