The Other One (Jilitse, Stitch)

[Malia]

Timestamp: 80th of Summer, 510 AV

The Welcome Home had always held a special fascination to the Nuit. Perhaps it was the slightly isolated position from the castle, being neither attached to it nor standing outside the protecting walls. Perhaps it was the emotions she had observed inside, a while ago. To her, who looked back to centuries of learning and traveling, it had only been a short while she had spent inside its walls, and yet the memories were so varied and unique.

That might be one of the reasons why she had come back so quickly. She had to study human behavior to find back to something she had lost. Her reason was a purely logical one: She would practice her ability to convince others of her cause. Someone more than trustworthy had instructed her to find allies.

While away from the Welcome Home and its inhabitants, she had had time to rethink everything that had happened. Stitch and the children had gotten her emotions to stir in ways that were foreign to her. She had let confusion and frustration overwhelm her and influence her action. The stupidity of fleeing that place, running over to Sahova, didn’t bother her anymore though. Mistakes were made to learn from them. And what didn’t kill her – metaphorically speaking, of course – only made her stronger.

So she had returned. Firstly, the experiments she had carried out in the last few days had drained her financial resources. Secondly, she had to find a way of controlling those emotions. She couldn’t hide forever. When facing serious issues, she had to work with logic and reason rather than emotion.

It was part of her studying and gathering information. Power was what mattered most in the end, and power came in many different ways.

So, without doubt the girl that approached the three-storey building this time had changed a great deal. Not only physically, although that was the most obvious sign. The grey cloak was the same, but underneath she was dressed in an elegant dark blue blouse and black trousers. High black boots concluded her wardrobe. Most likely whoever answered the door upon her knock would consider her a stranger. Sweet features were framed with blood-red hair. Her eyes were as dark and hollow as ever. But although her complexion appeared quite pale, face powder created at least a remotely healthy look. Indeed, she looked like a human ready to talk business with the owner of the establishment.

When the door opened, she would give a polite nod. “Greetings, my name is Azola. I’d like to speak with the owner regarding a possible employment contract.” Her voice was smooth, polite, but nothing else. Different, very different from the first time.

Who’d believe that Malia was indeed back?

[Stitch]

