Disrespecting the Dead [Private]

[Stitch]

Disrespecting the Dead 16th of Summer 510 AV Damen had came home from church one day, and diligently searched Stitch out. He had gone yelling through the Welcome Home until Stitch had finally come running, trying to get him to quite a bit, and trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with the young boy. Damen came running, sobbing, burying his head into Stitch's chest as the blind man knelt, wrapping his strong arms around the small frame of the child. Stroking the messy mop of black hair atop his head, Stitch attempted to comfort Damen, asking what was wrong. "The teacher said Stitch doesn't have a mommy or daddy." Stitch's hand froze for a split second, but he forced a smile on his face, shaking his head and continuing to gently pet and comfort the boy. "No, Stitch doesn't. But that is okay. Stitch has plenty of children that he loves, and that makes him very happy." Damen sniffled, blinking, pulling back from Stitch and glancing up at the orphanage owner. "I don't know what I would do without a daddy, Stitch. You are brave." Stitch cocked his head to the side, affixing the boy with a mental eye, a bit confused. As if sensing the man's confusion, Damen spoke, his voice trembling as he wrapped his arms around Stitch once more. "You are my dad, Stitch." Stitch snapped awake, sitting up sharply, blankets and pillows flying from around him. A tray had been set up on his lap, and that went soaring as well, a large platter of pancakes and a glass of orange juice sent high into the air. The sudden movement of the dim auras gave Stitch another surprised start, but as his sleepy mind quickly figured out what was happening, he made a dive for them. Missing rather horribly, a wave of orange juice splashed down upon his head, and a stack of pancakes landed upon his shoulders and neck. He made a painful landing on the floor, tangled in blankets and pillows, and covered in pancakes and orange juice. As if to add insult to injury, a small pitcher of maple syrup smashed down beside of him, causing him to yelp and flail to the side, covering his head out of fear for more things falling from the sky. Now fully awake, Stitch sat there, mentally scanning his surroundings. He didn't even really need his Auristics to tell him that there was a huge mess in his bed. A sharp pain snapped through his skull, and Stitch let out a strangled cry, doubling over and grabbing his head. Various veins bulged from his forehead, outlined perfectly across the skin, a horrible headache assaulting him with no warning. His blind eyes were bandaged like always, the white strips of medical tape wrapped tightly around his skull to hide his scarred eyes. As Stitch continued to bow down, now rocking back and forth, the pain exploding throughout his brain, a single tear ran down his cheek, staining the bandages before revealing itself on his bare skin. It was a dark tear of pure red blood. Faintly, he could hear the children. They had heard his rough awakening, and were now stomping up the stairs, eager to get to him, to see if he liked the food. They must have made it for him. They couldn't see him like this. He couldn't do that to them. The pain still exploding throughout his brain, he reached for the edge of his mattress, trying to grab ahold of it to force himself up. He needed a new bandage too. These were probably stained from the blood. He could feel it drizzling down his cheek, dripping off his chin. Groaning, he clenched at the mattress, trying to grab ahold of it, trying to yank himself to his feet. They were at the steps. They were coming up them. He had to move. Now. With a surge of the Flux, power exploded into his legs, the muscles flexing voilently. Gritting his teeth, refusing to cry out because of the headache, he stumbled over to his personal desk, grabbing at the pile of bandages laying there. Frantically working as he heard the children approaching, he yanked some around his eyes, just covering up the old ones. As he messily tied them into place, he grabbed a old shirt, and wiped his face, scrubbing it clean. The bleeding had stopped, it seemed. He barely managed to get the blood off his face before the children exploded into his room, a whirlwind of energy, love, and giggles. "Stitch, how was the food?" He turned, smiling, the headache magically starting to fade. "Stitch, did you like it?" Damen and Trish swarmed around him, Fentya standing at the fore, in the doorway. He gave him and a smile, and he nodded back, returning her grin with a beaming one of his own. Damen tugged on his hand, and Stitch glanced down at the boy, angling his bandaged eyes at the young man. "Stitch, Clarissa went out." Stitch paused, suddenly a bit worried. Clarrisa was new to the home, and knew the rules. Why had she broken them? At least it wasn't night... The blind man gave Damen's hand a squeeze, moving to his dresser. He had to get dressed, and search for her. The children watched him, a bit put off he hadn't answered their questions, and wondering why he seemed so... distant. Was Stitch okay?

[Jilitse]

Continued from here.
OOCYou can also NPC Clarissa. I think you should!

