Arc I: Take Care [Elisha & Emory]

With as much effort as Elisha had spent staking his claim in his and Rus' room (through copious amounts of candles, many of which he hadn't had set out until Rus had moved back in), he spent much more time out in the commons area of the house. None of the rest seemed to mind-- Shiloh being outside most of the time, Rus pacing who knows where whenever he got angry, Keon with his damned privacy, and Sabin... Well, Elisha didn't know what Sabin was up to lately, and that curiosity burned in him. With as little much as he cared about how they all actually were feeling, he did care very much about what they were all up to, and studying out here set him up to be able to watch their comings and goings and be as nosy as he'd liked. The distractions were very welcome-- getting too engrossed in your work was an easy one-way street to neglecting the needs of your body. So he was set up, on the floor in front of one of the armchairs with texts and notes strewn about, a platter of sliced cheese and meats for snacking available on the table nearby. He was grueling through more texts for theology, which had ended up being more of a disappointment than he expected-- other religions were fascinating on the surface level, but past that he found himself going cross-eyed. His eyes kept glancing up at the closed doors of his housemates, hopeful for an excuse to take a break.

A very tired looking Emory eventually made his way downstairs in search of something to eat. He had thrown himself into his studies to try and ignore the feeling of impending doom that plagued him, and found that he couldn't sleep well at all. The offer of counselling was sounding more appealing by the minute - but this was something that Emory definitely couldn't tell any old therapist. So, he did what he could to cope in the only way he knew how - more studying.  As he entered the kitchen, Emory barely acknowledged Elisha. Something was... off about the sorcerer. Something that he usually contained to the best of his ability had begun to leak out. It could be confused for poor lighting, but wherever Emory walked, shadows seemed to grow darker and colder around him. Emory was quiet, almost mournful, amethyst eyes not catching the light.  He went straight to the fridge, grabbed a block of cheese, and sadly took a bite out of it.

And he had thought Rus had an aura about him. "Ah-- no, no-no." He clicked his tongue, rising swiftly, papers scattering about as he went to brazenly seize the cheese from Emory's hand. "No dairy for you. It exacerbates the melancholic humors." He paused to look at the block of cheese, with the bite taken out. Elisha didn't look quite disturbed-- just fascinated. His smile froze on his face, like he wasn't sure what other expression to make, and he put the cheese back into the fridge. "How about something warming for your blood. Tea, hm?" Definitely would be putting sugar in that. "Sit down." His voice was a little forceful as he gestured to the kitchen stool. "You look like you're coming down with something." He sighed out, but the sigh was more performative-- he still looked pretty cheery, as he went to put water on the stove. He looked extra busy for someone who was just making tea, though-- flour, sugar, the oven fired up... may as well get practice for cooking class in. He found the kitchen better stocked after Lisa had moved in, which he was thankful for.

Emory had no will to fight back, sadly looking on as his cheese was stolen for him and stored in the fridge. He blinked slowly at Elisha's somewhat unsettling smile, but nodded at the offering of tea. He didn't ignore the command to sit either, slumping onto the stool with a heavy sigh.  "...I'm not sick, just tired," Emory replied to Elisha's sigh, taking a moment to concentrate and reign his shadows in. It was something he had practised and could usually hide their presence, but sometimes his emotions got the better of him. "A lot on the mind, as well as cramming for finals. Are your studies going well?" he asked, hoping to avoid the subject of his own well being.

The room seemed to brighten around the edges, and it gave Elisha more of a pause than the previous darkening of it. It'd been more than just his imagination, then? But not a feat of thaumaturgy. Curious. "You're doing it again," he accused gently, though Emory was spared his blunt smiling gaze as he measured out flour and salt and sugar. "Deflecting the concern onto others, I mean." He hummed softly as he sifted. Then, continuing as if he hadn't just said that, "I have a lot of reading, but reading is not very taxing. You do it for fun, if I recall." He relented just a little bit, replying to Emory's question before returning fire. "... Malaise is not always disease. Fatigue can be sickness. A heavy heart can be sickness. I've seen people die from despair-- you waste away, while those around you forget you. What is on your mind?"

