bakerstreet | a scar means i survived } scars meme

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a scar means i survived } scars meme

the s c a r s meme

Most everyone has some sort of scar. Some are from happy accidents. Some are from events you'd rather not speak about. Sometimes, people can share a moment over scars: Be it friendly, romantic, or even with a complete stranger. These are those moments.

01. NEW: the scar is fairly new-- maybe you still need to do something to make sure it heals properly. maybe you're just worried about the new scar that's appeared on someone you care about.

02. DISCOVERY: you've just had someone find out about your scars, or you've just accidentally learned that the other person has scars. do you say something, or let the moment pass?

03. SHAME: maybe you're ashamed of your scars. maybe you want someone else to know that there's no need to hide their scars around you.

04. SHOW: you're proud of your scars, or at least you don't see a reason to keep them covered-- never have, or not anymore. or maybe someone is showing you their scars for the first time.

05. STORY: it's time to talk about the story behind your scars. or, perhaps, it's time to listen to someone tell you about how they came about their scars.

06. TOUCH: maybe you want someone to touch your scars so you can remind yourself you're still here. maybe you want to touch their scars because you want to show them you don't mind them.

07. ATTRACTION: you've heard that people like someone with scars, so you're flaunting them, or you're the person very attracted to someone with scars.

08. KISS: letting this person kiss your scars may be a moment of extreme vulnerability, or just something you like. kissing someone else's scars may be just what you need to do to show someone how much you care.

09. SOULMATE: you live in a world where your soulmate's scars appear on your own skin. what's that like?

10. OTHER: wildcard option.

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Post with your character's name and canon, if you're interested in gen/shipping/etc., and maybe a list of some of their scars. Reply to other people's comments by picking RNG for an option, or pick your own!

Warning: May have reference to abuse, torture, violence, self-harm, or similar.

A mash up of several other scar memes.

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Fortunately, dragons are capable of perfectly understandable speech in any of the forms they take, and Robin gives a slightly gravelly laugh that ends in a puff of wispy smoke. "I'll always take requests from people I like," he says, and maybe a dragonish grin isn't as appealing as a wolfish one, but the flare and sparkle in his eyes probably signifies that the parting of his jaws is amusement instead of threat. A lot of impressive teeth, either way.

He gives a little lash of his tail, momentarily distracted by the vaguely pearlescent gleam of his own scales. This form is meant mostly for show--in the wild, all this glitter would prove far more of a detriment than a boon, but... He may have originally crafted it to woo someone in particular. It had been effective for its purpose, at least for several years, but things hadn't exactly ended well.

For the benefit of the camera, as well as the person behind it, Robin gives a flap of his leathery wings. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Dragons might always have been relatively rare, but almost every human culture has come into contact with one variety or another." That toothy grin widens a bit. "I can't choose a favorite overall, myself." He supposes he'll always have a soft spot for the feathered serpents of the southern Americas simply because of the plumage. Many dragons of Asia have a kind of ribbony frame that appeals to him, too--flight in those forms is markedly different than winged locomotion.

He's honestly not sure if all creatures labeled by mortals as dragons are really related, either. Despite his own changeability--and the importance of making sure everything ends up in the right place, anatomically speaking--biology isn't one of his stronger subjects.

It's not, but the point gets across. Ganymede's eyes practically sparkle for the offer, for all that it probably shouldn't be a surprise. But he's never really asked Robin to take on any different shape than whatever he's wearing - nearly always the one Ganymede is most familiar with - when they meet. It's both completely impossible and surprisingly easy to forget Robin changing shapes is within easy reach and something he actually enjoys doing.

Ganymede follows the spread and flap of the wings with a smile, but watching Robin like this reminds him of... something. They've not talked often about dragons, really, but---

Robin had gone to South America, a long time ago. He'd said something about feathered serpents, and Ganymede still hasn't had a chance to see one.

"It is," he agrees with a shake of his head, trying to focus on the current conversation, but he slips back to Robin's offer and the thing about dragons, with Robin still a very fine example of one right in front of him. "And whether those feathered serpents you mentioned would count as dragons or not, when we're done with this recording, would you show me what they look like?"

