Anael

Robin loved museums. All the history, all the memories. Paintings especially. All the painters he'd known over the years, all the subjects, all the models. Sometimes it was a strange sense of melancholy, sitting in a room full of images from the past, from his past, ad feeling consumed by it for just a few moments.

A little masochistic even, sometimes.

He sat on a bench in the National Gallery, looking at a painting of Achilles and Patroclus. It had been so long since he'd seen them. Those souls, the pair of them, sometimes brothers sometimes not, who had appeared over and over again throughout the ages. Achilles and Patroclus were just one of the incarnations. And it had been decades since Robin had watched a version of them die again.

Still, these were some of his favorites. Even if the Trojan War had been a hell of a time.

His gaze lingered on Achilles. The beautiful body, the blonde hair. Something tugged inside him.

Willy

A fairy was playing the guitar in front of the London Eye.

That was unusual enough to make Robin stop. He looked up at the fae (yes, up, up quite a bit actually), thinking he looked familiar. One of the princes, perhaps? He was pretty enough to be. Why did the fae all have to be so damned attractive? That must be why Robin's race was so frequently mistaken for them.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and stood there as some human passerby dropped coins and bills into the guitar case at the fae's feet.