Tired eyes sheepishly flicked over to Elisha, nervous that he hadn't sorted out the shadows- but then was reminded he avoided letting others care for him. Right. That was a bad habit of his. Not one he wanted to fix right now, though.  "Oh, you know. The overwhelming feeling of impending doom. Feeling like I have no one to turn to or no plan to follow. Plus, there's finals. And a fancy gala. And other things on top of that," Emory started off with the obvious, trying to play it off coolly but the list grew longer and Emory had to bite his tongue from letting too much out. He cleared his throat, playing with a curl around his finger, "Are you offering to care for me, Elisha?"

Emory was on a precipice, then. A lack of options, a lack of power, a lack of control... those were the sorts of things that made one a cornered animal. The lengths one would go to to seize a semblance of control could be dangerous. Self destructive, even. "You ask that like you'd easily allow it," he teased, though the glance he shot Emory at the question was uncharacteristically longing. No-- greedy. He paused to pull off his gloves, tucking them into his belt and rolling up his sleeves. His pale hands were meticulously clean-- trimmed round nails kept short and even-- unmarked except for the emblem scarred into the back of his left hand. He washed them, then set to adding water to the dough a bit at a time. "After all, it would be letting go of another measure of control over your situation, wouldn't it." And that was a precious resource to someone who felt they were being overwhelmed.

The stare Elisha gave Emory was like nothing he had ever seen from the cleric, or anyone rather. He couldn't help but look away, focusing on the other's working hands. Wasn't he supposed to be making tea? The statement about control has Emory blink in bewilderment. He burst out into a short nervous laugh.  "...You're too good at reading me, Elisha. You make a lot of points, all-too-accurate statements... Does the advice come next? I've been told I'm a bit too... uptight. That I need to loosen up, I guess. I'm not... someone who can do that easily though."

Elisha does look pleased, easily taking those statements as compliments. "Hmm. No, that's advice for someone with like Rus, who knows how to be a little chaotic but takes things too personally. I don't think it's helpful to tell someone like you or Keon to 'loosen up', especially not in so vague a manner." He covers the bowl with a towel, then finally removes the pot from heat and goes to prepare a tea basket. "It's the humors. You have a balance inside of you, and people focus too much on subtracting. Taking things out of blood is hard. Adding is easier." Saying so, the basket is added to the pot. "I can't tell you to ignore your problems. You can't. But I think your fussing could transform into something more like leadership if you saw people less as problems and more as tools. Infinitely more helpful for your own issues, too." A little lonelier as well, but Emory had proven to be a tiny bit more private and prideful than Elisha had first assumed on meeting him. He'd survive.

"...Y-you think I see people as problems?" Emory stuttered, brow furrowing at the accusation. "...I care because I am... protective," he admitted quietly, "Meeting people I like and get along with doesn't end well for me. Or them, rather. And yes, I get it. I have to work with you all and lean on the group since we're all in this together. Telling me not to worry won't stop me from worrying." His gaze flicked over to the books Elisha had piled up, frowning more. "Seems I gave a worse first impression than I had thought."

This prompted a laugh from Elisha-- a soft chuckle, amusement at Emory taking it a little more personally than Elisha thought he would. "No, maybe I'm just projecting~!" He beams to have had his words taken so seriously, though, and brings Emory a cup and the pot of tea. "My perception has always been..." Well, unsentimental. Not so carelessly ruthless like Keon-- he did think that every person had value in his own way-- but attachments were difficult to understand. Elisha waves a hand as if trying to find the words, then shakes his head and pours the tea. "You care because you are protective? I care because I am curious." He liked to watch people succeed-- not because he liked them, but because it was beautiful. The struggle to achieve was wonderful. Emory was a particular example of that. "That's a rather fatalistic view of other people you have, though. Who did you fail in the past, to feel that way?"

