priorcommitment | breathe in, breathe in the day

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breathe in, breathe in the day

Among the many things that Ishiah missed about the Ninth Circle, he always felt as though he hardly spent enough time around wildlife. In his bar, the birds had been teeming, plants placed strategically around the establishment to afford everyone privacy and to offer the birds their own safe haven. Some people had resisted the décor after his initial opening, but in time, as the years wore by, it all fell to silence, because if there was one thing that none of Manhattan could question, it was the fact that Ishiah maintained the safest bar to be found on the East Coast, if not the country altogether. Although he'd taken to working under Ianto far better than someone would expect of a peri who had held his level of title, it was lacking in that very specific respect, and so while on his self-maintained patrol, Ishiah always made sure to stop by the largest of trees, waiting for birds to approach as he scattered crumbs nearby.

Hearing someone coming down the path, Ishiah was careful to raise his head slowly, so as not to disturb the rather excitable animals. Upon seeing a young woman, he offered a small smile, even as the birds began to hop away from the stranger's direction, stepping closer to the base of the tree.

"Hello," he greeted with a slight nod, and it was a peaceful greeting, for all that his surroundings held the peri at ease.

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It's nice to be outdoors. Nicer than being cooped up in a room with no windows, no light streaming in. Mary Margaret much prefers to only use it for mandatory sleeping, heading out into the day the first chance she gets after making herself some breakfast in the kitchen. Once she's outside, she feels she can breathe easier, out underneath the warm sun and surrounded by the open air, letting the breeze welcome her the same way the sound of the birds chattering above her in the trees does. It makes her think of her birds, back home, the ones who come to visit on the windowsill and in the treehouse outside her classroom window, and she idly wonders how they're faring. The seedcakes hanging from the trees will need to be changed soon, she thinks, but there's nothing she can do about it from here.

She stops at the base of a tree almost wistfully, peering up into the branches, and then looks down, crouches slowly as a particularly bright and gorgeous bird hops into view in pursuit of a wayward crumb. "Hello," she whispers, before she realizes that the crumb has a source all its own, and peers around the trunk of the tree, grinning slowly.

"Oh, hi," she replies, rising back up to her feet as she maneuvers around, careful not to disturb the rest of the feeding flock.

Edited 2012-02-02 17:27 (UTC)

The sight of someone approaching Ishiah's spot by the base of the tree without disturbing any of the nearby birds is unusual at best. Although the majority of civilians on the island seem to be either ambivalent towards or fond of birds, thus showing no real threat, the birds continue to be elusive to most, and almost are always the first to hide when some type of danger seems imminent. It's only one of many reasons why Ishiah appreciates them as much as he does— they're smart, sensible creatures, not needlessly valiant.

And that they hop close to the quiet step of the newcomer's feet means a great deal. So Ishiah smiles. They're not his birds in the same way that the ones he raised in the Ninth Circle were, and yet he cares every bit as much for their welfare. Perhaps she does, too.

"Hello," he nods, briefly turning his gaze to a relatively clear spot next to him on the grass, tossing a few crumbs in the opposite direction to ensure that the birds have some space as she moves. "Fellow bird watcher?"

"Bird watcher, bird caretaker, birdhouse builder - when I manage to wield a hammer without self-injury, anyway," Mary Margaret murmurs, keeping her voice soft and low as she smiles, her gaze drawn to the birds around them even as she pays attention to his words, his presence, making it clear that she's as aware of him as she is their winged feeders.

"I have birds back home who come and visit, but - nothing like these. I've never seen such exotic colors," she adds. "Are they all from here, or do some of them arrive out of the blue, just like we do?"

Although the woman probably doesn't have any way of knowing, the smile which blooms over Ishiah's face is rare, genuine, and heartfelt— birds are just about his favorite creatures on earth, something majestic and unassuming about them, and such variance within the group. They know the freedom of soaring through the sky; they know the necessity of that anchor which weighs them back down to earth. They're the closest approximation, Ishiah thinks, to something like himself, but with none of the presumption.

And in that way, they are perfect.

"The next time you would like to fashion a birdhouse, I would very happy to help," he offered with a smile and a slight nod. "As for the birds... I've heard of some arriving from the same worlds as citizens here, but I think in general, it is rare for animals to show up at random as we do. If every species was in such flux, the ecosystem of this place would be unstable. Invasive species would wipe out some of the natives."

