Have done with sorrow; I'll bring you plums to-morrow (open to whoneverwas)

"Are we going somewhere?"

No one would be able to pinpoint a source of the voice amongst the chaos, but soon Charley peeks her head over what may be an elaborate pillow fort. (But then again, it's so very hard to tell what purpose most of the things here serve -- perhaps it is something else entirely.) She heads out, side-stepping piles of debris with the ease of someone who's grown quite accustomed to their particular patterns.

Out the door at last, she takes Zagreus' arm and smiles up at him.

"So, where are we this time?" Her voice is practically overflowing with delight.

Zagreus grins, surveying the surroundings with vague curiousity. It seems to be a somewhat touristy area of a town, right at the time between lunch and sunset rushes. As to when and where, more cosmically, they might be--

"Well, I had thought we might go for ice cream. It's not really a specific setting for a ship, ice cream, but I suspect we'll have done alright. Anyway, isn't it more fun not knowing exactly?"

"Well..." She remarks, hesitantly. "Surprises certainly can be fun."

A pause as she glances away from him to take in their surroundings.

"And so long as it isn't any terribly strange alien ice cream that does not actually resemble ice cream..."

Don't laugh. Charley speaks from experience.

"Though I must admit... so far this does look promising."

She tilts her head to smile up at him again, all good cheer.

Zagreus returns her good cheer in kind with a somewhat daft smile. Still, for all its seeming barminess, his words are more than a little sly.

"Of course it does, Charley. Would I have led you astray?"

So saying, he ushers her into a rather deliberately old-fashioned ice cream shop, with high-backed boothes along either wall and absurdly high tables (with equally absurd stools to match) occupying the middle. The decor is rather dominated with pinks and blues and checked patterns, giving off an aura of somewhat-manic cheer. The range of flavours and mix-ins is quite extensive, and it would take both creativity and a little madness to pose the clerk a stumping order.

"You see? Nothing more alien than fish-shaped candies with a rather alarmingly high mineral oil content. Which...come to think of it, I believe those are actually of extra-terrestrial origin. But quite inoffensive, all the same."

She considers this question in a rather serious fashion, pouting just a bit at the thought.

"I suspect you very well might lead me astray, were it a sufficiently entertaining thing to do. So I should think it never hurts to be cautious."

She peers through the windows of the shop they've stopped in front of.

"It certainly looks like an ice cream parlor. But how is on to be entirely certain?"

He is, perhaps, just the tiniest bit impatient with her suspicions, and he is perhaps less than politely herding his friend by now, though still smiling pleasantly.

"By sampling the ice cream, of course. Isn't there something you'd like?"

She gives him an off-kilter grin, suggestive of things she might rather be doing with her teeth.

"Ice cream is always welcome, of course. Mint chocolate chip, perhaps..."

She eyes the multicolored confections behind the counter with curiosity, considering the matter.

Perhaps, in light of such a grin, it would be best for him to rediscover the concept of personal space, no matter how much he has a tendency to hover. However, he would never be able to resist goading her in some way.

"That's it? Just mint chocolate chip? I imagine we could have found that in the ship, if we could have found the kitchen." His scoff is somewhat challenging.

She makes a tiny 'hmph' noise in her throat.

"Being as we can't find the kitchen, I should say the point is rather moot, isn't it? But Mint Chocolate Chip is an excellent start. Perhaps with strawberries."

"Ah, well then. As long as it's just a start."

Zagreus himself indicates a staggering (and somewhat nauseating) gamut of options, definitely including a helping of mineral oil fish. The end result is colourful, yet entirely unappealing. At the clerk's incredulous looks, he nods enthusiastically. Decisions made, he is unable to refrain from hovering over Charley as she ponders.

Charley gives Zagreus a sharp look -- really, doesn't he know that it's rude to crowd people like that? -- paired with a smile that would be sweet if it didn't show a few too many teeth. Warning given, she proceeds to ignore him entirely, finally walking away from the counter with a bowl of ice cream containing some of every possible chocolate flavor (which, of course, includes mint chocolate chip) covered with strawberries. She smiles rather delightedly at her creation.

