Helena Sedzia stood before the museum and home of one, Robert Brohkun. Through the window, Troy looked at her, blinking rapidly, and tail wagging. He did not bark, however. She willed him to remain silent. It was early evening - the sun had sent but it was still somewhat daylight. She wore a lace floral prairie midi dress, with cap sleeves and a high neckline. Her hair was parted on the side of her skull and gathered just above her shoulder, behind her ear. An elegant look, as usual. Her arms and hands were relaxed at her side and she stood as a sentinel for a moment. Then, those long pale legs took her to door. Her steps were of someone with all of the time in the world, shoulders and hips moving as she cut her way towards the porch. Imposing, as ever.

It was Troy that alerted him to her presence. He was doing what any self-respecting, boring, elderly man did. He read. From his book Troy drove his attention to the window, which caused him to catch sight of Helena. Robert rose, fitting a bookmark deep into what he was reading and then going to the door, yanking it open so he could greet her, "The best coffee is here, as you know."

Helena was waiting by the door as it came to open. Her mouth was relaxed and her eyes smiling. "Hence my visit. But one would also not object to a tea." Helena stepped forward and pressed her mouth against his cheek. "Robert Brohkun." Her voice was near to his ear and soft. Her hand just rested on his hip furthest away from her. Then she detached and stepped inside. "Troy." His mouth was open, tongue hanging out, smiling big enough for all three of them. She raked her nails over his skull, causing him to close his eyes - still smiling!

"Of course. Green?" He stayed still when she moved in, his name a half intimate whisper in his ear. There was the slight upward tick of his brow and then, like a well-practiced dance move, he stepped back to clear the path as she moved inward. Troy's tail wagged furiously, sweeping the hardwood floor.

Robert was quite nearly one of the pieces in the museum collection. He lingered there, in the waiting room with chairs like a watch dog. Perhaps that was why Osvaldo liked his curators living there. It meant someone was always home, always present. Robert nodded to the dark hall, the end of which was light by the kitchen. A small light was on over the sink.

"That will do," her attention turned to where he nodded. "You have taken up residence. How does it feel?" Her hand fell away from Troy, who looked hopeful for a moment before he pouted. But he did it disturb her for more. Then she moved towards the kitchen, towards the light.

"Awkward. But everything feels that way, lately," he admitted with a shoulder roll. Robert was still dressed for the day, as if he might entertain the next showing of the museum. They went to the kitchen light, the back of his fingers brushing the switch to turn on the more powerful overhead. There he worked with the coffee maker, turning it on and removing the filter and grinds.

"Own it, Robert. This is your life. You have taken such commanding strides towards being the driver of your destiny." While fussed with his coffee - leaving her standing there and waiting for her tea! - she glanced around to where he stored the tins of tea and switched on a kettle. Whether it was there before is of little consequence. It was there now.

"I was going to run the hot water through here," he motioned to the cleared out coffee pot. He pressed the fob and then reached for a cup, setting it beside it. Coffee makers just boiled the hot water and let it sift through the grinds. There was no reason that didn't also work for tea. Near to her, he bowed his head, pressing his lips to her shoulder. He straightened up, "My hope is to not drive myself off a cliff. But, yes, I am more in command."

"A kettle is preferred. One can better control the temperature of the boil." Her lip curled at the feel of his lips, a gentle smirk. "Have you given thought to your next exhibit? Is that an enjoyable thread of thought?" Perhaps it was something which temporarily alleviated the reality of his present circumstances. A distraction.

"If that is your preference," he moved, pulling the kettle from the under cabinet. He checked it for dust, for cleanliness, before filling it with water and then tuning on the gas-lit eye of the stove. His hazel gaze settled on her face, "Only some. We spoke of architecture, of things being built and made."

"We did. But it is not my exhibit." Another smirk, her arms folding across her midsection, her chin raising. Eyes of storm meeting his hazel ones. The kettle was simmering.