They can surely take just a moment for that before they go off to Hephaestus' palace to see if there's any recording at all, and if there is any trouble with it, if it can be rescued. Ganymede also doesn't want to be stuck behind the camera for that if Robin indulges him, so he doesn't want him to change into one as part of this little experiment.

"Oh! Yes," Robin says, definitely willing to oblige. "I promise you'll be very impressed." Nothing else quite compares--the massive serpentine dragons of Ganymede's experience are neither so colorful nor so feathered.

Robin has been back to South America a handful of times over the centuries, though he stayed away for quite a while after the tragedy of colonialism spread from one end of the continent to the other. Despite the decimation of the native population that once feared and worshipped them in turn, the serpents have fared relatively well throughout the years. They weren't hunted to near-extinction like their counterparts in Europe. Their slow metabolisms have allowed them to survive lengthy periods of deprivation, often hibernating beneath the surfaces of lakes.

They've also become much more receptive to company in the years since he first visited with Oberon. He suspects that losing almost all contact with mortals has proven unexpectedly lonely for them, and while he's not exactly a good substitute, he can hold up his end of a conversation far better than, say...a jaguar or an armadillo. He also brings news of the greater world, and that's always welcome.

He shakes himself head to tail and folds his wings tidily along his back. "I suppose I should try at least one more shape, for posterity," he says with another smoky chuckle. "Any suggestions? Or other requests?" Possibly he should choose something that Ganymede isn't so tempted to touch.

[This string of dragon posts has been brought to you by the realization that I still have a Flight Rising account :P]

"I'm sure," Ganymede says with a laugh, but for all that he is laughing, he means it, too. They will surely be as familiar as they will not, same as the serpentine dragons of eastern Asia - which he hasn't seen in person either, rather only images of them.

"Maybe---" Ganymede closes his mouth with a thoughtful frown. He'd been about to suggest a horse, but he is terribly fond of horses and with Robin's skill on top of that he wouldn't be any less tempted to abandon the camera. "How about a goat?"

Ganymede grins, the suggestion half teasing. Goats honestly fit very well with Robin's general approach to things, so maybe he's suggesting it just to see if Robin will go through with it without realising the connection or not. Or if he will, even seeing the similarity, as much as there can be one.

[Hehe I have one too. ;v]

Robin gives a snort that results in an unexpected flash of flame from behind his teeth. His eyes widen the slightest bit, but he recovers without much of a falter. "Careful or I'll choose a sheep," he says, and he can't give much of a wicked grin in this shape, but he tries his best. He adds, "Or maybe a goat with an appetite for that lovely kilt you're wearing." He can't promise how he'll feel about preserving Ganymede's possessions--or his modesty--once he's changed shape.

That's all the warning Ganymede gets before he starts to shift. The actual change starts with the flames again, but halfway through he makes a decision toward deviousness and the flicker is extinguish by a sort of outward-then-inward squash of whitish fluff. Then he stands there as a goat, small and sturdy with pleasantly curved horns, and as it turns out, that wicked smile translates much better to a goat's facial features than a dragon's. He gives a little kick and prance and heads pointedly toward the camera...and Ganymede behind it.

Before he's out of frame, he teasingly comes to a halt again. Apparently he's still capable of a bit of self-control, goat or not. He can't help bouncing about a little more, however, and he's suddenly wishes for something tall to climb, so the instincts of the shape are definitely working on him in at least a couple of ways.

[*cough* ...my username is Lyricality, if you'd like a friend :V]

Ganymede's laughing before Robin's even done speaking. He tries very hard to keep the camera steady - it wouldn't do for them to be unable to tell whether any blurriness is due to magic or his unsteady hand - but it's tricky, right now. Especially so when Robin does nothing to help, just adding onto the whole thing.

Somehow, still chuckling, Ganymede gets control of himself to be sure-handed as the flames flare up around Robin's dragon-shape. And then he chokes on a noise that doesn't know what it wants to be when the flames turn into fluff, like someone's tossed a handful of wool from a shorn sheep or the combed-out underpelt of, indeed, a goat.

"I should probably have chosen something else---!" Ganymede's startled little cut-off isn't from worry or fear, when Robin darts forward, just surprise. And he's rather sure he should've chosen something else because the goat, too, it terribly adorable.

