Implementation's the rub

It is not a white Christmas. It's not even a wintry Christmas. Indeed, the day dawned bright, persisted with cloudless blue skies, and maintained an unseasonable warmth if with just enough of a breeze to discourage long outdoor walks. By evening the air chilled....somewhat. But not quite enough. Just enough to tease with hints of a winter that could be.

The address Robert gave to Proteus belongs to a room in one of Alne's inns, conveniently located a couple blocks from Plant Duck headquarters. The door is cracked, the light from indoors welcoming. In contrast to the weather, Robert appears to have actually put forth considerable effort with decorations. The air smells of pine, and the tables and surrounding furniture have been decorated with greenery and a vast array of flickering candles, though the room's lighting comes from the inn's standard overhead lamps.

Like the weather, he nonetheless appears to have fallen a bit short regardless of how valiant his efforts may have been. The decorations distinctly lack a more artistic touch. There's no particular design behind -which- tables have been decorated, or how. And altogether, the sense is that of one desperately trying to recreate what Christmas -ought- to be, if from confused and poorly-drawn blue-prints.

Robert himself is no exception. He's evidently gone out of his way to find formal wear. Of a sort. But, the setting being what it is, that formal wear is a trifle unfortunate. His 'shirt' (for heaven forbid that it be referred to as a blouse) is a loose white thing with billowing sleeves, firmly held in at the torso by a black, delicately gold-threaded tunic that belts at the waist and extends to mid-thigh. Mercifully, he's managed to avoid similar poof in his pants. Unmercifully, they are a three-quarters length affair, revealing that...yes...he seems to also be wearing tights.

Proteus arrives on the slightly chill day in what appears to be her normal cloak, covering her up and concealing her in shadow as much as she is wont to do. She steps into the inn room, pausing to take a look over the effortful decorations, quietly soaking in the ambiance. Her shadowed visage seems somewhat inscrutable as she looks back and forth...

And then the imp turns to look at Robert himself... And she can't help but smile, clearly stifling a laugh as her hand moves to her lips instinctively... Then drops to her chin. "Well well." She says, smiling. "I suppose it's only fair that you've managed to dress yourself up as well..." And at that, there is a flick of her hand, the cloak vanishing in a whirl of her hand into her inventory...

And with an almost audible WHOOMPH, she is revealed to be wearing a ballroom gown style dress in pale gold. The dress is wide and flowing, the neckline fairly conservative, but it nevertheless flatters her form as the upper section clings to and defines her body for a change. Gauzy cloth rolls down her arms, and with a slim pair of black dress gloves, conceals the nature of her hands even here. The tips of a pair of dressy shoes peek out from beneath the edge of the dress.

Despite this reveal, Proteus doesn't look comfortable in the flamboyant clothing, her expression held carefully flat as she looks to Robert, waiting for his own response.

There is a bit of an awkward silence. Robert's gaze scrutinizes her. Scrutinizes himself. Scrutinizes her again, if a bit too long this time. "Managed to dress myself up sounds about right," he offers, then, scrutiny melting into a warm, humorous, if slightly self-deprecating smile as he steps forward, greeting Proteus with a bow. "I am increasingly of the opinion that female clothing is meant to inspire amazement. Male clothing, sympathy. You look lovely. Please! Please, have a seat."

The mild awkwardness reasserts itself, his hand lifting momentarily to his brow before he recollects himself, drawing a chair away from the table before stepping past her to push the door shut. "Dinner should be up in a few moments," he reassures her, though there's of worry to his gaze as it skates towards the doorway, betraying the air of one who has spent the day arranging for things that never quite turned out the way they ought to, and have slowly been turning into the Christmas-dinner version of the butterfly effect. No doubt a good chunk of this is a lack of recent practice with hosting....well, anything really. "Uh," he continues at length, gaze dropping to her feet. "How was the walk over? The shoes haven't started...you know. Have they?"

