priorcommitment | and somehow we told him what to do, but he won't ever listen to you

Although the joke was not so lost on her as it seemed to be on Ishiah, Buffy found herself infinitely more amused by his reaction, one of pure confusion as opposed to the undiluted disdain employed by most, herself not excluded. Traipsing into the room, a smile readily spreading across her face, Buffy cleared her throat as she neared, lifting a hand to wave gently when he turned. Even with his back to her, she could tell he looked worn. Brushing away a tinge of guilt, Buffy remembered how she had counted herself among the lucky last year, Angel having arrived only shortly before Robin disappeared. A fatal error, apparently, the island having wasted no time in teaching her lesson after lesson, first with Giles, then Angel, then really Angel, again and this time for good. So much for luck.

Relying, as she usually did, on her sparkling wit, Buffy wasted no time in attempting to cheer Ishiah up, wasted effort though it might be. Why she graviated toward the stoic ones, she would never truly understand. “Maybe it’s trying for a not-so-subtle hint at something,” she suggested, nudging down at the shelf. Eyes soon widening, she gasped, “You don’t think... Ish, could you be pregnant?”

Ishiah wasn't close to most of the people he ran across on the island. Most days, he passed the majority of people by without more than a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment, and sometimes not even with that when he was busy at work with some task. So when the movement had first registered in his peripheral vision, Ishiah hadn't paid it much mind, until he realized who it was and turned, with some surprise, to give Buffy his full attention. She was one of the few he'd kept a close watch on, for a time. And in those months, he'd come to develop some sort of sentiment for her, a fierce protectiveness and desire to keep her safe, even happy if he could manage it. Ishiah didn't feel very adept at the latter, though.

"Buffy," he greeted with a soft nod, before his expression turned into one of greater confusion, perhaps even a touch of horror as he cast wide eyes toward the bookshelf. "I don't think that's... it isn't possible. I can't— well, I am capable of procreating on the island, or so I've heard, but I'm pretty sure I would have the opposite. Role."

Were she so inclined, it would have taken quite the effort for Buffy to remain politely stoic in the wake of Ishiah's confusion. Fortunately for her, she had no intention of trying, opting for just the opposite when she burst into a fit of giggles. Clapping both hands over her face, Buffy shook her head, a little embarrassed yet very amused. "I'm sorry," she managed, looking back up only to be thwarted by the seriousness of his expression, the confused crease of his brow. "I wasn't, I, I was just kidding."

Unsurprisingly, she took her time regaining what composure she could, aided by many a deep breath and brush of fingers through her hair. She hoped that Ishiah wouldn't mistake it for her teasing at his expense, but as grave as he could be, he did also happen to be rather unflappable. Either way, she had needed this, unable to recall the last time she'd had purpose to laugh so much and so freely. It felt good, fleeting though it might be, to be able to just let go for a moment and enjoy herself, not dwelling on what she wasn't doing and who she didn't have here.

"No," she said at last, shaking her head, "You're right. I don't think even the island has the power to bend the laws of biology so thoroughly — and creepily. Unless it interprets that as a challenge, so just let me clarify that it so wasn't, not even a little bit."

His lips remained agape as Ishiah watched her laugh, not taking offense to it, solely because Buffy Summers didn't seem like the type to laugh at another's expense. The same couldn't have been said of Robin Goodfellow, or indeed even of the Leandros brothers, both of whom enjoyed a very wry sort of humor. Buffy Summers, however, was in many ways an enigma. Ishiah had stumbled upon her during some of her more uncertain moments, expressions and heart worn right on her sleeve— but even the most expressive of faces didn't offer much help for someone like Ishiah, who was largely still incapable of reading them. Whatever amount of time he'd put toward understanding humans in the past had been largely halted after the war in Manhattan, aimed at driving out demons and Eden House alike.

"I... didn't think that you were being serious," he managed carefully, staring closely for any hint of a reaction on Buffy's end, before he gave up, setting that question aside entirely. "The very thought alone was still— at any rate, you might find yourself surprised. I've read most of the records available on the island, and sudden, inexplicable, and fortunately temporary sex changes have happened before."

