Elithe, mussed hair, a few scrapes across her cheek, drenched, sullied and overall filthy clothing, stands upon his doorstep - somewhat lopsided, as a heel to one of her shoes is now broken. "I…" She hasn't really prepared for this. Everything was rehearsed on the way to his place of residence. How she would find him. (The directory.) How she would get there. (Walking.) Everything but… what she might possibly say.
Lokariste sighs, leaning against the doorjamb. "You look like hell."
"Who's that?" His friend asks over Jessica's shoulder. Jessica is equally interested in the newcomer. Unfortunately, his friend is rather insistent and refuses to wait. "Well…" He begins, eyeing Elithe. "Well, well, well."
Lokariste clears his throat, his tone now one of warning. "Nic…"
"Hello, hello." Nic offers his hand to Elithe, although she declines to give it, instead seeking approval from Lokariste. He doesn't provide it. "Oh, come on, honey. I won't bite. Hard."
Lokariste, rolling his eyes, stands in front of Nic, nearly pushing him out of the way. This action is immediately taken as a grave insult. "You should go."
"I… can't," she admits.
"What do you mean you can't?"
"I mean my employer is a lying sack of shit." She looks about her, clutching her arms tightly, shivering a bit in the cold, approaching-wintry air. "He was supposed to have me on a plane Tuesday. Sure, that's… a few days away, but… I called. There's no ticket, there's no flight." She sighs, her eyes curiously pleading. "I'm stuck here."
"Oh, I see," Nic begins. "We're dining in, huh, Lok?"
Elithe's eyes widen with a definite horror, and they focus upon Lokariste's. She realizes now how much of a mistake this was. How foolish she had been for thinking she could come here.
Even though she was nearing suicide, she wasn't quite there yet. Sure, she was about to be disavowed and her life was as good as over, but this… was throwing in the towel. These people - scratch, that - these creatures were not like her, and despite the strange warmth of Lokariste, he was still purely and simply an animal. And a dangerous one at that.
"I'm going to - "
"Hang on a second."
"No…" Elithe is firm. "I'm going to go."
"Please," he offers, a sense of bewilderment in his tired voice. "Just… give me one second." He pauses briefly, his last words a whisper. "And trust me."
With this, he closes the door. Quite a tall order there.
"Guys…" He turns to Nic and Jessica.
"Are you holding out on us?" She begins. "Getting greedy? Sure, you haven't had any in weeks, but that doesn't mean that the first young thing that shows up on your doorstep is all yours and yours alone."
"Yeah, Lok," Nic chimes in. "Share and share alike."
Lokariste sighs, running his hands through his hair as he frequently does when nervous. He straightens the shirt he's wearing and points to the den. "Okay, look. I'll get everything ready and… then I'll let you know. Okay?"
Jessica smiles. "You won't regret it, baby."
"Yeah." He sighs. "I know."
Nic snakes his arm around Jessica's waist. "C'mon, doll. Let's hit the pool."
"Mmm. Sounds great." She waves playfully to Lokariste. "Bye, bye."
He waves slowly, plainly. "Yeah… bye."
Upon having left the room, he re-opens the door. Elithe is halfway down the street, this time, hitchhiking. He can't tell much due to the distance, but something nags at him about her demeanor. Her posture is slumped, and she's clutching so tightly to her jacket. For dear life.
"Hey!" He calls to her, suddenly realizing he doesn't even know her name.
"Just stay away from me, okay?" She is distraught, now he can tell. To the point where she is wiping stray tears from her eyes and cheeks. "If you come near me, I swear to God, I will kill you." Her eyes burn into his. "And I am an excellent markswoman." They are filled with a kind of pain and disappointment that he has not seen. They are remarkably… human.
"I asked you to trust me."
"Hah," she laughs bitterly. "Look, I'm not going to play Little Red Riding Hood, okay? Not tonight." She stumbles upon her broken shoe and curses her own vulnerability upon nearly landing into the street. She also shields her face from view.
"Do you have a name?"
"Yes, I have a name," she chokes. "And it's none of your business. It doesn't even matter anyway, I don't even know why I ran away."
"What do you mean?"
"Look, I'm not stupid. I didn't go to you for help," she sneers. "Hell, I went to you hoping that you would kill me. I'm going to die soon anyway."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because." She sniffles. "Because it's over, alright? It's done. The contact is dead and my employer has abandoned me." She pauses. "My sister died this way. Just a nameless star in a book that tourists get to view. Fuck." She raises her eyes to the sky.
"I'm… I'm not reading you at all."
She sighs. "Of course not. And… I'm glad." She pauses. "I'm Elithe."
"Wow. That's beautiful. It… sounds like a local."
She glares to him, her breath visible within the air. "Don't butter me up, okay? Just get it done quickly or something, but… away from your friends, okay?"
He cannot believe what he is hearing; she is practically - no, she is - offering herself unabashedly to him. What kind of dire circumstances could ever bring a human being to do such a thing? It boggles his mind beyond reason.
"Elithe," he marvels at its melody and the ease with which it rolls off of his tongue. "Elithe, you… you have nothing to fear."
She is lost within her own little world. "It sounds local because my parents were strange. My sister knew this place. I don't know if they did. They were… mages or something. Magicians. It went straight to her, nothing to me. I'm as plain as they come." She stares off into the distance, never meeting his gaze.
"You're not plain."
She exhales nervously into the wind. "Maybe if you shoot me. It's more painless between the eyes. And it's surefire. The subject dies instantly." She sighs. "I was shipwrecked coming over here. My luggage was lost. That includes my cyanide, or, I would have done that already." Finally, she looks to him. "Do you know where I can get some cyanide? Around here?"
He closes his eyes. "Look, I'm not going to kill you."
"You have to! Damn it, if you don't, then what the hell are you good for?" She shivers against the cold, her eyes still upon the desolate road. "What the hell am I good for…" she murmurs under her breath.
Her eyes down to the ground, Lokariste approaches with a rather uncharacteristic embrace. Her first inclination is to fight it, but the warmth is too longed for. It's intoxicating against her chilled skin.
"If you really want to kill yourself, stay out here. You'll get pneumonia."
"I don't want pneumonia," she shivers. "I want to go home."
He sighs, resting his chin upon her head. He tries to avoid the strange security the scent of her hair offers his soul.