The silence goes on, and Proteus can be seen to practically vibrate with the edges of encroaching anxiety as she waits for Robert to look her over and make his judgement. As he looks on longer and longer, a tinge of pink begins to creep up her neck and into her cheeks, muscles in her jaw rippling as she struggles with the impulse to say something, do something...

Eventually, however, he speaks, and the tension pops like a bubble. That is, it mostly explodes and leaves a residue all over the place. She nods, and gives a curtsey with only minimal ensuing awkwardness. "You're fine, Robert. I appreciate that you're doing this to yourself as well." She straightens, and then steps over to the offered chair and sits down.

Once arranged, it's then when she folds her hands together and looks up at him, studying him intently as he glances around. "I'm sure it will be lovely." She replies to him, trying to be reassuring... And then she glances down at the mention of shoes. "No, they haven't." She replies, but she sure did sit down quickly enough when that seat was offered. Still, that doesn't keep her from deflecting onto a different subject. "So this is your version of a Christmas celebration, then." She glances around. "It looks... pleasant." She says, nodding. "It certainly feels like you're trying to capture a certain something."

"Recapture, perhaps" Robert confesses as he takes his own seat, gesturing towards the table in front of him where two steaming kettles can be observed, along with a pair of glasses. There he lingers, surrounded by the splattered remnants of the previous tension. Maybe that's a good thing. He seems to have lapsed into a sort of 'whatever will come, will come' philosophy. He certainly didn't miss the qualifiers in her statement. Settling back in his chair, he surveys his surroundings, gaze finally coming to rest on Proteus once more as his head cants to the side. "Through details. Though I suppose details aren't really the point, are they. It's like trying to recreate something meaningful by making sure a flower arrangement is exactly the way it used to be."

He trails off into a momentary wistful silence, gaze defocusing and going distant, before he drags himself back to the present. "What was your version of Christmas like?" he queries, before remembering his hosting duties. "Something to drink?" he offers, leaning forward and reaching towards those kettles. He taps first one, then the other. "Cider, spiced, with alcohol," he indicates for the first, "...and without alcohol," he finishes, indicating the second.

She glances at the pair of kettles and tilts her head for a moment, taking in the sight. Proteus shakes her head and smiles at that response. "It's all right. The form of the thing isn't always important as long as you convey-..." She pauses, then, stopping mid-sentence, her expression going intent for a few seconds before her expression relaxes a bit. She watches that wistful little look in his face, the nostalgic expression. Slowly, she begins to speak again, her words a bit slower, more deliberate.

"It doesn't matter, as long as you're saying what you want to say." She says. "You're putting a lot of effort into showing me what you know and remember and that's valuable to me. I appreciate it." The intonation is much more... warm her usual speech, though she grimaces for a moment at the first question. As she considers how best to answer that, she nods towards the non-alcoholic cider. "Please." She says.

Then she begins to speak. Her own eyes go distant, but it lacks the nostalgia of Robert. "My family was very... specific in the way they did things. Everything was just so. I had a role I was meant to play and I was expected to perform in it. It was an almost ritualistic quality. I knew exactly what to expect in time and both they and I were expected to adhere to it without significant deviation. It was another opportunity to show that I was a good child, and to be judged for my performance."

Whether he is conscious of it or not, Robert does show off as he dispenses the non-alcoholic cider, the amber liquid pouring in a steaming foot-long arc into each of two cups. Perhaps it is a self-soothing gesture, some way of imposing perfect control on surroundings that are otherwise unpredictable. Certainly her words are a trifle disturbing, and a frown of concern tugs at his lips, furrows his brow. Regardless, he nudges one cup towards her, and tugs the other towards him, hands wrapping around its warmth. "I am, and I'm not," he concedes, relaxing a bit more now that the conversation becomes more personal, rather than formulaic. "Yes, it to an extent mimics memories, but at the same time it's not that I anticipate you...displacing a role formerly filled by someone else. You are not playing a part other than yourself, I hope." He lifts his cup, in a silent toast. "To new memories."

