5:40pm, The Shoreline of Glyfada
Monica and Saber watched as the sun began to sink below the blue-pink horizon. All in all, it was the second sunset they'd seen together, but while the first had contained the vast expanse of civilization, the severe contrast of silver skyscrapers and golden sky, this was a simple sight. Rolling waves and drifting clouds danced about them, as if the whole world were waving goodbye to another day. So, too was this newborn evening lacking the anxiety of the last, or, more accurately, the anxiety had found a new purchase in a new host.
Despite the tension, the four had spent their afternoon plagued by a single question: "What now?"
They'd started the afternoon by wandering aimlessly across the city, new and old, with no goal except to allow the natives from another time to bask in what their homeland had become, what had changed and what had stayed the same. She soon learned, though, that, for their company, these were not new sights, and that, for all intents and purposes, they had spent the last god-knows-how-long doing exactly this: wandering aimlessly and basking in modernity.
'More power to them,' she thought, 'But if Chrysaor is the only one who appreciates this, then I'll just do what I want with him, and they can deal with it.'
So, casting aside any worries for their company, she chose to indulge her own desires and share with her friend the one thing that had kept her sane. Leading him by the hand with hardly a thought to the others, she went back to her apartment to grab a waterproof bag and a few towels. Towels that now were laid across the white sand of a thin beach.
Behind them, rows of small, beachside diners were filled with tourists and hipsters, talking and typing away about one thing or another, and, a little ways away, Echo watched her Master as she waded shin-deep in the ocean and stood transfixed on the sunset as if in prayer. It wasn't as peaceful as it would be in the early morning, this was only natural, and yet, the two may as well have been alone, not that it eased her heart at all. In fact, it made her far more anxious.
Sitting on his towel next to her, he watched the sunset with quiet solemnity, his mind as far away as the horizon itself. His rose eyes reflected the light, making them a vibrant orange, like a campfire on a cold night. She could only wonder what was burning in those eyes of his, and, indeed, she was wondering exactly that. While he watched the distance, her eyes were fixated wholly on him, and on the thoughts that ran through her mind...
She gently, as if afraid to wake him, touched his shoulder.
He blinked once, then again, turning his attention to her with his usual undercurrent of worry, "Hm? Is everything alright?"
She chuckled half-heartedly, laughing at her own inability to just say what she wanted to say, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just thought... maybe... we could... talk a little bit- if you want to." She brought her knees up to her chest, "You know- it's okay if you don't. It's not a big deal."
The cogs turned in his mind. He was a man unaccustomed to even the basics of social interaction, especially the sometimes-girlish mannerisms that were common in both his Master and in the modern world more broadly, but he possessed enough knowledge and wisdom to understand the truth behind the words, and greeted his Master's insecurity with warmness.
"If you want to talk, then let's talk." He ran a hand through his hair with a smile only half-genuine, "Now's probably the best time, anyhow. What's this about?"
The hair that hung off the side of her head bothered her now more than usual, and she tucked it behind her ear as she avoided the eyes that always seemed to look right through her, "Well... you're always mentioning that 'friend' of yours... right? I wanna know more about him. I want to know what makes him so special to you... if it's not too much."
Behind Monica, a shadow rose with piercing eyes, as if holding a dagger just behind her throat.
She addressed the shadow in her mind, without enough care to grant it even a glance: she'd expected this, 'Screw off. I know what I'm doing.'
She could feel it look her up and down. It seemed to fade away slightly, but never completely, as if waiting for something: waiting for what she said next as she addressed Chrysaor, who seemed to be debating whether or not this was really a discussion that he wanted to have.
"I figure... you know... I could tell you about my life, too. Get to know each other a little bit... you know... if you want to."
The shadow's eyes raised first in surprise, then in doubt, but, in the end, he gave a nod of approval and slipped onto the sand next to her without leaving even the slightest imprint.
Chrysaor nodded his head, but, when the two met eyes once more, his gaze quickly shifted back to the sunset, "...I don't mind. What do you want to know, exactly?"
"Well..." She shrugged, "What's his name? I'd like to know that, at least."
His brow furrowed, his chin turning towards her, though not so much as to meet her, "His name? Haven't I told you his name?"
She searched her memories, "...No? I don't think so. Who was it?"
