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For the purposes of a conversation happening, Illyria is out by the lake.

It is assumed that this happens, for her, post-Silent Milliways plot, for those attempting to follow along.

Because she is out by the lake in the middle of the night, it's rather unlikely that she's expecting anyone.

So she's just sitting. Like she does sometimes.

[ooc: this is not the entry post you are looking for. she's here for one specific extremely-slowtimed thread only, as both muns are going to bed soon and will be on only sporadically at the same time in the next few days. carry on!]

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He's out here again as well. It feels like days, and perhaps it has been.

It has been. She knows. Not that she's keeping track, but she sort of can't help it.

Another reason she wants Winnifred out of her head.

"You are settling in here, I imagine?" she asks, without turning around.

"Yes, I guess I am."

(You can't look at her without seeing ... her body's previous owner.)

"I see why you might wish to come out here. It's much more peaceful. Than in there."

Because, of course, a goddess does nothing but what she wishes. Or, at any rate, that's the way one must say things are.

"Most of the time."

(I've nowhere to go. My kingdom is long dead.)

"It keeps me out of the way of those that I do not wish to encounter."

She still doesn't look at him. She doesn't really have to, and she always hated the look she saw in his eyes when he bothered to meet her gaze at all. The accusation, the disappointment, for what she was and what she was not. She couldn't face that tonight.

Wes *has* settled in. Enough to recall what happened at the end. Before he came to this place. And for Fred to fill in some of the details, at least the ones she's been told.

"I've been meaning to tell you--. Fred told me what happened in the end. The final battle."

(This isn't a keep fighting the good fight type of a deal... We don't walk away from that.)

"I'm ... glad. That you survived."

She does turn to look at him at this, over her shoulder, with a quizzical sort of expression.

She almost wants to ask why. But she has her suspicions. He still sees her as what's left of Winnifred, even when Winnifred was here again. Never as herself, not really.

So she settles for informing him of certain facts.

"I did in at least one version of the timeline. Strictly speaking, in the one that you came here directly from, I did not. Or rather, one of me did not."

She doesn't volunteer that she killed the other her, not yet.

"Then, in that case--. That could mean the others didn't survive either?"

Wes felt a stab of ice.

"They also fell.... the Angel, the Gunn, from my timeline?"

Illyria shakes her head.

"No, as far as I know they all survived. The battle was a success, for the most part, on the second try."

She pauses for a moment, unsure of how to continue.

"Time does not work properly in this place. I have been here for a number of months since you -- since the battle occurred in my own time." she says. "I returned to the other timeline thinking that I might be of some use, but." she pauses again, not really wanting to let him know that she'd returned, mainly, in the hopes of saving him. Not wanting him to know that she'd tried and failed.

"But some things, it seems, could not be changed."

Wes is silent for a long while. A soft wind gently laps the waters of the lake against the shore. It's colder out here than he realized.

"No. I suppose some things cannot."

(Please, Wesley. Why can't I stay?)

Then quietly he adds, "But one must always be grateful when someone makes an attempt."

He turns slightly, looking at her. "I know I would be."

(I'm not in love with this thing, Angel But for some reason I need it right now.)

But, with something like this, how can one be sure what one feels? Or who exactly one is feeling about?

It's not cold to her. Or if it is, she doesn't mind. She's not telling which one it is.

"Is it the attempt that matters?" Illyria asks, possibly rhetorically.

(Would you like me to lie to you now?)

"Well..." he replies quietly.

(Yes. Thank you, yes.)

"...I guess I've already confessed my opinion on that question."

For Wes to say anything else would be a lie. And who would know that better than Illyria?

(Be anything. Be blue. Don't be her.)

"Yes." Illyria replies, turning away again. Perhaps misreading him completely. He hadn't wanted that lie, not initially. Perhaps he hated her for it now.

Just as well, really.

He watches her for a moment, misreading her in turn. He should have known, that moment at the end, that remarkable show of compassion... He'd hoped it meant a change in her. But perhaps that hope was premature.

Then Wes laughs silently. 'Premature.' Aren't *we* being optimistic.

He stifles the laugh as quickly as it began. He's shocked to find the madness still there, not buried quite as deep as he thought. He'd hoped it hadn't come with him to this place.

And now his thoughts go back to the things Fred has told him these past few days, as the cold, dark night closes around them. Side-by-side, and millions of miles apart.

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