He moved to take a seat at the long bench tucked up to the picnic style table that was in the kitchen. With his elbows drawn back, his jacket opened, eyes leveling up to her. There was another unsaid question which he put to sound, "Did you come to check on whether or not I was doing the exhibits proud?"

Helena allowed the smell of coffee and the simmer of the kettle to fill the silence. Then she moved. She stepped towards him. One hand coming to comb through his tangle of dark hair, the other under his chin to raise it. "No. I came to ensure you are well." Then she leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his, perhaps a little firmer than before but not any longer. A quick kiss. "And you are well. Now we may enjoy our tea and coffee." Another kiss before she stood straight again, though she continued to hold him, looking down into his eyes.

In the museum's little kitchen, he thought the room seemed quiet and unassuming. They discussed preferences and he found himself both relieved and uneasy at it. There was more to the world than just his preferences. There was an unruly impulse that had the same sort of embarrassment an elderly man might have if his voice sounded like it was cracking from puberty. Not that any of those sensations came from Helena. She was statuesque in the more literal translation, unmoved and unshaken.

Perhaps with a little more age he would come to be that way. As it was, though, Robert was not entirely stripped of his ego, "It won't be all your preference, but it's good to know. The worst missteps I've had came from making assumptions."

"And now I ask you." She spoke smoothly, like smoke drifting from a cigarette in a breeze-less space. "What is your preference?" In all of her boundless ability, her strength of will, she never sought to know the inner workings of another mind. She was good enough at guessing the next step by observing habits, mannerisms, likes, dislikes. She often did not need to pry.

"I want to connect with someone in a meaningful way." There was sex and he supposed there were also momentary infatuations. But a relationship with a like-spirited person who had the same longevity as he was elusive. With Helena, there was no concern with how he might outlive her. It was entirely likely she would survive him, anyway. With humans or other mortals, that became a consideration.

"I've felt like a past time for women. A phase they go through or a momentary interest." His tone carried no sound of sting it in. He had been bothered by it more when he was younger.

She is quiet for a moment, watching him. Her face, as usual, is impassive. "You have never had a 'phase' when it comes to your lovers?" The question only betrayed a small hint of doubt and a dash of surprise.

"I wasn't much of a Romeo," he admitted with a dispassionate shrug. Lifting up his mug he took a swallow of his coffee and then set it back aside on the painted surface of the kitchen table. "I'm not charismatic and generally I don't need or crave the company of others." Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that a demon of sorrow avoided the limelight and could be a bit uncomfortable, socially. It wasn't the sort of behavior that drove women into his arms, but also, he never lost much sleep over it. Robert had pined and felt empty with concerns to having no friendships, not lovers.

It was not Helena's role to argue with him. It was not her role to convince him otherwise. She would not point out his obviously handsome face, the subtle build of his body, the compassion he has shown the world which can sway people into fancy. Demon or not, there were many - many - traits which made Robert Brohkun a 'catch.' But this was not Helena's battle. "How do you think of me?"

Robert may have been all of those things, along with being difficult.

"Sometimes, with concern." The admission was matter-of-fact, but not harsh. He continued, of course. Those sort of statements required continuing, "I have found your friendship something I trust. I look forward to seeing you, to speaking with you, to being around you." Robert didn't often admit to wanting anyone around. The world seemed to be largely tolerated by him, "But... a romance gone awry often means that there is no friendship afterwards." A slightly uncomfortable shift of his weight occurred as he thought about Lizzie, about how unlikely anything might have preserved their friendship if not for their forced interaction. Even so, outsiders and themselves weren't clear on what that friendship was.

"I am afraid that romance tends to go awry with me. Then there will be nothing and that prospect is an uneasy one."

Her mouth softened, but she did not smile. Helena never smiled. "The thought you have given this is typical of Robert Brohkun. And it is charming." She looked away from him, looking straight away. For no other reason than to simply change the way she had been watching him. "Your sentiments are echoed. There is no desire to hurt you or the trust that we have built. But you are too considerate in your answer. You want something that is everlasting. And exclusive?" Her eyebrow raised, and eyes shifted to him.