"...Perseus."
...
"Wait- Perseus? Didn't he-"
"-Yes. He killed Gorgon... my mother... what was left of her anyway."
That didn't make sense to her, and she struggled with where to go from there. What questions could she possibly ask that wouldn't have been inappropriate? This wasn't exactly small-talk, and she was nearly ready to end the exercise there, but he, having come to terms with the oddness of his life long ago, was able to answer the question that she could never ask.
"My mother died long before he arrived on that little island. All he did was put her to rest, and I can only be grateful for that. Had she been around, I think that she'd feel the same way. Besides-"
He smiled a great, nostalgic grin with the same warmth as the sun he faced, "-He was my brother. No less one than Pegasus. He was there when I was born, and continued to be there for me: to teach me things, to show me the world, and to protect me, and for no reason except that he wanted to. What's that if not family?"
Her mouth laid wide open, lips half-turned into something like a smile. She couldn't right that image of goodwill with the 'Perseus' of her imagination, but to hear such whimsy from him was a treat in itself, and one that made any difficult questions to come completely worth her while.
She could already tell that it was the start of a grand tale, and her muscles began to unwind as her insecurity fell to her childlike wonder,
"So? What happened then? Where did you go, what did you see?"
He chuckled, "What didn't I see? I saw towns and cities. I saw animals and plants. Beasts and monsters; alive and soon dead. I saw men, and I saw women; both at their best, and both at their worst. I saw art, I saw pottery, I saw parties and celebrations. I saw funerals and liturgies." Here, he blushed, looking away more than he already was, "I saw things that I probably shouldn't have. I saw evil, I saw corruption, and I saw goodness, experiencing both firsthand. I killed men. I saved others. I feel like I saw and did everything that I possibly could've, and he was there to lead me through each step of the way, and to show what it meant to be human, and what it was to be a man."
As he went along, his tone became more solemn, and the great grin that had filled his face to both ears had turned in the other direction and, by the time the sun fell beneath the waves, so too had the light in his eyes gone out with it.
Sensing a different turn for the conversation, Monica almost didn't want to know the story ended, "So... what happened?"
He allowed himself a brief, empty laugh, "Nothing so dramatic. I saw everything that there was to see, and I realized some things. I realized that the way he lived... it wasn't for anyone but him, and I started to feel like we were doing as much harm as good in some ways, even to ourselves. I also learned that the way that I wanted to live... it didn't quite fit with everyone else, and especially not with him.
"Maybe it's my mother's blood in me but... I preferred to be left alone, and to leave people alone. I could provide for myself. I didn't need to buy food, or shelter... I could make it all myself, and I didn't need much in the first place. Even in the countryside, it seemed like there was always something... Something that was wrong, something that needed fixing, somebody to cause a problem. I realized that... most problems are contrived, and that, if you take away the people, nearly all the problems disappear. So, I disappeared. I said my goodbyes, and I went home."
"Home?"
"The little island where I was born."
"D-did...I mean... Did he go with you? Did he visit at all?"
His head hung low, "No. He had an open invitation, but he didn't. It's not a big deal, though. I had visitors... occasionally."
She turned her head to the shadow, half of her was angry with him, but the other half was eager for another explanation. But the shadow's head, too, was hung low, and he, with melancholy that could never be put into words, took his thumb across his throat.
She rushed to the shadow's defense, not for its justice, but for the comfort of her friend, "Well...I'm sure he would've if he could... I know it's morbid but-"
He shook his head, "There's no need to make excuses, Monica. I've already given him every possible excuse...I don't care about the 'why' anymore: I just want to see him again."
"And then what?"
He turned to look at her for the first time since the conversation began, his face bent with genuine confusion, "What do you mean?"
She wasn't sure where to elaborate, it seemed like such a basic question to her, "Well... you want to see him again, right? Why? What then? What is it that you want to do with him that you can't do now by yourself- or with someone else?"
He turned his attention to the thin line of sand that separated their towels, lost in thought.
"..."
"..."
"...I don't know. I guess I never really thought I'd get that far."
The edge of her lip turned in something between bewilderment and disgust, "What? What are you talking about?"
His eyes went wide, having never seen this expression from his Master, "I'm... not sure what you mean."
