Shame. As the drug and alcohol finally began to leave her system, it was this single emotion that stood out as a sore thumb. For loosing control, for scaring her daughter. Most of all, she was ashamed for being weak. The desire to curl herself in the fetal position and wail for hours hid behind a very slow, rather aimless gait. Head hung low, hood shadowing a dirty, tear stained face, Celeste walked south from Jasumin.

Lirin tried to help, but when her ability to feel emotion returned, Celeste felt worse. What kind of mother hurts her own child, and then turns to drugs to cope? Celeste reached into her pouch and pulled out a vial of a strange, blue liquid, holding it in her palm. How easy it was to take this right now. Drink it and lose all emotions again. Temporarily forget about fears and pretend inner strength.

Her fist closed over the vial, holding it to her chest. If she took it, there was no desire to see them, to interact with them. Their voices would fall on dull ears, failing to move her on any level. Laughter would not elicit a reactory smile. Larka would notice, and they would have words, Celeste’s temper would flaer and say harsh things she would never say otherwise. Was it worth it to lose all of that just to protect them from herself?

That wasn’t living, wasn’t even trying. Wiping her face to clear the tears, the elf threw the vial. She watched it tumble through the air, glittering in the seemingly impossibly bright sun. It landed safely, against all odds. For a minute, the elf stood there, numb with shock and disbelief. The fucking thing was safe… Where it should have shattered, the earth hungrily absorbing the hydration, the vial twinkled invitingly where it had landed. Then she snapped into action, charging forward. Dropping to her knees, Celeste snatched the vial, uncorking it with greedy need.

Poised at her lips, the vial shook slightly in her hands. Tilt it, don’t tilt it, consume, don’t consume. Inner turmoil raged in circles. Celeste could not bring herself to tilt her head back. Instead she burst into tears, holding the open vial to her heart once more. ”Ma halani ea soun, ma vhenan! Ma halani,” she pleaded, screaming to the sky before nearly doubling over, repeating the words over and over like a mantra through her crying. Her wife was only a sentence away in the journal. But this was her fight… Something the elf must conquer… Something she could never defeat.

Helplessness, feeling weak. That was something everyone felt at one point or another. It wasn't the same as anger or fleeting happiness; it came in cycles, you vacillated between the two states of feeling. It was something even Shiloh had to cope with for years as a child, and even now it had never really went away. It was like a boomerang–just when you thought you've thrown it far from you it comes swinging back. So when she chose to go down from Baltil on foot back to Nisshoki, she recognized the scent of that emotion immediately.

Desperation, fear of failure, the desire to pull deeper into oneself and hide away, to disappear. All so very familiar things… But it wasn't from herself. Not today. Birds scattered as a loud cry in an unknown language pierced the silence of the savanna. It was a wail, a deep primal sort of cry of anguish after being bottled for so long. She could hear it in the sound, a deep sinking despair. Shiloh could feel the sting in her eyes and the taste of bitterness on her tongue. Closing her eyes and pressing a finger on a point between her eyebrows, she took in slow breaths. Right, that was one of the drawbacks of taking the fragments of other people's psyches. It made her oversensitive to the emotions of others. With careful steps, she approached where she had heard the cry. Clad in a traveler's cloak and mask, she did her best to conceal her identity. If they knew who she was–or more importantly what she was, that would scare them off. They would close up, make themselves harder to read.

Sensing the presence of a person not far off, she crept through the savanna grasses like a wildcat, keeping herself low. There was a woman doubled over in agony, but the aura she read off of her implied the pain wasn't physical. Shiloh waited, and watched. This wasn't the right time to come in. She had to wait until it was over. Barge in now and the woman would pull herself together, wipe her tears, and lie that she was alright. The more you pressed the issue the more they would resist. Shiloh knew how it was like, from personal experience. It wasn't a matter of pride, it was a fear of vulnerability. Often many well-meaning people would confuse the two reasons, and be left wondering why their help was refused. They just didn't understand. Good intentions weren't the same as actually knowing the right course of action to take. And good intentions sometimes created the worst types of disasters.

She would arrive as if out of coincidence, when the woman was done and ready. Certain processes like these could not be rushed. It was the same for forging and smelting. Time was an important factor of the healing process. Instead of trying to fix the symptoms, you had to sit down and take the time to dig deep to find the root cause. Just like a weed.