Turn forever, you and me. Stitch had snuck down to the office about an hour before the crack of dawn, as he needed to get a few things of paperwork done. He had been successful in sneaking past the children; they wouldn't be up for another hour or so. He wasn't so sure if he had woken Jilitse or not though, as he had heard a few little sounds coming from her room. Pausing from his work for a moment, he reflected on that, thinking back to the scenario. She often secluded herself within her room, and went about some task that required all kinds of the small sounds. He was curious, for sure, but he respected her privacy. He didn't think she could sneak around without him or the children becoming aware of it, and really, he didn't think she would. He had no reason to distrust the Nuit, and she reminded him of Malia. She couldn't be that bad, right? Nodding resolutely to himself, he made a silent promise to take Jilitse out sometime. Perhaps to the Stone Gardens or somewhere pretty like that. He wanted to get to know his newest occupant just a little bit better. Focusing back on the task at hand, he mentally stared down at the small stacks of papers in front of him. Shifting uncomfortably on the small desk chair, he adjusted the pen in his hand, bracing himself for the task. He knew his writing was almost impossible to understand, although he couldn't really see what it looked like. The Aura of the ink was always drowned out by the Aura of the paper though, leaving him with little guide on how his handwriting turned out. All he had to do was sign these papers. He had asked Fentya to turn them right side up, so that he would always be signing the correct side of the paper. They were just health and safety forms, things he had to write up now that he had bought the two horses, and the pony. He could smell them outside, along with one other distinct smell. He would have to clean that up, after this. A knock on the door roused him out of his task, and he started, nearly knocking over the small vial of ink set on the desk. The loud noise had startled him, and was still echoing in his head, as if to keep reminding him that there was now someone at the door. Slowly rising from his office chair, he touched a hand to his forehead, willing the sound away. Why was it still there? Throb. A muffled grunt was the only vocal indication Stitch gave before his legs buckled, the pain bolting throughout his entire body. Both hands flying to his skull, to cradle the splitting headache, he smashed down to his knees. The world danced around him, the Auras suddenly so much brighter, the world suddenly much more vivid than any way he had ever experienced it before. If he wasn't in so much pain, he would admire it, but he couldn't. It hurt. It hurt. Surging magic to his eyes, he tried to adjust his sight, tried to get the colors to tone down, to relieve some of the mental stimulation attacking him from all sides. Why was everything so bright? Malia. Stitch's head snapped up, veins throbbing throughout the entirety of his forehead, quite obvious against his almost pale skin. His bandages held tight, almost painfully so, and he considered ripping them off. He couldn't move his hands, though. They were digging into his skull, as if to try and rip out his brain, as if they could pry the pain away by pure force alone. But that Aura? The one who had knocked? It was like a sullen storm cloud; dark, grey, silent... Could it possibly be her? Groaning, refusing to shout out, not wanting to alert the visitor or the children, he attempted to pry one hand from his skull. The magic he was surging through his veins tasted sweet, a small amount of pleasure against a background of throbbing agony, so he simply surged more. The world spiraled into greater color, almost blinding him, ironically. The pleasing sensation grew, and he clung to those sensations, using them to full his actions. A hand snapped from his forehead, grabbing onto the nearby desk. Malia. She wouldn't be back without a reason. Is she in trouble? Muscles bulged in his arm as he pulled himself up, Stitch determined to get his footing and get to the door. Maybe he was over-reacting. She probably wasn't in trouble. But then again, she had no other reason to come here. But why would she come to him if she was in trouble? But that Aura, he couldn't deny it... Beyond the Aura of the door, that was her! He righted himself, realizing the pain was slowly dulling. These episodes were brief, but agonizing. What triggered them in the first place? And why did they make normal tasks so blasted difficult? Rubbing at the last of the throbbing veins, shaking his head at how quickly the pain vanished, he strode toward the door. A beaming smile lit his face as he flung open the door, happy words already leaking out his mouth. "Milady, so very good to see you, what brings you-" Stitch paused, suddenly confused. The door had been in the way of the Aura, but he thought that hadn't been a problem. He had seen her clearly, he thought. But this... This wasn't Malia? He quietly listened as she asked about a contract, the blind man completely baffled. Why had he been so sure? Scanning her quickly, it was easy for him to note that she was a Nuit. Perhaps that was it. A lot of the Nuit Aura's looked somewhat similar. Smiling politely, still happy to have a new visitor, but not as giddy as he had been before, he nodded. Stepping back, he offered her a path into the office of the Welcome Home. "This one is always happy to have new help, milady Azola. Please, come in. Can this one get you coffee, or some sort of morning pastry?" She was a Nuit, so he knew she would decline, but his politeness still felt compelled to offer. As he stood there, studying her, he noticed something was a bit off. Her Nuit Aura was as cold and grey as ever, a literal cloud of apathy, but there was something else there. It was a rippling of emotion, a small one, like static electricity running through a woolen carpet. Extremely small, but there. How odd.

[Malia]

The hasty words erupting from his lips so suddenly caused her to hesitate. Had he expected someone else? Was there another woman working at the orphanage now, or had he perhaps made a new friend in the meantime? Humans were so unstable and unpredictable, but Stitch had never had many friends. The children had been his life.

And she had been too.

Just then, she realized who he expected. A little uncomfortable, she stepped in nevertheless, gave a nod of appreciation and raised a hand to decline. “No, thank you.” She knew that he knew, could read his voice and his body language like an open book. It had always been that way, hadn’t it? She was the one who was unpredictable in his eyes, but still his open emotions were the most fascinating to watch.