Emory took the offered cup of tea with a small bow of his head, holding it with both of his unnaturally cold hands. The warmth it offered was nice, but he'd give it a moment to cool before he actually took a sip.  "Curious? In what way?" Emory asked, confused as to what the Cleric meant. He grew even more quiet at the blunt question, biting the inside of his lip and mulling it over before he answered. "...I mean, I suppose you could guess. You were there with me when I was asking about my father. It's... not that I failed him. At least that's what he'd tell me. I've just been continuously abandoned and left behind all my life, so it's logical to conclude there's something wrong with me. The one person who stayed and cared for me died. So."  And to fill the awkward silence after, Emory took a sip of too-hot tea.

Elisha smiled and gave a half shrug at Emory's return question, not quite knowing how to put it himself. A man chops down a tree and finds honey inside. What's to stop the man from spiking a tap into every other tree he encounters hence forth? Shiloh's story elbows its way into his mind, but the metaphor is too elaborate and unrelated to Emory for him to voice it. Instead, he took a seat himself nearby, listening. 'x so y' was such a clinical way to put emotional trauma, yet so skewed a perception for something as vague as fulfillment and attachment. How often did Emory run the numbers in his head? Every night, like a devoted man lashing himself? "I'm sorry about your father, Emory. He sounds like he was a good man." Those words came easily-- he'd heard them often enough growing up. They were a good person. They didn't deserve this. I'm sorry for your loss. The hushed sympathy and barely restrained pain of a funeral were wretched and sacred, something he envied of others who were good at forging those bonds. They would be missed. It was something he didn't understand but wanted to. "... It's my experience that people don't often die for a reason." He looks at his own hands folded on the counter. From machinations? Sure. Evelyn and Sage died because of some strange political plot. But it wasn't anything they had done. No sin, no fault, no revenge, no justice. He looked over again at Emory, eyes measuring. 'My father died because he chose to care for me' didn't make much sense, unless it was literally something Emory had done. He thought about those shadows and his curiosity burned. "And you're not allowed to claim credit for a kill unless you held the knife and plunged it into the chest~" The way he said it, it almost sounded like a desirable, intimate thing. He pressed his thumb into his other palm in a fidgeting gesture. "So, what stole him from you? Accident? Disease?"

Emory set his tea down, letting it rest upon the table whilst his hands absorbed the warmth from the cup. He ran his freshly burnt tongue against the edge of his front teeth, frowning. Every other week he was burnt because of his impatience, and this was not any different. Elisha's playful but morbid statement snapped Emory back to the topic, blinking and stammering. "I-I was just implying I have extremely bad luck when it comes to love. They leave me one way or another. D-definitely nothing as sinister as that," he retorted, feeling his heart begin to thump all too heavily in his chest, his palms becoming clammy. Elisha had that affect on him, although Emory was almost sure the cleric was just trying to get to know him. Almost.  "He was... ill for a long time. Physicians and healers had no idea what the cause was. He grew tired of trying experimental treatments, and so  he accepted his fate. He didn't have any other family to take over his estate, and then he found me."

A rare thing-- a feeling-- squeezed at Elisha's heart at Emory's story. Empathy for that very unique feeling of helplessness against the cold hands of time and an unfightable condition. Watching someone you cared for unravel, change, or slip away. His fidgeting stopped and he tilted his head in thought as he listened. How selfish of him. He bit his cheek before those words slipped out. He breathed deep and let contentment wash over himself instead. How wonderful to have had him. How nice. "He must have cherished you. Dying alone is terrifying." Realizing belatedly that what he said might have been alarming, he didn't skip a beat before quickly adding-- "Say, Emory. It makes sense to be wary of letting others come close if you're afraid they'll leave you. Just be sure you don't push away the ones that stay, mm?" Alternatively, you could dig your claws in and just not let go-- but that didn't seem to be Emory's style.

What Elisha replied with was certainly alarming, but the advice that followed let Emory ever so casually ignore that. His mind wandered to Voland for a moment, then he shook his head and let out a breathy, nervous laugh.  "Ha, if I can find anyone to stay! Ozul was the first to want me and keep me. We relied on each other. Even though he's... he's gone now, there's a lot he's left for me. So I can still carry on, and be my own person. He is the sole reason I'm at this school, actually." Emory finally met the cleric's gaze, trying to get a read on him. "...What do you know about dying alone?"