Clarissa was very sweaty when she appeared before Stitch, looking twice as distraught as she usually was. Her intention was to run away from the Orphanage, but before she made it to the gates she saw her mother. Her heart dipped, hating Stitch for lying to her. All those weeks, crying! But when she walked close to her mother, she proved to be otherwise. And then she thought, maybe Stitch wasn't lying to her after all.

Now, she was fidgeting in front of Stitch, eyes a little bit determined. Clarissa was the type of kid who pursued what she wanted with all her heart, if only she didn't cry too much.

"Stitch... I'm sorry." She said, apologizing for many things at once. She poured out her emotions into words, all her suppressed feelings about her mother and getting left behind in an orphanage, tripping over her sentences. She explained quickly how being delivered to the orphanage in a basket with a note was different from being delivered to the orphange with a basket and a note. Clarissa was six when her mother brought her to the Welcome Home, an age early enough to understand what the meaning of desertion is. "But you have to see this. You have to see... our visitor outside!" Her voice relayed a dozen emotions- anger, happiness, hate, love, excitement, doubt, worry, disappointment, embarrassment, confusion, confusion, and confusion.

"You have to come outside," Clarissa pulled Stitch's hand, her hand clasping his' tight. "You have to see her." She ran, leading him to the doors, pulling him outside as if the orphanage was on fire.

Once outside, Clarissa let go of Stitch. The little girl's heart pounded like crazy. "It's her." All the positive emotions waned, as Clarissa looked up worriedly at Stitch. "I'm not sure how it happened Stitch. But, look at her. Do that thing you do." And then there was a surge of loneliness in Clarissa, a wave so big the water spilled out her eyes.

Jilitse eyed the people who went out of the orphanage curiously. She deliberately listened into their conversation. She barely understood anything, and was better interested at the people who were now volleying their eyes from her, to the orphanage, to the people from the orphange. It was like the few onlookers were waiting for something to happen. Jilitse deduced that, whatever it was that they were waiting for, she might be somewhat included in it.

The nuit could have just walked away, but there was something interesting about Clarissa and the way the people around the orphanage seem to take interest in Jil. She stood like a tree trunk, her hand a branch swaying in the wind as she pulled up her cowl a bit higher so she could better see what was happening. Clarissa was now with a blind man, which she suspected to be Stitch. The people who had been lingering had very hopeful and malicious faces. Maybe, Jilitse thought, nuits were not allowed around the orphanage? Yes, maybe that was it.

She thought, what could possibly go wrong? The better part of her answered her that many, many things could go wrong. And one of them was about to happen right there.

[Stitch]

Worry clouded his brain as he tugged on britches, buckling them around his hips with a thin leather belt. The fretting continued as he searched around for a clean shirt, digging through his small wooden drawer to find something suitable. He supposed it didn't really matter, he was just going to search for a little girl, who cared what he looked like? Grabbing one at random, he tugged it quickly over his head, and started toward the door to head downstairs, and out into the streets. He would head for the town gates first, to see if the guards had seen her. She had threatened to run away one too many times, and she may have finally done it. He hadn't counted out the possibility that she would, but for some reason, he had thought he would be able to predict it. He thought he had known her well enough, but apparently he had been wrong. She was a hard girl to understand, but that shouldn't come as a surprise. She had been abandoned, left behind by the mother who was supposed to love her the most. Stitch had been left too, but he didn't know why, or what the circumstances was that surrounded it. This little girl, she knew. She knew that she had been given away by someone very important to her. Stitch couldn't even begin to imagine.

He was reaching out for the door handle to pull it open as it suddenly opened, snapping out toward him as the little girl rushed in. He had to yank back his hand, and lean back just a tad to avoid being popped in the nose. She was in a rush. Something was wrong here. Even if his body was failing him, his Auristics were getting better, and he could literally see the variety of emotions flooding off of her. Some would be expected if she really had attempted to run away, and then had realized the stupidity of her decision. But no, there was something else there. Something was very wrong.

Stitch didn't need her apology, or an explanation to do what he did next. It was simply instinct to him.

Even before her words began to hurriedly spill out, her bundle of emotions flooding from her, straining to release all at once. She was trying to get rid of all the emotion that filled her tiny little body, she was trying to release the bundle growing within her, and it wasn't working. The emotions continued to grow, pulsing brightly around her aura, spilling to the outsides in soft little strands of their own. He was almost immediately down on one knee, and wrapping his strong arms around her, pulling the small girl close. He hugged her to his chest, clenching his jaw, whispering a silent prayer to Priskil. She was safe, thank God. "Please, Clarissa. Please don't do that again." He pulled her away from him, holding her at arm's length so he could get a clearer mental look at her. "This one can't even begin to understand what you are going through... But this one would hate for you to leave before he did finally understand."

