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ishiah

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She ought to have seen it coming, really.

It had been barely two weeks before that she and Jill had sat on the Ferris wheel, discussing the frequency with which people left this place, the boyfriend whose baby Jill was carrying having just disappeared. Lucy had thought it then, and that was her mistake — that, after everyone else, she wouldn't be able to stand losing Jill, too. Of course, it just figured that of all people, Jill would be the one who didn't turn up, who wasn't anywhere she would have normally been, who no one had seen around. In a way, as evening came on and the truth of the matter became even more apparent, Lucy couldn't say she was surprised at all. That didn't make it any easier to accept the fact that Jill was the next one gone, and not just Jill, but her baby, too.

When she wandered into the Hub well past sunset, looking noticeably dazed, it wasn't specifically for a drink, as her tradition had so often been in the past. This time, what she needed was company, to know that not everyone had yet left her here. Sliding into a seat at the bar, she didn't so much as try for a smile, combing a hand back through her hair and sighing. "Hey," she said, a weak sort of greeting, though she was admittedly relieved to merely see Ishiah at his usual post. "You really busy?"

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Emotions were easily felt by the peri — if anything, he probably felt them in a manner more pure than most, given that life to him was still mostly a checkerboard of blacks and whites with very little in the middle at all. What was more difficult was acknowledging them verbally. He had learned, after all, that there were certain things better left unsaid and that on the whole, given how few friends or close acquaintances he had, Ishiah didn't stand to lose as much by being silent longer than was ideal than he did giving up too many of his secrets. His weaknesses. He was, of course, beginning to trust Lucy enough that it shouldn't have been a concern, if it weren't for the fact that Ishiah never knew how much to trust the judgment of humans, even if everything else was in the right place.

His eyes lingered on the subtle change in Lucy's expression, the wet-eyed look one familiar to him. Lately, usually thanks to the presence of a mirror. And it made his gaze soften as it ever did for Lucy, someone he would have checked on every day if possible; part of him, however, always feared that if she grew too attached and he were pulled away from the island before she left, herself, that it would end up being the last straw on the camel's back.

"I know someone who has fashioned a pair of hang gliders, and have tested them so often that I am confident in their reliability." Ishiah filled Lucy's glass with more juice, wondering if she'd eaten properly that day, if she had enough sugar in her bloodstream, hoping that her sorrow wasn't getting in the way of her health. "I have always enjoyed flying. Gliding may not be exactly the same type of beast, but the thrill is a similar one. Each can hold two at once, if that would make you feel safer. I think that you might enjoy it."

"It sounds like something I would enjoy," Lucy said, nodding her agreement, expression still thoughtful. From what she could see, at least where it applied to her, it struck a good balance; she'd grown vaguely reckless since Ryan had disappeared, and hang gliding was sure to provide the sort of exhilaration she craved, while at the same time, she felt more safe with Ishiah than probably anyone else on the island, and that, too, brought with it a certain appeal. He was bound to leave her someday, just like all the rest had, but for now, she would take all she could from this.

With a deep breath in, she cleared her throat, not wanting to get too caught up in sentimentality at a time like this, though there was a part of her that still couldn't shake that need to be close to someone. "I'd want to at least try it with you, first," she continued, refraining from mentioning that it would be for the security it provided, regardless of how safe a practice it was. Almost instinctively reaching for the juice he'd poured and taking a sip, she swallowed heavily, resting her hand on the counter after she'd set the glass down again. "So you do that a lot, huh? Is that because of —" Unsure quite how to phrase it, despite knowing exactly what she meant, she cut herself off, hoping the silence would be indication enough that she was referring to what he had confided in her that night at the ball.

It shouldn't have mattered to Ishiah whether or not such an activity appealed to Lucy, and yet somehow it did, to the point where hearing that she approved of the idea was met with a sense of pride. Most humans seemed afraid to take such a plunge from great heights, too concerned over their own safety or too distrusting in other people and the tools they employed, one of only many things which drove the race apart. The only indication he really gave was in his eyes, blazing with an emotion he had not found since arriving on the island.