"You say that as if you aren't adorable, personable, and smart." Elisha looked genuinely confused, but as if humoring Emory, reached over to pat him on the upper arm. "I'm glad you made it this far, though~" He figured the turn in question was only fair. Emory may as well have asked how's the weather? with how Elisha smiled back pleasantly. "I know that it happens far too frequently. I know how it sounds when boredom attends a funeral. I know the weight of the air in an empty church. I know the greediness of weeds and the mortality of even a headstone." He blinked and then his gaze slid away for once. Elisha cleared his throat, then gave a chuckle. "... Sorry, I'm deflecting." He admitted. Open-ness deserved open-ness in turn, perhaps. "All of us are dying, you know. Just very, very slowly." He rested his chin in his hands, kicking his legs slowly as he sat. He looked more contemplative than gleeful, for once. "So, I suppose we-- you, me, Rus, Keon, Shiloh, perhaps even Sabin-- are all already very intimate with 'dying alone'. When you can't do anything, can't reach anyone, can't-- you-- well... well, it's very boring!" That was more general still, and not quite so personal as Emory's 'my dad is dead and I'm still deeply affected by it', so Elisha pursed his lips and tried again. "I don't know what to do when people ignore me. My own maman no longer remembers that I exist, and I--" How did he feel about that? He hopped off the stool and went to check on the dough. "... Aren't you angry at him for leaving you?"

Elisha was met with a flustered look of confusion that quickly grew into embarrassment, Emory bowing his head to hide behind white and black curls as his arm was petted. "Y-you're being too kind, I'm hardly any of those things," he tried to deflect the compliments, not used to receiving any, really.  Listening quietly to the cleric open up and try to share something about his own past, Emory's smile soon faded, falling into its usual concerned, thoughtful expression. He nodded to the statements about dying slowly, and that most of their house was rather lonely. Most people were mortal, some less than others, but that didn't stop death from calling. And he had to agree, they all seemed to have their own burdens... families that were either broken beyond repair or simply didn't exist at all.  Amethyst eyes widened, meeting with Elisha's gaze when he mentioned his mother. Emory glanced down, fiddling with his sleeve as he remembered those last days with Ozul - how his soul faded with his body, barely able to return a smile, utter more than a handful words at a time, often confused and in pain. With a sharp inhale of breath, Emory answered Elisha honestly.  "I was. It's been over a year since, so the emotion has faded into acceptance. I had so many questions, I still do- and I'll probably never have them answered. Well, easily," he sighed. "Frustrating... to finally have found family, only to lose it a few years later. Saddened since I was abandoned yet again, in a way. Guilty because I felt that way, despite how much Ozul loved and cared for me." He paused, staring at Elisha's back with a sympathetic look, "...I'm sorry about your maman."

Elisha seemed to relax as Emory talked-- Emory's admittance to his very real emotions seemed to ease him, in some way. He turned the dough out onto the counter, moving to cut it, but his business seemed to be less about deflection somehow. "Oh, it is not so bad. I have had much longer to process it, at least. I am almost jealous, that you were handling something akin to that with such poise." He laughed softly and waveed a hand in the air dismissively before arranging dough onto a tray. "Quand même, it is probably why you do remind me somewhat of her. And that is how I can reassert that I was not being too kind and you are a wonderful specimen, Emory~"

Emory didn't think he handled the grieving with poise. Not at all. The way he grew irritable and snappy whenever conversation lingered towards his father was a common occurence. Poor Shiloh had been on the receiving end of it. He then thought of a more recent incident, but chose to voice it out loud. "Ah... I'm just good at hiding my feelings. Keon actually caught me having a, uh, moment in the attic last night. There's only so much I can handle before the tears and shadows spill out of me on their own," he admitted sheepishly, focusing on the cup of tea in his hands. "I'm still learning how to deal with things. We all are, I think." The compliment Elisha gave threw Emory off guard in a number of ways, but he decided to only single out one as he responded.  "A specimen... At first, I thought you talked like a psychologist or therapist. But now I realise it's much more like a scientist or mortician. Like you're studying me under a microscope... It's peculiar, but flattering all the same."