As for her own memories, he does not reply to them. Not yet, at least, evidently having judged that something more is coming. So he lingers in silence, gazing at her over the steam of his cup, attentive and pensive.

The sight of the long pour is something that brings amusement to Proteus, and she goes pick up her own cup when it is filled to cradle it in her hands, waiting for the hot cider to cool enough to drink. She does, however, raise her cup. "To memories." She replies, and takes a drink, slowly.

She speaks, holding the cup and letting the warmth soak as she outlines, perhaps, some of the source of her viewpoint on the holiday. As he sits there quietly, she shakes her head. "I don't expect that of you. I am... who I am." The expression on her face at that, however, bespeaks of it being considerably more complicated than that. "I hope... I didn't spoil the mood." She ventures, canting to one side slightly awkwardly.

"Spoil the mood?" Robert's eyebrows lift a fraction of an inch, and he shakes his head to indicate the negative. "Quite the opposite, in fact." He's just sipping from his tea when a trio of knocks sounds on the door. "Ah, that will be dinner." There's a surge of motion as he sets his cup aside and rises to his feet, brushing past Proteus. For a brief moment his hand settles on her shoulder, offering it a quick, reassuring squeeze. "Relax," he suggests. "Just do what is comfortable for you." And then he's off towards the door, where there's a sudden flurry of conversation.

When he returns, it is with a small cart laden with...well, close approximations of Christmas fare. A roast--probably grunty--crusted with pasted chestnuts and wrapped in a thin layer of sweet dough. Mashed potatos, with a saucer of piping-hot gravy. Sauteed green beans and mushrooms. And yes, a pan with what appears to be an attempt at fried chicken. Each platter is shifted, in turn, towards the table, along with an identical plate and cutlery first for her, then for him. Identical, that is, save for the pair of chopsticks he's thrown in on her end. "After you," he offers, drawing out his chair and settling back in place.

"What did your family want you to be?" he inquires, leaning forward a touch. "And what happened?"

There is a look of confusion for a moment on Proteus' face, both at the assertion and also the reassurance, and her head bows as he walks off. While he's in negotiations, she looks down into her cider, taking another sip and closing her eyes for a moment, lost in thought.

It's the squeak of the approaching cart that rouses her, the imp's eyes flicking open as she looks to one side at the food provided. She blinks, taking it all in. "This... is quite the feast. For the two of us?" She asks. She doesn't question the food choices, simply smiling as the food is added to the table, and she picks up the chopsticks, deftly using them to begin scooping from the variety of foods, seemingly happy to eat a selection of everything present. Her movements are precise, and everything seems to be arranged on the plate just so, keeping each food provided in its own section with a minimum of contact or crossover.

She is digging into her food when the question comes. She looks up at him with a querying expression, and arches a brow. "Are you sure you want to know?" She asks.

"For the two of us," Robert confirms, waiting until she's finished before piling his own plate. It's not haphazard, exactly. Each dish is in its own place, but at the same time he's not quite so careful as Proteus. There's generally a bit of overlap. A place where his gravy spills onto his beans. A mushroom or two on his grunty. It does not appear to bother him whatsoever. "If it's too much, I'll have the leftovers packaged so you can take it home with you. I'll walk you back so you're not stuck carrying it alone."

For his part, he prefers a fork and knife. Old habits die hard, it would appear. Or maybe he just doesn't want to subject Proteus to his half-baked attempts at chopsticks. Not today, at any rate. Unlike his dishing-skills, his eating skills are almost painfully meticulous, as though to impose the utmost order on the relative chaos of his plate. "If you're willing to tell," he counters, making certain he's swallowed before speaking. But then he reconsiders. "Or perhaps I should let you enjoy your dinner first? I can regale you with tales of dumb things I've done in Christmases past, in the meantime."

