Arc II: Awful Books [Elisha & Emory]

Elisha found Emory in his thoughts more frequently than he had expected. It wasn't that he had any good precedent for what a correct amount of thinking of someone would be. But he'd expected most of them to he positive, and the longer time went on without seeing him, the more negative the thoughts felt. He knew he had other ties to prioritize-- Rus, Sabin, and Keon were still owed the full of his new identity if he were to follow Shiloh's advice through, and ideally the sooner the better. But also, it felt strange to be... heartsick? Was that it?  Over someone you presumably had in your grasp. 

So, feeling only a little confused and foolish, he knocked on Emory's door, not waiting for an answer before trying the latch to peer in. "Emoryyy~?" He called out softly in a sing song voice.

Emory's brow furrowed as he read the romance novel he had picked up from the library, feeling his head begin to hurt at the descriptions on the page. What position were they even in? Her limbs couldn't possibly contort like that, could they? Did the author really need to make a phallic metaphor like that? How was he meant to learn anything from this pile of crap... he thought to himself. He could feel a headache begin to grow, maybe fiction wasn't the best place to learn these things. But science books would hardly cover the large spectrum of love, would they?  

Just as he braced himself for the terrible smut on the next page, the knock startled him, launching the book away from him and across the room. The familiar voice made his heart race, frantically casting Mage Hand to try and shove the book under the bed before the cleric spotted it.  

"A-ah, Elisha! C-come in, you're not intruding on anything," Emory called out to him, sitting up on his bed and pretending to act casual. He quickly reached up to fix his hair, but his fingers immediately tangled in his curls and he gave up. "Is anything the matter?"

Had that been a thunk or had he misheard? When he stepped into the room, nothing seemed amiss, except for Emory looking a little flustered and that was nothing unusual. He pouted anyway. 

"Does something have to be the matter for me to want to see you?" He shut the door gingerly behind himself, then after a moment of thought, locked it. Best to get into that habit. 

When he turned around again, he took his time inspecting the mostly unchanged room, as if he was looking for whatever joke he'd missed out on. Finally, seeming dissatisfied, he perched on Emory's bed. 

"I went to see Leon again. He rents out the entire floor of a place near here. I was wondering why he gave us his address but he seemed very eager for companionship. It was cute." Why was he bringing up Leon? Elisha watched Emory only out of the corner of his eye.

Emory didn't look to Elisha immediately, too busy being distracted trying to have his Mage Hand place the book back on his bedside table in a sneaky fashion. The question made him lose his focus for a moment, gasping as the book fell once again, Emory coughing loudly to try and cover it up.  

"Ahem! No- no, you don't. I can always provide you company if you need. More than happy to, actually," he said with a sheepish smile, turning towards the cleric once he was seated on his bed.  

Emory wasn't sure why Elisha was bringing up Leon either, but it made sense that the other had been interested in him. He was certainly peculiar, and a potentially good ally to have here in the Empire. The mention of Leon's eagerness for companionship and how Elisha found that cute had Emory raise his eyebrows, before casually averting his gaze. He fidgeted with his sleeves as he replied, "Oh? Cute? I didn't notice... I'm glad you had a good time with him, though. You shouldn't have went alone... just in case."

He took a selfish moment to savor Emory's discomfort-- then turned, seizing one hand for himself. "You're probably right." He conceded, pretending to sound appropriately chastised. "There was a moment when he caught me off-guard. It seemed to tire him out, but I think caution is a good idea." 

He then leaned close, touching his other hand to Emory's forehead, then cheek. "You're not coming down with something, are you?" The coughing had not been a phlegmy sick one, but sometimes they started clear and dry. If Emory had overtaxed himself, it wouldn't be a surprise. On the other hand... looking dissatisfied, Elisha gently but insistently pushed Emory down so he could lean his ear on the other boy's chest.  

"Breath in." He demanded. Then, "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not sick-" Emory began to protest, cold skin growing just a little warmer under Elisha's touch. Then, his back was to the bed, Elisha's head to his chest. It took a moment for Emory to actually remember to breath, inhaling deeply, and without sign of illness.  

Proceeding to hide his face with his free hand, the tiefling mumbled into them as he admitted, "...I was reading a very awful book. I was trying to hide it so you didn't see what it was. I... don't know where my Mage Hand dropped it."

