Do me a favor hmm?
Anything for you.
It was a promise asked.

Keep an eye out on Chry? She's been acting... odd.
Of course.
And a promise made.

The midmorning sun was already warming the day and cast an upbeat hue to the surroundings. The lone man walked with his eyes trained forward, taking little note of building and landscape alike. He walked humming a quiet tune to himself, his hands kept in his pockets. He walked alone with his thoughts, seeing none that passed him.

Instead he saw familiar faces of those close to him. The faces of those he loved and cared for. He saw the expressions in their eyes. He heard the tone in their voices. Some brought a hint of a smile to the man. Some etched his brow into a furrow. At the memory of one, he brushed his finger across the scar nestled in the middle of his palm.

Chryrie is a Healer, Lucien. I would like you to speak with her, she had asked him. Another promise he made.

The quiet melody he hummed never silenced until he reached his destination. He stood at Chryrie's door, recent memories fresh in his mind.

Odd in what manner? he'd asked Kitty.
Random emotional outbursts. Most of them being her unusually..
A calloused hand rose from his pocket, running over his jaw where he'd be struck. He could still see the sparks flaring off her fingers.
....snippy, Kitty had replied.

A fist rapped firmly on the door. It was time he make good on his promises.

Gone was his introspection when the door opened, his expression easing into a smile for his friend. "Good morning, Beautiful," he offered in his usual greeting to the fae and with a gratefully nod and stepped into Chryrie's home. "Thank you."

A grimace flickered over his features, catching the tone of her voice, an expression that shifted to a light furrow hearing her trail off. Lucien caught her gaze fall to his face where she'd slapped him. The surprise of it stung more than the actual strike. He should have known better. There were subtle signs earlier in the evening. The worst of it was the guilt he saw plainly in her eyes that evening.

"I hope you don't mind that I came over here instead of swinging by the clinic." Quickly his expression eased, that same jaw turning out with his easy grin offering a light shrug of his shoulders. "I'd heard doctors made house calls, so I decided to turn it around a little and come calling at your home," he added with measured humor in his voice. Lucien took the seat Chryrie indicated with a nod. "And a lovely home it is," he offered with genuine regard, letting his gaze drift over the orderly residence.

The barrister's attention returned to rest on the fae and he sat forward, resting his arms on his knees, hands folded together. His light expression faded into his furrowed brow as he collected his thoughts. "I know I should have come seen you long before," he conceded. "I've got a couple things on my mind, I wanted to see you about..." The words trailed off to a moment's silence, before quiet humorless laughter sounded from him. "I've got many things on my mind, Chryrie," Lucien amended with a dry chuckle and a light shake of his head.

"That's the problem," he offered in a hushed confession, dropping his gaze to his hands. "I can't keep them all straight. I feel like I'm drowning in them."

Lucien rubbed his hand with the other, brushing his thumb gently over his palm. Alysia had confessed the voices from the warring souls she possessed. Nevertheless, he continued to wonder, worry, how much his own struggles compounded hers. He lifted his gaze from his hands to the fae and found a light, albeit humorless smile. "A bump on this thick head of mine certainly can't hurt anymore."

The barrister sat up as Chryrie reached into the drawer to retrieve a pad and pencil. He watched her strained smile as she offered him the items. It was an expression he knew well. A ploy he used often. He understood intimately the reasons for resorting to it. Lucien accepted the items with a grin. He reached into his pocket and partly revealed a pad he always kept on him. "Thank you. I was needing to get another one soon," he offered as he began jotting down things pouring out of his swirl of thoughts.

The first page was quickly filled and flipped to the next page as he continued to write down items at a maddening pace. Names and events, both familiar and unknown to Chryrie were noted amid brief, yet detailed accounts of memories and songs in a disjointed conglomeration interspersed with raw emotions.

The resignation in his tone was reigned in tightly, replaced with tempered levity as he replied to her last query. "There is still the matter of my arm. It is still a bit sore from when you hit me on the shoulder," he teased with a wry grin tugging evident at the corner of his mouth as another page was filled with whatever bled from his thoughts.

"I'm up for a good fight though, if you're looking for one," he added as the pages, newly filled with a jumble of thoughts, were torn from the pad and offered to the fae for her inspection.

He looked up from his hands when he heard the catch in the moredhel's voice. Brows furrowed as he almost saw the rage held in check just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Lucien couldn't understand the measure of Chryrie's moredhel side, but he knew the effort it took to restrain anger, and the weight of red rage that pressed for release. He ran his hand over his head and face, lifting his gaze up to the fae when she drew a deep breath.

"That's just the tip of the proverbial iceberg," he confessed with a deep breath of his own. A small grin lightened his somber expression as he took the list back from her and offered his reply to her last remark. "That's why I'm here."

The restlessness stirred him, pushing the barrister to his feet. He slipped the list and his hands back into his pockets and walked the perimeter of the room. Eyes were cast down, marking the progress around the room, noting the measure of each step. "There are times I can remember and see things that happened years ago as clearly as if it happened just a few moments ago. Then there are things that I've been told no more than a week past and I barely have any recollection of it."

"I can't tell you if I'm supposed to be coming or going. It doesn't matter if it is quiet or chaotic. I'll be fine, my thoughts clear, then suddenly, one thought after another, one memory after...," his brow furrowed together. "Another as if someone opened the flood gates. I can hear music, I can hear voices, I can see faces...and..." He drew a deep breath, shaking his head and silencing his rambling.

"I've gotten real good at hiding it for the most part," the barrister remarked returning to sit down near the fae. "Play it off as if I was deep in thought when I was really trying to sort out the chaos rattling around in my head." Lucien reached up and ran a hand over his chin. "The beard helps the illusion," he added with tempered humor. "That's not even the worse of it." His confession carried a restrained edge to it. Another shake of his head and another deep sigh and the rising red was stifled.

"I'm walking around with my head in a perpetual fog," he remarked without the sharp undertones. "And I'm afraid I might be making things worse for Alysia," his admission spoken quietly.