if they only knew how thin the ice they walk on is

[priorcommitment]

As often as Ishiah had once berated Robin for not knowing his own limits and being reticent about asking others for help, the peri often fell into similar habits himself. There was a touch less self-awareness, of course. Robin Goodfellow knew very well when something was too much for him, and ran just about as often from life and his troubles— Ishiah, on the other hand, was precisely the opposite, convinced that he could handle himself and all of the responsibilities foisted onto him, until all at once it became too much and left him floundering with no way to break the surface of the water.

Those days, the problem was Caliban.

Perhaps that wasn't the best way to describe it. Caliban wasn't, after all, a problem in of himself. The island had removed the most practical concern that the once half-Auphe brought about with him, and sharp though his tongue could sometimes be, for the most part he was as decently well-behaved as someone in his position could be. Niko had done a miracle of a job, raising a child with an X written on the back of his head, with the worst melting pot of genes imaginable, into a young man who knew how to respect. The average American parents couldn't even say that much.

But the point was, however well Caliban had been brought up under the hands of his guardian, Ishiah wasn't well-equipped to take that man's place. When peri came to Ishiah, he knew precisely where they'd been, the lives they once knew, and could retrace his own steps well enough to be as helpful as could be. This was different.

This had him waiting on Trixa Iktomi's doorstep, brow furrowed in thought. He knocked on the door.

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[tricksthetreat.livejournal.com]

"S'Open."

Standing at her miniature still, Trixa looked over at the closed door, wondering who had come by to darken her doorstep. She wasn't exactly expecting anyone at the moment, but with Freddie having his issues over those three little words he was or wasn't saying or taking back or whatever the hell was going on with him she wouldn't be half surprised if her neighbor was in need of a drink. And since she was closer than the bar... if it was Freddie, he'd be in luck. Trixa was straining the berries and fruit pulp out of the last batch of vodka, finally, she'd hit on a mix of fruit and herbs that didn't taste cloyingly sweet, but still cut the acid-like burn her home brew tended to have.

She was oddly proud of the accomplishment, too, never having been one to make for herself what she could con, borrow, or steal out of others and she had to admit, part of her was looking forward to sharing. Even if her favorite drinking partners from home weren't here to share it with her.

...Ye, Gods, what kind of Trickster was she becoming? Making things, missing friends, getting settled? Her Mama would kick her ass and laugh doing it, but Trixa didn't feel like she had any other options. She was good and trapped in this place, she hated it, but damn if she wasn't trying to make the best of it.

"Shit." Concentration wavering, she'd managed to spill the alcohol, a fragrant puddle pooling on her table. Looking about, she started to set the beaker of half-strained liquor aside so she could wipe it up, hoping that Freddie, or whoever it was, was capable of opening the damn door themselves.