priorcommitment | in the east, the gray-green lines

When he sits at the edge of the dock and the tides have risen as much as they do now, the water manages to lap against Ishiah's ankles, the slope of his shoulders uncharacteristically hunched as he stares off into the distance. The bright chirping of birds has faded into the gentle buzz of insects in the distance, hopping from one blade of grass to the next, and Ishiah appreciates the scene just as he does everything else on the island, with an objective eye and an aching heart. It isn't enough to stop him, nor to throw off the tasks which he dutifully fulfills by the day. It isn't enough to drive him mad for the want of home.

But on the rare occasions that it crosses his mind to ask himself whether or not he's happy, the answer doesn't always seem to be so positive of one.

A pair of footsteps sound in the distance, and Ishiah, finding himself curious, glances over his shoulder to spot a young man headed in this direction, to the edge of the dock. He doesn't suspect that the young man is here for him, but instead likely just seeking the very same thing Ishiah is. A momentary period of solace.

He nods in greeting, a thin smile on his lips.

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"Keep your mind open," Ishiah says with a pointed look, shaking his head. It astounds him, sometimes, how far humans are able to fool themselves into thinking that something doesn't exist, usually whatever so happens to be the most difficult otherwise to fit into their everyday life and well-being. "Most humans where I live don't believe in the existence of curses either, and yet they most certainly exist."

"It just feels familiar. It's like with Mary Margaret. She tells me things that she knows and sees, but the truth is that none of it feels real. She does, some of the things other people tell me strike me as so real that I practically feel like I've never believed anything else. Then, a minute later, I remember that I'm just David Nolan from Storybrooke, Maine."

"David," Ishiah says, tone hard without being sharp, insistent without trying to shake the other man in the process. "Again, don't close your mind off to possibilities, nor try too hard to rationalize everything that you see, remember, or feel. There are plenty of potential explanations that might be capable of explaining what it is that you're going through, but I'm pretty sure all of them require that you don't assume truths or falsehoods with too much certainty yet, certainly when you have no one to verify one way or the other."

"So," he says, and this is the difficult part because it means that he might have to take someone he knows and not trust her at her word. "What Mary Margaret says, I shouldn't immediately count as true?" It sounds strange, especially when she's the one who told him everything. "What if I'm not even David Nolan, then?"

"What of it?" Ishiah asks, raising a brow. "It doesn't mean that she hasn't given you the most accurate identity that she knows. It doesn't mean that there might not be parts of that life that are true, or have been true. It only means that you should consider the fact that there may be more to your life, that these other memories that don't seem to fit may still be a part of what you've experienced, or are otherwise important enough to embed themselves deep into your mind." His brow furrows, not understanding where the difficulty is in understanding this fact.

Then again, he reminds himself, it's not everyone who deals with acquaintances who change identities so often, so wholly.

It's such a mindnumbing and strange concept. He doesn't know what to think of the notion that there's some sliver of hope that his memories -- all of them, no matter how confusing or insane they seem -- might be real. It's a balm for his sanity, if nothing else. "Now, it's just trying to find some kind of calm so they can come back naturally...?" It's as much a statement as it is a question.

"Speak to her if you feel that you must. Do whatever your instinct tells you do, I suppose. There's no right or wrong in this, and I am certainly no expert when it comes to reclaiming lost memories. I only know that the only time I was able to help someone I knew out of the amnesia that he was suffering from was when the two of us behaved normally around one another, keeping that relationship intact in the way that it'd always been," Ishiah explains, shaking his head. He's starting to feel that he simply doesn't have enough advice to offer in a meaningful way. "I wish I had the proper answer for you, David, but I'm getting the feeling that this situation isn't nearly so clear-cut."

"You're already more helpful than you need to be," David admits, offering a grateful smile to Ishiah. After all, you don't have to help. You don't have to be so patient and listen to me like this." For some strange reason, it reminds David of something -- of someone, but he can't place his finger on who.

He has the oddest feeling that it's someone...very small? And yet, very important. "No matter what happens with my memories, I know I want to be around her. That's all I do know."

While aware of the fact that stepping away from his position as a peri in the first place necessarily means giving up all of the responsibilities that came with it, Ishiah still can't help thinking that there is an inherent obligation that he has, as someone who's lived so long, someone who cares about the welfare of others, and someone who wants to protect his and his own in the process, to help newcomers to the island. To help the lost in Manhattan.

"I wouldn't call myself a patient man," he considers, "but I make it my priority to help in any situations where I think my experience is relevant. Regardless of what happens, you are free to turn to me with questions. I won't always have the answers, but I will always have suggestions to offer."

in the east, the gray-green lines

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