"What, like, Necromancy...?" That didn't make any sense. There was no reason to hide that sort of forbidden literature from Elisha of all people. Or did he simply mean awful in quality? Elisha briefly wondered if it'd just been the copy of manners they'd picked up the other day. 

Still, Emory's embarrassment was adorable, and Elisha smiled to see that the other cared what he thought of him. 

"Hm. It wasn't a library book, was it? You have to return those." Elisha sat up and made the motion of smoothing Emory's hair. He sighed. "I suppose I'll just have to help you find it~" 

Before Emory could protest, he slid off the bed and cast a glance around, leaning to look under and near it. There-! 

He reached for it and stood up straight. "Into Eden: Tinge of Vice." He read the title aloud, then thumbed the thin book open to a random page. 

"... The hard edge of his grasp was tempered by his love for her, and mirrored the firmness of his.. oh." He blinked, almost fascinated by the explicit and almost silly descriptions on this one page alone.

"No, why would I hide Necromancy from you? You would probably have an interest in that sort of thing-" Emory replied, peeking from between his fingers before giving a huff. "It's... a library book, from the fiction section. I should have read the blurb properly- it's..."  

Then Elisha was gone, searching for it, and Emory reached to try and stop him. But it was futile, the sorcerer left clinging to Elisha as he read out the title and a part of a paragraph. Emory's face was burning, fingers tightening in the other's shirt as he looked down and hid behind his curls.  

"I told you, it's awful! I didn't think there would be... y-y'know, this in it! The anatomy is way off, for a start- ugh..." He eventually dared to take a peek at Elisha's expression, knowing full well that he had just given the other a full round of ammunition to tease him with. "Give it back, I have to return it to Reverie-"

"Perhaps it's inaccurate, but it's very informative, isn't it." Elisha hummed, looking genuinely rapt. Equal in measure to the glee in the horror this elicited in Emory was the curiosity of the novel itself. That phrase was supposed to titillate? And what they were doing with... 

He closed the book and... tucked it into the pocket inside of his jacket. "I promise I'll return it on time~" 

His hands found Emory's wrists to untangle the other from his clinging. 

"It was like this, was it?" He muttered softly in thought, gripping a degree harder than comfortable and pinning Emory down. Still, he didn't feel any personal stirring or change. Nothing seized him from some shadowed primal corner, urging him on to any acts hungry lust. How did Emory feel?

Emory had guessed this would happen. He knew it from the all too pleased expression as Elisha read  the book. He was doomed. Elisha wasn't afraid to test boundaries, just as much as Emory wasn't afraid to act first and get forgiveness later.  

Still, the pinning worked, especially with the extra force behind it. His body reacted in a way he had never felt before, causing him to squirm and bite his lip. He refused to look at Elisha, not wanting to be further embarrassed.  

Eventually, Emory gave a pout and a huff, mumbling under his breath, "...You're mean. Please... give me the book back? I want to exchange it for a better one."

Perhaps if it had been Venn, he would have relented. Instead, Elisha greedily drank in Emory's reactions. The other's pulse was still faint under his hands, but fluttery. Having established their position, he let his grip relax but only slightly. 

"If you want it, you should take it." He sounded amused, and admittedly, being called out made him only want to reinforce the sentiment in a 'well if you say I'm mean then I'll be exactly what you call me' level of spite. He wanted to see how Emory fought back, if he fought back.

Emory's nose wrinkled in frustration, before simply giving Elisha a smile.  

"Fine. Have it your way." 

The faint glow of Emory's eyes was the last thing the cleric would see before being completed shrouded in a impenetrable darkness. Using his Mage Hand once again, but with determined focus this time, the ethereal fingers slipped into Elisha's jacket and attempted to pluck the book from his pocket.

Being plunged into shadow made him feel as if he'd just fallen a great distance, but without the accompanying yank of gravity. He froze in the disorientation of it, and only noticed too late that Emory had somehow seized the book only by the loss of its weight in his pocket. 

Elisha grinned despite himself. Odd, not feeling mad for having lost. But he had won in a different way, urging Emory on and having been indulged. He liked that Emory wasn't afraid to act. Loved it, actually. 

It was sort of the answer to the question that had been nagging at him. "I think I love you." He whispered reverently into the darkness that still swallowed him, tentatively releasing Emory's wrists and sounding surprised to himself.