The responses from Robert seem to continue to keep her off balance, a mixture of appreciation and examination on her face as she considers what he's saying... And also perhaps what he's not saying. Either way, she sets to work sampling the food. Again in contrast to Robert, she wanders when she eats, trying something of one thing, then another, enjoying each in turn even while she keeps the plate orderly with simply a pair of chopsticks.

He questions, however, and she has to choose how to answer. There is a moment of silence, and then she nods. "If you're sure..." There is a pause, while Proteus closes her eyes. "My parents were very concerned about form. I was meant to be the perfect child for their perfect family. I was intended to behave precisely how they wished at all times. Any choices I were able to make on my own were only limited to specifically those that they would approve of. When I failed, I was punished. If I tried to rebel, I was punished. I had very little room to choose anything for myself. My friends and relationships were ruthlessly curated."

Her eyes open, and she glances to one side. "One of the few places I could learn and explore and be free on my own time was the Internet. I learned about places and things there I never imagined. I learned about people and how others lived their lives. I learned about history and mythology. It helped me in my schooling so they did not object."

Throughout the duration, Robert remains completely and utterly silent, as though to give her words their due. His knife and fork are set down by his plate, his arms neatly folded one over the other, resting on the table in front of him as he leans forward. It's....perhaps almost unnerving, that searching scrutiny of his as it constantly wanders from her eyes to her lips, then back again. Occasionally his brow furrows, gaze dropping as he considers something, but this rarely lasts more than a couple seconds before his gaze flickers upwards again. It's pure, undiluted attentiveness, edged and analytical.

Proteus continues on. Robert wanted to hear it, so she's going to give him what he wants. "The Flash of Death came. It destroyed much of the world I had created around myself. What little I could have. What I could do was further restricted. It wouldn't do to have me end up like some of my friends, after all." Proteus' words become tinged with old bitterness, but she continues.

"Pluto's Kiss destroyed what was left. The havoc from it robbed me of what connections I had. I had basically no escape from them. No way to do or say anything I might have wanted. They even took..." There is a grimace, and Proteus stops talking for a moment, her jaw clenching as her eyes glow with barely suppressed anger... which is slowly brought under control and stowed away once more. Finally, she resumes.

"... In the end, all I had left was Elder Tale. And then, eventually, Elder Tale Online. I had the chance to escape once more. And I did. And here I am."

SpritesHero pilfers Proteus's cup as she speaks, topping it off with non-alcoholic cider before nudging it back towards her. She finishes, and he leans back in his chair, hands resting upon the armrests, surveying her thoughtfully. At last he speaks. "Well, I can certainly see why you chose to live here instead," he admits, with an inhaled whoosh of a breath. "Not sure I personally agree with it, but I can certainly sympathize."

He reaches out his hand, then, retaking his own cup of cider; the faintest of tremors disrupts his calm. He continues to survey her, silent, liquid swirling in his cup. "What did they take from you, Proteus? And what do you want to do now that you are here?"

The cider is topped off, and she drinks again, using the moment to help recenter herself to some degree. "I'm not going back, Robert." She says, simply. "I won't go back."

The next question, of course, is direct enough. For a moment, she wrestles with the question. "It doesn't matter. I probably won't be seeing them again." She says, her voice tight. "As for what I am going to do here... I am going to make sure I, and those like me, can live here forever. For every one that wants to go back, Robert, there's at least one who has reasons to not want to go back... Or to actively resist doing it."

"I know you won't." For a moment Robert's gaze lowers, but when it lifts once more he's smiling. He raises his cup to her. "I promise I won't try to persuade you to do so either," he states, simply, drinking of its depths before setting it down on the table in front of him with a light clink. "I wouldn't insult your resolve."