When she followed him towards the office – the way she had already walked on that particular day –, Malia tried to think about how she should reveal her identity to him. First it had been a joke, and a precaution. She couldn’t be sure who was listening or if she was being watched. Strange enough, once inside the building she felt safe enough to tell the truth about herself. Was that true? Of course, Stitch was as protective as possible when it came to the children, and love was a powerful protection as a fact. She felt reminded of Jilitse, the witch who loved Zarik Mashaen.

When they were ready for the ‘job interview’, Malia couldn’t help but continue the joke and wonder when he’d find out. How far she could go until he remembered. How good was the memory of humans anyway? Did he even remember her voice? Different vocal chords were working in her throat, but still her way of speaking, her way of acting had to be similar, right?

Anyway, she had made the same experience for countless times before, so it didn’t really matter. All that mattered, instead, was her presence at the place she had left a while ago and his presence in front of her, just as ever. The words poured from her bloodless lips: “When you live as long as we do, you know that you’re different. You know that you’ll be lonely most of the time. Therefore, I felt drawn to this building …“

Would he know how she had continued?

When looking at Stitch, Malia felt the echo of what she had experienced with him. A very faint echo, for with time memories transformed into colorless and voiceless pictures in her mind, but nevertheless it had been a very short time of separation. He had to remember!

The usual shadow of a smile crossed her features when she watched him, waiting for a reaction that would surely come sooner or later.

[Stitch]

He was confused, but he was trying to hide it. He was actually happy to have another applicant at the Welcome Home, so the smile wasn't really hard to put up. After all, Malia had been the one to tell him he could use some help around the Welcome Home. He hadn't really listened back then, but now that he thought about it, the help that Malia had formerly offered had turned out to be quite a boon for him. It had taken a load off of his shoulders, and gave him some alone time, some time to relax. He had only really noticed how much he had liked it after she had left, and he had resumed all of his duties once more. The prospect of new help almost brought a sigh of relief to his helps. Things had been hectic lately, especially with Clarissa, and Jilitse. But why was this woman so puzzling to his sight? He was getting so many mixed signals now. His gut told him one thing, but his eyes told him another. How could he deny them? He had learned to trust on his magic, why would he doubt it now? She denied the snack, like he knew she would, and gracefully strode into the house. He studied her for another few moments before slowly closing the door, shaking his head, following her toward his desk. She didn't look similar to Malia, not physically. It was only the fact that she was a Nuit; that was why he had gotten himself all worked up. Jilitse had gone and reminded him of his old friend, and now this one had too. He wasn't so sure why this one reminded him of her so much, but he wasn't going to press the matter. He would only work himself up more, and he had to remain professional. The Nuit was here for a job interview, after all.. It was funny how he and the Welcome Home seemed to attract the Nuit, he noted. Still deep in thought, he crossed around the desk and took his seat in the little blue chair, clasping his hands in his laps and reaching out for a piece of candy. Grabbing the orange mint, he popped it in his mouth, swirling it around in his mouth as sort of a thoughtful kind of habit. After a few moments of awkward silence, the Nuit across from him spoke, and he faintly found himself listening. When you live as long as we do, you know that you’re different. You know that you’ll be lonely most of the time. Therefore, I felt drawn to this building… Stitch instinctively chimed in, a small smile touching his lips as he finished her sentence. "Something, instinct perhaps, told you that it contained warmth and company – and, you want to be part of this warmth, at least for a few chimes per day?" He chuckled, nodding at her, his head tilting down to the desk as he continued swirling the piece of candy in his mouth. "This one can understand..." He voice drifted off, his thoughtful state of mind quite evident. Soon though, within a few seconds, his head suddenly snapped up. A stricken look crossed his face as he realized he had perhaps just been quite rude. His voice was high, slightly panicky, the worry on his features quite obvious in his words, too. "This one apologizes, milady! This one had a guest a season or so ago, that said almost those exact words, and this one just happened to..." He paused, his words once more listing off into nothingness as he steadied his magical sight on her with a renewed vigor. He was almost positive of it now. He knew her. That was a different body, and that was making it hard to tell, but that Aura underneath... There was definitely something there, definitely something familiar... He face took on a hesitant look, a disbelieving look, but a look of oddly boyish hope as he tilted his gaze up at her. "Malia?"