"For a second there I was worried you'd say something incredibly disturbing and foreboding. Thanks for defying all odds and pointing out the bright side instead," says Buffy wryly, though her tone is lighter than it is sarcastic. She wonders if he'll recognize the difference; he isn't stupid, but something tells her that Ishiah isn't so familiar with sarcasm as she. Then again, he was seeing Robin Goodfellow, making that not too safe a bet. "But enough about abrupt sex changes," she pipes up, waving the thought away with both hands. "Even I have my daily fate tempting quota and I think it's been reached."

The tone almost reminds Ishiah of Caliban for a moment, though not nearly as surly, not quite so negative, if Ishiah can be so bold to read that far into inflection. If anything, it reminds Ishiah of Robin on his brighter days, pointing out flaws, apparent contradictions, anything that gives him a moment of gloating and a reason to smile that wide smile, all teeth and bright eyes. So he lets it slide, knowing that he may not ever understand that type of humor in full, nodding in agreement when she tries to push the thoughts away.

"Agreed," he says quietly, stretching out on the couch, resting his elbow against the back. "No reason to tempt forces which have already brought us here against our will. But that aside, how have you been? It's been some time since we last spoke."

Where to start, wonders Buffy, the question for obvious reasons not posed aloud. There are days when she can muster the energy to be okay, and there are days when she can't be bothered to try. She's not sure which category today will fall into, so she shrugs instead, 'I don't know' the most honest answer she can give at the moment.

"You mind going first?" She isn't quite sure where the question came from, or how it managed to escape her lips, but then it's out there and there's nothing she can do about it. Just smile and hope that Ishiah won't take it the wrong way. She's not unwilling to talk about herself, just not ready quite yet.

The look that passes over Buffy's face is conflicted; Ishiah's starting to recognize the subtleties in those sorts of expressions more these days than ever before. He's not really sure why it's been so difficult, up until this point. It's possible that he's simply focused more on his family than on anyone else, that the affairs of peri have always overshadowed the state that humans in the area find themselves in. Change best happens when there's no choice involved, he thinks to himself. That's what Tabula Rasa is, to him.

Fortunately, he trusts Buffy enough that he doesn't mind being the first to open up, a rarity for Ishiah in specific.

"I..." he sighs, looking over at the bookshelf again. "After months of feeling aimless, I now have a purpose once more, but it has come at the cost of Caliban Leandros losing his brother. Thus, the trade-off isn't for the better. But I do feel less lost than before, if no less overwhelmed."

A short while ago, Buffy had the (not quite) privilege of meeting the fabled Caliban and within moments discerned that he was the most major of jerks. Even so, losing a sibling is something she would wish on no one; losing anyone in general, really, but it's this case in particular that hits so close to home. She knew Niko, if only in passing, and for all that she suspected there was more than met the eye, he made a good impression. Sometimes, it's hard to consider it for the best when someone leaves, that they're being removed from all this at last. It's always easier to focus on what's left behind, and more often than not, what's left is whole lot of pain.

"How is it going? With Caliban, I mean, is he — Are you, the two of you in general, the royal you... s. He strikes me as stubborn." Hopefully, Ishiah won't take her statement the wrong way, meant to sympathize more than pass judgment. On the one hand, she's dealt with stubborn before, Dawn embodying the word in ever way, shape, and form. On the other, Buffy herself can be hardheaded sometimes, where sometimes means oftentimes and oftentimes means just about always.

If there's a particular answer that Buffy's looking for, Ishiah has no idea what it is. Perhaps that's for the better. As of late, he's been trying to temper himself to the needs of others, keeping himself within the range of what society expects of him. But in truth, he feels the most comfortable when he's not beholden to anything other than the principles and impulses etched in his brain like stone, the result of him having been created for a specific purpose, and to follow a set of strictly written rules. So he takes her question at face level, not minding that she's stumbled, and for the most part unsure what to do with her slight hesitation.

"He's extremely stubborn," Ishiah confirms, with a slight quirk at the corner of his lips. "And coming from someone who has worked by a large population of single-track minds for thousands of years, that is making quite the statement. Caliban, at current, is under the very firm impression that Niko having a life away from him would make things easier. That Niko had never deserved to be saddled with the weight of a rather, let's say, high-maintenance younger brother."