He eases out of his chair, then, smile broadening into a grin as he pushes his way to his feet. "Out of curiosity, do you dance at all? Or did you?" He rises to his feet, then, crossing to the window and cracking it open. It admits both a wind that borders on chilly, and the cheery strains of stringed instruments from the streets below. A waltz, simple enough, mellow. Earth-music. No doubt imported, if not played, by some adventurer. He gazes out for a moment, then glances back over his shoulder at Proteus. "Sorry, is it too cold? I can shut the window."

Proteus nods as the cup is raised, and Proteus follows suit, a silent acknowledgement and salute of a kind. She takes another drink before she sets the cup aside, and then arches her brow. "And your own resolve?" She asks, simply enough, but without pressure.

He stands up, and Proteus follows him with her eyes. "Do I dance?" She repeats the question, her voice uncertain for a moment. "Mmm... Not really. Not like in the noble houses or anything." She shrugs. "Believe me, I usually leave this kind of thing to Kaleido and Baroness Wake." She sighs to herself... And the window opens. She looks back over her shoulder at the window, listening to the music. "Mmm." She hums, and stands. "It's fine." She says. "So, you want to dance, then?" She looks around the room. "Is it large enough for that?"

SpritesHero laughs, then, a deep-rumbling chuckle filled with mirth. "Would you like me even half as much if my resolve were so easily shaken?" he asks of her with a sidelong glance. But the smile fades, however slowly, features tinting with the mildest regret. Possibly even a touch of distress. "People have placed their trust in me, and I cannot betray that." A pause as he closes his eyes. Tension flickers along his jawline, and his features soften. "Rather, I will not betray that."

His features brighten and he claps his hands one against the other. "No, we almost definitely don't have enough room. It will be very awkward and ungainly. Wake would be appalled." As, perhaps, might Proteus's original family. Humor sparks in his gaze, dancing impishly. "Do you need a hand removing your shoes?"

Proteus looks back at him. There's no laughter, just a quiet sort of melancholic expression. "Probably not." She says, her tone sounding like her expression as she draws closer. Her hand reaches out to grip his shoulder, as her purple eyes look into his. "Then you understand what you're doing here, right?"

He claps his hands, and she smiles a little at the joke. "She would." There is a wiggle of her feet and she kicks the short heels out from under the dress, leaving her standing on the floor in her stockings. "I wouldn't wear shoes like this that I couldn't remove in short order." She says, and then wraps her arms around his shoulders. "I guess it's time to embarass the Baroness."

SpritesHero meets her gaze fearlessly and searchingly with his own brown eyes for a full twenty seconds. But when he answers it is with a wry grin and somewhat sheepish tones, eyes dropping from that lock to the floor. "Frankly, no, not beyond a general sense. May as well be groping about in a pitch black room hoping an exit can be found. Or, I suppose, made."

His own shoes require a bit more work, but they are rapidly unlaced and carelessly tossed into the corner with an air of relief that suggests they were far from comfortable. "And everyone else who may care about such formalities," he adds, meaningfully, wickedness playing about the edges of his mouth. He slides his arms around her, fingers interlacing, palms against the small of her back, gaze meeting her's once more. Well, sort-of. It doesn't quite lock, instead flickering over her features. "I believe I owe you a stupid story?" he offers, as he begins that generic sway characteristic of modern, informal dance.

"I will tell you later." the Imp replies. In the meantime, the Imp squirms slightly as she feels him touch him, the blue skinned face tinging pink once again from simple proximity. "So, um..." She looks around, shifting in that grip as she moves with some uncertainty. "If you want to tell it, feel free." She says, slowly swaying with him and matching his movements.

"I'll count on it," Robert replies. His gaze drops downwards, resting--hopefully--on the floor, before flickering up once more. Perhaps in response to her squirm, he lightens his grip, finger-touch feather-light. At length he begins, tones slow as though carried by the strains of music outdoors.