[Malia]

He seemed absent when they sat in the familiar office, popping a candy in his mouth like he often did. It seemed that hanging out with children all day and night had taught him quite some childish habits. The bright, innocent smile was there too, although it looked slightly different. It wasn’t directed towards the person named ‘Malia’, so she figured that the smile for ‘Malia’ was a special smile – a special expression of sympathy, because in his eyes ‘Malia’ was a special person.

Just then her assumption was confirmed: He had feelings for her that were different from mere friendliness. They had worked together for quite some time – at least when it came to the human perspective – and it was only natural that he had regarded her as a friend after the first days, especially with this open-minded nature. Now, the feelings she read in the smile meant for ‘Malia’ which was still carved in her memory were different and unique.

Yet she wasn’t sure what that meant.

Then her words, the little test, carried both back into reality. Malia was slightly relieved. Although the human memory was inaccurate, he had remembered the exact following words! That was another piece in her puzzle, another proof of the theory that was slowly forming in her mind.

The last three words were new though. He understood? Of course, she had always wondered what story the marks on his skin, but most importantly the little oddities in his demeanor could tell if one asked at the right time. However, never had she dared to voice the question. Perhaps it was out of respect, or, most likely, because she had been too wrapped up in her own world and her plans. Now, she was reminded of it once more. Returning had been a good choice, for she wouldn’t have found out so many things about the world of the pulsers and also herself if she hadn’t spend some more thought on the Welcome Home, relationships and the human mind.

Then he apologized and trailed off. She could literally see the memories on his face, like an open book being consumed by the images it contained. Hopefully he didn’t drown in them. But now that she was back, he wouldn’t have to be nostalgic anymore, right?

A single word was spoken, the name. She could clearly discern the special tune her name held when spoken by Stitch. A thin, but genuine smile crossed her features for a moment. “Yes.”

Almost a chime of silence passed in which Malia let him process the information that she was indeed back. Then she cleared her throat. “I have obtained a new body shortly after returning to Syliras.” She spared him the details, as she was sure that he didn’t want to know. “My purse is quite empty compared to the plans I have, so I would like to work here again. I am sure you need help”, she added, remembering when and where she had said that before.

“Also, I have thought about a few things and would like to be perfectly honest and clear to you from now on. I offer a contract: I tell you my story … and you tell me yours.” There she waited, once again waiting for Stitch to catch up with her speech. She had said what she had wanted to without any pauses, for oxygen was useless to her. If it sounded rude, that was simply how she was. Clear, precise and organized. She only hoped that she had guessed right and that Stitch would understand and play the game with her.

[Stitch]