Emory had been giggling to himself after seizing the book, his mage hand shoving it in a random dresser drawer. About to celebrate his victory, the whisper caught him off guard and silenced him completely. He had not been expecting that. 

He lay there in the darkness for a long minute, slowly bringing his hands down to his chest. Then, with a sudden movement, Emory sat up, grabbed Elisha's collar tightly and croaked out, "...Don't you make jokes like that, don't-"  

Elisha didn't need to see Emory's face for him to know how insecure and disbelieving he was, it was evident in the tremble in his voice and touch.

Elisha had closed his eyes, useless as they were anyway, forced to listen to only their breathing as Emory stilled. Disbelief? Denial? He hadn't been expecting outright jubilation, but perhaps more embarrassment or even flippancy at the very least. Had he misread their interactions and overstepped? Was it a grave error? Perhaps Emory did enjoy the attention, but Elisha was not the sort of person he wanted it from, not in a dedicated way. He was mean and calculating, ingenuine and often dismissive. Emory had to know that. 

He didn't flinch when Emory jolted up and took hold of his collar-- he was too stunned for that. What exactly was the emotion in his voice? His hands clenched uselessly at his sides in frustration at himself. Venn would know. But how was he supposed to live his life, needing to lower his barriers every time some emotional subtlety slipped away from him? What was the point if he couldn't understand him as Elisha? 

But maybe he had just done too good a job. He had never really lied as Elisha, but nobody seemed to believe him anyways. Reluctantly, he let go of the walls, letting Venn step forward with a few beats of his own traitorously slow heart. 

"Emory..?" The hurt and confusion leaked into his own voice, and he hated that as much as it made him feel relieved. Emory hadn't pulled away, at least. Tentatively, Venn reached up to touch one of the hands which held his jacket. "What's... What's wrong? What did I do wrong?"

Emory was just as confused. He hadn't tried particularly hard to earn Elisha's love at all - he hadn't cast any spells on him, or gone overboard trying to fix all of the cleric's problems. Instead, it was the other way around, Elisha had sought him out, had helped him, reminded that he needed to be cared for just as much as he cared for others. Was it just a long game? A cruel prank? An attempt to get Emory's strange heart beating in a normal fashion again or to get it to stop completely? Negative thoughts plagued his mind, he honestly couldn't believe someone could love him. Only Ozul ever had, but that was years of forming a family bond, so much work and time and proving himself.  

Venn's voice cut through Emory's whirlwind of anxiety, blinking up through tears as he met blank eyes. Swallowing down the attempt his body made to cry, Emory shook his head despite Venn not being able to see.  

"Nothing- nothing. It just surprised me, I didn't think- I... thought it just had to be a joke, right? Haha... There's no way that you, or anyone could..." Emory stumbled over his words, before simply burying his face against the other's chest. "...Did you really mean it? Truly?"

"Ohh. Emory." Venn groaned softly in exasperation. He put one hand on his head, the other on his back, and could feel as well as hear the shaky breaths. Was he crying? The idea that Emory might be crying made tears prick in the corner of Venn's eyes. Emotional contagion, some part of his mind that was still Elisha noted distantly. The earnestness in Emory's question made his heart hurt. What an extremely Emory problem to have. 

"I love you. You delight us. We've learned so much from you." He didn't have trouble reaffirming that. "What matters is..." he trailed off. It was so difficult for Emory to believe he could be loved-- and it was something the other likely needed as much as he yearned for it. Did it matter who it was that was saying it? Unfortunately, he had already started the sentence. "... how you feel. Elisha would keep you regardless of how you feel. But I..." He frowned-- choosing each word was difficult. "You... don't... know him."

With a sniffle, the tiefling looked up once more upon hearing the confession. Reaching up for Venn's face, Emory cupped his cheeks softly, using his thumbs to wipe away tears. The darkness eventually fell away so the other could actually see Emory smiling. Although, it faltered at the other's latter statement, causing him to cant his head in confusion.  

"You think I only love Elisha, and not you...?" Emory asked quietly, before shaking his head. "Silly... I want to get to know and love all of you- I want you to be whoever you want to be around me, okay? If you were going to scare me away, you'd have done it already. There's a lot to you... or yous, but there's a lot to me, too. We can learn together."  

He stared for a moment, before giving an awkward strained laugh, "...If you refer to him as Elisha, who are you? Names make things easier."