Zagreus outright giggles at the look, and it's that uneasy mixture of delighted and panicked you hear from children who, having teased a dog through a fence, finally get the desired result. He ceases his hovering to empty a pocket onto the shop's counter, and, mostly by luck, some of the detritus he leaves there turns out to be money, though of course some of it very much isn't.

"Booth? Or would you rather risk our necks on these death-trap stools?"

"Death trap?"

She tilts her head curiously.

"And I had thought they looked rather like fun. I wonder if they spin!"

And with this she sets her ice cream on a table and sits on one of the stools -- purely for the purpose of scientific testing. They do spin! She twirls, giggling with delight.

Zagreus smiles indulgently. Of course she chose the stools, though who knows if she'll stick to her decision. Avoiding her swinging legs he takes a seat of his own, perching precariously.

"Don't let your ice cream melt, Charley. And if you do take a spill, please leave me the table, if you don't mind."

Round and round and round she goes...

"Really, you take issue with the strangest things."

She sits perched very still on her stool as she lets it gradually spin to a stop. She blinks for a moment, watching the world continue spinning even as she sits still. She grins at nothing in particular, a bit light-headed and giddy.

"Someone has to. You're mad, you know."

The last is said with genuine affection.

"I believe you'll find your ice cream to be this way."

Ever helpful, he reaches out to her shoulder and adjusts her direction.

She smiles brightly at him, despite the fact (or perhaps because of the fact?) that there appear to be several of him. But... ice cream! She takes a spoonful and devours it greedily, sucking on the spoon with a blissful expression long after the chocolate is gone.

Spoon still in her mouth, she mumbles, "At least I'm in good company, as I grow to suspect that you're quite mad, too."

"Only just now arriving at that suspicion, are we?"

He picks through his amalgamation of treats, sometimes eating a variety at once, sometimes picking out individual flavours and bits, and somehow managing to break neither his eating stride nor his mad grin, a feat which should have cost him teeth.

Charley might have had a scowl ready for that last comment -- but do pardon her, as she's distracted by ice cream. Mmm. She takes another bite, eyes closed and a smile on her face.

"We should have ice cream every day. I don't see why we can't."

"You're right, of course, Charley. There is no real reason."

He wonders how long it would be before she grew tired of such a whim, with a sort of sad amusement.

"Don't you think it would rather lose its luster though, after a time?"

She pauses her efforts with the ice cream to stare at him, her eyes wide and curious.

"But it's ice cream," she explains simply, as though this ought to be obvious.

"Hmm. I suppose you might be right."

Much more idly now, even somewhat pensively, he takes another bite. I suppose she might not be able to even realise things like that, anymore. He finds this thought surprising and even a little disheartening. Still, it wouldn't do to turn too concerned a face to this one, not again. Zagreus' only offering is a small smile.

She grins, a small giggle escaping her lips before she takes another bite of ice cream.

"Of course I'm right."

If there's anything beyond this exchange than what spoken words would suggest, she certainly doesn't notice it.

Disguising his melancholy with a lazy smile, he reaches to brush a strand of hair out of ice cream's way, stroking her temple but no more. Indeed, it might have been for the best had he never done more in the first place. An interesting and new thought. Perhaps it was a mistake to allow himself to be goaded into action. But being thought harmless had rankled so. Lost in thought, Zagreus doesn't reply.

She turns from her prize of chocolate to watch him, watching her. After several long moments stretching out into silence, she drops her spoon in the bowl with an almost musical clatter. She reaches out to touch his face, running her fingertips over his temple in a mirror of his touch.

"You're troubled."

She doesn't quite understand it, but she does recognize it. Idly, she strokes her thumb across his skin. He's cool to the touch, too cool, even she knows that... though she's hardly sure what to think of it.