"I don't think I've ever spoken of my family to you," he states, simply enough. "I grew up in California. My family was....Christian, and very serious about its faith. Which, when it came to Christmas, meant two things. First, every year, we'd leave the Bay, head across the Valley, and spend a week around Christmas in the snowy mountains, in a cabin a couple hundred feet from the Truckee river. Second, they were very serious about the idea of sacrifice and deferred...gratification. Our tree would go up a good four to five days in advance, and the presents would be just sitting there, under that tree. And we'd have to wait. This one year--I must've been about ten years old--my brother and I'd begged and begged my dad for a sled. I don't quite remember why anymore. It probably had something to do with the Jack London books we'd been reading. At any rate, right there under that tree, was a carefully wrapped package. We knew darned well what was in that package, seeing as how it was just about the right size and shape. For four days we -stared-, but never touched. On the fifth, I risked a knock. It sounded back, hollow and solid. On the sixth? It was Christmas Eve. Just a couple more hours left. But we--my brother and I--we just couldn't stand waiting anymore."

"I don't know if you've ever been near heavy snow before," Robert continues. The music outside pauses, restarts. Slow, wistful, melancholy yet hopeful. Lehar, Merry Widow. "The really wet snow, like the one we had back then, sticks to everything, piling thick on tree-branches and rooftops. It also completely obliterates sound. It's almost eerie to lie there in the night, and hear nothing whatsoever other than the breathing of your family. At any rate, between that and the excitement, neither I nor my brother could sleep. We waited until we were sure the parents were asleep. Dad snored like a freight train. We snuck out to the living room, carefully unwrapped that sled. And -what- a beauty she was. Elegantly curved runners. A woven seat. She positively glistened in the moonlight. My brother and I stealthily snuck out the front door in our nightgowns, gingerly closed it behind us, and began our trek uphill.

By the time we made it to the top of our hill, we were already half-regretting our choice. It was cold as the dickens outside, and we hadn't brought mittens or coats or anything. It was just us two in our nighties, but we were committed. I sit down first, my brother sits in front of me, and we give a good shove. It starts slowly at first. We almost think it won't go at all, since it sinks in a decent chunk. But there's a quiet crunch and a hiss of runners through the snow, and we're off, my numb hands around my brother, him holding onto my arms for dear life. We don't get more than a third of the way down before we notice a few things. First, we don't know how to turn. Second, we don't know how to stop. And third, there's this great barrel-sized raccoon that's just wandered out onto the path in front of us.

My brother screams. I scream. The raccoon jumps, lands in my brother's lap, and goes berserk, twisting and screaming and clawing but refusing to get off. We zip past our cabin with a woosh, all thee of us shrieking at the top of our lungs, and we see our dad peeking out his window with a lamp in his hand, and boooooy does he look pissed. We don't make it more than a hundred feet before we hit a hump. We all--raccoon, brother, me--go flying through the air, and slam into a deep snowdrift. The raccoon runs off into the forest, still screaming his fool tail off, but my brother and I are stuck up to our shoulders in snow. Well, he's up to his shoulders. I'm head-down in that snowdrift, and just my feet are peeking out. My dad makes it down a couple minutes later, pulls my brother out by his arms, pulls me out by my feet, and drags us both inside. Doesn't swat us or nothin'. But that look he gave us. Anyhow, we both get colds, and spend the rest of our vacation sneezing and blowing our noses, listening to my dad read us bible verses for -hours- and -hours-, while that sled just sat by the door, unused."

The Imp is quiet as he tells his story, giving him the same response and decency that he did when he inquired of her. She smiles at the tale, but says nothing until he's said his piece, simply swaying back and forth with him.

When he finishes his story, Proteus nods. "You have a way with words, Robert. And it is quite the silly tale." She chuckles for a moment. "But at the same time, it was an adventure, wasn't it? You came through all right, even if you did have something you would regret for some time... But at least ultimately it was harmless... To you at least. I wonder how your brother fared with the raccoon." She hums for a moment. "Surely not that badly, else this wouldn't be a silly story."

