Hole in the Wall

Log Info

• Title: Hole in the Wall
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Aya
• Place: Warhouse District
• Time: September 7th, 2021
• Summary:

Some days after an incident in The Room, Aryia is venting her confused emotions upon an abandoned brick and stone wall within the warehouse district. Over time, holes were made, and an observer took note of the carnage. None other than Aya. Aryia ends up apologizing for running away, which Aya expresses confusion, as she herself should be the one apologizing. Aya mentions that she never lied to them, which Aryia hollowly agreed, knowing that speaking the truth and being truthful were to different things. In the end, Aryia just moves past it, not having the energy to dwell on the potentials. The agreement of being mentor and pupil still holds, them going to meet later after the pugilist had some rest and relaxation. Before heading off, Aryia knocks down the wall after explaining her burning disdain for fiends, and the two part ways.

Warehouse District - Abandoned Alley

'twas an overcast day in the city. It mild and inoffensive of a day; none too hot, none too cold. The air still and the humidity tolerable. Though, it was not enough to bode well with exertion. Upon a nondescript street within the maze of the warehouse district, an alleyway, long boarded up with a block of vacant buildings, stands a lone brick wall, it cutting the line between what used to be someone's backyard, and a back exit to a city drain. Now it was filled with debris, discarded crates of cheap merchants that skirt city code, broken glass of drunken stupors and rubble of brick and mortar that fall from the test of time.

Another pebble joined the rubble in a slowly building pile. The brick and stone wall was chipping away, flecks of crimson staining an otherwise grimy grey rock as a rhythmic beat of a -thud- -thud- -thud- -thud- -thud- crashed against it. Sending minor tremors along the floor.

A scarred, grey fist punctures through the wall, it trembling in pain as fingers uncoil and twitch. Fresh cuts, bruises, raw skin all along the flesh. There's a breath, a crack of a neck, and the tremors cease. The hand pulls out of the newly formed hole, it joining the collection of others that surround it. Soon another pebble falls off, the rhythmic beating of the wall resuming in a new spot naught but a foot away.

Aryia keeps her chin tucked in as steady, full bodied hits crash against the stone wall in front of her, face not belying anything other than a determined yet exhausted look, face set into a grim line. Sweat flings off her with every jab and cross, the elbows of her long sleeved shirt scraped away, as well as her knees.

It seemed as if not much progress was made, but every once in a while, a piece of the stone would chip. A brick would flake and crack. And like a river over time, canyons would be formed. Via holes in the wall, and the cracks that connect them.

Whether the wall has been accosted repeatedly over time, or simply in one marathon session of pain, it would not be wholly unusual that it might have drawn a curious spectator or two during the process. Most would be uninterested enough not to linger, or not interested enough to make inquiries and risk replacing the wall... or so one would hope.

Not all share that lack of interest, nor that risk, however. How long the current spectator may have been observing is unknown. A polite observer, at least, as she waits for the next hole to be carved, or Aryia to pause, before announcing her presence from behind and slightly to Aryia's left; not immediately behind, but near enough.

"Aryia."

It takes. A long. Long. Time. For a new hole to be made. Two inches of brick and stone was nothing to be trifled with. This time, her other fist crashes through, the new weakness in the wall making a section crunch, and fall backwards. Again it happens, hands shake and tremble in pain before she forces herself to focus once more.

Focus that is immediately waylaid by the sound of her name. There's a small gasp, the pugilist whirling around on a heel and dropping low. Looking ready to dodge out of the way of... something. But instead Aryia blinks, lowers her bloodied hands, and rights herself. A ghost of a smile plays at her lips, but the recent memory introduces so much conflict that it's nothing more than the specter. She looks down to her feet, a hand flashing shaky letters quickly to make a name. "Aya."

A pause. "... how are you feeling?" Still looking at the floor. It's what's comfortable. <Handspeech>

A simple question, though not as simple to answer as it could be otherwise. Aya takes a step towards in the pause, also making heself more conspicuous to Aryia. When she responds, she does so with her hands, whether for practice, conscientiousness, or simply to help force the other mul's eyes upward.

"Improved, in ways. Worse, in others." She looks past Aryia for a moment, and adds. "Better than the wall? Maybe?" <handspeech>

Aryia did have to bring her gaze up to see the reply, gaze settling somewhere just beside Aya, or right in front of her. The answer was... truthful, if vague. She sighs, looking over her shoulder to watch as another section slowly began to lose its structure, brick by brick. A huff, a grimy, sweat soaked sleeve wiping at her forehead to push the hair out of eyes that stuck to her face. "That's good. I think."

She bites her cheek, facing her mentor(?) once more. There's a look about her as if she had a half dozen things to say at once, but they all come out in a jumble of half formed gestures and mixed expressions. Eventually, she settles on, "I don't hate you."

Some more blended fidgeting. "I get why. I... tried to do the same before." <Handspeech>

Aya's response to Aryia's first comment is neither verbal nor signed; a tension in her features and frame eases. Such was not previously to the degree of shakes or jitters, but the change is notable. "I am pleased that you don't, though I would not fault you if you did."

