Arc II: Named Friend [Elisha & Shiloh]

Elisha wasn't sure what would be worse-- to knock on the door without announcing himself, be allowed in, and to have Shiloh be furious and kick him out, or to not be allowed in at all. He'd thought about his approach frequently-- and, he knew that the latter would honestly be healthier for their relationship. Breaching trust seemed to be a theme with the darklings, and it'd been what he'd thought about with his peers most recently. 

Alou was... the equivalent to the first scenario. Be allowed in, have a genuine moment maybe, but be thrown out with damage done when the 'ruse' was up. Telling everyone and meeting difficulty in an already difficult situation was being outside the door, but still able to talk through it. It was compounded with the fact he only had one mask at the moment-- perhaps he should have gone with something more fluid, like Sabin's cloth. This wasn't an issue for meeting strangers-- but it was for his own former housemates. 

Emory had told him to keep his changes a secret. He himself was loath to share. What had anyone done for him? It seemed there were two types of people in their lot-- those who took care, and those who were cared for. It was a slightly different scenario from what he had previously believed-- those who used, and those who were used. There was probably a fun punnett square that could be made from those two things. 

Shiloh was a caregiver, one who did not use others. That was a dangerous spot of selflessness to exist in. Much like watching Emory fussing ineffectively over Rus and others at the party, Elisha had noticed Shiloh pour all his efforts into Keon. It was easier to fix other people, of course. But it didn't do anything for your own problems. 

He steeled himself, knocking on Shiloh's door. 

"Shiloh? It's Elisha. I wanted to see how you've been doing."

234.. 235.. 236.. 

The ceiling squares had been counted and recounted, never to completion, but Shiloh preferred it that way. He wasn't sure what he'd do with himself if he actually knew how many there were. It'd ruin the distraction.  

237.. 238.. 

It was a good defense. He couldn't think of burning bodies or curses or swords inevitably killing him while he counted--he'd lose his place if his mind wandered. So there were only squares. Four sides. Four corners. Each exactly the same, and each exactly as predictable as the last. They were about as solid as anything Shiloh had been able to find in the palace, though his hands continued to be restless. 

239.. 2-- 

The knock at the door broke his concentration, and he threw an arm over his eyes with a sigh of relief. He'd been getting awfully close to the end. But the relief was short-lived once the voice registered in his mind. Elisha. What could Elisha possibly want from him? He didn't believe for a second that the other boy would check on him out of concern. It wasn't how he worked. Even after dying, Shiloh was sure it wasn't how he worked. 

After a long moment of brooding, he pulled himself up off the bed and opened the door with distrust already plain on his face. 

"You want to see if I'm still useful to you."

The silence had been long and Elisha's hand was poised to knock again when the door finally opened. That had been a surprise, but he only let the pleasure show on his face. Yes, he was pleased, even as Shiloh stood there looking as standoffish as ever. 

"Have you ever stopped to consider what I would be 'using' people for?" Elisha asked sweetly, not really taking offense to Shiloh's sharp, discerning bluntness. Ah, he was glad to see faces. That many of them didn't bother to fetch a mask just for each other was a welcome reprieve from the sea of unflinching faces.

"No. I don't really care." Shiloh didn't move from his place in the doorway, one hand still on the handle in case he grew tired of entertaining Elisha's existence. 

It was true, anyway. The intention of using someone was enough to put him off of any good cause it might be for. If it were good, they shouldn't need to be used for it. They should want it on their own. What good could Elisha possibly want, anyway? Shiloh wasn't even sure the other boy knew the meaning of the word. He wasn't sure that the other boy knew he didn't know the meaning of the word. It would make things awfully complicated if he was aware of it.  

Shiloh's face had scrunched up as he thought to himself, keeping his eyes fixed on Elisha. He didn't close the door just yet, but he didn't offer any further conversation, either.

Elisha pursed his lips in a pout. He really took for granted how much some others were willing to engage with his conversation, though perhaps part of it had to do with language barriers even still. That was perhaps something he could fix, if he brought it up. 

'I don't care that you don't care,' he thought to himself. Elisha answered the unasked question anyways. "I don't pursue a crown or power though it can be useful. I worship blood but there is no divine set of morals I pursue. I want..." He bites his cheek to keep himself grounded. Can't let the mask bleed away nilly willy-- not the physical one which hung around his waist now, but the Elisha one. 

"I admit its familiarity draws me in and I identify with it, but I am sick of growing up only knowing death. I want to be a part of life. Of blood. Of warmth. Of emotion. I want to try to... understand any of it. Using is probably not the right word. I have been the used and it was tedious and painful. I have been the using and it was unfulfilling and lonely. You exist outside of that." He tilted his head. "Does that hurt, too?" It looked like it did.

Ah. He was still talking. If Elisha wanted to have a conversation with himself, he didn't really see why he had to be present. He could just shut the door in the other boy's face. The thought was appealing, anyway, but it was shortly followed by Lee's stupid voice in the back of his head.  

You shouldn't be so quick to judge.  

It was beginning to irritate him, how often the demon's advice had been ringing true. With a small huff, Shiloh shifted his position, one shoulder leaned up against the doorframe. Fine. He'd humor Elisha. 

He was likely expressing something personal, given the pause and unfinished sentence, which was a surprise in itself. He wanted to be part of life? The idea almost made Shiloh snort. Elisha already was, and would continue to be for as long as the world allowed it. Did he not know how far that was out of his control?  