He smiled as she confirmed his suspicions, and quickly stood in his chair, leaning across the desk to swoop her up in a tight hug. It was quick and sudden, the blind man quite the fast one. His strong arms curled her up for just a second, giving her that warm squeeze before releasing her. He grinned like a kid, cocking his head to the side, placing his hands on his hips. "That was a mean trick! Was that some kind of weird woman trick?" He cocked his thumb toward the ceiling, gesturing at the rooms that were held there. "This one sees the Lady Kamalia do it to the Lord Gromhir all the time. Asking him if he likes her hair, the new thing she did with it, even if there is no actual change. Or at least this one doesn't see the change. He usually doesn't either, but he pretends! Sometimes this cheers her, and sometimes she sees it. Milady didn't just have a different hairstyle, she had a whole new body!" Stitch chuckled to himself, obviously amused. Pausing, his emotions suddenly took that quick little turn, a stricken look now crossing his face. "This one doesn't mean to offend, though. This one just thought you might be teasing, and this one enjoyed the joke. Don't let this one overstep his boundries." Stitch paused, turning his head toward his still outstretched thumb, as if realizing it was actually up. "They left, you know. Lady Kamalia and Lord Gromhir. They had a trip to go on too." Stitch looked sad for a brief moment, but soon turned to Malia, that soft smile crossing his face again. "This one is glad to have you back, though. This one was getting... lonely." Confusion now. A lost sort of look, as if Stitch did not understand his own emotions. "That sounds weird, this one knows. Since the children are here. But..." Stitch droned off, his head cocked off in a different direction, his focus elsewhere. It soon snapped back, his head turning to find her again, his smile once again returning to its rightful place. "This one could use some help though, yes. And the company. This one is always happy to have both. It is only a bonus that this one can help with your coin problem." He let her finish her sentence, quietly listening. She would tell him her story? And he would tell her his? That was the contract? He wasn't so sure he understood. His face once more expressed confusion, but as her words slowly suck into his brain, he did something he had rarely done to anyone. And certainly not her. He withdrew. It was subtle, in ways. There was a minor flinching, a minor twitch to his muscles. He leaned back lightly, the expressions falling from his face, to be replaced with a blank slate. His body slowly moved, sitting back down into the wooden chair that went with his desk, but he wasn't really aware of the movement. Or of anything around him. She wanted to know his history, what had turned him into who he was. Why he was blind, and why he was here. Why he spent every waking hour with children. A voice resounded in his mind, one he wasn't sure was his. All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. Just one bad day. Just a single bad day to change everything. You had a bad day once, didn't you? Stitch lowered his head, holding his forehead with his palm, his headaches suddenly attacking him again. They were hidden by his hand, but they were there, the several throbbing veins spiderwebbing out from his eyes. He shook his head a little bit, almost answering her question, but not really. "I... I just had a bad day. Just a bad day. It isn't really anything exciting; my story." The words were whispered, and the girl might not even hear them. Suddenly, Stitch was standing, once again looking down on the girl. The veins were gone, with no evidence to suggest that they had once been there. He smiled at her again, but the smile was different. Withdrawn and distant. "Would you like to go outside, Lady Malia? Maybe for a walk in the backyard? We can talk out there, maybe a little." His smile trembled.

[Jilitse]

Jilitse was on the longest days of her life, being stuck in an Orphanage with four kids and a blind man. She was 528 and an animator. She knew from her unsuccessful self-imposed confinement and the adventure she had with Hadrian and Alistair that things were gonna be different for her from now on. Days in and out of the Welcome Home was almost as similar as those she had in Sahova. But mostly, they were dull, unproductive days. She couldn't self-teach herself advanced animation, and there were a lot of missing links in her knowledge. How could she understand Drainira if she couldn't even understand its parts? She had been reading about using more than one source, and had been studying about the dynamics of Soul vectors the day before and after that.

There was a lot to think about, especially undeath. Jilitse herself was a product of animation. Death, to her, besides the usual decapitation, would be the cessation of cerebral activity. But then again, if one suddenly wished to synthesize pre-Valterrian information - cognitive abilities notwithstanding - it was just simply too much genius. And genius, Jilitse wasn't.

She was the apprentice, the follower, the looker-upper. She dallied eagerly with her books, her one-hundred-percent preoccupation in research, and the worsening state of her disheveled body. So far, this proved to be her disadvantage. There were times Jil felt like she was not made of the right pizazz. During these moments, she would usually leave her room. Solitude was the exact thing that cause her a moribund unlife. Things were different now.

Knock, knock!

At this tender hour, Jilitse knew it was most likely Fentya. She left her bed slowly, as angled her arm as if she was hesitant to put down her books. In a few strides and a short while, the door was open. Fentya was there, up and ready for the morning.

"Hi, Jili."

The Nuit moved to block full vision of her room. "Yes, little miss?" She asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Well, yeah, cause Stitch is out, I think he has a visitor, but can you help me out in the garden to water the plants? I'm gonna do a little bit extra work today, some cooking for the visitor perhaps."

Jilitse stared at her blankly. Fentya looked away, a little abashed. Biting back her lips, she said, "No, no, it's okay if you don't want to..."

