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"Um, no. You aren't..." Ilroché said awkwardly, a little weirded out at her sudden reaction. Well that answers that. She wasn't asleep... or she was and that woke her up. He couldn't tell, but it didn't matter anymore. Now she was awake and staring right at him with her emerald orbs.
Sainte merde! It's us as a woman!!
Wha--What zhe hell are you talking about?
Look at her! She looks like us!
He usually didn't listen to the suggestions his other side prattled out, but this one seemed like a valid point. He glanced at her with a more firm eye for detail. Their hair was the same color which didn't mean much, the majority of the Chidren of Hades had black hair. Their eyes were the same color, big whoop, it wasn't impossible. The thing that really confused him was the shape and detail of their faces; They were practically identical. Everything from the shape of their eyes to the shape of their mouths were weirdly congruent. It seemed that his other side actually had a point. For once.
I guess you're right. She does look at lot like us. How did you figure it out so quickly?
You can't tell me you've never imagined what we'd look like if we were a girl...
Actually, I can tell you zhat. Why would I imagine us as a girl? Zhat just sounds so... ridiculous.
You're no fun...
If imagining yourself as a woman is what you call 'fun', zhen I'm glad I'm not part of it.
Oh shut up. I was just curious so I zhought about it.
Zhat's just your excuse~
With all the commotion inside his head, he forgot that he was just staring at his new half-sister and saying absolutely nothing. He flushed a light red, hoping she wouldn't think he was checking her out or anything. He usually zoned out when him and his other side were in a fight. Making a quick recovery, he looked away from her to the door, regretting his decision to stay in his cabin a little longer. This was turning into a bad first impression...
"From zhe sound of your accent, you must be British." He stated, not meaning anything by it other than an attempt at a friendly conversation. Hopefully it would turn out that way.

"Yeah, I am." Ilroché replied, looking back over to the girl on her bed. He had so many questions to ask her, but he hated to actually ask them since it would probably seem like he was prying. That was the last thing he wanted.
Who cares! Just ask her!!
Why are you so curious all of zhe sudden?
I just am. What if she's our long lost sister or somezhing? She has to be related somehow with how much we look alike. Maybe she knows who our family is!!
Since when do you care about somezhing like family?
I don't, but I know you do.
Ilroché bit his lip, putting an end to their conversation. He couldn't respond and admit his other side was right. He knew it was true, but he didn't want to think about it. Despite the fact that they looked alike, some things just didn't add up. How could she be British, but he be French? They couldn't possibly be related, could they? It would definitely be a stretch, but he had a gut feeling that it was possible despite all the things that didn't add up.
He'd have to be patient and ask at a later date when she had readjusted to her new life. Despite his horrible curiosity...
He then realized that he'd forgotten to ask her name. Rien... This conversation was going straight to hell...
"I forgot to ask... What's your name?" He smiled attempting to keep up the conversation.

"Nice to meet you, Ilyana. I'm Ilroché Dantés, son o--" Ilroché stopped himself from saying son of Hades. He didn't need to add that on like he usually did when he was introducing to himself to others. He was sitting in the Hades cabin on his bed, she could figure out for herself who his godly parent was.

"I've been here for a little over a year. Funny story about how I got here, zhough." Ilroché said, suddenly feeling a little talkative. After all, if he couldn't comfortably share something about his past, how was she supposed to feel comfortable enough to do the same? Plus he wanted to develop a good, healthy friendship with his half-sister. Heck, he wanted to have a healthy relationship with everyone here.
Along with a 'healthy' fight every once in a while~
You're pushing it. Stay quiet will you? I'm trying to tell her how I came to be here.
Oh joy... Story time...
Oh shut up. Talk when I'm done telling her, but not while. You'll distract me.
Fine.
That hindrance done away with, he continued. "I was in France, living on the streets since I really didn't have a home when I, for no real reason, got zhis gut feeling zhat I should leave France and go to America. I had no idea why zhe feeling came, it just did. So I decided to follow it and leave. I boarded zhe first ship I could, and zhe ship set sail. I spent a lot of time in my cabin because I really don't like large bodies of water. But, one of zhe times I actually came on deck. I was approached by zhis middle-aged guy and he told me zhat I'd find my destiny on Long Island--"
Distraction~
"My first reaction was to tell him to Shut. Zhe. Hell. Up." He emphasized each word, hoping his other side would take the hint and quiet down. "But, I realized zhat I had no specific destination anyway and just decided to do what he suggested. So upon my arrival in America, I tried to figure out where Long Island was and a few weeks later, I found zhis place."