Grief poured from her until her throat was raw, her eyes were swollen, breath jagged. All she could conjure was the pain and confusion. While the elf struggled to catch her breath amidst the crying, she sniffled as she sat up. Once more, her hand opened, displaying the still alluring substance. ”Sul ash.” For her, but was she going to take it to prevent hurting her again, or refuse it to be the wife Larka had fallen in love with? ”Ar juhim soun.” The vial was lifted above her head, but she hesitated.

What if it was Larka or the unborn child she hurt because she didn’t keep it under control? What if next time, someone died from her weakness? ”Ame tel elvyrlinor dalen.” Celeste whispered. ”Ame tel elvyrilinor dalen!” Screaming, she brought her hand down, smashing the glass against the earth. It shattered. For a long, silent moment, the elf sat there unmoving, her hand covering the fragments of her metophorical crutch. Did she choose to destroy it and walk away for good? At home, she had all the items needed to create more, hidden carefully in inconspicuous places. But if she didn’t go home… It was still far too easy to acquire.

She’ll hide in the forests, live off the land… Away from her wife and children? ”Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Ame tel soun… I am not strong…” The Celeste she knew was gone, and she didn’t know how to come back. Slowly, her hand was lifted off the ground, revealing the shards of glass, the soaked soil, deep brown and crimson red. Without even checking her hand, allowing the screaming nerves to consume her, Celeste stood and began to walk, chin resting on her chest. ”Gods hear my plea, end my misery.” When she became aware of a stranger on the path, Celeste silently regarded the masked figure with a haunted expression, somewhat weary, yet made no move to even defend herself. Where typically she would be quick to assume a guarded disposition, there was nothing. Nothing except self inflicted pain.

The woman would get her wish, whether she knew it or not. Shiloh stood up slowly, revealing herself. Showing she was unarmed, she began to walk towards her. Now would probably be a good time to put those bottles of wine Shiloh had received one day, and would likely never use. "Would you like to have a drink?" Reaching into her knapsack she summoned a bottle of wine, and pulled it out. Careful to craft the illusion that it had been in there all along, she pulled it out and showed it to the other woman. "It's unopened. Brand-new. We both look like we have our share of troubles, so let's wash them away for a little while." Yes Shiloh was aware that she couldn't really drink. As soon as she got the first swig down she'd be convulsing and vomiting her stomach out. But, she was doing this on purpose. This woman probably was still wary, so showing a sign of weakness might put her at ease. After all, who would start retching after less than the first cup? 

Shiloh could smell the metallic scent of blood and soaked dirt on her, but didn't say a word. "It's good quality stuff, so it should give less of a headache after." Finding a place to sit down, she improvised her knapsack as a seat and began fiddling to uncork the bottle. With a few minutes of struggling, there was a loud pop as a cork went flying into the savanna. Looking over her shoulder, she shrugged. She didn't intend to drink much of it anyway. Looking up at the elven woman she waited to see if her invitation would be accepted. Right now she wanted to gain an understanding of what the woman was going through. And she couldn't just ask her to reveal all her personal details to a stranger, now could she?

Whatever she was expecting, it was definitely not the offer for a drink. Many thoughts exploded at that one question, and Celeste made no effort to pin any of them down. Her silent regard of the stranger. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, that this person was going out of the way to be kind for no reason. However, it was not something she was able to fully realize, or even dwell upon as the woman sat down on her pack.

One thing no one knows about a Vendethiel was that they almost never turned down offered alcohol. Fingers shifted, pressing against the shards embedded in the skin, reminding her the path she had turned away from. Without a word, the elf sat and pulled her knees up. She crossed her arms over them and rested her chin on her arms. Fat, crimson drops fell steadily from her fist, and she made no attempt to stop it.

Even if she wanted to speak, she couldn’t force the words past the hard lump forming in her throat. So the Rosenite opted to sit there in silence. If the woman wanted company to drink with, she would at least have the companionship from a non-judgemental source. Celeste had far too many things to deal with than create random conjectures of someone she would likely never meet again. Her green and red eyes shifted to the bottle. ”Drink never washes it away. Far too weak for troubles so… strong.”

She looked at the opened bottle, than back at the woman. "…Yeah you're probably right. Well, at least it does a fine job of throwing one's senses into a spinner for a few hours. Might as well try." Taking out a cup, she poured carefully. The reddish liquid filled the cup halfway before Shiloh set it down. Heaving a sigh, she knew exactly what was going to happen after she downed the thing. This wasn't going to be pleasant. In fifteen minutes or less, she'd be putting herself through agony. The things she did for people… But all things considered, a bottle wasted was pretty cheap if it earned her some trust. Seeing as the woman wasn't intending on partaking, she raised the cup in a toast to the incoming stomach pains. Down the hatch it went. 

