in a separation, it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things

It had taken Ishiah the greater part of a week to finally swing around the rec room. Mapping the island carefully had been the first priority, getting to know the land to gain any sort of advantages which familiarity could afford him. Mostly, he'd found forests, occasional groups of people hidden away for a touch more privacy. There had been a waterfall, too, in one of these neighborhoods; a part of Ishiah was tempted to move there and away from the Compound, which was practical, but afforded him little time for quiet thoughts. The Ninth Circle could have been busier than a hornet's nest on a good day, but what kept Ishiah capable of dealing with business for the greater part of the day was the fact that he could return to his apartment, decorated in shades of blue and white, and not have to listen to the urban buzz of Manhattan. Or the snores of newcomers in the night.

Or the smiles of Lucifer Box who, while undoubtedly friendly, seemed to hope for things that Ishiah could never afford him.

"Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me..."

He'd long since ruled out the possibility of Lucifer being dangerous, however, which was in of itself a relief.

But that night, Ishiah sat in the rec room, piles of books and loose leaves of paper strewn around him, notes taken in a multitude of colors-- not any sort of secret code or means to greater organization, but instead simply because he'd only found pens which had long since started running low on ink. The bookcase had been kind to its first-time visitor, endless copies of religious texts laying all around Ishiah, material which the peri could peruse in an effort to learn more about the apocalypse which Sam had claimed was under way in another dimension. So far, no mention of specific 'seals' which the man had explained.

"...while I'm alone and blue as can be."

In the background, the jukebox played along enthusiastically, seemingly attempting to interrupt Ishiah in any way possible. Aretha had been its first choice, before then moving to heavy metal, Miley Cyrus. Almost everything, Ishiah had been able to block out, until this song. Wearily, he rubbed at his eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, as locks of hair still fell stubbornly to block as much of the peri's gaze as possible. Still, he diligently worked away, tiny handwriting taking up the margins of the pages as he flipped through them, a few already dog-eared from fact-checking.

It was gearing up to be a long night.