Coping with Jinx's death wasn't easy and Ira wasn't even sure he was coping. The stage of denial had long since passed — there was no denying that the only mother he had known was dead. His curse, too, had taken her from him and the worst part for Ira was dealing with the knowledge that they had been on bad terms when she had departed from the world of the living. That he hadn't been there with her. Ira hated being so vulnerable, hated that he could not close himself off as he had any other time. Hated to admit that he was lost. He did not have Jinx, or Bones, or even Lecter. He had never been so alone. Secluding himself off had been one thing but looking around and realizing that he had no one left. No one that he loved. Nothing that he felt an attachment to anymore. Thus, he was left to linger in the festering consequences of his behaviors; yet ...he could not stop himself. The Princeling was him and he was the Princeling, and in the wake of his devastation he only clung tighter to the persona he had created to protect himself. It had ceased to be a shield. He would endure, because he had too. Because he was destined for greatness and there was nothing else.
Except today he sought something familiar. Fox. Ira did not know that she no longer resided in Swiftcurrent Creek and had been making his way there since he had parted, heart broken from Sitri. He paused as he neared the Creek, lifting his leg to scratch at the fading pink scar on his neck, stomach roiling against the notion for a few seconds before the itch went away and he stood once more. The pallid Princeling drew in a deep breath and let out a call for Fox needing someone that he liked to talk too — though he had considered stopping at The Sunspire to pick a fight with Jace in attempts to make himself feel better. He had bypassed, needing company that liked him and vice versa.