Sway. Sway. Sway. Proteus goes quiet again, simply staring into Robert's face as they slowly almost-dance in the room. "Your life was very different than mine was." She observes.

"It's a story that gets told and retold," Robert admits, gaze going distant, a smile lingering upon his lips. "I used to tell it to my brother's kids, before..." A pause. "Well, many years ago now, I'm afraid." He trails off, gaze fixing on the distant wall continuing his back-and-forth almost-dance, as though on autopilot.

His attentions shift back to Proteus with a sharp inhallation of his breath, gaze carefully searching her features. "Yeah, the raccoon didn't do much to us. Our nighties were full-length, so aside from a few scratches on our arms, no harm done. Though my brother never did sled again. Me? I kept doing it, year after year, though I made sure I knew what I was doing before I tried again. Our family was...well, it was an odd mix. My dad thought we had to be exposed to a much as possible, so long as it didn't permanently break us. But at the same time, he wanted to make sure we had a good, moral upbringing." His smile turns wry. "My brother generally did as was expected. Me, I pushed back. He was more stable. I tended to get into trouble." Robert pauses, resets, brow furrowing. "I have to admit I still don't quite understand your family. I don't know if it was driven by family reputation, or over-protectiveness. I don't know if it was excessive kindness or you were never really viewed as your own person. So I'm afraid I can't comment." His brow un-furrows, and he offers a quick flash of a smile. "But I can take you sledding sometime. Can't promise a raccoon though."

The Imp chuckles a little as she listens to how Robert reacted. "Always up for the challenge. You were the adventurous one, then. Still are, I suppose." The Imp continues to sway back and forth, the tail peeking from behind the dress slowly swaying with her like a metronome. Her face continues to flush as she remains close to Robert, though her expression becomes more distant as he describes the difference between himself and his brother. Almost absently, she replies, "It doesn't really matter if you understand them or not. They don't need to be understood, because neither you nor I will be seeing them."

Her eyes close for a moment, pausing... And then there is a sigh. "Or maybe you do want to understand. I suppose that's to your credit. I could explain what I feel, but that's all it is. My feeling. My perception. To them, they undoubtedly believed much differently."

She bows her head slightly as he smiles at her. "... It might be nice. Sledding, that is. Though I am fine with skipping the raccoons." Another slow sigh comes from the Imp, her eyes closing once more as she mutters something to herself, her lips moving faintly. "What am I even doing...?"

SpritesHero's shoulders rise and fall in a flicker of motion, accompanied by a wry grin. "Less adventurous. More a lack of self-control, I think," he confesses. By now the swaying is second-nature, comforting, almost self-hypnotic. Light as his touch is on her, he makes no effort to either draw closer, or push away. "I've been working on both. As to how successful I've been? That remains to be seen. But I think I've got enough of both the former and the latter that I can promise to take you sledding once we get a good first snow."

He falls silent, gaze dropping to rest upon her features, steady, pensive. It does not lock, and though it searches intently there is a warmth to that probing regard. "I'm not asking because I'm interested in them, Proteus," he clarifies. "As you say, I will never see them. I'm asking because they are a part of who you are, for better or worse; understanding them, or at least your perception of them, helps me to understand you, how you view others, and how you view yourself." His smile twitches, brightening by just a hair. "As for what you are doing? I would -hope- you are enjoying a lovely Christmas evening in the world you've chosen to live in. Does it bother you so much as all that?"

The swaying, almost hypnotic pattern of movements seem to be lulling Proteus almost into a daze. Her head begins to slowly dip forward as he speaks, until he replies to that murmured statement.

It's then that her eyes snap wide open in surprise. "Ah! Goddesses! You... I..." She shakes her head, as if clearing it, suddenly flustered as she glances around herself. "Ugh, I... I forgot where I was." There is a grimace, her movements going out of sync as she visibly rewinds the last minute in her head and blinks again, her expression becoming anguished for several seconds as waves of emotion pass over her face. "Ggh..." Her hands clench against his shoulders, holding tight. Her jaw goes tight, as she stands there in a display of raw emotion, not following Robert's movements anymore while she stands there staring past and through him.