"Okay, okay." Laughing again, Ganymede decides that enough is enough and ends the recording, carefully putting the camera down beside his own, usual one, on the small table, and turns back around. "I think you promised me a feathered dragon."

Still, Ganymede smiles brightly, unable not to approach and give a quick rub on the crown of the goat's little skull, right between the horns.

The nuzzling that Ganymede gets in return involves perhaps a little more head-butting than is strictly necessary, but it's undeniably affectionate, nevertheless. Then Robin backs up in a few sprightly leaps and bounds to give them plenty of space. Feathered serpents aren't exactly compact, especially when compared to smallish ungulates.

When he's satisfied with the distance, he settles himself with a bit more concentration than usual. He hasn't had much practice with this shape, but he has at least attempted it in the last century or so, and he wants to do it justice. He's no longer changing with the limitations of the camera in mind, so he chooses efficiency over flash. The shift is still impressive in itself, with a sudden uncoiling of loops and loops of brilliant scales, all flashing in the late afternoon sunlight. The unfolding feathers follow in a rush of shining primary colors--scarlet and gold and emerald vanes.

The description serpent certainly fits the long and sinuous body, but the head itself is vaguely feline, with the rounded nose and more flexible mouth of a lion--or maybe more appropriately, a jaguar. The tongue is forked and purely snakelike, however, when Robin hisses a laugh.

"What do you think?" He gives a little shake, head to tail, that sends both feathers and scales flashing again. There's no question that the shape is made to astound. The word hypnotize wouldn't be entirely overstating it, either, and Robin has seen the serpents use that to their advantage in hunting larger prey. Trapped within shifting walls of ever-tightening scales, creatures go still and glassy-eyed, motionless until the snap of those great jaws.

Given the goat shape, Ganymede takes the headbutting with humour, but steps back a step, too, when Robin hops back. Waits, somehow without bouncing on his toes, his breath easing out in a sigh, then immediately catching again.

Serpentine, feathery, and a wholly unexpected dash of the feline has Ganymede staring, head tipped back and wide eyed. Stirring only at the question, briefly distracted by the flashing ripple of shining scales and feathers, smiling.

"That is magnificent," Ganymede murmurs, coming over now that he doesn't have to keep his distance for the camera. He touches along the edge of a feather, then lays a hand over the smooth scales. "Not at all what I was imagining, even when this is really similar, in a way, to our dragons."

Robin might preen just a bit at both Ganymede's expression of wide-eyed delight and the compliment. Maybe it's not exactly for him, maybe it's for the shape itself, but the two are inseparable in a way. He slides forward to loop twice around Ganymede, the new position giving him easier access to touch...and perhaps to scratch under those ruffled feathers just behind the hinge of Robin's jaw.

Everything in this form is markedly different from his experiences in either mammalian or avian shape. Flicking his tongue gives scents in an entirely peculiar way, somehow far more primal and predatory. Even the other dragon form doesn't truly compare.

"Funny, isn't it," he agrees, and even his voice carries a kind of sibilance that ripples under the words. He gives another shake of his feathered tail and this time, the rattle sounds low but unmistakable through the garden. "I suppose the isolation of certain continents and land masses must lead to divergence in the magical creatures, just as much as the mundane." Australia might be the most extreme example, with its many peculiar species that share little in common besides basic fur, feathers and scales with the other animals of the world.

In any case, he can easily imagine why the Aztecs offered up sacrifices to this particular shape in addition to carving it all over their architectural achievements.

Perhaps that's exactly what he will do, as soon as he's not distracted by the thick, yet sleek, shining coils loosely wrapped around him now. He reaches our for Robin's face soon after, stroking his hands down the small, fine scales and, inevitably, to the ruffles of feathers within such easy and tempting reach. It's a logical place to rub, honestly.

"It makes sense. Magic is still part of the world. I suppose that means a process of evolution, as well."

Not something he's really thought about, before, and it feels a little strange - not really diminishing, but bound, in some manner - to match up something usually so incomprehensible and powerful to a process such as mundane evolution. That does, of course, not really change the multifaceted power inherent in magic and the creatures associated with it.

"Can I watch you fly?" Ganymede asks, digging his fingers in around the feathers at the jaw hinge, eyes sparkling. "It must look great just seeing this shape, with the feathers, moving in the air, from the ground."

