milliways_bar | (no subject)

Moon hops from his lap and disappears out the door, coming back after only a few moments with broken in white pointe shoes with pale, emerald colored ribbons. She plunks herself down on the floor and begins to put on the toe pads and then the shoes themselves.

"Ruin would bring me a new pair of shoes every month, always with the pretty green ribbons," she says.

"Only a shade lighter than your eyes," he notes, thinking it fitting. "Your brother is thoughtful." He has not met any of the other tarot, but he feels it is a safe assumption.

Moon looks up at him, smiling happily.

"He's my brother. He looks out for me. I chose him, and I'm older, but he acts older. Ruin protects me even when I don't need his protection. He always wanted me to turn on the heat. I always forgot to call the gas company. Phones were tricky things for me."

"It sounds nice to have someone watch out for you."

He chuckles softly at her comment about phones. "Telephones seem to exert a pull on the younger generations of humans like to our vampire powers. One call, and the humans can't help but come answer."

"Loud things, and you can't see the person. I don't like them."

She ties the ribbons of her second shoe and then rises. It's like remembering a favorite melody. She runs through a series of échappés, stretching out her feet and legs, delighting in the feel of the exercises.

It is a new side to Moon that he has not seen, and he watches her with a small smile on his face.

"I can picture you on stage and in costume. You said you lived somewhere with bills and heat. Did you also perform?"

Moon moves through various positions, smiling at Damian.

"I had a prince to dance with. They would give me money and roses, but the girls who danced with me never got the roses. Or the prince."

Her form is exquisite. Moon has very good line. He never would have guessed that she had danced professionally, but seeing her in the traditional ballet shoes changes that perception. She might not have studied dance, but she knows it, much like she knows all paths.

It takes a bit of doing to wrap his mind around it. He had never been good at something like that. Everything he is good at, he had to train and practise. Moon, however, never was a human, and he has to make an effort to remember that at times.

"Did you like receiving the roses? Or would you have preferred other flowers like daisies?"

"I liked the teeny white flowers the best, the ones that usually came with the roses. I liked those."

She does several pliés.

"There were things I had to learn, things I had to try and do instead of just doing them. I don't write things well. I am a terrible actress. And my paintings never sold very well. Dancing and singing were what I loved. Dancing more than singing."

Damian chuckles. It helps to know that she isn't good at everything in such a concrete way, though he almost feels badly for admitting that to himself.

"The only art I was good at in life was the art of war... if war can truly be called artistic." He pauses, thinking back to a life that is so very long ago, nearly crushed under the weight of time and centuries of memories. "Then again, I don't think I truly tried my hand at anything else. It was either work the fields, build, or fight. I preferred to fight." Art had never really entered into the equation other than the steps of drills he had learned, which were, in their own sort of way, a dance.

"You fought because you believed there was no other choice. Just as you dance now because you believe you have no other choice. You let yourself be blown by the winds of those around you, and it leaves you lonely and unhappy," she says as she does a pirouette.

He looks down at her feet, at the green ribbons and white shoes. It seems a convenient place to look rather than at her face and knowing eyes.

"I'm not used to making a stand any more. She trained it out of me, Moon. No will but hers was acceptable, so I learned to sway with the wind rather than stand against the storm. It has helped me weather things resistance would never have allowed." Watching her feet, he is silent for a minute. He debates whether or not he should continue, but then he supposes Moon already knows what he will and won't say and why, so it matters little. "The more I am around Anita, the more my emotions stir. I used to be able to distance myself. It's becoming more and more difficult to contain things with her and Nathaniel around."

She stops in the perfect first position and smiles at him.

"Love is a better motivator than fear," she points out. "You love them, and because you love them, your desires become more insistent and your inhibition far fewer."

The pale skin between Damian's eyebrows creases, but he doesn't raise his gaze for more than a moment.

"I don't love Anita," he says rather plainly, and he truly believes it. He cares about her, yes -- how could he not? -- but outside the physical and metaphysical attraction, he has seen little of substance there.

Moon chuckles, doing a small routine taken from Swan Lake, hearing the music easily in her head.

"You don't?"

Damian doesn't recognise the steps, though they are fluid and beautiful to watch.

"No. I don't." Green eyes finally rise to meet hers. "Is that a surprise, or are you just double checking me?"

"Sometimes it's good to have the words spoken. Knowing them is different than saying them."

Her eyes flash, a secretive smile on her lips.

"I know you love the kitten."

Damian has to pause at that, settling into that safe stillness that he has learned over the centuries. Having it said out loud like that is not something he is used to hearing. Then again, he isn't used to speaking with someone who knows him inside and out.

Evaluating what he feels for Nathaniel brings a small, fond smile to his lips after a couple minutes.

"Yes. I do love Nathaniel." It should be shocking to state it aloud, but it is just a verbal confirmation of what already exists inside.

Moon giggles, spinning around and then flopping into his lap again. She crosses her ankles as looks up at him.

"That is important."

"I... haven't loved in a very long time," he admits, agreeing with her through the statement. Love may not be the unfailing, ever-present infatuation that the modern humans tend to expect, but what he feels for Nathaniel cannot adequately be described as friendship or lust.

Unlike a lot of people, though, Damian is all right with that. True feelings are supposed to be complex and difficult to define. At least, that is what he has come to believe.

"Now you do."

She sighs, resting her head against his shoulder.

"He so badly wants to love and be loved."

So much time around the wereleopards has made him more accepting of casual touch. He only hesitates a little before reaching up and stroking one hand through Moon's hair.

"He loves Asher, and Asher loves him. Anita loves him... as do I. Love is not the problem, I think."

"He thinks his love is not enough for anyone," she murmurs. "He is told he's broken and must be fixed. He is told he should want more than he does. He is told he should be someone everyone else wants him to be. Therefore, his love -- to him -- is not enough to satisfy anyone, though he soaks up the love offered to him like a desperate, dry sponge."

It was quite sad, if you asked Moon. The whole thing, sad and needy.

It is very sad, and Damian's eyes glimmer with the memory of Nathaniel's reaction just minutes ago.

"What may I do?" If it is within his power, he wants to ease what he can.

Moon's fingers play in his hair again.

"What do you want to do?"