She tugged at his hand, and he nodded, rising and following her to where she wanted him to go. The clear sensation that something was wrong still throbbed deep within his senses. She was so distraught, even when he had been trying to comfort her. She was so hurried, so frantic, so determined to make him see what she needed him to see for her. He quickly followed her downstairs, motioning for the other children to stay put, and stepped outside.

His eyes laid on Jilitse, and he paused mid step, nearly falling down the small stairs leading up to the wooden doors of the Welcome Home.

Impossible.

He immediately searched out her Aura, and focused, melding himself with it. It was instinct for him now, he was beginning to use the magic even more effectively than he had before. He hadn't thought it was possible, but Auristics still held many secrets for him. He was getting to the point where he could see clearer, see more, and see things that normal people shouldn't be able to see. So what was it he would see here? What the normal eye could see wasn't real, couldn't be real.

That thing standing in front of Stitch, in front of Clarissa, and in front of the large crowd that had gathered... That was Clarissa's mother. And Clarissa's mother was dead.

He had contacts, he had tried to trace the mother of Clarissa, and the search had ended with word of her apparent death. So what with this standing in front of him? Melding with the Aura that stood before him, standing there quietly as he focused on her, he searched for the answer to his question. She might feel his gaze, and that would be odd. How was a blind man looking at her? Regardless of what she might think, or if she might be discomforted by what he was doing, he plunged on. This was a very delicate situation, for everyone involved. The townspeople were getting angry, Clarissa was emotionally collapsing. Perhaps all of these factors had caused his instant, urgent search of her Aura, and maybe that was also why he found the answer so quickly. She was a Nuit, like Malia.

He still stood there, trying to figure out what to do. The poor woman, she had no idea what was happening. She didn't seem to particularly care, just seemed remotely interested... But the situation was worsening, the crowd of people was growing, and the whispers were getting louder. Stitch had a sense that something bad was about to happen, and stepped forward quickly, putting himself between the Nuit woman and the rest of the sullen crowd. A voice rung out from the crowd, angry and hateful in tone.

"Go away, creature! We don't want your curse here!" A rock suddenly flew from the depths of the crowd, aimed right at the rather unfazed Nuit. Stitch had already moved, and a hand instantly snapped up, catching the offensive stone in mid-air. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed the rock at the ground, rendering it harmless. His intervention changed the mood of the crowd instantly, turning a once hostile aura into one of confusion. Why was Stitch, this respected member of the community, defending such an abomination? The crowd was now unsure, hesitant, and quiet. Stitch stood there, his back to Jilitse. There were only a few moments of silence before the blind man spoke, his voice deep and firm. "Leave her alone."

The people were hushed, and left blinking. He turned, greeting Jilitse with a brilliant smile, a warm smile, an oddly loving smile. The warmth literally radiated from him, touching to her cold self, even if it did little to affect her. "Please come inside. This one has heard from Clarissa that you are new to town, and looking for a place to stay. If this one cannot offer his Home to you, than this one will be sure to find you another place to stay." Clarissa stood there, tears flowing from her eyes, staring up at Jilitse helplessly, unable to say what she really wanted to say. With a few soft sobs, trying to hold in her tears now, she ran back to the Welcome Home door and held it open for Jilitse. She looked at the Nuit, her eyes questioning, pleading, confused, hurt.

"Stitch, why are you sheltering an unde-"

Stitch paused mid step, his head cocking to the side, turning to regard the speaker behind him. His voice came out once again, firm and deep, a step away from pure anger. "Because this one wishes to. This woman is my guest now. All of you will disperse, and please leave my doorstep in peace. There are children here. Please start behaving like adults." Turning from them one last time, he left them in shocked silence, intending to follow Jilitse in if she took his offer. He really hoped she did. They had a lot to talk about.

[Jilitse]

Now Stitch was gazing at her, if blind people could gaze. Jilitse could care less, people had been staring at her as if she was a statue that suddenly appeared in broad daylight. But she was quite puzzled now, as she was getting more than her usual share of attention. Everybody seemed so interested in her, everybody seemed to be either angry or confused. Jil found it remarkable, even if the reasons were still behind her. Maybe she should ask what got the people riled up. Her focus was now gathering towards Stitch. He seemed to be reading her, in his own blind way. It didn't take a lot to guess that Stitch was now bearing half the display of emotions Clarissa had for the nuit. She felt like a tomato being observed and checked for rot. Oh, they will find a lot of rot alright.