She leaned up into his face, "Well?! You're a man, aren't you?!"
He leaned back, not understanding what caused the sudden outburst, "Wha- Yes? What's that have to do with anything?"
"Isn't that the point of being a man? To know what you want and then take it, no matter what?"
He averted his eyes, "Monica... that's not a privilege you get just by being a man. You have to be strong-"
"-And aren't men supposed to be strong!?"
"Monica, I'm not strong-"
"You're a man, aren't you!?"
"I- Yes!"
"Then you're strong! So stop acting like such a pussy!"
It was only here that she noticed her volume. Her chest went still while her face flushed red as she slowly turned to look at the people eating dinner only a few feet behind them. Some were snickering, some had their hands covering their mouths, others were embarrassed on her behalf, though none as much as herself. Disgruntled and disheartened, she slunk back fully onto her towel and tucked her head into her knees. Chrysaor did the same, staring at the towel and rubbing the back of his neck.
Chrysaor muttered, half to himself, "I'm not strong."
She sighed, "Yes you are."
He shook his head, "No... I'm not. I can't behead a mountain. I couldn't even beat Assassin on my own. You don't understand, you have no baseline; you don't know how low ranked I am among Servants."
"So? What does that matter? You're stronger than me."
"That hardly-"
"-Chrysaor. Is there even one person on this beach who could beat you in a fight?"
He tilted his head as if to send unspoken words back down his throat, "Monica- you can't compare Servants with normal humans- it's two different categories."
Her head came out of her legs, having regained some composure, "That's dumb and you know it. If you're stronger than everyone on Earth, then you're stronger than seven billion people. Why isn't that strong?"
He was clearly getting frustrated with the conversation, "And what's that have to do with being a man?"
She pointed to a random man sitting at a table behind them, not stopping to observe any features except for the simple fact of his manhood, "That guy- that guy right there? He's stronger than half the people who've ever lived and died, and that's because he's a man. Why isn't that strong?"
"I-"
"No! You're a man, that makes you strong, and you're... you! and that makes you even stronger! So stop acting like such a-" She stopped, aware of the people nearby, "...stop acting like this. I won't take it from you. You're supposed to protect me, right? How can you do that if you don't think that you can? How can you win if you don't think you can? How can you get what you want if you don't even know what that is?"
She tucked back into her legs, hiding her embarrassment and protecting herself from whatever he'd say next, "You're too strong for that. So stop it."
His head hung low, as did the silence in the air. It was oppressive, but, before it could cause worry, Saber began to chuckle, laughing under his breath like a madman.
"Sorry-sorry. You just reminded me of something he told me once."
"If your friends keep saying the same thing, then you should probably listen to them."
-But his response came prepared, "That's not the kind of man that I want to be, Monica. I don't want to be a man who takes. Perseus was like that, and while he did a lot of good, enough to be a hero, he did a lot of bad too- little wrongs. Sometimes it felt like he would build bridges for no reason other than to burn them down the road, and that's not who I want to be. It seems to me that it'd be more generous just to never build it in the first place, but- if I must- then I'd rather use it as a gift."
She glared down into her lap, as if something utterly detestable had made its nest there, "Do you really think I don't know about 'men who take'?"
He looked at her with pleading eyes, though she still looked away, "I would never even suggest such a thing. Which is why I think you, of all people, should be able to understand what I mean."
She continued to glare at that invisible, detestable creature, it's writhing and squirming bringing back memories that would rather be forgotten, her heart seizing under the knives of her past, and those that she anticipated would come as she held her end of the bargain and opened her heart:
"I used to run away a lot, you know, before I did it for good. We lived up in the mountains and, to be honest, I don't know how far away the nearest town was. I only went there maybe twice, and the second time was to get on a bus that took me here.
"One day, when I was in those woods, I met a boy from that town. Same age as me. We hit it off, you know? A boy, a girl, and nothing or nobody around is a recipe as old as the species, especially when that girl is young, stupid, and doesn't know anything except that she hates her family. He took my... he took something important from me, not to mention my time, my patience and my-"
She stopped to compose herself, "He used me. We talked all the time about running away together, but I was the only one who ever meant it. Push came to shove and he never showed, and I never saw him after that- not that I ever really wanted to."