There have been times when Buffy herself has been of similar mindset, not as it relates to Dawn — she was created from and for Buffy herself, after all — but regarding her mom. Both her parents, even, back when she was utterly convinced that she'd been the reason for their divorce. That's not the case anymore, not because she's less insecure but because she's channeled that into anger, wanting nothing to do with her father any longer. (That works out, she thinks bitterly, as he wants nothing to do with his daughters, either.) She used to believe, however, that it was her calling which ruined everything for the Summers family, that if only she'd been normal, they could have stayed together. If she'd been normal, her mother wouldn't have had so hard a time.

"You disagree," she guesses, her thoughts returning at last to Ishiah. In some part, it's true that she's diverting from having to talk about herself, but there's so much about Ishiah that's mysterious, she can't pretend not to be interested.

Edited 2011-05-02 00:20 (UTC)

He watches, as her gaze grows distant. Where one's eyes settle seems to be a strong indicator of where their thoughts lie. Focused on the other person, and it's trying to understand one's partner in conversation. Focused on some indistinct point, and it's trying to understand the notion on a more academic level. But a lack of focus altogether hints at something different, at trying to see something beyond the current time, nostalgia or empathy all mixed up in one. His lips almost part to ask, to see more of the life of Buffy's that Ishiah knows to be anything but normal, but before he can, she speaks up again at last, the question not one that he can easily avoid.

Gaze lowering, he takes a slow breath.

"I think that the world doesn't work in a manner where all under the sky receive what they deserve. All souls are made equal, yet cannot wake up in the same bed, with the same family... and instead, what should be respected are the choices one makes as they go through life," he slowly explains. "Niko, having had Caliban in his life, would not wish for his younger brother to disappear from his life. That is all that matters."

"Do you have any siblings?" Buffy doesn't know a great deal about Ishiah, but she surprises even herself with the question, finding it strange that for almost a year they have known one another and still something like this remains a mystery. Having read none of the books but watched some of the films, she knows that technically, they're all siblings under God, or something like that. But it's weird to think of the man before her as a brother, and not just because she's so used to a family comprised of strong women.

The way that he speaks, she gets the feeling he's though about it before, that he isn't just thinking this up on the spot. He knows whole lot about and even bigger lot, though, so it's hard to say for sure whether he's speaking from knowledge or experience. All stoicness aside, though, he has always been relatively forthcoming with her, something she definitely appreciates, and hopefully there's no harm in asking.

He isn't supposed to prefer any of his siblings over the others. It's not wired into his genes, not something he's been at all emotionally capable of, valuing one above the other, until his feet set down on ground for good. And maybe it isn't preference that draws Ishiah's breath in, sudden and sharp, but the effect is similar. He sees one face, one color of hair, the strands long and thin, wispy as they frame a face he hasn't seen in years now. Inhaling slowly, willing his breath not to waver, he nods. "Angels... we were all siblings," he explains, leaning back until his neck hits the couch. "Not only in a technical sense, but also in devotion. We all acted as one whole, one collective group, cared about one another as we did ourselves. Of course, as angels, we had goals and responsibilities which often preceded obligations we had to one another."

After a pause, he turns, gaze grazing over her eyes. "But when one becomes peri, the relationship changes. It's a family of choice, not merely of obligation or nature. I had many brothers, all younger than myself, all of us working in one establishment and keeping close together as we adjusted to a mortal life. One of them passed away recently, and that's been its own experience as well."

"I'm sorry," Buffy says at once, not quite a knee-jerk response but certainly automatic, her voice breaking softly at the end. The suggestion alone is hard to handle, reluctantly reminding her of what it was like to nearly lose Dawn, and how she would have jumped at any chance to save her. How she did jump at the chance, quite literally, and has never regretted it since. She regretted coming back, regretted almost everything she did in the wake of her resurrection, but never the sacrifice itself, that part was never negotiable. For all the time she's spent in churches and cemeteries, Buffy still knows very little about religion, about the Bible, and she wonders what Ishiah might think of such a sacrifice. They say suicide is a sin regardless of the situation, but they're also pretty big on Jesus' sacrifice, so maybe there's a loophole somewhere in there. Mostly, she wonders if Ishiah would do the same himself, but it's not the kind of question one can easily blurt out.