Ilroché gaped at how oddly similar their pasts were. Ilyana had grown up in an orphanage, had lived on the streets, and had met the same weird man that told her where to go to find Camp Half Blood. Maybe she even had the weird birthday karma that seemed to haunt him. Either this was really crude irony, or it actually meant something.
I'm prepared to tell you 'I told you so' when you guys finally piece it together.
All because you were bored and imagined us as a woman...
Shut up! I told you I was only curious!
My point exactly.
Hmph. Jerk.
Am not. It's just revenge for all zhe crap you've put me zhrough~
He chuckled out loud, proud of his rare victory over himself. But he quickly quit it; he didn't want Ilyana to think that he was laughing at her or her past.
"Sorry about zhat. I was laughing at something I zhought of..." He scratched the back of his head nervously, as was his habit when he felt stuck in an awkward situation.
Before he could say anymore, the Ilyana before him disappeared and was replaced with and an image of Ilroché and Ilyana standing close together. He had one of the daggers he kept hidden in his boot in his right hand, and Ilyana was silently crying, looking more than confused. He took her by the neck and began delicately slicing from the base of her neck to where her heart was in her chest. Her blood leaked from the wound down her front side, his hand and the dagger getting covered in the process. Reaching the place where her heart was he moved his lips right next to her ear, slowly stabbing deeper as he moved. He whispered something unintelligible into her ear, and she began screaming as loud as she could, the life slowly fading from her eyes. The image broke when her body slumped to the floor.
"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO ZHAT?!" He suddenly yelled, closing his eyes, clutching his head, and lowering it to rest against his knees.
Zhat's a reminder zhat I can still put you zhrough more 'crap' just like zhe past. Don't. Ever. Zhink. You've. Won.
If he were alone he probably would have started crying. He hated when his other side did that. He didn't so much mind the images of the past because he didn't know the people he'd killed back then, but he couldn't stand it when his other side showed him himself killing his own friends, half-siblings, and cousins. Despite his best efforts to avoid it, he started crying. He knew Ilyana was probably giving him the most freaked out look she could, and he deserved it. This was why he didn't want people to learn about his other side. He'd be happier if his other personality had never been created. Sometimes he wished he would've died the night Tria had tried to kill him. It was better than having to live the rest of his life with this kind of torture.
He looked up to Ilyana, a few tears streaking down his face. He'd probably never be able to look at her without seeing that image again. He winced and wiped his tears away, ashamed of them. Ashamed that so soon after their meeting, she'd seen his weak side.
"I'm so sorry about zhat. I wish you hadn't seen it. Please, don't say anything. Just let me explain..." He paused and wiped away the rest of his tears before continuing. "June 26th, my birthday, is zhe day zhat everything goes wrong for me." He elaborated by listing off several birthdays and what had gone wrong on them. "My 4th birthday, my adoptive parents were both killed in a freak car accident when I was left completely unharmed. My 9th birthday I was attacked and almost killed by a hellhound. My 10th birthday I was almost killed by my adoptive mother of two years. She...she tried to drown me. In addition to zhat, zhe freak I carry around in my head was created--" He paused, hearing his other side speak again.
I heard zhat. Do you need to see zhat again? I can make it different zhis time. Perhaps worse.
No! Please no!
Zhat's what I zhought...
"I...I have a split personality; I have ever since zhe night I almost died. I don't know how he was created, but his creation saved my life. Somehow he fended off my adoptive mother and killed her. Zhat was when I began living on zhe streets. I didn't want to be found out by the authorities, so I just disappeared. I was only ten. I figured it would be best since I had no one to go to; not one single person alive cared what happened to me. I figured I'd just die on the streets; but he kept me alive. For six and a half years he forced me to survive, using means that I'd never think of. He stole, he killed; all just to keep me and himself alive."
Ilroché felt a few new tears cascade down his face.
"H-he was who I yelled at a few minutes ago. He has a habit if showing me zhings zhat I don't want to see. Some of zhe people he killed in zhe past, friends dying; being killed by me, or rather, him. Unpleasant stuff like zhat..." He wasn't going to mention that this time she'd been the one who was killed.
He hung his head, unable to look her in the eye. He didn't want to see the moment when she decided to reject him. As a half-brother, a friend, or even an aquaintance. Or even as a blood brother, if his other side was right...

Ilroché expected far from what her reaction was. Right when he expected her to leave or something of that likeness, she came and sat on his bed next to him and hugged him. No one had ever reacted to this news in such a kind way. He hugged her back, a few tears of gratitude adding to his tears of sorrow. "Zhank you... zhat helped more zhan any words could..." he quietly whispered before letting her out of the embrace.
Wiping his tears away, he watched her roll up her sleeve curiously. He winced when she explained why she'd gotten that scar, and what an ugly scar it was. Despite his own cruddy past, he felt very sympathetic hearing about hers. He had several scars decorating his upper body and arms, but they'd all healed well and hadn't scarred that bad. It was his turn to comfort her, but he didn't know what he could say to help her feel any better. Just like his other side, she could never get rid of that scar or the memories of how she got it. "I'm sorry." He brought her into his arms and gave her a hug similar to the one she'd given him.
Letting her go, he shifted so he was sitting indian-style on his bed and facing her.
"Do you find it kind of weird how similar our pasts are?"

"I have no idea what it could mean. If it means anything at all." Ilroché said, fingering his necklace while thinking. He dropped the necklace as he came up with an idea. Could it be possible that she was left on the porch of an orphanage just like him? It seemed like a stretch, but it would be a surefire way to find out if they were related or not. They had both been orphans. He was nervous to ask her, but maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he could just show her his note and hope she had something similiar.
He reached under his bed for his suitcase, talking while he dug through it. "Zhis may seem a bit odd, but I was left on zhe porch of an orphanage as a newborn." He pulled out the note and set it in front of his legs. "Zhis note was left with me, along with zhe necklace I have around my neck." He knew it was a risk to show her the note, since it had his real name on it, but in the small time since they'd met he felt he could trust her. Once his suitcase was shoved back under his bed, he took the note in his hand and handed it to her, gesturing her to open it.
What was on the note is as follows:
'His name is Louis Richelieu. He was born on June 26, 1993. This necklace must never leave his side.'