milliways_bar | (no subject)

"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?"

He doesn't stop her from playing with his hair, but if she tries to give him a head full of braids with sparkly ribbons, he will have to put his foot down.

He thinks before answering. "I want to comfort him." He knows he is frightened by the possible consequences surrounding a more physical relationship with Nathaniel, but he wants to support the wereleopard and explain what he can. He doesn't know how much he can help, being tangled in the web as he is, but he wants to.

Moon doesn't do braids or sparkly ribbons. Has he ever seen those things in her hair? No. So she won't be doing that to him.

"Then you should comfort him," she says, closing her eyes. "Tonight, Jason will comfort him. He avoids Asher, hides where he feels safest right now. But, tomorrow night... when the hurt is eased a little by time..."

"I will go to him," he finishes. "I can only hope my words and presence will help instead of making matters worse."

He pauses, looking at Moon with a sweeping, lingering gaze. "You are a comfort to me, Lady Moon, even if you sometimes speak in riddles."

He's given a bright smile.

"You'll figure out the riddles when the time is right. I'm glad I can give you some comfort. You don't get enough of it."

"I suppose I don't," Damian murmurs.

Giving her a small squeeze, he eases her back up onto her ballet shoes. "I may watch you dance a bit longer, but I must return to St. Louis to feed soon." He doesn't feel like activating the donor list this evening.

She stands, hands clasped before her, her feet in fourth position.

"Do you want to go back to St. Louis?"

"Yes, and no." It's as clear an answer as he can give without getting too wordy.

Moon giggles.

"Yes and no? Now you sound like me."