After a short time, the twitching Imp closes her eyes, exhaling slowly, and then inhales. With a shudder, she slowly opens her eyes again, the emotion draining away before she finally speaks again. "... I'm sorry you had to see that. You had taken me by surprise." She says quietly, turning her head to look away, her face flush with clear embarassment this time.

SpritesHero is surprised. And not, perhaps, in the most pleasant of ways. Her reaction causes his lips to tighten, his brow to furrow hard in the middle, though there is no anger to drive a squint, no disdain to twist at his upper lip. He too pauses, as though freezing in time. Does not resist as her hands clench hard. Moves not a muscle as she shudders. And it is only once she looks away in shame that the hand on the small of her back tightens by a fraction, to draw her ever so slightly closer. The other disengages entirely, lifting to gingerly rest those fingertips against her cheek. The pressure suggests that she looks back towards him, without demanding it. "What are you thinking, Proteus?" he asks at last, tones and breathing steady, even, as though marking out the rhythmic lub-dub of a heart at rest.

Robert pulls her in ever so slightly. There is a moment of resistance... and then she flumps against him, her head falling against his chest. She lies there against him, trembling, as he touches her on the cheek. He can feel her shaking, as if cold... But it's not cold in here. Not that cold, anyway, even though the window is cracked open. She can feel him breathing. Hear his heartbeat. He might be able to feel her pulse racing as well, her breath struggling to contain her body's responses, that breach of emotion.

The fingers gently insist that she look towards him. Eventually, she does, tilting her head up to look into his eyes. He can see the emotional turmoil in those purple eyes. Confusion. Anger... And other things. But not at him. It's not directed towards him. "I'm thinking..." She whispers. "... About some very unpleasant things. You're a fool, Robert."

A pause... And her eyes flick to one side. "... But maybe I am too."

Perhaps he can feel it: the trembling, the racing of her pulse. Perhaps that's why, as his gaze meets her's, his hand flattens. His palm presses to her cheek, thumb scraping over the line of her cheekbone before sliding around her once more. It coils, serpentine, around her lower back, pulling her ever closer. By contrast, the other hand splays across her shoulderblades, gentler, content to simply hold her in place. And there he lingers in silence for many long moments; not once does his breathing or heartbeat change in their steady pace. At length, he speaks.

"Perhaps I am," he concedes. "But perhaps not. I don't think I am, Prot. The world always has been, and always will be, too much to bear. But, perhaps, just perhaps, with the help of others we trust the wolf can be kept outside." His cheek leans against her hair, lightly, and he utters a light laugh under his breath. "The real Christmas miracle, eh? Chin up. You don't really have another option, after all, other than to press forward."

For once, it seems, Proteus has nothing to say in response to that. She remains there in Robert's arms, still caught up in whatever existential crisis that's gripped her. She certainly isn't defining the shape of it. That much is obvious. But his unwavering support seems to be giving her something to lean against. And lean she does, simply staying there, close to him as he embraces her.

"... Yeah." She says. Probably the shortest she's been in... well, ever. But at least she's acknowledging it... And slowly, perhaps, her pulse will slow, the trembling calming down. "Yeah."

SpritesHero, mercifully, does -not- pat her head. He simply remains as he is, steady and silent, staring beyond Proteus's hair to the darkened, starry heavens beyond, lit as they are by those still-disconcerting colored moons. His eyes half-lid. The silence stretches, then softens, and as her breathing and trembling slows, his own will eventually come to match hers'. It's a moment that could last forever. But it does not, and is broken after many long moments by his voice.

"Hey, Proteus?" he murmurs, shifting to quickly press his lips to the top of her head. A brief, fond gesture. "Merry Christmas."