silence, my brother.

Brielle’s return smile was unfairly cautious. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty to do.”

Another nerve struck. Alesha pursed her lips, “I suppose I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

“He probably won’t. He took the exit very personally.” Brielle shook her head. “I’m not upset. I’m just a little tired of all the shit, honestly.”

“Well, hopefully there’ll be none on my end,” she smiled, “I’m more than excited to start working with everyone. You, especially!”

“He left,” Brielle said, decisive and firm. “Left a note, left for good. I think there’s plans to hunt him down, but I’m not privy to them, yet.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I was curious. Az never talked about him.”

“I would absolutely do my best. Maybe he’ll let me take a look at it.” Brielle sighed. “It’s a touchy subject for him.”

Az is feeling petulant. He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

She sighs, she doesn’t want to argue. “I don’t want to see you--” she purses her lips, “Just don’t die, ok?”

“Oh,” she wrinkled her nose at the thought, “His eye?” She wouldn’t ever thought of doing such a thing, “Well, I’d like help. I need to be able to fix Maksim’s hand if anything needs replacing. And I’m sure you’d be able to help.” She smiles.

Felnyx sits back and lets the healer does what she’s meant to. “I always used to just forget to eat, but now I’m living with a chef. I’ve had three meals, but it feels like all I’ve done since I came here is eat.” He laughs, and contains a smile until the question of drugs comes up. “Two, three weeks? As soon as I’d gone and killed that first guy, I was too nervous to leave my house even to get the drugs. Believe me, it was hell. And worse than the first time I tried to quit. It’s easing off now but I’m still getting a pounding headache. Wine helps, for some reason but I can’t afford to be drinking all the time. Don’t want to end up replacing one addiction with another.”

[She patiently endures the prodding.] I don’t think I have a choice, do I? But, no, I don’t mind. Go for it.

“Later on?” He balks. “My recovering head injury isn’t going to degenerate my long-term memory over time; I don’t think that’s how that works. I’m not exactly senile.” 

She raises a brow, and lets out a sigh, “Let’s not get ourselves tied into knots. Fine, we’ll do it your way. I won’t argue about this any further. But you have to be a little more careful now.”

“My long-term memory is fine. It’s the new memories I can’t fucking keep in my head.” He narrows his eyes; he’s getting agitated. 

Az raises his eyebrows. “I’ve had people taking notes. I’ve been getting better. You’re a little late to game on this one, Al.”

What do you suppose I do? You should have seen me a few months ago.

She’s frustrated, and horrified, her chest burns with anxiety and when she speaks, she uses a tone that a Temple Elder might have used on a young initiate, “Azarath Ivithri,” her eyes were focused now, “We’re going to have to work on this. I cannot bring your memories back, but we have to put a system in place to help you remember better. Do you have any scraps of paper to write reminders? Perhaps one of the newbloods to become an assistant? Help me out here.”