And then the realization of it came to her, in the form of a small stone. Did they hate the undead this much in Syliras? Surely there had been many others before her? Perhaps that was exactly the point: there had been other nuits in Syliras and they were an unwelcome lot. Out of instinct Jil quickly hovered her hand over the cart, she can let the stone hit her, but these people will be hard pressed to even lay an eye on the contents of her cart.

And then he protected her. Jilitse's face was wide eyed in disbelief, good thing half of it was still hidden by the hood. What's happening, she asked herself. Emotions were truly lost with her. For some reason she found it uncanny to be in trouble in her first day in Syliras. But then again, nobody really ever said that traveling into any place not Sahova was easy.

It was then clear to her there was more to Stitch than the eye could see. Upon his resolute voice, she placed her appreciation. Leave me alone, please. Thank you, she thought, somebody who finally understands! Or not. The smile he gave her was enough to give her pause. She found it polite to nod a bow and smile back. The nuit had an intuition that Stitch, impediment aside, would be able to see her reaction. Perhaps she was attracted to Stitch, for he was odd in his own odd way, and since he was different from normal, maybe he would provide to be of help. Jilitse was actually considering that Stitch was doing her a favor. And then she remembered the wise words of Mashaen. There was a need to make allies, far and beyond the rest of Mizahar. Stitch belonged to that set of people. She certainly hopes so.

Jilitse towed her cart and passed by Clarissa. She laid a hand on top of her head and gave it one pat, before turning to her cart to carry it inside. It was almost as if the cart willingly clambered up the steps. She was able to overhear Stitch calling her a guest. That was a welcome thought for a rather unwelcome nuit. She had her cart by the door, pushed aside to let Stitch in. She stood beside it, guarding it.

"I believe I should thank you." Jilitse told Stitch when he returned, "Thank you."

She threw the rest of Welcome Home a sweeping glance. She was thinking, thinking, thinking. How could she get the best out of her decision? "I wouldn't impose on your hospitality, but I would appreciate it very much if I could take some of your time to inquire about a few things. I have only arrived today, and it seems like I need more than a Greeter's help." Her voice sounded really hopeful for an undead.

"Clarissa told me that this was an orphanage." Jil's monotone rose into an inquisitive tone. "If it is not too much, I wish to hear more about this place." A place for people who are alone, Jilitse remembered. Her instincts told her that she was quite... welcome in here. And it would come across then and there that Jilitse had no idea who her borrowed face was.

[Stitch]

She bowed and nodded, and hesitantly headed into the Welcome Home, and Stitch was able to let out a sigh of relief. The crowd behind him was still a bit stunned by what Stitch had just done, and who Stitch had just protected, and he really wanted to capitalize on that shocked moment of stillness. Best not to allow them to regain their anger, and perhaps now direct it at him. He was sure he had just betrayed the trust of a few of the townspeople, the ones who didn't know him very well. He wished he had seen a few close allies in the crowd, so maybe they could have helped him, and he wouldn't have had to raise his voice to them without any explanation. However, he had not been that lucky, and had been forced to settle the situation in a rather crude way. His smile did not falter, but in his head, there was a small pang of sadness. He wished he had been able to figure out the solution that had left everyone happy, and everyone in peace. Best not to mull on what had already happened, and what he could now not change. He had to look forward, and now solve the problem at hand.

The Nuit.

Returning his mental gaze back to her, his inward frown turned upside down. She reminded him of Malia, her aura. He had fond memories of the girl, who had stayed and helped them for about a season. She had headed off to Sahova on a mission of her own, and Stitch had been sad to see her go, but he had understood. Whatever her motives may have been, he had guessed the girl must have been lonely, at least. She hadn't had anyone like herself to socialize with in Syliras, and was shunned by about everyone who wasn't like her. Stitch wondered if this is what the girl in front of him must be feeling now. Loneliness perhaps, confusion at her situation, pained at the realization that she was truly not wanted here? Stitch didn't mind her being here, he hoped she knew that. She was trouble in her own little way, trouble for Clarissa in such a complicated way. But Stitch knew that wasn't her fault, knew that Jilitse had no idea what pain she was causing the little girl. Glancing at her as she clambered up the steps of the Welcome Home, he had a mind to help her with her cart, and stepped forward to do so. It was only luck that he noticed the extreme protectiveness she had rippling through her aura, and it was all directed toward the little cart.