The Nuit smiled and patted her head. "It's okay, I have a lot of time." The kids were very familiar with Jil's quirks, most of them they have either witnessed or learned by asking about it. One was that she kept to herself, the other was that she practiced magic, and, most unusual of all, that she did not sleep. Fentya sometimes found it a joke when Jil talked about time. The young lass smiled kindly.

As Jilitse left her room, footsteps followed behind them. Clarissa still looked very sleepy, but was anxious to spend time with her "mama". Jilitse found this very interesting, how the child attached her old mother's memory to Jilitse. They had a problematical relationship between them.

Clarissa appeared between Jil and Fentya. "I want to help to." Fentya agreed and nodded. Soon, all three of them headed for the garden. Armed with a watering can, Jilitse started to water the plants. The grass was fresh with morning dew. Clarissa assisted in weeding out the garden. All three of them hummed Jil's lullabye.

"Oh, hey Jillie," Fentya looked up after tending her flowers, "I'm gonna have to cook breakfast soon, so I'll leave you here, okay?"

Jilitse waved her goodbye and turned to Clarissa, "You okay, child? I notice that you usually get up so early in the morning."

"Well neither do you..." and a little timid, "and you don't sleep. So it might be just that you're doing something else inside your room and it is likely that you just want some time alone."

It was hard to interpret this, but Jilitse stopped watering the shrubs and faced Clarissa, "So what you're trying to say to me is that you do not want to help with the chores and that you'd rather be alone in your room?" She flatly asked, "Then why did you help today?" The answer was simple, Clarissa saw her dead mother in Jil.

"Because I want to spend time with you."

It was really becoming an issue. Balling her fists, Clarissa retorted even before Jilitse could slip into her usual "I am not your mother tirade." The emotion was raw and honest. "I know you're not my mother." Clarissa held herself in an offensive stance, "But you've done a lot more for me than she ever did!"

The Nuit was taken aback. Just what was this kid professing, now? "If you mean to say that you like spending time with a Nuit like me..." Clarissa looked a little embarrassed, but Jil decided to be honest, "then I suppose I should thank you. Not many people feel comfortable being around the undead. I think the iamge of your mother in my face makes it easier for you to bear. But do you really not look at me and see your mother? Because, child, it is I who feel uncomfortable at the thought."

"The flowers in this garden, look at how they bloom for summer. They will soon whither away." Meaningfully, Jilitse asked Clarissa, "are you willing to let them go?"

[Malia]

Malia stiffened when Stitch leaned over to embrace her, but she endured the procedure. Perhaps she wouldn’t have done it for someone else, but with Stitch, it was different. First, she was used to his childish and simple exclamations of sympathy, and second, she didn’t mind them. Indeed, for some reason she wasn’t so much the isolationist when around this human man.

When he said something about a Lady and her companion, Malia partly shut her ears. She didn’t want to listen to his bits of procrastination. Perhaps he needed them, little moments of light-hearted nothingness, but she could slip them easily. It sounded like a young couple had chosen the orphanage for a temporary stay, but now they were gone, so it didn’t matter to Malia, who had just arrived. She let him release the little story and then apologize. At that point, she came to life again and nodded. “I know”, she whispered. She knew him so well. And she still wondered what that meant.

Then he did something unusual: showing the loneliness in his heart. “I know. It is just like I said during that evening at the Stone Garden.” Of course, she believed that she didn’t need to remember him. Perhaps it was another test, just to be sure, just to see whether he really remembered every single line they had shared just like she did. Was that some weird kind of magic? Crystal-clear memories as a side-effect of their undead existence?

She couldn’t be sure. But other things she could control.

“I am glad I can return your help, although in a different way”, she heard herself say. What was it that had changed? Stitch wouldn’t see the faint red hue in her eyes, the black mark at the side of her neck, but he would notice the change in her aura. Along with the motion, darkness had invaded its outward appearance. There was emotion, yes, but the more time they spent together, the more obvious it would become that Malia had perhaps gone through a change for the worse. There was some kind of instability in her now.

