#eloiasks

Do you bite your nails?

The teen instinctively hid his hands. He gave a small, shy nod. Most of his fingernails had been bitten down so far that he caused a few of them to bleed, especially in his times of great anxiety. They showed signs of healing, but only recently. Truthfully, he hadn’t bitten his nails near as much since coming to the haven.

Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

“… Yes. I have.” Eloi looked down, frowning a bit. “… 48 hours-… isn’t that long. Between training and- jobs for F-… Fletcher… I’ve stayed up longer….” He swallowed thickly. “… Eva kept telling me to rest, though, while I was recovering.”

Would that change as he felt better? As all of his wounds healed? How long would it be before someone persecuted him again?

Do you have piercings? How many?

Eloi blushed a bit at the question, blinking a few times as he glanced up at the stranger. “Uhm-… n-no, I don’t.” He hesitated, but reached up to tug at his ear a little. “… I-… kind of want some though. Nothing- nothing major, and- I don’t know if-… if Iolar would approve, but-….” 

He trailed off, biting his lip. “… Maybe-… maybe one day. I think- it’d look nice.” Or- feel nice. He couldn’t even see them anymore. 

What’s irritating you right now?

The teen chewed his lip a little. He hesitated terribly. “… I’m-… it’s- nothing, really.” 

No, he wouldn’t make a big deal about the buzzing he kept hearing in the wall of the dining room. It made meals more difficult to enjoy eating, the nerves of what it might be gnawing at him. The worst case in his mind was a bee hive… but- no, it couldn’t be. It had to be something simpler than that, like a- shaky pipe or something. He- hoped.

Who/what was your last dream about?

Eloi’s breath caught in his throat. He looked away, wringing his hands. “… Fl-… Fletcher.” He whispered, swallowing thickly. “U-uhm-… I-…” Eloi stood, stumbling a little at first. “I- have to go, I need to- to train.” He walked quickly out of the room, so quickly he accidentally rammed his shoulder into the door frame. He squeaked, but didn’t stop until he was far out of sight.

He couldn’t talk about the looming presence. He couldn’t talk about the pain, the screaming, the venomous words. He couldn’t talk about how he felt he had deserved it. He couldn’t talk about-… a lot of things, when it came to Fletcher. But that particular nightmare, he woke to a cold sweat, his sheets completely soaked, and choking back a scream. 

The teen had sobbed into his pillow until he had no more tears to shed. But when he’d gone to go get some water from the bathroom, there was a bell on his door. He didn’t know what to think of it, but when he shuffled his foot forward, he felt a warm mug of tea sitting there, waiting for him.