"I tend to overthink, to talk to the point that I have talked myself out of it.? He found himself perplexed too long over matters most people shrugged at. The devil was in the details, as the saying went. His head tilted to the side, the splash of browns and greens of his eyes watching the shape of her mouth as she spoke. Sometimes when Helena talked it felt like the movement of her lips was done too expertly. Everlasting and Exclusive. That was an adult way of saying happily ever after, wasn't it?

"Everlasting in that... I can feel that there will be time with that person, that I won't lose them too quickly. It's something of a ridiculous sentiment-- I haven't been able to have relationships with the sort of longevity that needed to seriously worry about morality." It was still something he wanted, but it was a need, a check box Helena had long since checked even before they met. To the second part, he sighed, "My situation doesn't call for me to be exclusive, I'm not... in a place for what I want." He frowned, which was a familiar motion his lips were quite expert at. His explanation continued, though he felt she had already known the story, "I have felt like a novelty, a momentary interest and a past time with the women I've slept with. I want when I have a girlfriend for it to be exclusive, I want that sacred space where two lovers find each other and there is no one else to dilute the experience. I want to matter, to be that other fixture of someone so that a secondary lover is not merely my replacement."

"What is the difference, then, between what you described and what we have at present?" Her words came out slow and too exact. There was no need to belabor overthinking. She would not change that - nor would she try to change that. Given his fragility, it was wise for him to exhaust the file. But it remained to be seen - what was Robert Brohkun waiting for to happen? And why continue to wait? Start taking.

Her head turned towards him, taking in his silhouette. His heavy lashed, the perpetually messy hair. Many times, she saw within him a man longing to be free. But as with his tendency to overthink, she also saw that he had fallen into the comfortable habit of that conflict. Resigned to discipline for an audience who abandoned him decades ago.

"The difference is... the more I like you, the more I just want it to be you and me." There was his frown, his tone a heavy grate on the air without the ability to lift off and renew itself. Robert wanted the contract concluded, he wanted the nagging interest in flesh to be appeased and settled. Mostly, he wanted the influence of the world to drain out of his ears so he'd have the cool, calm echoing of his own mind again. Just his thoughts and not the clattering noise of New Orleans.

His head bowed and he kissed the curve of her shoulder. The motion was so gentle that if it wasn't for the warmth of his lips, she might not have even felt it. His posture straightened as he looked at her again.

Helena watched him. Watched the way his mouth moved. Watched his head dip to her shoulder and that same mouth mark her there. Troy could be heard breathing, but otherwise was subdued. Her hand came up when his posture shifted, stroking his cheek, thumb skirting his bottom lip. Her eyes, storm clouds churning on an advancing horizon, fixed on his for a moment. Even in that moment, he could feel the electricity. When the moment passed, her hand relaxed back into her lap.

The touch was an understanding.

His eyes couldn't leave her when she did that. The brush of her hand was a melancholy reassurance for him. The situation was a tangle, one he found himself frustratedly picking at the loose strings to free it up from itself. It couldn't always be a tangle, though, he knew that. But opportunities could be missed. Doors closed as well as opened. He cleared his throat and stood up, moving away from her to the kitchen counter where he opened up a drawer and retrieved a pack of playing cards.

"How about a few games?" What he meant to say was stay, I'm not ready for you to walk away.

She blinked slowly, content. Taking in the view of his walking away and his return. "As you wish." A happy blink for him, nice and slow, though she never smiled. She shifted to the edge of her seat, preparing to follow him to a table or other surface. Troy looked at her expectantly, his tail wagging from side to side.

They sat at the kitchen table, over cups of coffee and long conversation. There were stretches of silence, too, as they studied their cards and sometimes the looks on one another?s face. He wasn?t keeping track of who won or lost in the grand scheme, the tally seemed forgotten every time there was a smoke break. The night went on like that, in an unsmiling enjoyment between them.