radicalize | (no subject)

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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"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.