At least he seemed honest. Not that he hadn't been before, but the honesty didn't seem to serve a purpose here aside from understanding. He couldn't fault Elisha for that. He did it too often himself. Shiloh's brows lofted, but the suspicion in his eyes remained. 

"No." It wasn't existing outside of using or being used that hurt. That was far too simple. It was watching everyone else fall from one end of the scale to the other, unable to see everything to their left or right or up or down. It was watching from the outside that hurt.  

But that was too complicated a thought to mangle into words he knew. So he sighed, and offered a question of his own, since Elisha seemed so fond of them. 

"Why do you think that understanding will make you feel any different?"

Elisha's eyes became hungrier at Shiloh's very short and uninformative reply. What was it that Shiloh grasped that he didn't, that it didn't warrant the attempt at an explanation? He feared it was something you were just born with, or something he had lost and wouldn't be able to recover. Perhaps he was no better than maman, the spark traumatized out of her mind. 

Still, the expression passed quickly, Elisha lighting up when Shiloh countered with his own question. Not that it was an easy question, by any means-- actually, it was the opposite. But it was better than Shiloh closing the door or storming off. 

"I... hope." A pause as he tries to think of how to explain. "It is like everyone is speaking a language I'm supposed to know. I know what they're saying, but something in the meaning is..." He trails off. Shiloh would understand that, right? Would he... understand it too well? Was that insensitive to bring up? He purses his lips. Normally he wouldn't feel bad about a minor faux pas, but when every moment could be a door closed in the face, it made one more on edge. The threat of being 'in trouble' was much more motivating than the threat of hurting someone's feelings. 

"I can cast Tongues for you, now. You'd be able to understand and be understood by any person, regardless of language, for about an hour." He offers, just in case. Language was just a spot in the brain-- it was so much easier to solve than emotion.

The irony of someone else struggling to find words wasn't lost on Shiloh. He wondered briefly if that was what he looked like when trying to explain himself. He hoped not. Just watching it brought out the same inclination he'd feel seeing a bird that had fallen out of its nest. Not quite pity, but the instinctive urge to help. He remembered a moment later that this was Elisha, who was very much not a small helpless animal, and made a face.  

At least the struggle was good sign. It meant Elisha was thinking, rather than preforming the lines he'd already set for himself to reach the end he wanted. The metaphor he'd chosen was fitting, too. Likely an attempt to relate to him. 

And then there was the offer. The distrust in Shiloh's eyes had been waning, and now suddenly came back full force. Elisha wouldn't offer something without expecting a favor in return. The question was what he wanted. Answers, maybe, that he thought Shiloh could give? Wasn't that just another way to make him useful for Elisha's purposes? Shiloh wrinkled up his nose. 

Even if it was a gesture of goodwill, even if Elisha wanted nothing in return, what purpose would it serve? He could already speak freely with Keon now. Was he supposed to use it to speak with his other former housemates? He didn't have anything he particularly needed to tell them. Was it just a general offer? Did Elisha expect Shiloh to go running to him for a spell every time he struggled? 

His brow furrowed as he tried and failed to puzzle out what Elisha's intentions could be, silent until he realized--he could just ask. 

"What do you want for it?"

Maybe it would be easier to simply play into Shiloh's perceptions of himself. If Shiloh could trust that he couldn't trust Elisha, at least Shiloh would have a safe way to handle him. It would put the comfort of a scripted dialogue between them. Elisha thought about this as he watched the emotions play across the younger man's face. 

"What do you want for it?" 

If he hadn't already been reading the distrust clear on Shiloh's sleeve already, he might have barked out a surprised laugh. As it was, he only raised a hand to his mouth in a thinking gesture-- a hand which, blessedly, was covered again. The clothes they had been provided had been comfortable, but they were loose and did nothing but made him feel waifish and insecure. It was part of the reason he'd only now felt comfortable approaching Shiloh, now that they had some of their own clothing. 

"I would like it if I didn't feel like I had an unfair advantage every time we spoke. I know you're strong willed and very discerning. Some of that is lost in translation, I think. Also, it makes me asking 'how are you doing' much easier to answer. That wasn't just a pleasantry, I hope you know. Unless you're ignoring it on purpose, which is valid. I just... supposed someone should ask you." 

A pause. 

"If it makes it any easier, I could ask you a favor. You know how to use blades, yes? If you'd train with me, I would owe you."

Shiloh's stare finally left Elisha's face in favor of hovering somewhere just above the other boy's left shoulder as he fell into his thoughts. There was plenty to process--Elisha had a knack for saying several things at once, and taking the time to sort through them all wasn't something Shiloh was willing to sacrifice just to move the conversation along faster.  

It was.. odd that Elisha said he had an advantage. Shiloh had never thought conversations to have winners or losers, like it was some sort of a competition. Elisha may be better at talking in general, but that made it difficult for both sides, didn't it? If anything, Elisha was the loser of the situation. He got less than half of what Shiloh wanted to say put into actual words. 

He seemed to know that though, given what he was offering. Shiloh readjusted his position against the doorframe, arms folding over his chest just as Elisha asked how he was doing.  

These people care you about, Shiloh. The memory was so abrupt he nearly startled himself, a brief look of surprise passing over his features. You’re never going to be able to communicate until you can keep an open mind. Why was that stupid conversation still in his head, anyway? Hadn't he realized by now that Lee was right? Did he need to rub it in every time that it was proven over again?

There was no point in asking how he was doing, anyway. Even without language as a barrier, it wasn't something he was particularly eager to put into words. He wasn't sure he could have if he wanted to. So he ignored Elisha's question entirely. 