Normally he'd immediately leap on the chance to fly, even just for a moment, but going with Robin isn't going to give him the view he thinks he'll get to see if he stays on the ground, this time.

Leaning into Ganymede's hands, Robin finds himself making a peculiar, slippery purring sound that vibrates all along the length of his flexible spine. He closes his eyes into gleaming slits when those fingers settle behind his jaw. Only several seconds after Ganymede asks his question does it actually succeed in registering, and Robin opens his eyes again and blinks with a bit of a start. "Oh, absolutely." He's sure he can manage it.

He might be somewhat out of practice. The challenge in this form, as he dimly recalls, is getting up off the ground in the first place.

First things first. He uncoils from around Ganymede in a sinuous glide to stretch himself out relatively straight. This shape might press the boundaries of the garden a bit, but the space is just large enough to give him the momentum he needs. Tail coiling behind him, he surges forward with an effect rather like the release of a tightened spring. His feathers spread and lift, all the hollows of his bones fill with something far more buoyant than air, and he clears the myrtle bushes with room to spare.

Once he's up, the rest is easy. Staying aloft is just a matter of balancing a few elements correctly, and soon enough he's soaring through the skies of Olympus in a series of wide and joyous loops. From below, he hears a couple of startled exclamations and glimpses a handful of nymphs scattering out of the fields. Perhaps they should have thought to alert someone--anyone--what he meant to do.

Too late now, so in the interest of not being shot out of sky with a divine arrow or spear, he glides back down toward the ground and Ganymede. He hovers a meter or so above the grass and curves himself in slow, repeating circles so that he can speak without shouting. "I think I caused some alarm."

Ganymede, enjoying the reaction to what he was doing, still didn't quite notice how deeply it was affecting Robin until he's on the edge of prompting his friend again - or just plain laughing.

Somehow, he manages to not do the latter, though there's a wide, sparkling smile on his face, and Robin himself answers before he can do the former. Anticipation keeps Ganymede from making any teasing comment, and he shields his eyes against the afternoon sun as Robin stretches out, then lurches forward, up.

There might have been a moment of slight awkwardness in the transition from ground to air, but once up in the air this sinuous shape is as graceful as it was on the ground. The only difference to seeing the local dragons fly and Robin borrowing the shape of a distant relative, if that's what all dragons are to each other, is in the the array of colourful feathers, rippling in the wind. Ganymede smiles, then presses his lips together, freezing as he, too hears the shouts.

Robin comes down, then, and Ganymede tries not laugh but this time he's failing to hold himself back, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking.

"I didn't--- Oh. Didn't think about other people seeing you! Probably just as well, that you came down. Those poor nymphs." Ganymede's still breathless with laughter as he straightens up, squinting at Robin. It's not that he doesn't feel apologetic for having scared the nymphs, but, well. It's funny too. "But that was beautiful. The feathers really changes a lot, compared to our dragons, even if they're otherwise rather similar."

"Neither did I," Robin admits, and if it's possible for an enormous snake to look sheepish by flattening the great ruff of feathers around its head, he succeeds. "I was going to ask if you wanted to climb on, but perhaps you'd need to explain things to everyone else on Olympus, first!" He really doesn't enjoy the thought of being pursued by say...Artemis. With Ares. He's not exactly invulnerable to injury in any form, even if nothing but actual iron is likely to kill him.

He doesn't quite want to change back yet, so he reverses, turning belly-up but continuing his slow circles. Fanning his feathers, he performs a set of gradual rolls, twisting until he starts to make himself dizzy. He untwists again and settles back onto the ground with only the slightest ungainly bump.

Finally, he condenses back into his preferred bipedal shape--or rather, the one to which he's growing reattached. Everything feels heavier after the brief period of weightless flight, but there's a certain comfort in gravity, too, and in the tickling of the grass against his feet. "I think of dragons here as being more tied to water," he says, letting himself collapse bonelessly onto his back. "Maybe that makes some of the difference."

"Probably would have to explain things first," Ganymede agrees with an equally sheepish smile. "But maybe we can do that at some other time."

Getting to ride a feathered snake while flying? Yeah, Ganymede still wants to do that, but it doesn't need to mean it has to be now. Grinning as he watches Robin turn and twist around just a meter above the air, so slowly that alone is impressive, it's almost surprising when he settles himself back in a shape Ganymede is far more familiar with.