Lifting the full-face mask a little, she gave just enough space to slip the cup under and tipped her head back. It was awful, and her body was already refusing to ingest it. Forcing the gulp down her throat, she then sat still, waiting for the inevitable. There was silence, as the seconds ticked by. Then the convulsions hit in full-force. Doubling over, the cup was out of her hands as she was twisting and writhing every which way as the alcohol was coming back out the way it entered. Falling off her makeshift seat, she was in spasms as the rogue fumbled to pull the mask up. Turning aside, Shiloh began violently retching acid and whatever might've been sitting in her stomach onto the ground. Everything was hurting, her throat was on fire, her stomach was being put through a wringer, and everything from her mouth downwards was constricting. After a long agonizing five minutes of intermittent puking, her body finally considered it all cleared. Tilting the mask back down after cleaning up a little, she climbed back onto her knapsack.

"I'm fine… This happens all the time." She said hoarsely. Yes, quite literally all the time–every time she tried drinking. She never got past the first one. She and alcohol were not on speaking terms since birth. She didn't like it and it didn't like her, and they had agreed to disagree. Beneath the mask, Shiloh was pale and bleary-eyed after that convulsing fit. Finding the cup, she noted she somehow managed to avoid knocking over the bottle and began pouring another cupful. She gave no explanation as to why she was doing this, and didn't expect the other woman to ask either. The deity would keep this up until the bottle ran out or her stomach did. 

Drip, drip goes the blood. Gulp, gulp goes the throat. Down the hatch, where the drink sits. Celeste threw her fists over her temples, eyes screwed shut. It had taken her months to get out of the broken mindset, and here she was falling right back into it. ”Ar Celeste Nash. Ar lath Larka, Akira.” She rocked slightly, repeating short sentences to ground herself back to reality. ”I am Celeste Nash. Wife to Larka, mother of Akira. I am hunter. I am healer. I am safe.” Her eyes fluttered open when she heard the convulsing start. Instantly, her motherly instincts kicked in.

Hovering over the woman, wounded hand on her shoulder, Celeste frantically looked her over. The elf did not feel comfortable enough with herself to trust magic in this situation. Rubbing the stranger's back, patting her, the elf assisted her through every moment. ”There, there. Let it all out. You really shouldn't drink on a sour stomach.” When the vomit spell was over, the woman was stubborn enough to sit back down and filled the glass again. Wide eyed, Celeste took the cup and held it far away from her.

”Oh no you don’t! Just what do you think you're doing? Happens all the time, and you still do it? Glutton for punishment doesn't cover this. This is stupid.” Perhaps the woman merely got a bad batch? The elf lifted the cup and inhaled the aromatic liquid. Elderberry, but nothing terrible added that she could tell. A small splash hit her tongue, pooling right in the center as flavor exploded across the buds.Sweet, tart, the sharp fermented aspect all rolled into one beautiful mix. A frown creased her forehead as she glared down at the masked woman. ”No trouble is worth tormenting oneself in such a manner.”

The injured hand was lifted palm up. With a sigh, Celeste sat back down and drained the cup herself. ”Don’t suppose I’m much better, though.” Several shards of glass protruded from a black and red long gash. Blood coated the entirety from her wrist to her fingertips. The wound itself looked quite angry, puffy and swollen. Still, she made no attempt to pull the glass out, just stared at it. ”All this, over what? Some fenehdis drug to dull the mind?” Her voice cracked. ’No, no more.’ Slowly, her eyes shifted to the mask once more, holding out the cup. ”If you’re still in the mood to share, may I?”

The sound of somebody scolding her with that tone was strange to her ears. It wasn't pleasant, but in some weird way it was comforting. She stifled the laugh into a snort when she heard the elven woman say 'glutton for punishment'. She was more on the mark than she'd ever know, both literally and figuratively. Before she could suffer through another shot, the cup was snatched out of her hand. Watching the woman drink it down herself, Shiloh was somewhat relieved that she wouldn't have to go through that again. Things had taken a good turn. The wine was perfectly good, but that had nothing to do with why she was hurling minutes ago. When the woman asked if her offer still stood, she nodded. "Sure, go ahead. The drink's still clean." She poured it halfway full, so it wouldn't spill. Shiloh couldn't be any more surprised–things were going according to plan. She didn't want to rush things though, and chose to let the woman take it in slowly. The wine would loosen lips and inhibitions, and with time she'd be able to learn more on what was eating away at this woman.