The gesture was far too gentle, prompting more tears-- but despite them, and despite his own worries, Venn smiled back. He didn't think Emory understood that what he was saying was actually pretty terrifying-- but didn't want to hurt him, either. He really was being so sweet.

"... Venn." He pulled his face away, only so he could wipe his face more effectively on his sleeves. It was hard caring, but he would be okay. "It's just that... Elisha isn't supposed to feel. He's not good at it. So the fact that he does like you that much means you're amazing, Emory. But he still might hurt you. You tell him, if he does." As long as he agreed to that, then maybe they'd be fine.

"Venn... Venn. It's lovely," he murmured, actually adoring how it felt on his tongue. Emory let him pull away just a moment, but it was his turn to seize the other's hand, claiming it as his own.  

"...Not supposed to? Or thinks he shouldn't? Like Keon?" Emory murmured out loud, studying Venn closely. What he was witnessing was so strange but curious, how Venn can critique Elisha... he couldn't help but wonder what how Elisha felt about Venn. Giving the changeling a squeeze of his hand, Emory gave a nod, "...I promise. Maybe he can learn. I can help him learn how to feel, in his own weird way." 

Eventually, Emory gave a dark quiet chuckle, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face, "...What a man to become a changeling."

Venn flushed at the calling of his name, but it seemed more like vitality than embarrassment. "Shiloh chose it." He admitted quietly, hoping Emory wouldn't be upset by that, and allowing Emory to take his hand. 

"Sometimes I wish I was more like him. Simpler. Cleaner. He wouldn't ever have become this." He drew his knees up, watching Emory's face. The tiefling's black eyes were the opposite of Shiloh's bright clear blue ones. They seemed more like waypoints in the darkness, meant to be seen than to see. 

"Elisha isn't like Keon. It's just how he is. He isn't upset for causing harm. Just for getting caught. He wouldn't do anything that would purposefully make any of you unhappy. We don't want that. But he might not view it as something harmful." He squeezed Emory's hand back, as a thank you for his promise. 

"The reason I'm... he's like that." Venn suddenly looked uncomfortable, but determined. "I think you would understand if I told you what we did to our maman."

Surprised Shiloh had chose it, which meant that he had met this persona... Emory simply smiled and gave a sigh of relief, a little glad. He didn't really want Elisha to use his personas to prank the likes of Shiloh, anyway.  

Emory nodded at Venn's explanation, understanding a little more why he was adamant that Emory told Elisha when he had hurt him. He wasn't sure if flirting with Leon counted, it seemed innocent and playful enough. But if Elisha pushed the boat out too far to test him...  Emory doubted he'd be able to hide his feelings about it anyway.  

"What... you did to your maman...?" Emory repeated, not liking how omnious that sounded. "You can tell me, I won't say a word," he promised, before becoming bold enough to wrap an arm around Venn and tug him closer.

Venn hummed an acceptance of Emory's promise, the comfort of touch outweighing the chill of Emory's body. Like a pillow, it would just take a moment to generate a little spot of heat. 

"We didn't always have a strong disposition." He started at the beginning, to work his way up to his secret. "Our father frequently became frustrated with our inability to cope with the presence of corpses. He wanted an assistant from us, steady hands and a solemn attitude." 

"Any time we cried, it meant a night spent in the morgue. Looking back, it was not so bad. He could have hit us or yelled when he became angry. He just left us to deal with our fears instead." 

"Then maman died. I was fourteen and we found her at her desk. I already understood and accepted by that point the importance of the work we did, even if I had only ever assisted from the side, never actually touching a corpse. It's a defiance of death. A preservation of memory. When you work on the dead, you are presenting a an idea, an emotion, a mimicry of life using string and steel and salts." Perhaps this was why Elisha was so good at presenting such a front. "Anyway, father saw an opportunity for me. He told me that if I couldn't do this for her, then I didn't love her. The first preparations are not so bad-- washing the body, mostly. She was so cold and I cried the whole time we rubbed the stiffness from her arms and legs. Then you set the face- the eyes glued, the jaw sewn shut. We were part way through fluids when her blood whispered to me and I realized that she... was not dead." He closed his eyes, not crying, but sighing. His hair darkened, his skin flushed to life, and when he opened his eyes they were Elisha's strong red.