Startled from his reverie by the clatter, he doesn't flinch when she reaches for his temple. She can do no harm, but still, it would be an unnerving action to him from many. Allowing himself some small degree of relaxation, he closes his eyes at the touch, with a quiet sigh.

"Yes. But you needn't be." If indeed her mayfly mind even could be, for long. He swallows ruefully.

She slides off the stool and steps to stand before him, letting her hand slide down to grip the edge of the stool and spin him to face her. Her eyes, watching him, are wide and lost.

"With all of life before us to taste, to enjoy, to savor... like a spectacularly juicy piece of fruit."

She reaches out to stroke his face again.

"You're lost in worry... but the world is here. I'm here."

This? This is too much. He should be pleased by her words, but all he can muster is dread and wintry sadness. Nothing about this can end well and well does he know it. Abruptly, as though hiding, he leans to bury his face against her neck, gripping her shoulders almost harshly. His words are muffled and hoarse.

"Is it, Charley? Are you? Can you be sure?"

Charley wraps her arms around him, threading the fingers of one hand in his hair. She smiles down at him warmly, like a mother soothing an errant child -- not that he could see it.

"Of course I'm here, silly," she murmurs quietly. "Who else is talking to you?"

She presses her lips to the crown of his head.

His response is a bitter laugh, but he relaxes all the same, letting his head slump and lean against her shoulder, the better to peer at her obliquely. No need to split hairs, really, and attempting any real discussion of her identity would likely only make her violent. Best to just not even try.

"...My apologies." For losing my grip on myself. And honestly for everything else besides.

Charley speaks haltingly, as though this line of thought is difficult for her -- which, in fact, it is.

"You worry... because I'm different. Changed so much from what I was."

She recognizes this, of course, but more as an idle curiosity than anything else.

"That... perhaps... I'm not really... me. But..."

Her voice carries a tone of fierce passion.

"Whoever can I be but myself?"

She's desperate to be believed, to be recognized as more than just some... broken puppet.

"All I am now... I was then, too. The... the potential was all there. You simply... brought it out."

At some point, tears started streaming down her face.

"I'm me. I'm me..."

This was exactly the line of reasoning he was hoping to avoid, if only he'd thought to stave it off sooner. Sitting up, he scrubs once, roughly, at her tears before taking her by the shoulders once again.

"Yes, yes of course you are, Charley. There's no one else you could be."

He shushes her, and takes her chin in his hand, meeting her eyes. This likely wouldn't be pleasant.

"The potential was there, yes, but no more so for you than any other human. And for you, the likelihood of that potential ever being realised without my interference would be infinitesimal. You are you, but hardly under natural circumstances."

Even Charley would admit that she had been rather thoroughly...changed. He certainly couldn't deny it. And his responses to it were disturbing to himself.

She tosses her head, pulling away from his hand, away from his gaze. Her eyes cast downward and she bites her lip as though she's worrying over what to say... or not to say.

Softly, she whispers, "You made me, but you... you miss her. You miss Charley."

If she's crying again, there's no one who can see it, with her face turned towards the floor.

"There must be something terribly wrong with me if I cannot even live up to myself. Even when I'm here I'm gone."

She buries her face in the soft velvet of his coat and her voice, soft as it is, probably gets lost in the fabric.

"Why even make me if you don't want me?"

"I..." He what? Thought to reimagine their friendship, only without conflict? Thought madness was the only way anyone would willingly choose his company? Could no more help himself reaching into her mind than a scorpion can help its sting? Had to prove himself a monster, especially to her? None of these would be in the least helpful. But it had been worth it, anyway, hadn't it? He honestly no longer knew.

"How can I miss you, when you're here, as you've said?"

Now it is his turn to wrap her in his arms, as though this might hold her together.

"It had to be done, Charley. And I don't regret it." He's only half lying, at least.

She cranes her neck to look up at him, her hands worrying in his coat. Her eyes are too wide and too pale, as though reflecting the light of ethereal headlights that only she can see.

"I'm broken. You broke me and now you don't even want me."