"We can move off the subject, if you'd prefer," she suggests, admittedly a bit uncomfortable herself. Too many emotions and all the time in the world to dwell make for rather unhealthy combinations. "Besides, I just asked, like, twenty questions, you deserve a turn, too."

He's not entirely sure why she's apologizing. Lack of tact has never been something that particularly bothers Ishiah, being a direct person himself, and if anything, he appreciates it in others. It removes the need to try and read subtlety, which rests differently on each person's face and manifests differently in their actions. But he looks over at her, trying to understand, before he shakes his head lightly, his hands folding together. "There's no need to apologize, nor a need to move away from the subject," Ishiah says quietly, his lips pressing together. "When you are what we are, loss is something one grows accustomed to. But I won't say no to the opportunity to better know you."

Pausing, he tilts his head.

"You have a sibling of your own, don't you? What was that relationship like?"

Buffy barely fights off a faint smile, distantly aware of how peculiar her reaction given the heavy topic. There are few people here she feels comfortable confiding in, spoiled with the same friends and allies since adolescence back in Sunnydale. She's not a reclusive person by far, but some things are easier to share than others, and even fewer understand so thoroughly what her life has been like. Ishiah is a gift, she's realizing more and more these days, constantly asking herself how she didn't see it before.

Plus, it's always flattering when a cute guy wants to 'better know her,' even if said guy is still mourning the loss of his boyfriend. (Boyfriend, she reminds herself, just in case it didn't sink in the first few times. She would conveniently forget such a key detail.)

"Dawn," breathes Buffy, answering the question with a purposeful nod. "We fight a lot," she continues, mindful to remain in the present tense no matter how long it's been since they were last together. "Not fight, actually, that sounds too dark. More like... squabble. She likes to borrow my clothes without asking and always eats the last of the cereal but never throws away the box. And lately she's taken to teasing me for being shorter which doesn't even bother me because I've been this height my whole life, I'm used to it, I take pride in my height or lack thereof. But just in case, she's not allowed to wear heels."

That she's capable of smiling still is a good thing, Ishiah thinks to himself, watching carefully in the way that he only ever does with those he cares deeply for. Buffy has, over the months, become one of that relatively small group. He's not quite sure how she entered that inner circle of his to begin with, whether it's her personality, or the fact that there are certain types of experiences that they share— ultimately, he's finding that it doesn't matter, that sometimes emotions simply are or aren't, but that doesn't stop him from being curious nonetheless.

It's strange, not entirely knowing oneself.

He runs his finger against his lower lip in thought. "My relationships with my brothers were all quite different from what you've just described. Fighting between us would always be serious, worthy of deep concern," he muses. "Which is not to say that conversations about height and cereal don't deserve their own time, only that if one ever hears that two peri are fighting, usually preparing for a physical altercation is necessary. Debate isn't our strong suit."

After a pause, he adds, with a furrowed brow. "For what it's worth, I also see nothing wrong with your height."

If nothing else, Ishiah deserves a fair amount of credit for bringing yet another smile to her face. She has no delusions about her arguments with Dawn; their spats over the most mundane subjects can seem ridiculous, but the trivial things aren't always so trivial at all. Anyway, the Summers method of burning off pent up tension seems healthier than what Ishiah has just relayed.

"Thanks for that," she laughs lightly, opting not to point out how easy it is to disregard matters of height when one towers over all others in sight. He only meant to cheer her up, a task he's succeeded at quite well if she might say. "If Dawn ever pops up here I'll be climbing on your shoulders just to win arguments," she adds, sticking her tongue out mischievously.

"Is that a widespread angel thing," she wonders, "the not being good with debate? Not that I'm planning to challenge you to one, but you don't strike me as... undebatable." With a sigh at her own choice of words, Buffy waves a hand as if to clear the air, then clarifies. "What I mean is, you seem understanding. To me."

Ishiah takes a slightly slower breath after the question. Even if he's opened up to more people on the island about his past than he ever did with humans in such a short timeframe at home, it doesn't mean that he's without reservations. The island's forced Ishiah to look more closely at himself than ever before, now that his very biological make-up has taken the last step towards and to humanity. He feels himself changing by the day, in ways that still shouldn't have been possible, but fear with regards to self has yet to settle in.

That's not natural, yet. But it's getting there.