"-That's exactly who I don't want to be. I don't ever want to ever be that callous."
The words forced themselves out of her mouth, demanding to be spoken, "I know that. I know you're a good guy: that's why we can be friends- because I know that you'd never hurt me- not on purpose, anyway- but that's not the point. The problem with him wasn't that he 'took' from me, or even what he took, it was why he did it, and how. If he'd wanted me for 'me', then there might've never been a problem in the first place, and if he'd gone about it in a different way, then at least then it could've been an honest, mutual mistake, instead of... instead of what it ended up being- instead of being used."
He turned away, rubbing his neck as if he'd spent the whole day working.
But she wasn't done yet, "Don't you understand? There's nothing wrong with wanting something, and there's nothing wrong with fighting for it, even taking it, and there's nothing wrong with keeping it once you've got it. The problem is 'why' and 'how'. Am I making sense to you?"
He brought his hand down on his knee in frustration, but not one directed towards her, "But what's that have to do with being a man?"
"I already said why: it's because you're strong. It's because you can. It's because when a horde of zombies chase a woman into a creek, you kill them all in a second. And when that woman's being mugged by a bunch of thugs, you send them all to the hospital. And when she's in danger, and there's nothing that she can do, you carry her to safety.
"It's because some of us aren't strong. Some of us don't go anywhere after running for miles; some of us can't do a damned thing no matter how hard or how long we try. But some of us choose to have hope anyway. We choose to keep living, and to keep trying, and to keep praying for a better tomorrow, even when we don't have the heart to believe it. So what's she supposed to think when somebody a hundred times more capable, and a hundred times stronger than herself has already given up, and refuses to even try? What's she supposed to do then?"
He grimaced, "I'd say that she's selling herself short."
"Then what the Hell are you doing? When you start so much higher and end so much lower, what are you doing? If you really want it, then why is it so hard to imagine that you could have it? Or were you lying to me when you said that you'd see him again?"
"I wasn't lying to you. I will see him again- it's just a question of 'when'."
"-And that's going to be 'never' as long as you refuse to try! Is that such a difficult concept for you?"
Chrysaor fell onto his back, watching the ever-darkening sky as stars started to appear, waking from their nocturnal slumber. Of these stars, one was particularly bright that night, and both sets of eyes were drawn to it.
"...You know what I think, Chrysaor? I think that's not really what you want."
His voice was tired, and his patience was thinning, not out of anger, but because of erosion: the way her downpour of critiques wore away at his soul, and at whatever pride remained in him,
"You should know better than that. You know what its like to miss someone, to long for them. To wish that they were near when they're so far away that it can't even be measured."
"I'm not questioning whether you want it, I'm talking about your priorities."
"..."
"I think you just don't want to be alone anymore."
He remained silent. He only stared at her, partly in wonder, and partly in fear.
She continued her thought, hesitating for just a moment, only to wonder whether she, herself, was being too brash in taking what she wanted, "-But it's a really stupid goal."
He scoffed, though there was no ill-will behind it, "Are all my goals so ridiculous to you?"
"Not all of them. I really like your goal of keeping me alive."
They laughed in unison. It was a beautiful moment, one of levity between two souls close enough to be called 'friends', and becoming ever-closer still. So much that even their laughs sounded the same, only that one was a girl's, and the other a boy's.
"No-" She concluded, "It's stupid because you're not alone. You've already gotten what you wanted."
His stare became suddenly vacant, lingering on her, even moving up and down from her face to her feet, and strong enough that she could feel it there without looking. It took several cycles across her before whatever questions in his heart were answered and, with a smile soft and, for once, without sadness, he turned back to that star.
"..."
"..."
"Thank you, Monica."
"For what?"
"..."
"..."
He shrugged, as much as he could while laying down, "Plenty of things."
She brought her fist down as a hammer on his abdomen, and he sat up with a start.
"Bough!" He clung at his chest, his voice strained against the lack of air in his lungs, "What was that for?"
"Plenty of things."
...
With the sun gone, the shadows that had been so long began to disappear, with one in particular lingering just long enough to watch his old friend with pride, and with a smile as bright and wide as the waning moon starting its climb behind him. Content that there was nothing left to be done for tonight, he slunk back into nothingness, and gave the two the privacy that they so deserved.
....