"My sword is cursed." A bit blunt, even for him, but the irritation of being reminded of Lee was still fresh. "I would kill you." It wasn't said with any malice, or even as a threat. Shiloh knew in his bones that Tyrfing meant what it promised. Besides, hadn't Elisha just said being used was painful? Why offer himself up for it with a favor? It didn't make sense with any of the opinions Shiloh had formed of the other boy. So the question was genuine? Or another means to an end? 

There was too much to ask, too much he wanted to say, and the frustration of it all finally cracked through Shiloh's careful stubbornness.  

"Use it." 

Maybe he was losing this conversation after all.

Another stress on top of stresses for Shiloh, that cursed sword. The Wallace Sword was literally a heavy burden, but not morally. Not emotionally. Not that those two things would have had Elisha bat an eye-- which was also why he supposed Shiloh was unfortunately the best one suited to carrying it. Great tragedies had been mentioned in the library-- and Elisha was very interested in the concept of them. He figured Emory would have likewise been trigger happy-- Sabin might accidentally be so. So, villain, hero, or martyr? A sword like that would quickly make your role known. 

Shiloh's demand prevented whatever lengthy response Elisha had been about to reply with-- and he wouldn't make Shiloh tell him twice, not that he'd gotten permission now. 

"I'm going to touch you on the forehead." He warned. Unbuttoning his glove and drawing it off with a practiced motion, he held his hand open in the air, palm towards Shiloh, thumb downwards. 

"Loquere." 

He didn't feel anything at first. Like the slash of a knife, one first experienced only the heat. In a very small rivulet, blood ran down the back of his hand to his thumb before a drop hung there in balance. The scar stopped bleeding as soon as it started, but he still felt the very dull pulsing ache of its use begin. He turned his hand carefully so that the drop moved to the pad of his thumb, using his forefinger to smear it across evenly, and reached up to press that against Shiloh's forehead. 

The blood absorbed as soon as it made contact, and the spell was set.

It occured to Shiloh that he'd never paid attention to Elisha using his magic before. Granted, it had been an infrequent occurence, but now that he had a front row seat, he wasn't entirely sure what he had expected. Not that, at least.  

He leaned away on instinct as the other boy came at him with blood on his fingers, and likely would have ducked away entirely if Elisha hadn't warned him prior that he intended to touch his forehead. As soon as he had pulled away again, Shiloh lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, and then pulled his hand away, looking at his bloodstain-free fingers in even more bewilderment. At least it wasn't on his face, then. 

A slight frown crossed his lips as he rubbed his clean fingers off on the side of his pants. He'd known Elisha was interested in gore, he'd just never bothered to make the connection between that and his magic. It did seem rather obvious now that he thought about it. Was that why he wore gloves all the time? Was his blood inherently magic, or was it just a component of his spells? Wasn't he a cleric? What kind of god asked their clerics to use their own blood? 

Shiloh nearly opened his mouth to ask him, before thinking better of it. He should at least test the spell to see if it had taken.

"You can understand everything I'm saying.. right?"

Admittedly, Elisha did take some small pleasure in the variety of surprise, horror, shock, awe, or disgust that others often expressed. Blood was compelling in many ways. Still, Shiloh had stayed still (for the most part) and that earned him a small degree of approval. 

"Yes! Yes I can. I'm speaking French right now too, for the moment." The blood had likewise faded from his own hand, and he regloved it with a snap of buttons. 

He paused, giving Shiloh an opening in case he'd wanted to say anything now or from earlier. Otherwise, he would be pressing right onwards on the topic of Tyrfing.

"French.. I don't know French." He still looked confused, despite the fact there was no more confusion to be had when words were concerned. Shiloh wasn't sure if it was a relief to be able to speak freely or terrifying that he no longer had the language barrier to hide behind. With Keon, it was absoluetly a relief to be able to get his points across. He'd been ecstatic when he'd realized the other boy could speak Sylvan.  

With Elisha, he wasn't so sure. It wasn't that he was afraid to speak his mind--he fully planned to do so--but there had been a certain level of security that speaking different languages carried. It had almost become something of a special occasion to speak in his own tongue. At least, it had been before Sabin barged right through that metaphorical door. Shiloh pushed that specific memory from his mind for the time being and finally stepped back, out of the doorway. 

"You may as well come inside. If I'm going to regret this, I'd rather do it in private." He gestured with a hand for Elisha to enter, waiting patiently by the door to close it behind him.

That hadn't been what Elisha had been expecting, and while the relief didn't show on his face, it appeared in the relaxing set of his shoulders and the small exhale of breath. Though, he had to remind himself that it wasn't as if he was really being invited into Shiloh's room for real-- yes, these were their private spaces for the time being, but they were guest rooms. There was no telling furniture, no private decorations, no personal keepsakes on shelves. 

"You aren't always this pessimistic, are you?" 

Though he could understand Shiloh's words clearly, they carried a different tone and rhythm than when he spoke common. It wasn't just the speed of speaking a language one knew well-- it was likely the cadence and sound of the actual language itself coming through. 

Elisha crossed the threshold, hands clasped behind his back, and found himself a perch against a dresser. 

"I'm not saying it's bad to be cautious. I suppose it's good some of us are." He smiled, eyes glancing around the room looking to see if any mirrors had been placed in this chamber. Sometimes, it was nice to just be able to check that he was still himself.

"I don't think I'm pessimistic. I think that I know what kind of person you are what kinds of questions those people ask." Shiloh closed the door after Elisha, briefly lost with what to do next. Was he going to sit? Should he sit? He knew that he didn't have to offer food or anything, this wasn't an actual visit. After a moment of uncertainty, Shiloh elected to sit on the edge of his bed. 

