milliways_bar | (no subject)

Damian wasn't surprised to find himself alone by the time night fell. Whoever chose to be in Nathaniel's bed near dawn was usually up and about long before he rose with the setting sun.

Now, however, he has taken to the grounds surrounding Milliways... or, more accurately, the skies. Usually he isn't keen on levitating where he can be easily spotted, but the desire to feel the wind in his hair is too much to ignore tonight. It is one thing that reminds him a little of the sea, though the air doesn't have that salty density to it. The sea has been a comforting thought throughout his long existence, even though he hasn't more than glanced it in centuries.

He loses himself in the sensation of flight, letting his mind go blissfully numb for a short while before picking an inviting, sturdy tree and sitting high in the branches so he sways lightly with the pulse of the wind.

Escapism can be a wonderful thing sometimes.

He's botherable by those who can climb well (or don't need to climb in order to reach him). He has no intention of coming down from his perch.

[[ooc: Primarily slowtimes, as the mun has an appointment and a worsening cough... plus homework. Slowtimes welcomed! ^^]]

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"I worry about Nathaniel and Asher... and if they will be the ones who suffer the burden of consequence for my actions, or Micah's. It bothers something deep inside me to keep secrets from Anita, and yet I feel she doesn't give us much of a choice. By keeping the depth of their relationship from her, we aren't doing much more than prolonging the inevitable. Our secrecy itself will probably make her all the more angry in the end. I am ready for that, but are they? Will Nathaniel be able to handle her reaction?"

He lets out a long breath. It is rare for him to share such things with others. He doesn't like sharing his problems and burdens. It makes him feel weak. And here he is, pouring it out to Moon. With a small start, he suddenly realises how much he must already trust her. It's almost troubling.

Moon listens.

Quietly, without interruption, because this was what she was created to do. Listen and help where she can.

She looks out over the trees when he's through, considering her words.

"No," she says simply after a while. "He won't, but he won't have to, because all of you will be there to catch him when she finally learns the truth. It will be good for him, though, in the end, Damian. A lesson he learns about himself, about Asher, and about those he's chosen to love. It's a necessary hardship, Anita's anger, when it comes."

"Catalyst to a greater purpose... a greater growth," he muses with another barely audible sigh.

"I know I should not be resentful of Anita's anger when it helps others grow, but she just makes everything so... complicated." And his frustration is clearly not limited to just the situation with Asher and Nathaniel.

"It is because she does not know herself. If she does not know herself, she's uncomfortable all the time."

She smiles.

"And that makes her lash out in many ways."

Damian's frustration bleeds into sadness, and he looks down at his hands. All he wants is to serve a capable master worthy of his service. Jean-Claude was a just Master of the City who had saved him from his torment and saw to his basic needs. But now, though he supposes he is still considered part of Jean-Claude's kiss, he is dependent on Anita. During that first week after she had saved him, he had been so sure she was capable, but now he isn't as confident.

If she doesn't spare him a thought and a burst of power when the sun goes down, he will be incapable of rising. She doesn't see to his feedings; Jean-Claude is kind enough to provide him with what he needs at the Circus and Danse Macabre. Worse than all that, though, is the way Anita ignores him. And when she can't ignore him, she keeps out of reach or makes it clear through word or manner that he is not to get too close.

He had nothing to compare it to. He had never possessed a human servant, and now he is the servant of a master necromancer who stubbornly refuses to touch him.

Her expression grows terribly sad.

"It will take some time yet before you become close to her, but it will not be closeness you are expecting, and it will make her lack of touch even more acute."

A small, vague warning for him.

Perhaps a little too vague. His brow creases, and he frowns. So he has more of the same to look forward to. Wonderful.

His chest begins to ache, and he leans against the trunk of the tree as it sways in the wind, closing his eyes to better take in the movement.

Moon watches him, her eyes unblinking and her mind quiet.

She gives him no more than he asks of her, not wanting to bring him more hurt.

Just beneath the wind, his whisper lilts through the air, and the tone is so blank, so empty, that it is strikingly clear he is holding back the intensity of his emotions.

"I miss the sea, Moon... I miss the sea."

"Then why don't you visit it?" she asks him.

"I go only where Anita goes," comes the soft reply.

She's quiet for a moment.

"What do you miss about the sea?"

What doesn't he miss about the sea?

"The salty scent of it. The vastness of it. The swaying lull of it from the ship. The glimmer of light on the waves. The sound of it crashing to shore. The fear and awe of a dangerous storm..."

His voice fades to silence for a few seconds, though it feels like an eternity.

"The freedom of it."

"Will you come down from your tree?" she asks him. "I wish to show you something."

His eyes open and he turns to face her, curiosity welling up to the surface to mingle with his other emotions. He clenches his jaw for a moment with indecision, but then nods. Shifting on his seat, he exerts his power and stands into the air. He normally wouldn't make such a display, but Moon already knows all his powers, so there is not a reason to keep them hidden.

He offers a hand to her, though he knows from her earlier trick that she hardly needs his help to get down from the tree.

Moon accepts his hand, though, allowing him to bring them both to the ground, her wolves rising immediately. She points to each one in turn.

"Mons," she says, pointing to the white wolf before moving onto the three brown-gray wolves. "Mare, Rigel, and Mintaka. My guardians."

She keeps his hand in hers and begins to lead him through the woods, deeper in, and through an archway made of vines and branches, where the forest seems to change utterly.