"I think she was made dormant by something she'd been working on, accidentally inhaled or ingested. Life is truly a miracle-- that one can still survive, even after all of that. If I'm feeling particularly fanciful, I pretend that that's the moment I found my faith. The details are hazy, anyways-- when I think back on it, it's like I'm viewing the memories from outside of myself." Elisha pulled the glove from his left hand, fingers running across the symbol there. 

"After that, she was barely cognizant of anything. She only reacted to flesh and violence, and only ever in horror. When I was feeling particularly lonely or frustrated, I would bring her a live pheasant or a rat or whatever else I could get, and I would gut it, to remind her blood how to feel alive." 

"I became very good at my father's craft, but he became fearful of me. Not just because of who I was, but because of his guilt, I think. He tried to send me away to the clergy to become a missionary, and when that didn't work, he begged me to go to Mercaid." 

Finally, Elisha looked up at Emory. No trace of sadness or remorse-- just... distance. "After we died, I had nightmares that I would find your body and be unable to tell if you were alive or dead."

Emory could only be silent and stoic as Venn, then Elisha, told the story of his mother.  

The only thing that unsettled Emory was... how not unsettled he was. It was simply a tragic story of how yet another father tried to shape his son and failed. He felt anger, that Elisha had to develop such a way to cope and distance himself from the fact he was forced to prepare his own mother for a funeral that she'd never needed in the first place. It wasn't his fault. 

"It wasn't your fault," he eventually said out loud, unabashedly meeting Elisha's crimson gaze. There was a lot he wanted to say, but... Emory didn't want to upset Elisha or Venn. Maybe they'd have been better off if they had buried his mother alive. But then, would have Emory have met the Elisha he knew and loved now? He immediately scolded himself for such a selfish thought. He was in no position to be thankful for anyone's suffering - Elisha's or his maman's. 

He eventually sighed, and pressed a kiss to Elisha's forehead. "It's sweet that you dreamed of me. I'll... try to find a solution. So you wouldn't have to worry about discerning such a thing with my, uh, problematic circulation and such. Maybe a magic item or something-"

He liked Emory's righteous anger. It was bold. It was comforting. "It was not." Elisha agreed softly, even though sometimes he used to admonish himself for not noticing the call of blood earlier. It was a surgeon's fallacy, of course-- and he also understood that he would not have reached his moment of realization without it. It was a core piece of Elisha and it didn't bother him-- he just knew it tended to bother others. 

"Sweet?" Elisha gave a small laugh despite himself, feeling quite coddled at the moment-- not a bad thing. He was very pleased. "It's sweet that you'd make that your job. No worries Emory~ Nightmares have a child's logic. I just have to be intimate with your blood." With his bared hand he traced lines up from Emory's arm to his neck-- a vertical slit at the crook of the elbow, the depression between the shoulder and the body, and across one side of the neck. Places to cut and to bleed. 

"Do you think it would gush or drip...?" He mused, mostly to himself.

Elisha's small laugh calmed Emory down a little, returning a soft smile. "It's not a job, I'd just like you to be reassured, ah-" The touch of Elisha's bare hand stopped him, flustered again despite the discussion about his blood. He knew the cleric was examining him as if he were debating where to make the first incision, but he didn't mind. He even tilted his head to let Elisha's fingers trail along his skin easier the closer he got to his neck.  

"Drip, most definitely. You have to squeeze to get a good bit. But I suppose you'd like to see that for yourself."

There was something between Emory's eagerness to rush into danger and his ease with... well, they were threats, really, even if lovingly suggested-- that almost gave Elisha pause. Almost. He quirked an eyebrow in interest, hand tightening at Emory's neck not enough to choke-- just enough to feel the unsteady tickle of blood there, to feel Emory's breaths in his throat with his thumb. 

"You have no idea~" He murmured, "but unfortunately, we'll have to wait until you've recovered all your strength." His hand relaxed and he grabbed Emory's chin instead. 

"You don't have much of a sense of self preservation," Elisha observed, voice warm, "Is it because danger forces your heart to actually beat? Do you feel alive, when you're dying?"

Giving a shaky inhale as Elisha's fingers slowly pressed on his throat, he closed his eyes to focus on the warm touch that would make him feel an actual pulse in his neck.  