The room itself was identical to all the others aside from the longsword that had been leaned up against the wall opposite the bed, and the wooden mask that lay on the bedside table. A new set of woodcarving tools sat next to it, but there were no wood shavings or markings that suggest it had been worked on. 

"You haven't given me a reason to be anything but cautious. And you don't have to pretend to be polite, either, now that I can understand you." Shiloh only lasted sitting still for a moment before his hands grew restless. He clasped them together, unclasped them again, and began pick at the skin around his fingernails.  

"Go ahead and spit out whatever it is you want to ask."

Shiloh's declaration of Elisha's character stirred some sort of conflicting feeling in him. Did he want to fight those impressions, or did he want to embrace them? Validation perhaps lay in wait either way. Difficulty, too. 

In contrast to Shiloh's fidgeting, Elisha's hands were very still, held together in front of his lap as he leaned on the furniture. 

"For some reason, I thought you'd be a little less blunt haha. But I suppose you're right." He closed his eyes very briefly, took a moment to readjust his figurative mask. He was Elisha. He had a heart, but it was perfectly preserved-- an untouchable, meticulously perfect thing. He was drying salts and embalming fluids. He was unblinking glass eyes and the stitches inside of the mouth which kept it smiling. Embrace himself-- it was safer that way. He opened his eyes again after only a few moments as he thought about what to say first. Why had he come here again? 

He'd come because he'd been worried Shiloh was driving himself into burnout. Suddenly he was too aware of the heat that blossomed in his chest sometimes as of late. The corner of his mouth twitched in slight discomfort through the smile. 

"... Who's taking care of you?" The words are a quiet echo of the ones he said to Emory only a month or so ago. They were all so much more ragged than they'd been, then. "Rus has Sabin. Sabin has Grimsby. Emory has me. Keon has you. Who do you have?" He stands up, off the dresser, gestures to the untouched tools. "What comforts have you allowed yourself? You have a right to demand comfort from the people you want it from."

Shiloh had expected Elisha to go straight for answers on Tyrfing and the string of curses that were attached to the sword. He'd expected to have to face the morbid curiousity he'd seen light up Elisha's eyes when talking of death or anatomy. He'd expected to need to try and downplay just how terrifying a relic he'd been saddled with. 

He hadn't expected Elisha to ask about his well-being. 

"I.. " His voice wavered in the brief moment before he managed to collect himself. "I know that." His hands had stilled, but only because one had a white-knuckled grip around the other. "I'm plenty comfortable here. I have food. I have a warm bed. I have clothes. I have carving tools now, so I won't have to--" Have to what? Count ceiling squares to avoid being alone with his thoughts? Wander through the palace to circumvent any visions of corpses waiting back in his room? He made a face and amended the sentence, "--so I'll be busy."

But there was something else about Elisha's questions that set him on edge. Keon had him. Of course he did, that was obvious. Then why hadn't Elisha seen that he had Keon in equal measure? Did Elisha know something that he didn't? Panic fluttered in his chest before he managed to squash the feeling. That was stupid. Elisha didn't know anything about the nature of their friendship. How could he when Keon staying in his room kept Elisha from observing it? Shiloh squared his shoulders and stared the other boy straight in the eye. 

"I have Keon." He said it with such conviction there was no room for questions about it. They'd promised each other, after all. He knew that. Elisha didn't need to. 

"I'm not blind--I know that it's unbalanced for now. He needs my help more than I need his, but he won't be like this forever. That's fine. I can wait. If our positions were reversed, I know--"  

The crack of a whip echoed in his ears, the constant looming threat of remembrance hanging over his head, and for a moment Shiloh was no longer in his room. There weren't any bodies--not yet, but before the memory could swallow him whole, his hand moved of its own accord to latch on to the opposite arm and hold tight. Elisha likely wouldn't recognize the gesture, and though Shiloh wasn't conscious of it, somewhere in memories amongst the ash and flame, his body remembered. He remembered the pressure of Keon grabbing hold and refusing to let go. Keon wouldn't let him go. 

It all happened in a handful of seconds, but something in Shiloh's eyes had turned fragile, like frost just barely clinging to a windowpane. 

"I know that he'll do the same." 

And just like that, it was gone, drifting back into familiar, stubborn blue. 

"Can you say that about yourself?" 

Shiloh floundered only for a moment-- then he seemed to find something solid, something strong. There was absolute trust, there. Absolute trust in Keon-- who was, at the moment, no better than a wraith. Keon, who was hardly present for 80% of their conversations. Keon, who had shed so many vestiges of himself-- his fine clothing, his strong back, his confidence and poise, and crumpled under his heavy, sharp crown. 

Again, Elisha had to re-adjust his estimation of Shiloh, and now of Keon. He didn't notice at first the pressure of Envy, not until Shiloh's eyes set and the other seized his words like a knife and turned them on him. It was the same as being cut-- no pain, at first. Just heat, and a sensation of loss. Then it came, dull and throbbing, hot and sharp to the beat of one's heart. 

Could he say, 'I have Emory', the same as Shiloh spoke of his friend? Emory, who was perhaps too eager-- who was growing and changing, struggling and seeking, always seeking, searching for something more. No. Elisha had placed himself again into the category of used and had established to himself that he would likely only be a stepping point-- on to either brighter or darker things, for the tiefling. He'd been okay with that-- his hand would have changed something about Emory, left its mark, left a memory. So why did those words still cut him?