Somehow the look in her eyes manages to be terrifying and heartbreaking at once. Perhaps one because of the other. He rather wishes she would go back to hiding them against his coat, or watching the floor. Anything but this, really.

"That's...that's untrue. Untrue and you know it." He doesn't meet her eyes again, and doesn't clarify his statement further, opting to hold her more tightly instead. Oh nothing good could come of this, he could never escape that suspicion.

Her eyes don't move from his face -- she stares, not quite blinking often enough, as though expecting to glean answers from his expression.

But he's mad, she's mad, we're all mad here. Answers are hardly forthcoming.

"Why not just unmake me, as easily as you made me? A broken toy is no fun to play with and there's scarcely a reason to keep it."

"Do you mean...put you back?"

He is shocked into meeting her gaze again. He hopes with quiet dread that that was what she meant; he couldn't possibly destroy her. He shakes his head firmly. None of these are ideas she ought to have.

"My mind's touch can only create madness, not undo it. I...am not meant to make things better any more than you are meant to breathe water. Would you really ask it of me, if I could?"

And wouldn't that have been a pleasant road to travel. Being asked to do the one thing that would guarantee her ill-will once done...and he suspects he might have done it willingly.

She frowns, frustrated and uncertain. She knows what she wants. Of course she does. She wants for Zagreus not to look so... so very like the Doctor, when she'd told him she was going to leave. As though, when he looked at her, he was looking through her and seeing all the future days in which she wouldn't be with him. It was terribly disconcerting.

It was just that she wasn't quite certain what to do about it.

She lets her head fall against his coat.

"I want to be me," she whispers. "I want us to have fun together."

Well, she couldn't very well have both. Helplessly, he smoothes her hair. There's really nothing he can do to ease her uncertainty.

"Then you must not want to be unmade at all. Make up your mind, Charley."

She gazes up at him again.

"And I don't want you to look at me like... like I'm here and not here, all at once. I'd rather anything than have you look at me like that.."

Oh, didn't he know the feeling. Very similar to how he felt now, avoiding her gaze. He'd rather anything than meet it.

"How shall I look at you, then?" Something he very much wished he had asked before she went mad. Was driven mad, he corrects himself mentally.

"Like I'm here, rather than something long since past."

Unable to comply or even fully consider what on earth she might mean, he settles for not looking at all, further averting his gaze while he ponders. Charley-who-was, he would have had a great deal to say to, although very little of it might make sense. But more and more lately, the incessant stream of words in his mind had begun to dry up, where she was concerned. When he does speak, the words stick in his throat, nearly impossible to force out.

"You are here, of course. Because of me. Because you had something I needed. And I destroyed it. That's what I can't look at."

She leans into his chest, letting her eyes fall closed. She takes a slow breath, inhaling velvet and silk and sandalwood.

"I don't... I don't think you've destroyed anything..."

This line of thought -- about who she was -- makes her head hurt terribly. But at the same time it seems terribly important.

"It's just gone... twisted."

By way of demonstration, she tilts her head at an odd angle, though she doesn't lift it from his chest.

When he leans forward and brushes her hair with his cheek, the words he whispers shakily are, perhaps incongruously (then again, when is he not?), Thank you. Which is not entirely the same thing as I'm sorry but somehow it almost is. He sighs with something akin to relief, and if his grief and guilt aren't wholly assuaged, at least he has made his peace for today. She doesn't seem to blame him for acting with the inevitability of his nature, though of course she can't possibly understand it, either.

This... this is nice. She thinks she must like nice. Charley certainly would.

But she doesn't have to think about that. Doesn't have to think about who Charley is, who she is. She can just stay here, nuzzling into his chest. With his arms around her, it nearly feels as though she's not on the verge of falling apart. As if she weren't held together by spiderwebs and a single spool of thread. As if she knew who she was.

She lets out a sigh of breath and wonders if imaginary people need to breathe.

Have done with sorrow; I'll bring you plums to-morrow (open to whoneverwas)

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