When she voiced her contract, Stitch didn’t react like she had calculated. Of course, humans never played to the rules. Sometimes they were predictable, sometimes not so much. The solution had something to do with emotions; that much one could find out. And there the trail ended. With Stitch, it was even more difficult. He seemed to be so innocent. Two options were evident: He put the boyish, unknowing façade on every morning with his bandages or he really was as ignorant of the real nature of Mizahar. However, there was more than the first sight impression to Stitch. He seemed to act, but without being conscious of it, as if something inside him had switched on a defense mechanism long ago.

Perhaps that was the key to an explanation for his behavior. Withdrawal. But why? The question burned inside Malia like the rotten seed Uldr had planted inside her. Curiosity had always been her strongest drive, and the conviction of revenge’s necessity.

Suddenly he stood, trying to bury what was boiling inside and conceal the weakness. Malia watched him and could almost feel the smile tremble in his face. There was pain. Clothing rustled as her hand wandered to her chest, to the spot where her heart was. She sensed it like it was her own! She understood something, but at the same time she wasn’t sure whether she understood anything. Did she read his feelings right? It was difficult if … what did Jilitse call it? One must avoid to get emotionally attached to one’s creations. Indeed, Malia had woven a relationship with all the consequences.

She slowly rose, did meet him at almost eye-level. For a moment she heard distant steps echoing in another part of the house. It seemed that the children were up. For the time being she would let Stitch catch his breath, she decided. But the discussion wasn’t over yet. “I am fine with continuing our talk in the backyard”, she agreed and waited until he moved, although she still knew where to go.

With the fresh morning air further cooling her pale skin, Malia remained silent for a while. Their steps were loud in her ears. Then she mused: “The children must be up by now. Will they be fine for a while without you?” It was kind of a rhetorical question, but she did find the fact strange that they hadn’t showed up yet. Perhaps Fentya had told the others to stay away?

When that matter was cleared, she continued with the other one. Turning to face him, Malia regarded Stitch with a very serious look. She wasn’t joking and she wouldn’t allow excuses. “You might believe everything boils down to a bad day, but I know there is something else. Please understand. To me, your story does matter.” And she was telling the truth, her voice showed. It was more truth than everything she had said in the last season. More truth than she had ever said or experienced in Sahova – which did tell something.

In case he withdrew once again, she would simply start by telling her history first.

[Stitch]