"I don't understand." His right hand pressed against his left breast, like he could staunch the bleeding. He kept trying to reach towards the emotions, to process them, and each time he did, he could feel the colors of his mask slipping. He needed to hold both of them-- to somehow understand and remain unaffected. He could do that, right? He shook his head, then turned back to the dresser, only so he didn't have to keep looking into those blue clear eyes. 

"... But I won't waste my concern, then." His voice held steady, though. Thank the strength in his blood, his voice held steady. "So in the meanwhile. While Keon is recovering... what are you going to do about Tyrfing? Are we all going to look for those hunters?"

"You don't understand," Shiloh repeated softly in agreement. He hadn't thought Elisha would. That was part of his reason for asking, after all. But as he watched the other boy's hand press against where his heart ought to be, Shiloh thought that Elisha might have miscalculated. He'd all but given him the knife and asked to be wounded. There was no need to stop now. 

"Do you think you would know if you had someone you could rely on? Or would you be blissfully unaware? Or maybe you would know, somewhere deep down, and refuse to let yourself see it." Shiloh leaned back on his palms, keeping his focus loosely on Elisha's back as he wondered aloud.  

The other boy had likely turned away for a reason, but Shiloh was patient enough to wait and see if he'd turn around again. It was a vulnerable position on its own, turning your back to someone, even if it was to hide. It called to mind a story, but perhaps that would wait for another day. Today, Shiloh could use his own words and know they would be understood. 

"It's dangerous, you know--allowing someone else that much power over you. You could pick unwisely and end up paying with a broken heart. Or worse, you could end up paying with your life." While he knew that the words were not particularly kind, they were honest and his tone was gentle, as though it might soften the blow.

"I do not blame you for fearing it." He'd feared it himself once, hadn't he? But that had been years ago. A lifetime ago, now. 

"It's the same fear that keeps you from drowning when you fall into deep water, or from wandering towards an animal that takes you for a meal. It's meant for survival." And it does its job well, Shiloh added in his mind. It keeps you breathing when you can do nothing else. It fills your lungs with air enough to cry and howl and scream for help or a swift death, whichever finds you first.  

Shiloh frowned, and dropped back on his bed, his legs still bent at the knee to hang off the edge. The squares were still there in the ceiling, unchanging and waiting to be counted, but he couldn't bring himself to start. Instead he simply lay there, eyes unfocused until they could see the larger pattern that all the little squares made together. 

"You can only survive for so long, Elisha, before surviving kills you. We aren't meant to go on like that forever. None of us are." Shiloh turned his gaze from the ceiling, cheek rubbing against the bed covers as he spoke to the other boy's back.  

"Eventually, you'll have to live."

Shiloh didn't even try to allow him to deflect, and Elisha didn't know why he was surprised. The leather of his gloves creaked in protest as he clenched hands into fists. Just as Shiloh couldn't fathom Elisha being genuine and forthright, Elisha couldn't fathom the younger boy to be misleading or cruel. 

So he knew the truth in the words. It had been a very long time since he'd decided not to be hurt-- in Shiloh's words, decided to survive. And that had worked just fine, until he'd gotten to Mercaid. He'd never met so many people before then, and something unfed had hungered at watching others build their tenuous connections. But he couldn't do it. Elisha couldn't do it. He wasn't meant to be vulnerable, though he'd tried. He'd invested himself, which was as close as he could come to caring, and he'd spurred them all onwards. He'd pushed Rus even when the man dug his heels into the dirt, he'd encouraged Emory even while knowing the other jeopardized his education, he'd been more than happy to accept Keon's resources. He'd put them down there, in the dungeons of Mercaid. 

He was the prime example, of someone who stood over others, and the cost of lives. So he couldn't shake that fear, not until perhaps he'd made things right. Made sure they were all okay, made sure they had homes, and resources, a path, a future, and each other. Of course, they were right to fight his meddling, at this point.

The calling of his name by Shiloh brought him back to awareness out of his struggling thoughts. He'd really thought he'd come here to help Shiloh? Why hadn't he been kicked out, yet? 

"I want to live." His own words sounded flat to his ears. But he meant it. Why couldn't he say it like he meant it? What would it take? But he knew that answer. Sacrifice. Life and Death, Sacrifice and Balance. He unclenched the fist over his heart, like he was letting go of the heat in his heart. The change spread with the flow of his blood, the colors fading from his skin and hair. 

"I want to live." He insisted this time, and it did sound right, but he couldn't even be satisfied about it with the sudden wave of fear and despair that beat against him. You haven't given me a reason to be anything but cautious, Shiloh had said. He hadn't given the other any reason to like him or accept him, either. He knew how likely it was he would never get those things-- why did he want it so badly?

Shiloh listened to the statement ring hollow, unsurprised that Elisha lacked the knowledge to make it sound convincing on his first try, even if it were genuine. It took time to convince yourself of something. Time and stubborness. He knew that. He was busy working towards the opposite. 

The second time was better, and Shiloh briefly wondered if convincing yourself could be as simple as repetition. Was that why Lee's words wouldn't leave him alone? Even if that were the reason, it didn't make it any less irritating. He'd have to find some other way of reminding himself. 

Then he realized something was wrong.  