He glanced at the birds, nodding faintly. "I think the colors are just to be expected for the tropics."

"My thumbs will be sure to thank you if that's the case," she replies, chuckling lightly. She turns away from the birds, idly drawing her shawl a little closer across her shoulders, and takes a few more steps to stand closer beside him so she doesn't feel as though she needs to raise her voice above a hushed conversational tone to be heard.

"Oh, I suppose that would make sense, given cross-breeding and that sort of thing. We might end up responsible for an entirely new species of bird," she considers. "Like a red-breasted raven, or a toucardinal."

It's always been difficult for Ishiah to discern all that much in a person's tone beyond the immediate and direct interpretation of their words. With Robin, things were easier as a result of the thousands of years that they came to know each other for, and any people who share that particular sense of humor can more easily fall under Ishiah's disapproving gaze. But those of softer, muted personalities are strangely far more of a task to the peri, even though his own behavior more closely aligns with their own.

Fortunately, regardless of whether or not the suggestion is a serious one, the image of the cross-breeded birds is amusing enough to Ishiah that he smiles in her direction. "As long as we steer clear of flamingulls," he muses. "I'm not certain that the world would be ready for those."

"Oh, the beautiful and elusive flamingull," Mary Margaret agrees, nodding mock-solemnly despite the smile that sneaks past, exposing the humor in her words. "People might not be able to handle such a sight."

She crouches down slowly to make herself less of an intimidating tower for the birds, trying to get a glimpse of the ones that have landed in order to feed, while more still linger in the branches above. "Do you keep any personally, or do you just enjoy taking care of the island's population?"

"I wouldn't be so bold as to lay ownership to any of the birds here," Ishiah smiles, reaching into the small pouch he's brought along and holding out a crust of dry bread, in case she should like to feed the birds as well. "Back in Manhattan, I was caretaker of dozens, but they were raised in captivity and thus needed the support. Here, I can't say the same, so they are my companions and nothing else."

He carefully folds his legs in the lotus position, elbows resting momentarily on his knees. "My name is Ishiah. It's a pleasure to meet such an avid avian fan. Most people here seem to prefer dogs and cats. Wolves too, inexplicably."

"Oh, you're from New York? How exciting," Mary Margaret replies, almost jealously. "I never really got far beyond home, myself, but I always wanted to visit the Big Apple. All those tall buildings, all those people. It would probably be something of a culture shock for little old me."

She takes the crust of bread from him and assumes a seated position a short distance away, knees nudged to one side to allow for the skirt of her sundress, and starts tossing crumbs underhanded towards the milling crowd. "Wolves kind of give me the creeps. No offense to wolf-lovers or anything, but - there's something about birds that is just so calming."

"There exist vicious birds, but on the whole, they are gentler, I would say, than canines," Ishiah nodded in agreement. Perhaps he was a bit biased against wolves, never having greatly enjoyed his interactions with Kin. Delilah, in particular, had a way of knowing exactly how to slip under his skin, aggravating him by abusing his pet peeves. Calling him names, questioning his honor and willpower. Ishiah hated it, even if they were allies on the whole.

"As for New York, I have a fondness for it, but I'm afraid that it's more closely linked to the people than the location itself. My friends and family are there. The general state of the city, I could probably do without."

"People say you can't read birds that well, but they're just as easy to understand as a dog or cat if you know how to look for the signs," Mary Margaret openly muses, breaking off another piece of the crust and tossing it out into the middle with a small flick of her wrist. The repetition in the movement, the happy sounds from the birds as they feed - some resorting to competition for food - it all serves to leave her with this inner peace, and her smile reflects that when she turns back to him.

"I probably couldn't stay for more than the length of a short trip," she admits. "I'd feel - too cooped up. Too confined. Like one of these guys trapped in a cage."

"That they are," Ishiah agrees, carefully curling his tongue and whistling to the nearest bird, who hops closer by a step or two and chirps in return, still too shy to come into actual contact as he pecks through the grass for remaining crumbs. "Singing is a wonderful indicator, for those birds inclined to do so. Barring that, the movement. In the same way that people have a spring in their step, so to speak, birds are capable of the same."

Letting his gaze sweep over the island, as though to draw quick comparisons between this place and the high, towering buildings of New York, Ishiah nods slowly. "If New York would make you feel caged, then may I ask— how does this place make you feel?"

