priorcommitment | memories of all that's left behind

When Zerachiel didn't show up at Ishiah's tent in the afternoon for his normal bout of training, the blonde had suspected that something had gone awry. At the same time, it was difficult to know for certain; one thing that Ishiah had observed about Zeke long ago was that he was more the type of person who would be swept away by distractions, often coming back without any way of recognizing that he was in the wrong at all for missing a lesson. Upon receiving a note from Trixa in the mail, however, he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. Someone who had been with Zeke for years, who cared for him only in the way that family could and spared no time or detail when it came to watching over the boy, would know if he had left.

It was really too bad.

Ishiah walked on over to the pair's hut, just across from his own in Bohemia, as soon as he'd returned from a shift at work. Quietly, he knocked on the front door, knowing Trixa would hear. Suspecting that she would need to talk about it, or at least to commiserate about it, as much as he needed that.

He still wasn't accustomed to losing family. And this time, without any guarantee that he would find Zeke again later on in life.

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"Thanks, although to be honest, I wish I'd made myself just a little taller, but what can you do?"

She looked around the now empty hut, trying not to wince at the memories his questions beckoned. She'd done well enough steering the conversation around and away from things, but here they were back at it. Pain, anger, if she were a Jedi, she'd be screwed. Obi-Wan she wasn't and never would be.

But she was a big fan of the truth so she decided to tell him. "I was baiting a trap and needed a good cover. The handsome bar owner with a side PI gig is a good one for me."

"Being taller comes with its share of disadvantages," Ishiah pointed out, less as a consolation and more as sheer fact. Being tall had certainly singled the peri out a number of times in his life, and in ways that weren't always positive, at that. It made him an easier targeted, it separated him from the masses of humans that he was meant to hide among. And even if it did also afford him a greater amount of blind trust given by those he was meant to protect, sometimes he wondered if those people could have ended up placing too much faith in him, as well. Certainly, Ishiah wasn't capable of doing everything.

Saving everyone.

"Baiting," he finally repeated with an exhale. "And who or what did you see fit to bait, this time?"

Her voice was low, dangerous, with an edge sharper than any knife. "The demon that killed my brother."

Another knife appeared in her hands, balanced and spun in a flashy bit of showmanship. Because really, what else was there to say? If Ishiah knew thing one about Tricksters, he'd understand what that meant. Death, and not a pleasant one.

You just don't mess with family. Getting the Light had been a nifty bonus prize, like the toy in what had been the last box of your favorite cereal.

Whatever amount of softness on Ishiah's face vanished then, weathered down to a harsh edge, unforgiving, even full of a righteous wrath. Although he had stepped away from the war long ago, decided to settle himself in Manhattan for a life apart from all of the clashes between Heaven and Hell, it didn't mean that he liked demons any more than he had as a potentate. Any more than when his body was no more than a crystalline statue meant to bring his sword down on the unworthy.

"A demon killed your brother," he repeated softly, eyes following the glinting movement of the knife slicing through the air. "I am sorry to hear of your loss, and were it in my power to help..."

He paused, evaluating his own priorities.

"I would do everything I could."

"I wouldn't accept."

The words still carried an edge. It wasn't personal, not really. But frankly, Trixa couldn't care less about the concern of a former heavenly emissary. This was paien business. It may be a demon, and Ishiah was more than welcome to hold his prejudices and grudges about that, but his was a crime against her brother, her people, her kind. It was her revenge to take, her justice to dish out and you didn't step on a Trickster's toes.

Heaven and Hell and their little soldiers could all fuck off.

Setting the final knife aside Trixa stood to cross to the back door of the hut. It was open, to catch the breeze, but it had a nice view, too. Kimano would have loved it.

Today, she hated it.

"Fair enough."

Who was Ishiah to complain of Trixa's way of attending to her affairs, provided it didn't place the innocent at risk? There were certain things, he had come to realize in his time as a peri, that one had to do on their own, or else risk lacking a sense of internal peace and acceptance. He was not at fault for what happened to Kimano's brother, and if not called upon to help, he essentially had no connection. Demons were, after all, cast aside and without any remaining ties to those they had once called brothers.

They weren't like peri.

Ishiah watched quietly as Trixa made her way to the back door, honestly unsure whether or not he was a comfort or a nuisance at that point. Either way, it didn't overly matter to him— he had arrived with the intention of making sure that Trixa would survive, which clearly seemed to be the case. As for his own loss, it was easily dealt with on his own.

"Should I leave?" he asked, quietly, hands sliding into his pockets.

"Your choice."

She stayed at the door, looking out, trying to get the mess of her thoughts in order. It was a losing battle. She couldn't pull herself out, every thought she had wound back to what she'd lost, how much it hurt, and how little she could so about it.

Leo could pull her out, but Leo wasn't here. No one was here. No one but a stuck-up peri, and over-sexed puck (who was inconveniently off the market, not that she was one to drown her sorrows in lust), and a few humans from her world she didn't even know. Yeah, life here sucked at the moment.

If the peri wanted to watch he could.

He could recognize pain. On an objective level, Ishiah also knew that it would have been better to try and alleviate it in some way. What didn't come naturally to him, however, was any notion of how to apply a salve to her emotional wounds— every idea that he came up with was rejected, as clueless as Ishiah was about what Trixa would have taken positively, or what she would balk against. Hadn't she already thrown a knife in the general direction of his head, after all?

If she refused to help herself, or to allow others to help her, then Ishiah saw no point in simply presiding over her grief.

"I'll see myself out," he concluded in a quiet tone. "But if you can think of any feasible means for me to help, let me know."

I'm not going anywhere, he almost added, before realizing that it simply wasn't a promise he could make.

memories of all that's left behind

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