Emory earned himself a genuine smile from Elisha, who laughed warmly. "If you were a butterfly, I'd pin you up!" He put the tray into the oven, then leaned against the counter and put his gloves back on. "No worries mon papillon, I'm almost always joking. Macabre humor makes people squirm and it's delightful." He seems to consider. "But, I like that you still squirm but don't flinch away. That makes me happy."

"What would it mean to pin me up...?" Emory asked shyly. He could feel his cheeks begin to warm up as Elisha continued with the morbid compliments, there was something oddly charming about them.  Just as he could feel the blood rise to his face, he felt the shadows course within him, an impulse causing him to snatch Elisha's wrist before he could put on his gloves. Turning the cleric's hand over to look at the mysterious mark on the back of it, Emory loosened his grip into something more gentle and meek,  embarrassed by his own forwardness.  "S-sorry, but can you tell me about this?" he stammered, nodding towards Elisha's hand. "It caught my eye and I'm just too curious-"

He hadn't been expecting the other to ask for more gruesome details, and had been about to eagerly launch into an explanation of the process-- the relaxation of the body, the posing, the desiccation-- before he noticed the barely discernable tint of color to Emory's cheeks. Most people didn't get that excited about these topics. "Ah. It's admiration-- and preservation." Emory's discomfort with compliments just meant that Elisha had to throw enough of them that perhaps he became adjusted to them, right? So focused on the conversation, he was entirely unprepared when Emory seized his hand. He tensed for a moment, gloves held in his remaining freehand, smiling blankly in surprise. Then Emory's demeanor eased again, and Elisha had to bite his cheek from letting out a nervous laugh. It wasn't the contact-- just the way Emory caught his expectations off guard, like when the other would get frustrated and cast charm on someone. More of an ask forgiveness than ask permission person, which honestly would get him far. Forcing himself to relax, he gave Emory's hand a small reassuring squeeze. "You always are~" He projected amusement. "It's my mark of devotion. Holy symbols are all well and fine carved on amulets or shields, but I'll never lose mine~" He hummed, tucking his gloves back into his belt. "I keep it covered because some could find the imagery more unnerving than intended. Or just the scarification itself." With his other hand, he traced the symbol with a finger for Emory. "This is a fetus, and this is a knife. Life and death, sacrifice, and balance."

"I'll just take it that you wish to watch over me with care... and not put my eventual corpse on display like a museum exhibit," Emory laughed, still nervous as he tucked a strand behind his ear. Elisha would grow bored of him soon, or will become frightened by something Emory loses control over, Emory convinced himself. But for now, he would allow them to grow closer, better to live in the moment then worry about potential goodbyes. "Mark of devotion?" Emory murmured once his focus was drawn to Elisha's hand. "Definitely devoted if you would permanently mark yourself like this... May I ask who or what it is your worship? A specific deity? Or just the concept of life's balance with death?" the all too curious sorcerer rattled off questions, playfully squeezing the other's fingers in return before letting go.

The exhibit comment got a grin from Elisha, and he seemed very pleased to have his sense of humor indulged-- but he neither confirmed nor denied the statement. That was part of the joke as well, of course. When released, he went to re-glove his hands again. "Oh! It is Anima. I worship the miracle of the body, which heals itself without us even asking. Every person is a temple and temple houses a little soul of potential. People are far more just, far more complex, far crueler than any..." He waves his hand vaguely in the air. "... Major incorporeal out there. What do the corpseless know about the heat of blood and the tremors of the heart? I worship the body and I seek its secrets." He pokes Emory on the shoulder. "See, I will not be putting your corpse on display, because that would be my shame. You are so much more beautiful living, breathing, bleeding."