"And yet you can always tell when a bird's song is full of longing, or sorrow," Mary Margaret replies, breaking off another piece of bread and rolling it in between her fingers to turn it into a smaller piece before tossing it out among the rest.

"Honestly?" She pauses, taking in their surroundings for a short moment. "Free. Open. Maybe even a little too exposed, and sometimes a bit nervous as a result. I'm not entirely sure why, though."

"Too exposed?" Ishiah asks in surprise. It's not a reaction that he hears often, although upon deeper thought, Ishiah thinks he can understand where the young lady's coming from. There are things that this island is capable of doing that are indisputably private, that burrow into the mind, but somehow to Ishiah, it's always being trapped that his mind goes to first.

After countless years of being capable of telepathy, it's being chained down to the earth that the peri finds himself most unaccustomed to. Only two years, and already he feels like he hardly remembers what it's like to fly.

"It's strange, isn't it?" she asks, the irony of her words not entirely lost in the moment, and she can't place a finger on exactly why she feels nervous being almost out in the open like she is now, like she needs to be looking over her shoulder every so often - but for what? Thus far, she's seen no reason for her nerves or paranoia; there's been nothing to suggest that she even needs to feel this way, and yet it continues to creep up on her as if a reminder that she shouldn't forget it.

"I don't know. It sounds silly when I say it out loud," she replies, shaking her head quickly. "I don't even know how to explain it, really, it's just - wondering if I should be watching my back."

"No, that's not strange," admits Ishiah, his expression evening out, solemn in the way that he's been for all his life, save for moments of flashing anger or the rare calm of contentment. It's these types of situations that he was made to combat, and so he has nothing but sympathy for the young lady in being sharp enough to catch the same suspicions, each one probably setting her on edge. "And I wouldn't call it silly. It's smart to be wary of a place that's capable of doing so much, and even at times dives right into our very thoughts and twists them however it feels like doing. I think being careful here is prudent."

His brows furrows.

"In fact, I still have my doubts as to whether all of this peace will really persist for long. So far, we haven't had an event so catastrophic as to lose many people at once, but sometimes I feel that someone is merely biding his or her time."

"Careful. Cautious. Maybe that's a better way of saying it than 'paranoid'," Mary Margaret answers, with a slightly self-deprecating laugh. She doesn't quite know why she feels so exposed out here in the open, as though she's expecting something - or someone - to swoop down and take her. But at the same time, being outside is so freeing that it ultimately trumps the anxiety in the back of her mind, threatening to make her worry.

"Someone. So you think the island is a person, then - or some kind of being?" she asks, curiosity edging into her voice at his particular usage of the word.

"It's not paranoia if it's grounded in actual, quantifiable risks," Ishiah points out, a hand raising to rub at the bridge of his nose in thought. Not many people took the time to sit through the Council records— and indeed, Ishiah often wondered why it was that no one had printed out regular pamphlets to hand over to new arrivals, everything distilled into the shortest of summaries for quick perusal. "Nightmares have come to life before on the island. People have been taken temporarily to the most trying periods of their lives. Bodies have been switched. Personalities reversed. There truly are any number of challenges that take place here."

With an exhale, he nods. "Which is precisely why I think there is something sentient responsible for the ongoings of the island. Whether you choose to call it a person, a being, or so forth, there is some force that specifically makes these decisions and knows well how to torment the people here."

It's difficult not to let her expression shift into one of surprise as he speaks, so she doesn't even attempt to hide it, both eyebrows rising the longer he takes to describe some of the recent happenings here - and she doesn't even know what kind of a time span they're looking at. It could be anywhere from a few months to a couple years, though ultimately that does nothing to assuage the sensation of worry deep down in her gut.

"Torment? But why would anyone want to do that, deliberately? To try to ruin others' happiness?" Something about her own question strikes a chord, and she clears her throat, tearing off a piece of bread somewhat more harshly than she intends to.

"The saying 'misery loves company' comes to mind," Ishiah murmurs darkly, as frustrated as anyone can be by the injustice and illogical nature of the beast, as Mary's pointed out so well. Why would anyone want to deliberately ruin someone else's day? Why would anyone want to compromise another person's happiness? And yet, it happens, and often, as though happiness is perceived to be of some limited quantity that everyone needs to scramble for.

It doesn't actually work like that.

"People who seek to make others miserable often have some problem in their lives that they cannot seem to solve. An ache of something missing, an inability to find happiness in a solid, consistent way. The ones who cause pain are often among the most pitiful. And from our perspective, that 'why' may never be truly clear."