Suddenly feeling rude, he stopped short of helping her, and directed his head a good distance away from the cart. He knew he could simply glance at it, and likely get a good idea about what was inside, but now he knew that would be a horrible thing to do. Granted, it would have been an invasion of privacy before... But now, even more so. He patiently waited for her to climb the stairs, rather surprised she made it up so easily. Following, he closed the door firmly behind them, and glanced around the small little office of the Welcome Home. A door across the way led further into the House, while this room consisted of a simple little desk, and a few simple little chairs. Pulling up one for Jilitse to sit if she wished, he crossed the room another one, and sat at it.

"Clarissa, can you go get the other children? Tell Fentya we have a guest, and to keep Trish and Damen in check for this one. You can return then, if you like." Clarissa gnawed at her lower lip, staring at Stitch, and glancing at Jilitse. She appeared to be mulling it over. Hiccups were now erupting from her body every now and then, accompanied by the occasional flow of tears, but she managed to be getting her outward emotions back under check. She wanted to stay, wanted to figure out what was going on. She needed to figure out what was going on. She could sense the hint in Stitch's voice though, sense that he wanted a few moments of privacy. And he had told her she could come back, maybe then he would explain? With a silent nod, the girl headed deeper into the house, giving Jilitse one more longing glance before vanishing through the door.

Stitch spoke again, that warm and gentle smile still on his face, his tone oddly... nice. Loving, all over again. "The Welcome Home is actually a recent addition to Syliras Castle, built by the Knights, and also funded by them. There was a flux of homeless children quite a few years back, just due to luck perhaps, or some of the deeper workings of the Syliras economy. The Home was built as a way to take care of those homeless children, or unwanted children." He paused, tilting his head toward the door, motioning to where Clarissa had vanished. "That young girl was one of the unwanted ones. Her mother left her on the doorstep, quite a long time ago." He paused again, as if wanting to say something, then just continued on. "This Home has gone through two owners, this one having been the second. Milady is welcome to stay the night while Milady gets her bearings for the town, and gets a plan of action on where Milady wants to stay." He just kept getting politer, but it continued to be very natural. "Milady is welcome to explore the Home and discover the rooms for herself, just be mindful of the second floor, where the children sleep. There are a few bedrooms being unused, and there is also an unused caretaker suite, if milady wishes to use it for her stay."

He cocked his head at her, took a breath, and tried to figure out how to phrase his next statement. Oh well, no time better than now. He had little time alone with her, before Clarissa came charging back. "Milady, there is a small problem, and another motive as to why this one has invited you in. Milady is a Nuit, correct? Does Milady know that she currently occupies the deceased mother of our very own Clarissa?"

There, he said it. He didn't know why it was so hard to talk about. It was just an odd thing to have to come out and say, he supposed.

[Jilitse]

Jilitse let out a breathless "aaah" in acknowledgment of Stitch's words. Jilitse explained lengthily, "It would make sense now, why you had asked me to stay. Such an imposition of hospitality might have had something to do with the child. If I may add so, thank you, for explaining to me why she had been on my tail since morning. I had thought she was a cut-purse preying on me," she stood still recalling how Clarissa seemed to be intent on finding out the contents of her cart, until she drew a line down from her eyes on her cheeks with a finger, "until I noticed there was water in her eyes. I have been wondering what a nuit like me would have done to make a lass cry. It was most unusual. And even then, I did not really pay her any attention."

There was suddenly an awkward silence between Stitch and Jilitse. The nuit was trying to decide how to comment or react upon the blind generous man. He had presented her a problem she had not encountered for more than a hundred years. Befuddled, she decided that it would be better to consult with Stitch, "I have lived for a very long time," the emphasis, she wished, would give away exactly what it implied, "and never have I known the corpse I acquired prior to switching. We do not find it important, and, most of the time, it is not really necessary." Which was not exactly the truth of course. Sahova imports corpses from the mainland. These bodies were usually selected prior to dying (physique, health, appearance are some factors that are taken into consideration) and, to Jilitse's knowledge, Sahova also accepted 'goods' that were killed for the purpose of being sold to the Nuits. Another long pause, "I have been away for the better part of my life, and am not so much acquainted with the human mores and culture, even if I have visited the City more than a couple of times; even if I have tried to study what I can about the ways of a pulser." If it was up to her, she would not have really bothered, but Jilitse was wise enough to know that a nuit in Syliras could not dig a hole to hide in. And, her quest involved seeking help from gods and humans, including other races, alike, so she knew that she would have to learn to interact with them and interact with them properly. She did not feel as comfortable as earlier with Stitch, knowing now what made him come to her aid. Jil, however, was one who listened to reason. She would to hear out more of the blind man's motives because the circumstances seemed important to him--if that's what it takes to have a place to stay for the night. Jil would really like to use a bath as soon as she can.