"I would say that it goes beyond widespread," Ishiah considers quietly. "It has to do with the very way we're created. When you have rules and principles etched into your very mind, there's no need for debate. It's black and white."

Although nothing has ever been so cut and dry for her, Buffy can understand on some level how it must feel, she herself still coping in many ways with being the chosen one. There have always been forces within her, hidden deep inside but bubbling all the same, forces she can't yet understand and perhaps never will. In there rests the thirst for the fight, the energy, perseverance, all things she never knew she had the power to summon. In the back of her mind, she knows just what to do, instinct taking over in the heat of battle, as if etched into her mind just as Ishiah is saying.

She doubts his commands tell him to fight and kill; he isn't the Slayer. Death is not his gift.

Lost in thought, it's a while before she remembers it's her turn to speak; when she does, it's to pose another question in hopes of distracting attention from herself. She's busy, now, wondering what monsters hide beneath her skin. "Is it still like that now that you're human?"

It's a credit to how much Ishiah has adapted that he can consider Buffy's question without the brief, existential crisis he had faced shortly after arriving on the island. Robin had, ultimately, been the one who fared worse with the adjustment, but Ishiah had his own doubts as well, particularly after the puck left. The unique aspect of being a peri was that all of the choices were granted by free will, that he didn't have to credit any physical changes or irreversible decisions for differences in his behavior. Now that he's human and has to face morality, Ishiah wonders if his choices are colored by necessity. Wonders if that's just a part of being human.

There's no textbook for that type of thing.

"I don't know whether or not being human can be credited," Ishiah answers honestly. "I don't know what type of difference being human has made in specific. I do know that becoming peri granted me that free will, and with it, grays and colors became more clear. If anything, however, I feel that being human limits that view. There are some decisions one simply can't make. And others one is forced into."

She hasn't exactly been verbose throughout — understandable given that this is Ishiah and they aren't exactly fussing over the latest island gossip — but she remains silent for far longer than usual, this time, at a loss for words. The problem is that she agrees so thoroughly, there's nothing left to be said. Both are situations she is more than familiar with: The impossible decision and the decision that was never really hers at all. The latter defined her life, the former ended it. Funny how that works, she thinks, except not at all. Typically, she's Miss Sunny Disposition, eager to look at the bright side and crack jokes in the face of grave danger, but Ishiah doesn't invite that sort of behavior. She almost worries about disrespecting him, perhaps more preoccupied with his opinion of her than she really should be. He's still here talking to her, after all.

"Yeah," she mutters at last, followed by a solemn nod. "Yeah. I would say that's... accurate."

The silence, coming from Buffy's end, throws Ishiah a little. On one hand, he knows that she's capable of a great deal, even suspects that much of the time when the two of them speak, that Buffy tempers her words and behavior to better fit the atmosphere. (It's something Caliban can certainly never claim to having done.) But through it all, there's still an ineffable nature of hers that shines through, and part of that is how quickly she processes her thoughts and presents them to others in turn. This time, he's left hanging, waiting for her to say something, to offer further insight or even to disagree.

Only when she finally offers her agreement, nothing more than that, does Ishiah slowly let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding at all. "If I have, I didn't mean to upset you," he says, still struck by her quiet tone.

"No," Buffy says abruptly, shaking her head. "No, not at all. It's just..." She trails off with a faint laugh, hands busied with tucking back her hair as she tries to find the right words to describe how she feels. That's the other thing about Ishiah, the way that he works, she can't just expect him to look at her and know, though it would certainly be easier than trying to explain. And yet, she evidently doesn't have to worry about him understanding her, he's more than proved that thus far.

With a deep breath, she tries again: "Sometimes you say things like that and it's like, like you're peering into my soul." She cuts herself off with another small laugh, shaking her head softly before adding, "Not literally, of course, I know you're not a mind reader. But there aren't a lot of people like me. Like us. This whole being understood thing, it's kind of new to me."

Soul.

It's one of the words that has always triggered a negative response from Robin. While it doesn't sound like all worlds have the same stark divide that Ishiah's own does, the fact is that soul, to Ishiah and most others from his world, is something which only believers of God have. It's a way of marking God's creatures as His own, and providing them the chance to receive their ticket past the pearly gates, whenever it comes to be time for that.