Laughter. That was all he could hear, the sound of her sweet laughter ringing in his ears. He soaked up the noise, and relished it, letting his own lips part to join her. Her laughter brought forth his laughter, just like her smile fed his own grin, and exactly like her love spurred on his own tender emotion. He could barely see her admist all the pouring snow, especially since they were wrestling around in the piles of it. Her hair filled his face, attacking his nostrils with her scent, sending him ever higher. She was assaulting all of his senses, but he could not say that he didn't mind. He wanted her to assault his senses for the rest of his life. That is why he had asked her to marry him. Her laughter stilled suddenly, and his eyes widened, trying to see through the snow on his face, and her hair in his eyes. Something was red. Blood? Why was she bleeding? He realized he was standing, and he realized Malia had risen as well. Would she notice that his attentions had once more wandered, off into a far place that she might never be able to reach? Part of him wished that she did, so that he might have to explain a little of that place. Another part of him didn't, wishing to lock that place away in his heart for the rest of time. He didn't particularly need to remember it. Everything was fine, here. Him, and her. The children. All of the friends that he had made, people coming and going as time continued on. He was sure there would be plenty more friends to make, and plenty more children to have. He shouldn't live in the past; he should instead be focusing on the present. His feet still weren't moving. He faintly heard her question about the children, and he cocked his head to her, trying to give some physical signal that he was actually attempting to keep his head in this world. Everything was groggy, and he was trying to collect himself from that unwanted memory. He felt like he had experienced it before, yet in some distant dream, and was now being assaulted with it again; therefor experiencing the dream over. He had loved her so, hadn't he? His feet started moving, which he was thankful for. He was glad his body knew what to do even without his commands, as there were none coming to mind right now. Only memories. "Her name was Sadrina." The words fell from his lips as he walked, and this time, he was angered that his body was doing this to him. Why was he saying those words? He hadn't tried to speak! His body was walking to where it was supposed to go, and he was saying the words that she wanted to hear... But he didn't want to! No, now he wanted to run, back up to his room. Back up to the children. Perhaps back to her previous questions, where he could use the answers as distractions. But not this topic. Anything but this topic! His footsteps picked up, and he saw the door ahead. It was the door they needed to go through, to get to the back yard. Had they already gotten this far? It had seemed like they were walking so slow; that he was speaking so fast. His hand reached out to catch the door handle, tugging it, pulling it open. "She was my wife." With that, the cool morning air assaulted the both of them, and Stitch stepped outside. "Oh, hello! Fentya, you remember Malia? And Clarissa, Jilly! You have yet to meet her!" Even though Stitch feigned surprise at the presence of the three girls, he had never been good at lying. It was obvious, he had known they were out here. His eyes had grown in the months they had been apart, and now he saw more than ever. He was sneakier than he had been before, too. Unaware of the relationship that any of them had, Stitch stepped aside, allowing them room to converse. He felt an odd Aura of discomfort in the air, and noticed the tension between Jilly and Clarissa. Even odder, Fentya had dettached herself from the conversation, and had buried her head among a large group of flowers. He managed to raise her hand to give Malia a wave, but didn't quite acknowledge her, not yet. She apparently was hiding from some fireworks that might have occured, or might have been about to occur. Who knew, really. "Malia, this is Clarissa. She is our newest young addition to the Orphanage. And then this is Jilitse, our latest house guest! She is a Nuit, like you!" Stitch seemed rather proud of this, and was rather eager to introduce them to each other. Perhaps the two would be a little more vocal with one of their own kind? Stitch was just glad for the excuse to stop talking about the past, even if it was Malia. Absentmindedly, his eye wandered back over the Nuit, and he caught himself staring. There was something wrong. Her aura had color to it. It had never had color to it before, no matter what he had tried to do. Why now, was it rimmed such a rotting black?

[Jilitse]

Jilitse tore herself from the tension between her and the child as Stitch came along with his guest. The Nuit eyed the other Nuit briefly, before politely introducing herself. "It is my pleasure to be acquainted with another Nuit." She tipped her head towards Malia, and asked Stitch. "Am I right in supposing that this is not the first time she had been here before?"

What Jilitse did not know was that the Nuit who bore a different face and name in front of her was someone whom she had met some time ago. Malia was the same Nuit that Jilitse taught Animation in Sahova. Of course, darling Jil would not know; although Malia would probably remember the face and the name.

"Well, Miss Malia, what brings you around here?" Why indeed, would another Nuit be in the Welcome Home? Would it not be a little bit too suspicious if Stitch accepted more than one Nuit in the Orphanage? What will the widows say about the blind man? These tribulations, Jilitse decided to put aside. "I can see you are acquainted with Stitch." Her robe was momentarily tugged by Clarissa, and she slowly turned her head to the child. There was an inaudible exchange of whispers between Jillie and the child - and though there was nothing noteworthy in Jilitse's face, Stitch could see - if he wanted - that Clarissa was somewhat embarrassed and upset.

Off Clarissa went, ignoring the visitor. The child will probably need a little bit of talking to with regards to etiquette.

"Fentya," Jil called out to the other girl, "I thought you were going to cook?" She goaded the child to leave, as if the adults were to discuss something important. There was a meaningful look in the other child's eyes, as if she understood that the Nuit was asking her to leave. Jilitse had her own way of deflecting company. For the last few weeks that she had been around, the kids were finally getting used to her round-about way of expressing herself. Jilitse would never tell any of the kids to "get lost". She was patient most of the time, but she left hints that she desired to be left alone. In this case she wanted to be alone with Malia and Stitch.

What for? Not really sure.