"I'm bound to get scratched up on our journeys," he told Elisha, "Actually, it's... probably for something for me to look into. My lack of protection." Emory glanced down at his new attire, good quality fabrics but... that was it. Not like he had the strength to wear armour.  

The sorcerer opened his eyes as the warmth of flesh moved from his throat to his chin, half-lidded eyes gazing down at Elisha. He raised his eyebrows at the question, before he answered truthfully.  

"Kind of... The darkness within me fights against my essence of life. Always has. It's always been tempting to let myself be embraced fully by it, to simply see what happens. Would I simply become a shadow? Or a corpse?" He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders.  

"There's also the fact that I am quite depressed, which would probably be no surprise to you, Elisha. I've dreamt of the sweet release of death ever since I understood the concept of it as a child. It's hard... to yearn for something you can't obtain, and then only to get a taste of it and have it taken away. I thought death would be kinder than life," he mused out loud before smiling all too cheerfully and forced, "But who knows! Especially if our journey carries on after the trip with the Ferryman, hm?"

Something cooled in Elisha's expression as Emory spoke of death, and his fingers twitched before he tipped Emory's face down. The cleric pressed a rough kiss on the other's lips, unlike most of his other chaste and light pecks-- it was clumsy only in that he didn't seem to care if teeth scraped soft skin. He pushed forward almost enough to tip Emory over again, the hand at the other's chin switching to seize the front of his clothes and hold him upright. 

While Elisha was fascinated with the dead... death itself was a more complex concept. Death was the end-- death was when emotion, when pain, and when joy stopped. He had known death his entire life-- it was cold, empty, and most of all, unreactive. Death was both easy and unfulfilling, and the only good purpose it had ever served was as a threat against life. The next time they rode the line between life and death, he would be trying harder to keep the balance. 

His own cold anger surprised him-- his head pounded and he nearly forgot to breath. 

"Only I'm allowed to kill you," he gasped when he finally broke the kiss, face still pressed near. "Death isn't a release. It traps you as you are, forever. It can't have you. You're mine."

The rough kiss took Emory completely by surprise, gasping against Elisha's lips before returning the gesture once he realised what was happening. He gripped onto the cleric's shoulders to stop from falling, heart leaping in irregular beats so loud. Had it ever been this active before? Threatening to burst from his chest like this? Never. 

When they finally pulled apart, Emory was dizzy, breathless, and frazzled. He licked his own lips as he took a moment to process Elisha's words, eyes growing wider before he gave a vigorous nod of his head.  

"O-okay, I'm yours-" he meekly stammered, heat blossoming in his cheeks and chest. He gave an eerily bright laugh then, of course it was only Elisha who could make him feel alive. He took one of Elisha's hands and set it against his heart, wanting the other to feel the effect he had on Emory. 

"...Good thing I have a lot more to live for now, hm? My life's in your hands, Elisha. Do take good care of it~" Emory said quietly, giving a soft affectionate smile despite the cold anger he was just met with.

Elisha gave a slight nod in return, taking a deep breath, letting go of Emory's shirt with his left hand. It was good, that Emory understood. The irregular hammering of the heart under his hand made his own satisfaction stir, soothing his brief moment of anger. The cleric exhaled in a sigh, arms wrapping around Emory and pulling him close to feel the rhythm of that beat against his own chest. 

"I will take care of you." He affirmed.

Giving a soft sigh as Elisha held him, Emory returned the gesture, hugging him close whilst resting his cheek atop of the cleric's head. He held the other for some time, humming a lullaby to himself. Eventually, Emory gave a yawn and tapped Elisha's back. 

"You should head to bed. I'd have you stay, but Reverie will have both our heads. You should have seen the look she gave me when she caught me leaving your room the other morning."

Elisha would have argued, but Reverie was one of the few people he didn't want to test the limits of. "Aww. You won't get in trouble, for me?" He teased instead, but pulled away. Elisha didn't kiss Emory again, but squeezed both of his hands fondly. 

"Bonne nuit, Emory."

"Oh, you know I would! I'd just rather not upset the likes of Reverie. She terrifies me. Plus, we owe her for taking care of us so let's obey the rules just this once," Emory replied, getting up to follow Elisha to the door. A little disappointed in not receiving a good night kiss, the tiefling simply gave a toothy smile to hide the fact and an even firmer squeeze of Elisha's hands.  

"Good night, Elisha."