"In a way, it's kind of cathartic isn't it? Holding things in, keeping it all inside. But it comes back and like drinking poison, in the end I just throw it all up. Everybody else sure is lucky; I can never get drunk. I never get past the first drink before…you know." She sat back and sighed. "Ale, liquor, beer, wine–they're all the same. They go in one way and they come right back out." It was the most polite way she could describe suffering convulsive fits followed by severe vomiting. At this point she wasn't just talking to give the woman something to respond to. Shiloh, in a roundabout way was talking about herself. Thinking over what she had overheard the elf say before the drink started backing out the front door, the rogue mulled the names in her mind. Akira, huh? So maybe she had a child after marrying someone from Nisshoki. Then she heard a name she knew–Larka.

Unlike Akira, Larka wasn't a name you'd commonly hear anywhere. 'Wife to Larka'. So Larka was another woman and their child was likely adopted… Shiloh went silent as it started to sink in. Wait, this elf woman. Then this was–the same person she had pulled out back when she was working as a small-time courier! Through the mask she studied the woman's face. Yes, she remembered! That one time when she accompanied a mercenary group where they had a woman with a missing arm. They were ambushed by dark elves, nearly didn't make it out. They stumbled upon a hidden camp and broke out the prisoners—no, prisoner. The name escaped her, but there was something unmistakable about it. The last thing she remembered was carrying the disheveled woman out to the surface before parting ways and later purchasing the Clephsydra.

Cathartic, to purge or express emotion. But to bottle it all in? It was exactly what she always did. She wasn’t quite sure why she hid things from Larka, but it felt easier. The woman didn’t know exactly how to help her. Hell, Celeste didn’t even know. What she did know was everything was so loud, bright, and overwhelming almost every day. Once upon a time, dealing with people was nearly an everyday experience. Now, she questions every hidden objective and agendas.

She drained the glass and stared at the ground before them, allowing her thoughts to swirl. As she got another refill, she gave a half chuckle. ”One vice for another, huh? What’s the point of it all? Damned if you try, damned if you don’t.” The effort of attempt was exhausting some days. What was worse was she didn’t even know why she even tried. Was it for Larka’s benefit? To see Celeste taking small steps put the woman at ease. While it pleased the elf to see her wife smile, this shouldn’t be the only reason to do anything.

Celeste sighed. ”I’m sober enough from the drug, and nowhere drunk enough to be oblivious. Any hunter worth their salt can tell when they’re being watched.” Her eyes drifted up to the mask once more. The way she could feel those eyes behind it staring at her, as if she was some commodity to be admired was unsettling. The elf thumbed the glass in her palm, unable to hide all traces of the painful discomfort as muscles around her eye twitched. ”Tell you what. Show me your face, and I’ll honestly answer any question you throw at me.”

When the woman who called herself Celeste mentioned it, she realized she had been staring. She'd lost her self in her thoughts for a moment there. Apparently that recollection took longer than she expected. Looking down, Shiloh rubbed the back of her neck. That careless move might have blown all her efforts towards progress. And after how hard she had worked to build up a situation leading towards trust too… Just as when the deity thought she would have to start over from scratch, the elf woman said something that she'd never expect to hear. "Tell you what. Show me your face, and I'll honestly answer any question you throw at me." Turning to look at her, Shiloh had to take a moment to make sure she wasn't hearing things. 

"Do you really mean it?" She asked. "So if I take off this mask, you'll answer anything I ask you?" Anything? Was that a promise? To the average person this sudden change in attitude could come off as being unsettling, especially with that emphasis on the woman holding true to her word. But she couldn't help it. How could she ever turn up an opportunity like this? She had been counting on the wine working its slow and steady influence, and maybe it was already doing so. Shiloh wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or an incredible chance being handed right to her. The elf woman gave her the confirmation she was looking for, and for the rogue that meant she had essentially given consent to the agreement. Moving her hands to take off the mask, she did one last thing before the reveal.

She cast a spell that would subtly influence the woman's mind, so that her face looked like someone else. She didn't make any major changes–only subtly altering her eyes, mouth, and nose's appearance. To someone who had never seen her before, they would be none the wiser. Lifting off the mask carefully, what Celeste would see was a completely unremarkable human. A woman whose face was quite literally forgettable. Nothing particularly standing out at a first glance; a face you could very well see just about anywhere. The same could be said about Shiloh's actual visage, but she didn't want to run the risk. Now that she fulfilled her end of the bargain, Shiloh leaned on an elbow as she presented her question.

"Well, now it's my turn to ask. If someone told you that there was a way to get rid of your most unpleasant memories and burdens completely, would you take it?"