Shiloh bolted upright, staring at the fading color of Elisha's hair in quiet, growing panic. Was that a spell? Was he sick? Was he cursed? His eyes flickered over to Tyrfing, not entirely sure this was something the sword was capable of, but not something he would put past it. If it had already threatened to weaken him, who was to say it wouldn't try the same with the others as an example? But he didn't have time to think on it, and his body moved on instinct to leap off the bed and close the distance between him and Elisha. He grabbed the other boy's shoulder, roughly turning him to get a look at his face, to see if he was conscious--and was met with his own worried expression reflected in empty eyes.

Shiloh jerked his hand away as though burnt, terror quickly overtaking concern. He'd seen those eyes before, and rush of stories he'd been told came back to him all at once. Tales of children stolen in the dead of night, spirited away into the Feywild and returning, but not quite as they once were. They weren't fey themselves, but they were the eyes and ears of the courts, watching just quietly as the rest of the Shifting Forest. 

He knew they weren't harmful, not usually, but the speed with which Shiloh backed away didn't quite match with that assessment. How long had Elisha been watching? How much had he seen? Who was he telling it to? Why would anyone even care to watch them? Despite the hasty retreat, Shiloh's eyes hadn't been able to look anywhere else. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again a moment later when nothing came out. His mind struggled to catch up with the rest of his body, and it took a long, uncomfortable moment before his words returned. 

"How long..?"

Elisha likewise moved away, back bumping against the dresser as he braced himself. Though he had calmly gone over so many scenarios with all of them in his mind before, it didn't keep his heart from fluttering wildly in his chest in fear. Tyrfing was right there, after all. 

The fear in the other's eyes reminded him of when Shiloh had regarded Eiffel, and he remembered what he and Emory had read in the library before. Changelings weren't to be trusted-- they were often spies. Doubt had briefly crossed his own mind-- maybe he wasn't changing because of their relics or their deaths, but because he'd always been this way, and perhaps that was why he struggled with his own feelings. But no, he couldn't deal with any more existential crisis than he already had on his hands. He had his memories, and those had built who he was. After all, surely when they'd all died, he'd have looked true to himself on the Styx? Unless Elisha had died and someone else had come back. 

Elisha laughed nervously, softly, one hand covering his mouth self consciously. "No, no I-- hm. I changed the first time after we'd woken up from being dead. And I haven't used it, since." He misinterpreted Shiloh's vague question, afraid perhaps that Shiloh's first assumption would be that he'd have used his abilities to impersonate any of the others or even Shiloh.

Shiloh continued to stare, though the distrust that now painted his face wasn't quite the same as it had been in the doorway. That had been easy--he'd thought he knew Elisha, then.  You’re never going to be able to communicate until you can keep an open mind. Fuck, shut up Lee. Shiloh grit his teeth and shoved the line out of his head once again. Lee had made his point over and over by now, but was now really the time to listen?  

Could Shiloh even trust what Elisha was saying? He had kept his eyes locked on the other boy until now, but slowly, they drifted downwards until they settled on the floor. It made sense, what he said. Everyone else had come back a little bit different after dying. It was possible.. or was it a convenient excuse?  

Elisha had always been digging, hadn't he? He'd always been watching. A fey of the Summer Court had been in their classes--Elisha could have been keeping an eye on him. But Shiloh had never seen the two interact. Not that he had really tried to see Eiffel at all, he'd made sure to give the fey space back then, just as he was doing now with his former housemate. It couldn't just be coincidence, could it? Shiloh gave a small shake of his head, but he couldn't quite shake the suspicion that had been drilled into him from story after story.

"So you weren't.. this.. before. Back at Mercaid you were just a human. That's what you're telling me, right? You weren't working for any of the Courts?" Shiloh kept a cautious distance between the two of them, not as outwardly panicked, but still wary in case Elisha decided to make any sudden movements.

Finally, Shiloh's gaze slid off of him and he felt himself relax slightly, the dresser creaking under the weight of his leaning as he did so. He felt on edge, being perceived like this, and doubly so by Shiloh's clear eyes.

"Of course not." He didn't even know how many Courts there were, or their relation to one another. "I'm Elisha Lunasen. My maman is Aurelie and my father is Merrick. He is a mortician, working for the clergy and..." He trailed off, realizing that none of this was really proof. It sounded thin to his own ears. "I could cast zone of truth. But if I was a spy, I do not think I would have revealed it."

Shiloh blinked as Elisha began rattling off his full family history. There was no way for him to confirm any of it, but it was Elisha's last point that was the most convincing. Why would he have bothered to blow his own cover? Shiloh considered it for a moment, and couldn't think of a good reason. Not that that meant there wasn't one--an actual spy would probably be smarter than he was, anyway--but as far as he could tell, Elisha seemed to be telling the truth. 

He relaxed a fraction, shoulders falling as the apparent danger and tension was worn away. If Elisha hadn't always been like this, then he likely wasn't a threat. Not in that sense, anyway. Shiloh looked back up at the other boy, head tilting curiously to one side. If this was his true form, then perhaps Shiloh would like them better than the other Elisha. Was it even any different than Elisha? Would this one wear as many masks? Maybe this was the open mind that Lee's voice kept trying to shove into his thoughts.  

"Do you.. feel any different? About Elisha?" He wrinkled his nose in discomfort immediately after asking. It was odd to ask someone how they felt about themself in the third person. Was it still themself, though? Shiloh recollected his thoughts and tried again.  

"I mean, are you Elisha? Or was what I saw earlier Elisha? Or both?"

Elisha immediately furrowed his brow at the question, then flushed a little as he struggled to get a grip on his emotions. Frustrated, he rubbed his face with one gloved hand, the soft leather soothing him somewhat. It wasn't a question he would have answered to Emory, strangely. It wasn't a question he even wanted to answer himself. But he felt like he had to prove something to Shiloh, and he did want to understand this as much as Shiloh apparently did, even if Shiloh's curiosity was probably born out of caution or fear. 