[Stitch]

His guess had been right, the Nuit had truly no idea of what had been going on. She was much like Malia, so much so that Stitch wondered if all Nuit were the same. He had heard stories about them being emotionless monsters, yet he knew stories were usually not true. They were just that, simple stories thought up by scared and somewhat hateful minds. All kinds of stereotypes had been applied to this world, and it saddened him. He could still remember the Dhani he had met a few seasons ago, the Dhani at the Fire Festival. That man had been run off because of assumptions that had been made, based on stories told of the horrifying Dhani. Perhaps those stories were true, but the Dhani had done nothing wrong at the festival. Perhaps he was different. The same could be said for the Nuit he had met so far. They were fairly emotionless, but not monsters. Even Malia had been able to smile, and a lovely smile it had been. He wish the crowds outside had been able to see her smile. He wished that they had been able to see this Nuit smile. Perhaps she had a beautiful smile as well.

He faintly realized she was talking to him, and just as faintly realized that he had a rather stupid grin on his face. Turning a slight red, he refocused his attentions, right in time to hear her short explaination of why she had ended up in her current body. He was a bit confused still, especially about where the bodies had came from. It was a question he had never worked up the guts to answer about, and had never really found a good moment to present it. He was guessing neither of the Nuits would have minded, they were so logical, after all. They would probably consider it a good question, and very patiently explain it out to him. It was just hard for him to form into words though. Where do you get the dead bodies from? To him, a mere human, it just seemed such a... wrong thing to ask.

He patiently listened as she continued on, shoving his questions aside for now. He always had time to learn later, and it was not really anything he needed to know now. He wasn't even so sure if he wanted to answer. Waiting patiently until she was finished, he very quickly spoke, answering to one of her silent concerns. He couldn't see it on the supernaturally calm aura of the woman, but he had heard a bit of it on her voice. At least he thought he had. He wasn't sure, honestly. But he wanted to mention it anyways.

"This one feels as if he needs to make one thing clear, Milady. This one doesn't want you to think as if this one accepted you into his home out of some obligation to the young lady Clarissa. If milady had shown up on my doorstep in a different body, milady still would have been invited in." He cocked his head, replacing the former smile on his face with an even brighter and bigger one, if that was even possible. "From this point on milady, you are always welcome in this home, for as long as you wish, whenever you wish. Like it or not, you are part of our little family now." He chuckled a bit, attempting a small joke at her, even if he was guessing it would fall flat.

He paused a moment, then sighed, nodding. "That however, does not solve the problem of what Clarissa has seen. This one pins no fault on you, milady had no idea of knowing who's body she was in. This one just doesn't know how to handle it. Seeing her mother again, even if you really aren't her mother... How does this one explain things?" He sighed again, shaking his head, rubbing a few fingers to his temple. This was complex.

Ah, but still, there were other matters at hand! So much to cover. "Well, now that milady has voiced her concerns, it has been decided then. Milady will stay here until she feels a little more comfortable in Syliras? You can get a bath, this one could go fetch you some new clothes, and then maybe milady would like a rest? Perhaps later tonight, or tomorrow, this one can take you out and show you around the town. We will make do with whatever gets thrown at us." Still that beaming smile, and the polite, warm tone. Even though it appeared as if he had decided himself, he had left his tone timid, and questioning.

Faintly, he could hear children clambering around upstairs, and hear one coming back down the steps. It appeared as if it was almost time for Clarissa's re-entry.

[Jilitse]

The word "family" evoked a change in Jilitse's thoughts. She looked backward and searched her past for her father and mother in the deep recesses of her memory. In another lifetime, maybe she would have found them they were there, frozen as she would keep fond memories. But, for the moment, there was little to no trace of humanity left in Jilitse, the most she could recall were memories of her life as a Sahovan Nuit. Clarissa might have been right, she was alone.

