Sometimes your own culture likes to shock you

Iliril of the Chant

"Y-yeah, m-maybe t-that's r-right," Iliril said vaguely, staring into his tea. "I d-don't have t-to l-like it, t-though. B-but, I j-just f-feel l-like I've d-done s-somet-thing w-wrong. At s-some p-point, m-mayb-be I j-just m-mess-sed up and t-this is w-what I g-get for it." He frowned at his reflection. "I k-know it's n-not r-right b-but I c-can't help f-feel-ling it."

He took a sip. The taste wasn't bad but it wasn't that great either. It felt flowery on his tongue instead of milky like he was used to. "I k-know, I'm j-just one p-pers-son and I'm not t-that g-great of a m-mage, eit-ther. B-but."

Wait, what was that? Iliril stopped and licked his lips for a moment, a strange look passing over his face. He took a second sip and then another, letting that one linger in his mouth for a while and sighed. There it was, then, just a trace of something familiar. He hadn't realized it at first because of the differences in recipe. It was the only tea that nobody ever added milk to.

"Oh," he said, after putting the cup down. "T-this is c-chrys-sant-them-mum." It wasn't a question. "P-peop-ple us-suall-ly d-drink it w-when t-they're ill." That was him a lot when he was younger. Not so much now that he was passed the age. But it was hard not to remember it.

The next thing that happened left Iliril horrified beyond words. As he started to say something else, he abruptly choked on a sob. Shocked at just how quickly he was losing it, he rubbed at his eyes. He was actually starting to cry.

"Oh, d-damn it." This was the absolute last thing he needed. He had thought, he had really thought he had gone beyond this stage. The pull to some sort of a real breakdown was becoming increasingly strong.

Iliril didn't want it. He just shut up and gulped down the tea instead so he could say that the tears were from being burned instead. Because it really did hurt, it really did.

It was only a dumb, flowery tea.

Iliril of the Chant

Enelen, Iliril realized, was awful at comforting people. The idea came to him so suddenly that he had to laugh. Immediately after, though, he doubled over in pain. Freshly boiled tea down the throat, right. Not the best plan he had ever made but at least he just felt physically awful now instead of emotionally as well. That aside, he did appreciate the other mage's effort.

He gave the boy a pained smile. "S-sorr-ry. It's w-wrong of m-me t-to k-keep d-dropp-ping t-this on y-you." I'll stop wasting your time now, he wanted to say but that would just make things worse, wouldn't it? Iliril said instead, "Y-you c-can j-just ign-nore m-me if y-you w-want. If t-that w-would b-be eas-sier. S-sorr-ry."

He drank some more tea, shoulders hunched in. He didn't really want to be ignored but maybe some things were just for the best.

Iliril of the Chant

There was just no helping it at all. Iliril turned away a bit and laughed softly, just because Enelen was taking too seriously all of the wrong parts. Even so, he still reached out and tugged gently at mage's wrist. "N-not y-your f-fault," he said. "I'm j-just a d-dumb p-pers-son. It h-happ-pens a l-lot. S-sorr-ry." That was something he was confident, at least, but now he was starting to apologize at every little thing. It felt more right to.

"I d-don't r-reall-ly l-like y-your old-der s-self, t-though," Iliril had to admit, giving Enelen a very nervous, sidelong glance. "Y-you're n-not g-going t-to r-reall-ly b-be l-like t-that, are y-you?" Normally, this was something that he would keep to himself but he had already been unconsciously categorizing the younger mage as being part of the group. And that made Iliril more than a few degrees more comfortable to share additional thoughts.

Iliril of the Chant

He nodded once. It was a good enough answer for him but to be honest, at this point, Iliril really didn't even need anything more than small reassurances. "I g-guess y-you're r-right on t-that."

What he still wasn't too sure on, though, was the fact that he was supposed to be hanging about Enelen at all. The existence of the High Mage pretty much proved that the two of them should have been in totally different spheres; Iliril couldn't even magically light a candle without help. It was an all around funny feeling.

"W-wait." Iliril sat up a bit as a different thought came to him. "Y-your old-der s-self. H-he d-didn't k-know m-me. And it s-seems l-like h-he onl-ly j-just c-came f-from t-the w-world. S-so h-how, h-how d-does t-that w-work?"

Iliril of the Chant

Without meaning to, Iliril heaved a sigh of relief at Enelen's conclusion. When thinking of Enelen in particular, the idea of different versions of the World of the Diamond seemed like a firm reassurance that the younger and the older mages weren't going to end up being the same person.

Rather contradictory, however, everything else about the concept disturbed him after the fact. The idea that there might be another Iliril from the World of the Diamond was surreal and he couldn't decide if eventually meeting up was something that he desperately wanted or something that he desperately wanted to avoid.

"I t-think I l-liked t-things b-bett-ter w-when it w-was s-simp-ple and w-we onl-ly h-had one w-world t-to w-worr-ry ab-bout," he remarked. "It j-just s-seems s-so s-strange."

Iliril thought for a moment, trying to cross reference what he knew about both of the Enelens. The High Mage was so blatant with magic that in comparison, he was starting to realize that he didn't really know all that much about the younger Enel. "I t-think y-you t-two h-have s-sim-mil-lar s-spells, an-nyw-ways," he said. He was referring to the teleportation parts of it specifically.

He frowned. "I hav-ven't r-reall-ly s-seen y-you d-do all t-that m-much m-mag-gic, t-though, s-sorr-ry."