"Oh, yes." With a blink, Ganymede nods. "That's true. They really are. They can fly, of course, but springs are a favourite haunt. The feathered snakes seem more... air?"

He can't feel the element of something, of course, and while there was no great difference in watching one of the snake-like dragons from here fly free in the air and watching Robin, air still seems more fitting. Nudging the closest bit of leg next to him, Ganymede smiles down at Robin.

"I'd hate to disturb you, and if you want to rest for a little longer, I'll just sit down, but otherwise we could go over to Hephaestus' with the camera."

There's two cameras, of course, but Ganymede will focus on his own later. The recording has both of them and Hephaestus very interested in the result, so that should, then, come first.

Some northern European dragons seem to favor water, too--wyrms, particularly, but occasionally wyverns. Maybe basilisks fall into a sort of dragon subcategory, as well, and they were often blamed for poisoning wells. Robin is trying to decide if tatzelwurms fall under the heading of dragon or cat or both when Ganymede nudges him and he refocuses his wandering attention. "Oh. Oh. No, I definitely don't want to wait!"

He's upright in a moment, on his feet a moment later, though he does pause to untangle the bit of vine that has already woven itself into his hair. Tempted to fling it aside, he forces himself to slow long enough to let it coil gently back into the grass.

While Robin has a fairly good sense of direction here on Olympus, he's glad enough to follow Ganymede's lead. He's met Hephaestus a couple of times but doesn't know his habits well. He's always, always working on something intriguing, however, and sometimes his workspace reveals a hint of whatever he's currently puzzling over in the moments after Ganymede's arrival. His palace is just as fascinating, the interior and exterior different every time Robin happens by it--or through it--on his visits. From deep inside come a number of mysterious mechanical sounds.

It's an enormous temptation all around. Robin stays away from it whenever he's not in the company of Ganymede or Hermes...and sometimes not even with Hermes, who makes for a very poor chaperone when Robin is trying to improve his behavior. Ganymede is a much better influence. "How long do you suppose it will take to develop?" he asks, then pauses and shrugs with a wry grin. "I have no idea if 'develop' is even the best term. Process? Render?" Better to wrestle down his impatience and temper his enthusiasm with practical considerations.

Humming thoughtfully, Ganymede has to shrug, in the end.

"I don't really know. Considering Hephaesthus might use some power to speed the process up, as well, it might not even be anything close to how it usually works." Ganymede laughs, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure what we were going to do about actually... developing? rendering? the finished recording for viewing, if there is one, but when I brought up the idea to him, he said not to worry about it."

Letting Hephaestus take care of that whole process was something Ganymede was more than glad to do, in all honesty. This being new, he'd need a lot more time than just figuring out how to operate the camera itself before he threw himself into actually dealing with the resultant little movie itself.

"When I develop my photographs, however, I do it alone, and by the actual method," Ganymede adds, a soft little smile creeping up on his face. "Hephaestus taught me how, and he remodelled a small room in his palace for me to use for it."

That Hephaestus might have an entirely divine way of completing the process is actually an excellent point, and Robin echoes Ganymede's shrug. "He'll surely have an effective way of doing it, whatever that might be." If it doesn't turn out--if nothing shows up, or all the images are blurry--he might eventually find a way of fixing that, too. Even if regular film isn't capable of recording magic, in other words, he can probably find a workaround of his own.

That's almost reassuring. If that's the only solution, a divine or otherwise magical process would prevent unwary mortals from documenting beings that might be better left alone.

"No matter what the results are, they should be instructive," he says with a grin. Ganymede's description of his darkroom, along with that enchanting little smile, raises his eyebrows. "I think you're required to show me that, now that you've mentioned it." Especially since that expression suggests this is something Ganymede has truly come to love, probably as more than simply a hobby, and in that case, Robin is eager to see anything he's willing to share.

They've reached Hephaestus' palace, and this time the exterior is some mysterious sort of bright and shifting metal that reflects the afternoon light like liquid mercury. Robin can't quite help reaching out to touch it when they step through the threshold. Under his fingertips, it feels solid enough.