And the phrasing Shiloh was using seemed right. 

"I... don't have a name for who I am right now." He said, slowly. Why did he feel so nauseous? He held his hand over his mouth, muffling his words only slightly. 

"I haven't. Stayed this way for very long, ever. It..." hurts wasn't the right word. "... itches. Everything is keener." He pauses, then looks at Shiloh, then immediately glances away as if the other boy is too bright to look at. "Elisha feels like someone I made up. Are you you? What makes you, you?" His brow furrows again. "Flesh and blood are so much easier to solve than this." The last statement was mumbled mostly to himself. 

He felt like he was too strongly aware that a person was just all the pieces of the people they knew, stitched together. Keon was his father and probably his mother and also he was Shiloh. Shiloh was his parents and the trees and the people who talked to him in languages he didn't understand. Rus was his father, and his missing mother, and now he was also Eiffel, and whoever he might have hurt or killed. Elisha was his mother and his father, the corpses on clean tables, and Emory, and... the montages of memories and feelings and personalities and quirks made him feel an awful lot like how The Wallace Sword's scabbard looked. Finely stitched together pieces of haphazard skin which were too strong to pull apart.

For a long moment, Shiloh just stared at the floor. It was a difficult question, and one that he couldn't rightly ask of Elisha without knowing how to answer for himself. Only, he didn't know. He was no great thinker. He didn't have any grand ideas about what made people or didn't make people or what existing was for--he just was. 

"It's.. complicated." That was it. That was the entire thought. It was followed shortly by a frustrated huff of air, and with his apparent fear of Elisha overshadowed by thought, Shiloh once again flopped backwards onto his bed. The squares were still above him, waiting to be counted. At least he could rely on that, in the midst of a metaphysical crisis. 

"I don't think that it's something meant to be put in words. Words are.. solid.. and I'm not." He made a face as he struggled to turn something so intangible into a more understandable form. "I mean, there are parts of me.. and they all meet in one place. And that place is me, but those parts are always changing. I'm not the same me as I used to be a day ago, or a week, or a year, but I am.. me." This was harder than he thought, even in his own language. Just thinking about trying to explain this through translation gave him a headache.

"All of my different parts.. there's no way to untangle it all, I think. But I don't have to. I don't even have to understand it all. I'll still be me without understanding it, and you'll still be you without understanding yours. Not knowing doesn't mean you cease to exist. The world is full of things we don't know, and they're existing just fine." He wasn't even really sure he was making sense at this point.  

But, maybe it wasn't the type of answer Elisha--or whoever it was--wanted. Elisha would like things defined and laid out and dissectible. Shiloh frowned slightly in thought, looking for something that might suit the other boy better. After a moment, his expression brightened. 

"If you'd like, you could start small. You could start with a name." On the surface, a name was simple. They only had to sit on the surface for now. He turned and looked at the other boy from his place on the bed.  

"Would you like one?"

'Not knowing doesn't mean you cease to exist.'

These were more words than Elisha had ever heard Shiloh speak in the span of even a week-- and he felt a little bubble of gratitude that the other was taking him seriously and making this sort of effort for him. There was something undeniable and comforting in that sentence, and he took it and repeated it in his mind and felt a little more grounded for it. His eyes drifted back to Shiloh now that the other was staring at the ceiling. 

Something in Shiloh's cloudy expression cleared, and then-- 

'Would you like one?'

His eyes blinked wide. Shiloh would help him with that? His hand lowered from his mouth slightly, poised in the air between his chest and his head. "I want... a name of someone you could like." He seemed to realize what he'd asked a moment after he'd asked it, then flushed and looked away quickly. Then, more quietly. "Or... Or something simple is okay too. I don't want to be complicated. You don't have to think hard about it."

For a moment, Shiloh appeared to have frozen. He'd only meant to ask if Elisha even liked the idea of a name, he hadn't thought--he hadn't expected--whatever this was. 

His eyes remained wide as he stared back at the other boy. He watched the sheet-white hand hover in the air, the quick aversion of his gaze, the way his voice grew quiet. This wasn't calculated.  

Slowly, Shiloh pushed himself up into a sitting position, brow creased as he tried to find some sort of fault in the boy in front of him, as though there was a catch hidden somewhere, waiting for him to pull it and unravel the disguise back into empty smiles and hollow words. Instead, he watched the embarrassed flush spread across Elisha's cheeks in quiet disbelief. Maybe, he realized, there were no masks left to be had. Just a bare face.  

They care about you, you know, in their strange, little ways.  

The reminders usually left him irritated, but this one brought a nearly overwhelming sense of shame, and it rolled over him like a wave. Had this been hiding there the whole time? Even back in the yard? Was that why..?

Now it was Shiloh's turn to turn red in embarrassment. His gaze fell down to his hands rather than linger any longer on the other boy's face. Fine, Lee. Point taken. He'd never even chosen a name before. Names were something chosen by parents or leaders or yourself. It was meant to be a gift from someone that knew you, and Elisha had asked it of him. He'd never even had a pet to name as practice.  

The thought was just a little distressing. Elisha wanted to be someone that he could like, and it brought about a panic that Shiloh wasn't sure how to place. He couldn't promise that. He couldn't lay out a plan for the other boy to follow along like some sort of map that just happened to end in friendship. Things didn't work that way.  

