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

Ishiah was in the middle of quite the quandary.

He'd taken up a seat on the rec room couch some time ago, with the intention of finding himself some text to read, something to pass the time between then and his shift at the Hub. While for weeks, Ishiah's priority had been trying to find a way off the island, in those days he found himself pressed with the more immediate concern of looking after one Caliban Leandros. Filling, some might have accused him of, the void left behind in Niko Leandros' wake, and trying to provide as much normalcy to the young man's life without deliberately calling attention to the way that their group was broken. Only half of the membership it once had— or not even. Caliban was, however, singularly the most frustrating person Ishiah had ever met, even more so than Robin Goodfellow in recent days, and so sometimes the peri needed a good break from all of his worries, finding some textbooks on birds, or a birdwatching manual, anything that could provide him with a reprieve. That day, however, the bookshelf had decided not to comply.

Instead, all of its shelves were filled with a series on parenting, the modern couple's guide to helping their child through his formative years, step by step. Upon seeing the spread, Ishiah's expression had immediately turned into a frown, one laced with confusion.

"I don't understand," he said, moments before he heard someone else enter the room. "Is this trying to suggest that Caliban is a child?"

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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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