He undoubtedly would, and it wasn't reliant on either of them needing to know anything to help. Just as well. They'd get their answer. And if the film wasn't able to be rescued without divine power, they'd still have the delight of watching Robin changing shape on screen, but it wouldn't be something just anyone could do.

"What are you hoping for?" Ganymede asks, curious. He knows what Robin said when they met in London, and it had been a funny idea, but was it truly a good - or safe - one? "And I will."

Laughing, pleased for Robin's request, Ganymede watches Robin touch the metal of the entrance with a little grin.

"I did that the first time I saw this, too. Still get the urge to, every time I come here."

It's almost hypnotizing, in a way.

"I'm not even sure," Robin confesses, giving the wall another fascinated stroke before pulling his hand away with a little grin. "I want it to work, because that would be marvelous. But I'm afraid that if it does work, everyone of my sort will have to take much greater care from here on out." The grin transforms into a rueful curve of his lips. "So that worries me." He shrugs one shoulder and follows Ganymede along a wide hallway with arches opening up to either side.

Now that he's inside, the heavy scent of metal presses in from every direction, and he recalls a reason--besides avoiding temptation--that he tends not to stay overlong in this particular palace. It isn't quite the same as mortal-worked metal, and it doesn't burn as iron does, on every breath. It's still not entirely comfortable.

He does succeed in keeping his hands mostly to himself, as a result. Despite a great many intriguing objects and devices perched on pedestals along the corridors.

"I do hope the photographs work," he says. "I'd like to have at least one or two pictures of the two of us together." Portraits, posed and precise as they are, lack the same extemporaneous charm. "Even if I'm only in a human shape, rather than something fantastical." If he particularly hopes that the one with Ganymede receiving an affectionate deer-kiss comes out, well, who can entirely blame him?

[Did you want to write Hephaestus? Or should I take a crack at it?]

"Whatever we might want, maybe it would be better if the results are terrible," Ganymede comments with a nod as they continue inside. "At least the film, if not the photographs. And if even those don't work out... at least the ones with you more transformed? since you've been in pictures, haven't you? then we'll still have them."

Hephaestus will rescue something from the negatives, no matter what, but Ganymede can't see why it won't work without extra divine intervention, so to speak. If Robin can turn up in photographs in his regular human shape, then it should work for the rest - at the very least the animal ones. Ganymede harbours some suspicion that, if there is trouble at all, it's because of the active and greater presence of magic whenever Robin transformed that might be a problem.

"The photographs will be fine," a deep, rolling voice says, soft despite its timbre, as Hephaestus comes to stand in a nearby doorway, waving them over. "One way or another, as you say, Prince Ganymede. Puck."

Hephaestus stands, tall and broad-shouldered and sooty, as if his smaller, slightly twisted legs aren't affecting him at all. Ganymede knows that's because he's standing still. Walking is always more troublesome.

"That's what I thought," he says, smile bright on his face, and offers up the camera with the film they'd made inside. It looks rather small, when Hephaestus takes it in his great hand.

"If you want to watch, you're welcome to do so."

[ ;) we can both do it, as needed.]

Robin nods, thoughtful. "I don't know that I've ever turned up in photographs in anything but human shape, but you're right--I'm not sure why any other shape should be different, providing I'm not...actively shifting between one thing or another, I suppose." Then the image would probably be blurry, but whether that was due to magic itself or just rapid movement would be another question. They've probably made themselves a suitable control for the purposes of this experiment, anyway.

He startles ever so slightly when Hephaestus speaks. In spite of their size, all the Olympians are capable of moving nigh silently when they choose, and the god of craftsmen is no exception, for all that his domain usually involves a great lot of noise. All that ticking and clinking and banging goes on, distantly, in the background of the palace. Robin chooses to blame those distractions rather than his own inattention.

"Yes!" he answers before Ganymede has a chance to so much as open his mouth, and he subsides with his most charming smile. "Um. Yes please."

Hephaestus' arched brow suggests that Robin's charm works about as well as Hermes' does, which is to say not at all. Honest enthusiasm must make up for something, however, because he only shakes his head before leading the way back into the room beyond the doorway. "Come along, then, and we'll see what we shall see."

The only risk, of course, if Robin does turn up in his more fantastical guises in the photographs with no particular additional effort in the developing process, then the Fey really are going to have to take more care in general. Turning up on film, especially while doing magic, is of course far more troublesome, but a lot more people carry cameras to take photographs with them, now that they're far more easily portable.

