Who: Helen & Paris Where: Caffe Reggio in Greenwich Village When: Friday at 6 pm Rating/Warnings: TBD
Achilles may not understand her need to see Paris after all these years. When normal mortal lovers go their separate ways, they may meet up again after decades apart. For them, it was that times hundreds. History and legend knew of their names forever intertwined: Helen and Paris. Paris and Helen. It seemed slightly better than Helen-That-Damned-Slut-Bitch-Who-Brought-Down-An-Empire. She wasn't the first woman to do so, nor would she be the last, but she was certainly one of the most infamous. Contrary to the outer image she built up around herself for centuries upon centuries, she did love Paris in her own way. With him, she could let out a part of herself that rarely saw the light of day. Not needing to keep up with appearances as she did around Menelaus and others like him, she was not so carefree as she had been since she was a little girl with only her brothers to worry about.
There were times when she found him loathsomely cowardly, but then who wouldn't be standing next to warriors like Achilles and Hector, Odysseus and Patroclus? Paris had been a happy shepherd before Zeus shuttled him into the middle of the affairs of the gods. He had been a pawn in the games of the Olympians. As was she. In a sense, for him to not back down from the legions of Greece and Sparta for the love of her was quite admirable. What a curse, the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. She felt a great sense of guilt every time she thought about Paris. It was one of the reasons she spent the centuries relatively alone, crossing countries and continents to avoid him. To think that he was now in New York City just like her. It just goes to show that she can't outrun fate forever.
So she asked him to dinner. Or he had asked her. They agreed. Sitting at the table in the back corner of Caffe Reggio was not Lena Konstantinidis, supermodel, but Helen of Troy. She even slipped into a white Grecian-styled dress for the occasion, her dark hair piled high on her head, pieces dangling down to frame her face. When she gave her name to the host, she reserved the table under Helen and Paris, party of two. The young man had a good laugh at that, but quickly sobered when he saw the look on her face. She certainly wasn't laughing. What he thought of that, Helen couldn't be certain, but it was the most surefire way for Paris to find her and, more importantly, know of her sincerity in wanting to meet. She didn't want to order before he arrived, but in the meantime got herself a cappuccino to sip on while she waited.