priorcommitment | 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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"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."

breathe in, breathe in the day

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