But they both know that. Ganymede doesn't mention it, and then Hephaestus is eyeing Robin like he's weighing whether to take his offer back or not. He doesn't, of course. If he's gotten to the point of offering, he wouldn't withdraw it, but the caution is a little funny, still.

If, perhaps, well-earned, even if Robin isn't in the mind to be mischievous right now or purloining interesting items that really doesn't belong to him. Smothering a grin, Ganymede gently elbows Robin as they follow Hephaestus inside, where he's being lightly guided deeper inside by his golden statues.

Or well, robots, more like. That there's a word now that fit better for something that Hephaestus had made thousands of years ago is pretty amazing.

"However it goes, I'll show you my dark room after," Ganymede leans in to murmur in Robin's ear.

Attempting a demonstration of good will--and good behavior--Robin clasps his hands at his back and only jostles Ganymede a very little bit in return. "You'd better," he whispers back with a quick flash of a grin. The automatons always make him uneasy, fascinating as they unquestionably are, and he follows Hephaestus in a way that keeps both the god and Ganymede mostly between him and them. Something about them makes him feel as though they're constantly watching him with unblinking focus.

That might actually be the truth. Hephaestus' skills extend far beyond Robin's minuscule bits of understanding in the realm of physics, mechanics and technological possibilities. Nothing about the thought makes them less disquieting, and he picks up his pace to stay at Ganymede's side.

They pass through several more archways before arriving at a solid door, which one statue opens with a whisper of oiled hinges. A heavy chemical scent wafts out from the darkness within, and Robin flinches back for just a moment in instinctive repulsion before mastering himself and following yet again. Some things about the modern world--and technology in general, probably--will never be entirely comfortable for him, or so he suspects. Habituation can only go so far against basic nature.

The interior is unnervingly dark, even to Robin's excellent night vision, until Hephaestus claps his hands and the space fills with a kind of eerie, sourceless illumination. "No full darkroom necessary for my current technique," he says. Robin doubts he's imagining the warm note of pride, or perhaps just satisfaction, underlining Hephaestus's words. A number of tanks line the walls of the room, and the automatons go about readying a few of them.

The automatons have only ever been a source of fascination to Ganymede, so Robin's quite obvious attempt to keep both the god and Ganymede between himself and the quiet, golden figures draws his attention. Which is the reason he's looking in the right direction to see Robin flinch when the scent from the room they've reached smacks them in the face.

Ganymede doesn't much like it either, nose curling with it, but Robin...

"Are you all right?" Ganymede's whispering not because it'd be possible to keep it private from Hephaestus, as close as they're standing, but it feels more polite, even if he knows that Hephaestus wouldn't be insulted if Robin did end up needing to leave before they were done. Ganymede shoots a soft little grin up at the god.

"Truly a darkroom when you choose to leave it so, though, my lord," he says and Hephaestus, as he turns around, chuckles, the satisfaction sliding over into, perhaps, slightly smug amusement.

"It has its uses."

Robin nods, glancing at Hephaestus, but he's politely ignoring them. "Just always a little shock," he whispers back with a wry twist of a smile. There are plenty of reasons that so many fey keep as much distance as possible between technology of all sorts and themselves, and unpleasant reactions to chemicals are probably the least of them. He should still be fine enough for the duration. Fortunately, even if he does need a bit of a breather, he can pop outside for a minute or so without forcing anyone to open a door. Hephaestus' comment makes clear that total darkness won't be necessary anyway.

After his previous enthusiastic outburst, Robin vows to keep himself mostly out of the way, but he can't help peering into the vats from a distance. One of the liquids the automaton is pouring is definitely bleach of some variety, by the scent. The rest are much more of a mystery.

So is much of what happens next. Perhaps that's simply due to Robin's general inexperience with the process--he isn't exactly primed to understand it--or perhaps he's just lost after the first couple of steps. Hephaestus would probably explain if he asked, but he doesn't want to interrupt when a single misstep might ruin their film or try the patience of the god who's seen fit to help them.

Besides, Ganymede will almost certainly give him more details when they visit his darkroom, if Robin asks.

[*insert mystical film developing process here~*]

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