She thought that the Welcome Home was aptly named,and had it been a different circumstance, she would not have felt so estranged. She could discern the blind man's attempt to reach out to make her feel most welcome, but her thoughts, far above being relieved that she was being invited to stay as long as she needed, was swimming to the incomprehensible trade-off: she will have to stay with a child whose mother's corpse had reappeared as a vessel of a Nuit. Jil did not actually care for the child's welfare, but what's left of her manners prevented her from pulling her cart outside and leave. She could face stoning outside, and find somewhere else to stay. Even so, Jilitse chose otherwise. Part of her echoed that she should stay in the Orphanage, and then, she would not be so alone anymore - not that she needed or wanted company. Past these tribulations, Jil did not desire the responsibility to bring the truth for Clarissa. She did not trust herself to converse with the human child, recalling how the girl had tested her mettle this morning. So she reasoned out to Stitch, "It seems to me that you the child's emotions is a bother to you. I am not familiar with how a human child's brain works, but if she had any competent logic as her age would require, then we can both assume that she knows what I am and who I am not." Her voice was cool and unfeeling, "I would suggest a direct confrontation, unless you prefer to mud the truth with false pretenses. I do believe the important thing here is the message, and not her reaction to it." She added tersely, "Although, I am not without tact, young man, so if you would have me participate in the explanation I would oblige." At least Stitch did not suggest that she act out as the human mother.

"I would like to discuss your terms however, as I am deeply bothered to take more than one night of your hospitality. Shall I pay you as I would rent a room in an inn? Or would you require me to be of help while I stay?" She had an afterthought, however, how was she to help a blind man who seemed able by himseld? And how would a Nuit help at all?

"I have delicate possessions with me," a grave seriousness in her voice manifested for the first time. "These are very important things that I do not want to fall in the wrong hands. Some of them were entrusted to my care, and I am responsible for its security." If time permitted, she might even confide in the man. There was a logical instinct that nagged her to stay, to trust him, to believe him. Was he, by any chance, a wizard? Could he have been plotting against her? Surely not.

[Stitch]

It was somewhat amusing, how stoic the Nuit was. He had thrown assault after assault of genuine warmth at Jilitse, and it had only bounced off of her cold aura. She seemed quite unaffected by his words, simply consuming them in an extremely logical fashion, and dissecting them with what appeared to be paranoia, and suspicion. It was not really extreme paranoia, or illogical suspicion. She was just quite cautious, and didn't take anything at face value. That was likely a good skill to have, as Stitch was the exact opposite. A robber could walk up to him and politely ask for all of his Mizas, and Stitch would likely offer it to him, as long as the thief had a good reason. Sob stories worked wonders on the blind man, as well as young children, and most all women. He was just good-hearted that way, and painfully naive. If the Nuit hung around long enough, she would likely find out, and it would likely astound her.

He decided to address the problem of her lodging first, and as he began to speak, she would see a slightly amused smile tugging at his lips. "This one does not think there shall be any discussion of any kind of terms. If milady would like to fall back on her logic, which milady seems to make great use of; then logic would state the benefits of accepting free room and board when it is genuinely offered for free." That grin toyed again at the edge of his lips, almost breaking out from warmth into teasing. Was she able to tell the difference between his smiles? "Or if milady would like to fall back on her tactful politeness, and quite elegant manners, then this one would dare hint that he would take it as an insult if you did not accept what this one considered to be a kind offer. Would you deny this one his kindness?" Standing, he crossed over to the doorway that led into the office from deeper within the Home, and placed a hand on the doorknob. "Rest assured though, this one will likely find some work to put you to. Until then, milady is welcome to stay in the suite. It has a lock on the knob, so milady will have privacy." He nodded toward her small wagon, still making sure not to even look in its direction.

He suddenly yanked open the door, amazingly at the exactly right moment, Clarissa suddenly blurring into the room at a dead run. She skidded to a stop, panting, glancing back and forth between Stitch and Jilitse. Her face was red, the skin around her eyes was puffy, but she had taken some time to clean off the dirty tears on her own. The sweat was also gone from her body, as was the snot that had dripping from her nose. She was still dressed in rags, the brown strips of cloth hanging from her body being the remnants of a pretty little dress her mother had left with her, so long ago. Placing her hands on her hips, still glancing hurriedly from Jilitse to Stitch, she finally demanded what was on her mind. "Tell me what is going on!" The words were delivered somewhat shakily, and it was obvious the girl was putting on a brave face, only to hide the pain underneath. Stitch gently gave the open door a small push, letting it swing closed, and turned to face the little girl. His smile had now been replaced with a grave seriousness, and he glanced at Jilitse, remembering what the Nuit had said. I would suggest a direct confrontation, unless you prefer to mud the truth with false pretenses. I do believe the important thing here is the message, and not her reaction to it. It seemed wise, and Stitch was sure it was, coming from a Nuit.

It had little feeling behind it, but that was what Stitch was for. He provided the emotions the girl needed, perhaps the comfort... And Jilitse supplied the words, the logic, the reasoning. Stitch couldn't provide those without clouding them with his own emotion, while Jilitse could.