And it quieted, slightly, as the peri was made to turn and face his own problems. "Partially, perhaps," he admitted, a cut in his brow deepening as he realized that he wasn't entirely sure. "It does relieve my stress, a great deal of which is caused by my concern for Robin's welfare. He is doing slightly better these days, but I do wonder if it's just a facade kept up by a clock that's winding down. I simply hope he returns to Manhattan before it becomes a true problem. But another reason is my selfish desire to return to the skies, now that they have been so stripped from me."

Lucy had never even met Robin, but her concern for him was instinctive, marked by an audible intake of breath and her lips pressing together more tightly. Not all of it was comparable — from what she'd gathered, Max's problems had begun with his return from the war, something she had shown up here before she could see for herself — but it felt too familiar all the same, giving her all the more reason to be grateful that she and Ishiah had met when and how they did. Maybe she couldn't help, not really, but she could at least sympathize, and that had to count for something. God knew she would've wanted someone to do the same for her, when Max was at his worst.

"I don't blame you," she said quietly, as close to fond as she ever got. "I think I'd miss it, too." But that was neither here nor there, when she would never actually experience it, and wouldn't have so much as thought of it if not for him. "And I wish there was some way to make the rest of it easier, I really do. But at least from what I've seen... There's no way to ever really be sure." Thoughtful, she lowered her gaze briefly, watching the surface of the juice in her glass as if there would be some wisdom to gain there. "I'm glad you've found something that helps. Hopefully it'll do as much for me, too."

"There isn't a way to make the rest of it easier, and I would prefer that it never feel as such to me. Easy. Possible to put in the background. The very instant that happens, the moment I let down my guard, someone will be hurt. Likely someone important to me, and after Cambriel, I cannot let that happen again," Ishiah mused, the tips of his fingers sliding along the glass of the bottle in front of him, turning it around and around, perfectly along the ring of water which clung to the bar. "Pain and fear have their practical uses, even if it is never wise to be consumed by either. Robin will never be relaxed on the island that sounds to him of a death knell, and I will never be relaxed for fear that someone hurt themselves out of a sense of desolation. There are many equipped to live in the environment offered here. You and me, I'm not sure that we're examples of that."

The hand broke contact with the glass then, pulled up to press against Ishiah's temple with a soft exhale. "But it is a fine balance that one has to strike. Not to wallow, not to get lost in emotion either, and so, yes. I hope that the hang gliding helps you as much as it does me. It's never enough just to live."

"No, we aren't," Lucy agreed, smiling a little despite the nature of what she was saying. It was the one piece of all of it that most stuck in her mind, that they weren't cut out for this place. Over the years she'd spent here, she had known others in the same position, but never before had that sense of kinship seemed so important, and simultaneously so relieving. There were few things she hated more than feeling helpless, and as far as she could see, the same held true for Ishiah. Maybe some part of her had to wish that he didn't have to feel like that, too, but conversely, at least it meant that they each had someone who understood. "And no, it isn't."

That much, she knew from experience, when people — Jude — had tried to convince her of that before. It wasn't an aspect of her past worth dwelling on. Instead, she finished off what juice she had left, swallowing heavily and staring, for a moment, into the empty glass which sat in front of her on the bar. "But hopefully it does. Like you said, it won't fix anything, but at least we won't have to worry for just a little while."

Seeing the empty glass of juice signaled the need to Ishiah for another step, methodical as his mind always was. It had been used as a distraction and nutrition all at once for Lucy, like a serving of medicine placed out on the counter and meant to be delivered with careful attentiveness. He extended a hand to brush against Lucy's hair again, soft and fond, before the ever present sense of obligation to one's patrons rose in him again — after so many years of running the Ninth Circle, it was unsurprising.

"Let's set a date for next month, then, and give you some time to prepare so that you can enjoy the experience fully," Ishiah decided, looking at the pitcher of juice nearby. "I'm afraid that I should attempt to be attentive to my patrons now, at least until my next break, but if it would be more comfortable for you to remain here, I would obviously have just as much of an obligation to serve you." The suggestion was offered with slight levity of a sort that those who knew Ishiah well could recognize — the equivalent of a peri joke.

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