"They're grieving for something themselves," Mary Margaret considers, looking down at her hands. The piece of bread she's broken up has somehow been balled up in her fingertips, and she tosses it out in the birds' direction, careful not to throw it too harshly.

"I feel like I know someone like that," she says, her voice still slightly faint. "Someone who experienced a great hurt, a great offense in their life - and then did all they could to ruin that for everyone else. But I - "

Faces swim in her memory and she can't linger on just one, and now she's having a hard time breathing. Is this like what's happening to David? Memories returning that she has no explanation for, no basis for other than the fact that she happens to feel them?

He leans forward immediately at her recoil, expression concerned. There's nothing in her words themselves that sounds like the basis for a panic attack, nothing from which Ishiah can detect imminent danger, but every part of her body seems to seize with something, and Ishiah thinks that it's in his interest to figure out just what.

"What's happening?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he leans inside, hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, a few birds scattering from his sudden movement. "You appear troubled. Are you in pain?"

"I don't know," Mary Margaret admits, fear creeping into the edges of her voice - but it's more than that, more than fear. There's sadness in it, sadness and overwhelming loss, and she closes her eyes against it, as if blocking her sight will somehow block the vision in her mind's eye.

"I see - I saw something, for a minute. I don't know," she finally adds, lifting her head. Was it a memory? It had felt very real, that darkness, that evil with its undertones of pain and rage, that black cloud threatening to overcome. "It's gone now, whatever it was."

"The island is capable of drawing visions out of thin air," Ishiah remarks, eyes narrowing as he glances more closely at the young woman, surprised by the level of emotion in her voice for something which passed by so quickly. He's seen all too many people lately who've been plagued by notions that the island put in their minds, or memories raised without warning. "Perhaps it was something along those lines. Or perhaps a memory long repressed."

He thinks of Caliban as well, years gone from his life without any recollection at all. People hide from themselves, Ishiah thinks, when it's too much to process.

"I did arrive around the same time as someone else, from home," she admits, considering David in all of this. He's remembering new things every day, events that she herself has no recollection of but can feel herself drawing towards them, as if she wants to. "He'd forgotten who he was, and now he seems to finally be remembering, bits and pieces, moments that seem almost - "

Her gaze falls, for another beat, turning over the bread in her hands before the last word slips out. "Impossible."

"Impossible how?" Ishiah asks, eyes narrowing at once. He's seen any number of strange things happen over the course of his life, things that any other individual might deem impossible— it's the nature of the beast. There isn't a single species that hasn't come a long way, that hasn't made progress in some form or other, and progress necessarily means new developments that never would have been foreseen prior.

"Something similar to the feeling you just had from your visions?"

"I just - don't see how he would've had the ability to do anything like that, at least not back where we're from," Mary Margaret explains, shaking her head slowly. "He talks about fighting damsels and thieves in the woods - sometimes dragons, even. I don't know where he would have had to be in order to remember something like that. Definitely not Storybrooke, that's for certain."

She doesn't add the part where the feelings she has in regards to these memories of his are occasionally strong, as though there's a piece of her that's reliving them too.

"There is a lot in our respective worlds that each one of us may not be aware of," Ishiah points out, not unkindly, tilting to catch her gaze more readily. "In my world, humans are on the whole rather ignorant of our presence. They don't know of peri, of werewolves, of pucks, except as being myths, supposedly. My existence on earth would hardly be believed by anyone I might choose to tell."

He ends his words with another nod of his head, as though trying to have her consider the possibility, at least. She seems level-headed enough to try and take some of it in.

"I guess that's true," Mary Margaret replies, gnawing the inside of her cheek in thought. Storybrooke seems fairly immune to the possibility of otherworldly things - at least the kinds of things that most people would be unaware of. It's such a small town that she figures a werewolf or something like it would definitely be noticed.

"And what are you, in your world? Were? Is that a more appropriate - I mean, you do look very, um, normal."

Ishiah reminds himself, sharply, of the fact that Mary has no way of knowing what weres are like in his world. From anyone else, from anyone who's seen Manhattan at the height of its paranormal activity, being compared to a were is nothing short of an insult in his eyes, the weres far too short-sighted, far too volatile— and even without a decent sense of personal hygiene.

"No," he says, frowning. "'Kin' is the term that weres in my area tend to use, but I am anything but. I was personally a peri."

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breathe in, breathe in the day

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