"Clarissa..." He said her name, fully intending to continue on, but had to pause at the sight of her aura. It was filled with pain, like she didn't want to hear what was about to come next. Like she knew what was coming next. He swallowed hard, and continued on, averting his magical gaze from that aura. That sad aura, that aura that made him want to burst into tears. "...This is not your mother. This is Jilitse. She is a Nuit. Magical people who don't have bodies of their own to live in; people who take empty bodies in order to survive. In order to live." Empty was a good word to use. By the looks of Clarissa's lower lip, the way it trembled, and the way he could feel her Aura flexing with the pent up emotion... She had caught the drift. "Your mother was a Knight, Clarrisa. This one told you she died, and that is true. However she might have died, Milady Jilitse was given her empty body."

Clarissa stared at Stitch for a few more moments, then turned her gaze to Jilitse. A somewhat heartbroken expression on her face, yet her heart and soul dedicated to holding in those tears, she stared upon the face of the woman who had been her mother. The face she hadn't seen in years, and when she had finally gotten to see it, the face she had found wasn't actually her mother's anymore. "Lady. You aren't my mumsie, are you? Did you know my mumsie? Do you..." She paused, and left her next question unasked, merely searching the eyes of the Nuit. The little girl was trembling, fighting to hold in her emotion. Stitch stepped closer to her, tilting his head at Jilitse, allowing the woman her own time to talk. Stitch was still a bit unsure of what to do. He wanted the woman to stay here, for her own comfort and protection... And Clarissa had brought her here, so maybe that was what she had wanted? But then again, was that really wise of him, to allow the face of a dead mother to linger so close to the still living child?

[Jilitse]

It was almost as if she was pushed into the decision without proper deliberation. Jilitse still looked blank as Stitch countered her personal doubt and questions using logic. She had to give it to the blind man, though. He knew how to speak like Jil. The nuit was almost surprised to have found the words to use as a reply, "Thank you, you are very kind." The Nuit had surrendered to Stitch's kindness, but she was still largely uncomfortable with the setup. She would have to talk to Stitch more and explain to him the rest of her journey, as she did not want to become a liability to anyone, most certainly not to somebody who had a heart of gold. If she could trust an Isur like Ialari, then she should also trust a human like Stitch.

Her thoughts were abruptly broken when Clarissa appeared. She watched Stitch curiously as he explained to the young girl the truth. Kind and straightforward, she analyzed. Meanwhile, she was thinking how best to approach the situation, perhaps she should attempt to show a little sympathy? Imitate Stitch's tone and cadence. Oh, it was gonna be hard, but she should try. She considered the problem an opportunity to test her ability to adapt in a world filled with humans who stay together in families. If she does it right, she may also start conversing with other people, and that would get her going in her quest. She needed the allies, they won't come to her, she'll have to find them.

And then it was her turn to explain. Clarissa was still very hopeful, but Jilitse could care less. Here comes the cold hard facts, the bladed truth, "No, I'm not your mom, Clarissa. I'm a Nuit, a creature strange for some, for we do not live the way normal humans do. We are sometimes called undead, and are often hated and scorned. I never met your mom until she died," she thought she'd spare the kid the details of the body-switching ritual, "until my old body died and I had to get a new one. A Nuit changes into a new body, the way humans change their clothes when they are soiled. I'm sorry?" She tried to sound as convincing as possible, but it was not working. The best she was able to act out was to sound unsure.

With a graceful stride, she lunged and kneeled on one knee in front of Clarissa, enveloping the little child in an embrace. It was the same one she had given Mashaen, a cold but comforting hug. "You should stop crying." She whispered, "It is time to let go." She lingered for a while longer before straightening up. She did not appear less a Nuit, in fact, her smooth face indicated that she had planned everything, calculated the possibilities of how Clarissa would react. The child was not going to run away, that was for sure. For the many bells the little child had stayed by her side this morning, knowing and not knowing, the Nuit knew that Clarissa had enough time to consider the possibilities - enough time to ask herself the 'what ifs'. And then she gave Clarissa a pat on the shoulder, pointing a hand to Stitch. "You are not alone Clarissa. You have Stitch. I understood, from what he told me, that he is the one who takes the role of your mother now." She could not read the girl's emotions, and she gave Stitch a questioning stare. The Nuit wanted to provide the young girl proper closure, maybe she will go and find a new body as soon as she can, to let Clarissa perform her mortuary rituals for her mother's corpse.