But Elisha asked it of him. Not coerced or demanded--he'd asked. Elisha had left the possibility of refusal there for Shiloh to take, and it had never seemed as unappealing of an option to him as it did now. He couldn't give promises of friendship, or directions to follow, but maybe all Elisha needed was a place to begin. That much, he could give. 

Shiloh folded his hands, watching his fingers intertwine with each other as he spoke. 

"I.. like Venn."

He chewed gently on his cheek as he waited for Shiloh to give up and say no-- so when the other boy piped up, he looked over, unable to not experience the anticipation and trepidation. 

"Venn." His echo was barely audible. He almost expected the same thing to happen as the first time he'd tried to name himself-- and he had tried. Alou. The name had brought with it so much baggage that he hadn't been expecting, a new face spinning out of... well, he still wasn't sure where, though he was sure there was a source. His maman, for one. She had wanted to name him Alou, after all. 

But he didn't feel that itch. No impulses or desires or motivations rose from the calling and receiving of that name. Tentatively, he touched his own face-- And it was his own face. The name settled, and he sighed out satisfaction. 

"Thank you. Thank you." He didn't move from his spot at the dresser, though he did very much want to cross the room. He still felt raw and exposed and vulnerable and fear rooted him in place. His anxiety made him babble instead. "I... I can't be me for much of the time. Nobody else is supposed to know. But Elisha will leave you alone. He thinks you're stronger than him and he hates losing." He blinks, surprised for a moment. That wasn't a thing he'd known when he was Elisha. He swallows, then continues. "And you haven't met Alou. Nobody has, yet. He may be easier to withstand, in public. If I can somehow introduce him..." He trails off, then looks over at Shiloh, question on his face. 

"Should I tell everyone? Only you and Emory know." Keon, he could trust, especially if he had Shiloh's approval. Rus he'd like to trust, but he still was unsure of where they stood with each other and Rus could sometimes be unpredictable, especially in his moods. Sabin he was endeared to, but Sabin was the least tactful of them all. But tricking him also didn't feel right.

The silence that stretched on after Elisha repeated the name felt unbearable, but Shiloh couldn't pull his eyes away from his clasped hands. He knew he wouldn't be good at naming. Maybe Elisha didn't like it. Maybe he just didn't know how to tell him after asking and being disappointed in the answer. Maybe he was angry--what if he knew what it meant and saw right through the lack of creativity. Shiloh was already halfway through forming an apology when the other boy began to thank him. 

For the second time in as many minutes, he looked up at Elisha in genuine surprise. Or was it Venn now? Did that mean he'd accepted it? Shiloh breathed a sigh of relief, only to be met with more baffling information. 

"..I am stronger than him, though." Was that rude to say to the owner of the persona in question? What kind of social etiquette even was there to handle this sort of thing. Maybe it was best just to consider them different people altogether. Venn seemed to talk about the others that way. "What do you--I mean, Elisha. What does Elisha think he's losing at?" Shiloh hadn't thought they were competing at anything, but he'd also thought that about conversations until just a bit ago. Maybe there was something he was missing.  

The idea of Alou, whoever he was, intrigued him. Was he similar to the other two? Completely different? How many of them were there? Didn't it get difficult balancing them? Shiloh though back to all of the things he had said about being himself, and realized it all seemed sort of simple when there was only one of him to consider.

"You're asking if I think the others will accept you." Shiloh frowned slightly in thought. Emory knew, and Venn didn't seem worried about him, so he'd obviously accepted this new development. The others weren't so simple. He wasn't sure how Keon would react to the news, given that he probably didn't know much about changelings. Sabin would probably be supportive, but he was the type to give away others' secrets without a second thought. Rus seemed good at keeping secrets, but that meant that he was good at keeping his actual opinions himself rather than being honest with them.  

"I.. think it'd be stupid if they didn't." Shiloh paused, thought about his answer, and gave himself a small nod. It felt right. "None of us are the same as we were. You're just.. more." A lot more obviously changed. There were two complete strangers that knew the entire history of their group. Someone was bound to be unsettled by it.  

"They might be cautious, I think. But this time you have a chance to give them a reason not to be." He looked back at Venn, still thrown off by how plain his feelings were in comparison to Elisha. It was refreshing. He offered the other boy a small smile, and a tilt of his head.  

"I think you've given me plenty, anyway."

Shiloh had a simplicity to his thoughts that forced Venn to consider Elisha in a different point of view. "Losing at..." he trailed off. It was difficult to explain. "Well, you don't even play the game, so there's no way we can win, so it's a loss. The game is... Being clever. Being right. Making people do what you want them to, but with your will." Trying to put it into words didn't even begin to grasp the rules. It would probably be something that made more sense to someone like Keon, or even Rus. "You can tell us that it isn't a game, that it doesn't matter, but others play it too, so it does matter sometimes. The game is like when Elisha convinced people to join the house. That the houses even had points is sort of training, for that, I think." 

Venn did tense up when Shiloh replied to his question-- was it bad to even consider not telling them, then? But Shiloh's explanation eased his fear, and he was relieved that they could understand each other for the time being-- if there had been a language barrier, the nuance of his response would likely have been misconstrued completely. 

Shiloh's willingness to accept that he existed surprised Venn. Yes, Shiloh had feared him at first-- but he also had been more open about everything than he'd ever been with Elisha. Why? He wanted to know, but he was also okay with learning over time. This was enough, for now. Seeing Shiloh's offered smile was like having a songbird fly right into one's hand, and he smiled back, feeling for once he'd made the correct decision with Shiloh.