Robin can't ever enter Heaven, doesn't technically have a soul. And there's a certain hopelessness that comes with considering that fact. Someday, the two of them will separate for good.

No way of finding their way back.

"I assure you," Ishiah says at last. "I'm making no special effort to look into any soul, yours or anyone else's. But I agree that... in one way or another, there's a lot that the two of us share. It's freeing, I would say, knowing that others stand on roughly the same ground."

By the way that his eyes fade in an out of focus, clouded over in deep thought, Buffy can tell that something she has said set the cogs in his mind in motion. Maybe soul is a problem word for angels, given that he is likely to have more intimate knowledge of the subject than she. But then, their worlds, although alike in certain ways, have far more dissimilarities. The heaven she has visited and the one Ishiah speaks of are not one and the same, but this in particular is a path she would rather not travel; no matter how much time passes, the sting never fades. There are days when she doubts that it ever will.

Ishiah's voice jerks her out of her own thoughts, and she is happy for the change in tone; the current topic isn't the happiest, either, but it is a definite improvement. "For a long time, I thought I was just doomed to be — Okay, this sounds lame but I can't think of a better word than misunderstood. I mean, it's right there in the prophecy, I guess: One girl in all her generation. And even when that part flaked out, when there were two of us, it was pretty obvious we weren't supposed to exist together. We spent more time talking with our fists than with our mouths, if you catch my drift."

He tries his absolute best to understand, wrinkles showing at the corners of his eyes, like thoughts caught there in the skin. The idea of exclusivity is one which stands rather distant from Ishiah, one of many angels cut from the same cloth, the same fabric, minds formed to act as one. Even those he's been closest to over the years, fellow peri, and that wonderful, impossible, infuriating puck named Robin Goodfellow, have all been one in a pattern. None are made to be alone, even the pucks who try to be nothing but. Nature takes them out before they can be fully isolated.

Maybe, Ishiah thinks, it means that none of them are quite so strong.

But there's someone who's come into his life recently, who provides a shred of an idea what it might be like. Ishiah's head tilts back as his eyes trace over the ceiling. "I think I understand, conceptually. There is a great deal that holds Caliban apart from everyone else in the world. He doesn't fit in. He plays a potentially crucial role," Ishiah says quietly. "It hasn't been the same for me, not even as one of very few angels who chooses the path of a peri."

His eyes narrow as his gaze brushes over Buffy. "But I also don't think you're the type who's meant to be alone, whether or not others can fully step into your shoes."

It makes sense, now, falling well into the same pattern with which Buffy has always been familiar. Her interaction with Caliban has been limited at best — she once told him he looked like a drowned rat and he snarked back with an explanation of perspiration as a biological function — but they hardly got off on the right foot, and maybe that's why. As with Faith, she never could connect with those too similar to herself. Having her home invaded by potential slayers had really begun to get to Buffy, one of the very few positive points of finding herself pulled to the island. (Though still far outweighed by the negative.)

"Well, you know what they say: You can't take the motor-mouthed cheerleader out of the girl," she jokes. Maybe that's where the line went wrong, really, having called a girl so stubbornly committed to living out the life that she wanted. To hear the Watcher's Council tell it, friends and family are the two greatest weaknesses a Slayer can possess. In Buffy's own opinion, they are her greatest strengths. "You know, Ish, you're pretty good at this whole listening and cheering up thing."

It isn't the type of compliment that Ishiah receives often.

There are certain types of listening that he does well. Passively, Ishiah's capable of taking in just about any information, processing it silently, in the back of his mind, and gleaning the important factors for future use. It's a skill very necessary to run a bar that's open to all creatures of all backgrounds, to be able to see the red flags where they exist and help iron them out before things truly take a turn for the worse.

The notion that he can provide a listening ear for more than that, however, strikes him silent, his eyes clouded with confusion as he glances at Buffy. (He doesn't even remember when it was that she started calling him Ish, and that drives a bolt towards his stomach as well, a shock of realization. Friendship is one of many things that sneaks up on a person. He didn't see it coming, this time.)

Lips curving, he nods. "I am glad you think so. Although I'm not sure when, along the line, I've picked up such a skill."

and somehow we told him what to do, but he won't ever listen to you

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