Reaching up to rub where Elisha had just poked him in the shoulder, Emory's cheeks remain rosy, although his expression is... conflicted. It was kind of a compliment, right? Despite how morbid it was. He let out a sheepish laugh, scratching his cheek before he replied, "Well... I don't actually bleed that much. My circulation is... uh, strange." He reached out again, offering his hands. "Cold to the touch always, like I've just been out in snow. Does that interest you?"

It wasn't uncommon for people's hands and feet to have poor circulation, so Elisha hadn't thought twice about it, but now his curiosity was piqued. "Seems like I should just leave my gloves off around you..." he complained without complaint, tugging one off with a flourish. Instead of accepting Emory's outstretched hands, he moved past to press fingers against his throat to find the pulse there. Could have easily found it on his wrist, but, well.

"Ah- oh, m-maybe," Emory stammered, breath hitching in his throat as Elisha's fingers pressed against the chilled skin there. Cautiously glancing to the cleric out of the corner of his eye, Emory then remembered he needed to breath normally if the other wanted a good reading. He tried to calm himself, not sure why he was so flustered, going over some of his Russian studies in his head whilst he sat still. At first, there was nothing. Then, Elisha would notice a faint and irregular pulse, barely felt under the hard press of his fingertips. Emory swallowed dryly before looking to Elisha properly. "...I'm weird, I know."

Elisha tilted his head as if he was listening for the pulse rather than feeling for it. Easier to feel was the convulsions of Emory's throat as he swallowed, the shaky stammering of his breath as he faltered. The impulse to seize his neck with his hand and push him down on the counter was brief, but strong, and left in its wake mostly a heady feeling tinged with amusement. "You don't experience any lightheadedness? Nausea? Blurring vision?" He hummed thoughtfully, giving Emory the space to respond, before continuing, "What about depression?" Blood was the essence of vitality-- of joy, euphoria, affection. A proclivity towards gloomy feelings wasn't necessarily caused by a nearly absent pulse, but he was sure it didn't help. He slid his hand down, palm flat, to Emory's chest, as if to reassure himself that he did have a heart that was beating.

"Ah, no, none of those-" Emory began to answer along with a shake of his head, but the final question had him pause. The sorcerer couldn't help but give the other a sulky expression, huffing out from his nose as he murmured, "Everyone in this bloody house has depression, Elisha. Of course I do..."  The cleric would discover that Emory did in fact have a heart. Thankfully the bold intimate movement of placing a hand upon his chest meant the poor sorcerer's heart was racing, as dull and off-beat as it may be. It was strange, it felt as if it was battling against something, or rather, something was trying to snuff it out almost. But there stood Emory, perfectly healthy and confused from this examination. "Ahem, anymore questions...? If we start discussing the topic of my mental health, I'm worried I may have to pay you therapy fees-" he awkwardly joked, reaching to tuck a white curl behind his ear.

He would have laughed at Emory's dour expression, except that he was so distracted by his heartbeat. It was fluttering like a moth, an arrhythmia he hadn't felt before. He barely kept himself from shoving his ear against Emory's chest just to confirm-- blinking, he came back to the conversation at the end of Emory's words. Therapy fees? "What? Oh, no, not at all! What are friends for?" He resumed his cheery demeanor, giving Emory a reaffirming pat pat with his hand before withdrawing, hand against his mouth in thought. "But I can take a hint, you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to~" There was no rush. He didn't have to get all his questions in one go. They shared a house after all, and as long as they didn't get arrested for crimes against the crown there would be years of opportunity to study Emory further. If one pushed too far, it could destroy progress. He left to check the scones, then removed the tray from the oven. "Much easier to eat your feelings, anyway."

Emory couldn't help but blink for a moment at being referred to as a friend by Elisha, taking a moment to even realise before his lips grew into a bright smile. He was making friends.  The smell of the scones fresh out of the oven had snapped him out of his thoughts, quick to hum in appreciation and come closer. He had been wondering what the cleric had been cooking up, and they looked and smelt great. "Much, much easier, these are amazing, Elisha. May I try one? Ah, they're probably too hot-"

"Well, they are for you. I wasn't going to steal your cheese and leave it at that~!" Warmth and sugar was what Emory needed, not cold and hard dairy.