The second comment draws a brow upwards. Aya perhaps shouldn't be surprised that Aryia understands better than most, but she is. Not to mention curious. Possibly concerned. "You tried what before?" <handspeech>

Aryia shoves her hands into the front of her shirt, stifling what small rivulets of blood that had been created from her... training? Venting? She looks down and off to the side, giving a small shrug. She releases her hands to gesture, "... fiends and stuff. Being where I was, you... get desperate for anything. You know how it is. Thankfully nothing bad heard me out. That's what I mean. I get why. Or even if you did. Or didn't. I don't know. I remember the conversation that well. I don't handle those kinds of things well," she sort of just, blabbers out all at once. <Handspeech>

That is a ... glut of information, and Aya takes several moments to parse the signs, then the impact behind them. After the delay, her response is a simple nod. She doesn't delve into that topic further, her focus shifting, instead Her eyes lower to Aryia's hands in her shirt as she signs, "Is it my turn to carry you to the healers?" A brow lifts, and a slight hint of curl on her lips attempts to convey the tone her hands cannot. <handspeech>

Now that got a small mote of a chuckle out of the mute woman, a light smile cresting her lips. Even through they were the same height roughly, still she found herself looking up at Aya. "And tell them what? That I was punching a wall?" <Handspeech>

Aya rolls one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Training too hard?" Her lips curl a bit further and she relaxes further, as well at the chuckle, sound or no. "I must repay you at some point."

Another look back to wall, but this time Aryia didn't turn back towards Aya. "... I... don't handle emotions well. That day in The Room left me... very confused. So I've just been..." she gestures to the wall, it explaining all.

She pivots halfway back towards Aya. "If... you'll still have me. I'm sorry for running away," she motions, head hanging down to her feet. "I just... I tried to keep everyone calm but it just kept getting worse." <Handspeech>

Aya lifts both of her hands and holds her palms out in a halting motion, lips suddenly pursed in a near-frown. "Stop. Aryia, you have nothing to apologize for. Nor did anyone else. I am the one who should offer them... yet all offer them to me?! Why?"

Aryia blinks, her lifting her head just for her gaze to hop around different parts of Aya's visage. It's hard, but she looks her fellow mul'neissa in the eye. Was this not the right move? It felt like it was supposed to be, because- "Because I ran away when I should have been there for you." She trembles again. <Handspeech>

Whatever the feelings (annoyance, exasperation, anger?) behind Aya's expression, it may not have been directed at Aryia, specifically or solely; because whatever it/they were seem to bleed away at Aryia's averting and trembling.

Aya steps up to her promptly and lifts her hands to take Aryia's; gently, with simply support on the palms and fingers rather than clutching or gripping worn knuckles.

"Aryia... it is -I- who failed -you-, and the others..." Her face contorts in discomfort or confusion. "That is how it ... feels, though I never intended it."

Aryia is, to put it bluntly, fatigued, for certain. However long it was she had been plugging away at that wall must have been from dawn to... whatever part of the day it is now. So she was caught off guard with Aya closing the distance and taking her hands in hers. Even going so far as to ensure the open wounds weren't agitated.

Doubly so when it was Aya who was admitting fault. Aryia looks down to the hands in her palms. There was a lot of 'if's' and 'buts' that was easy to plague Aryia's thoughts about that day, but instead, it could be summed up with a simple gesture. "Maybe," a hand lifts off to say while the other ignored the pain and curls around fingers. "Maybe a warning. Or something. I don't know. There's too much going on. So much. I don't understand anything, and it feels like the floor is always being yanked out from under me just as I figure how to stand."

The pugilist, during all of her signing, continues to tremble and shake, leaning forward slowly until the last of her signs are done, finishing with resting her head against Aya's shoulder and letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh. <Handspeech>

Aya returns the squeeze from one hand reflexively, yet carefully. The leaning isn't realized for what it is until she's supporting her. Despite this surprise, Aya isn't as stymied as she was during the unexpected hug not so long ago.

"There will not always be warnings. You must learn to adapt, react... but even then you will fall. So you must quickly pick yourself up." The sigh is then returned with one of Aya's own.

"I cannot prevent the floor from moving," she admits, "but I will strive to catch you if you would fall."

There's a small nod against the shoulder, some of the tremors abating from the reassurance. Still holding on with one hand while laying there, she motions off to the side so Aya could see. "I know. It just feels as if things happen so quickly I can't even have a moment to catch a breath."

A long pause. "... the burning question I have to all of that the other day is 'why'. But I know I won't get an answer. So... just be careful. That's all I ask. I know you're probably already doing that because you're like that and stuff and just..." Rambling.

She cuts herself off, and just ends up loosely hugging Aya. There's a weak clearing of her throat until a near silent hiss comes out, "Th-nks." <Handspeech>

"That was asked, before," Aya notes in attempt to clarify; there is no accusation in her tone in the slightest, "and I spoke the truth in all of my answers." Still, she is well aware that Aryia was more than a little overwhelmed at that time.

"I will be cautious." She could note that she ever is, but Aryia already did. "There is still much training to do, and I would be a poor teacher if we could not complete it."

Aryia didn't have a retort for any of it, she just shook her head. She clearly didn't buy it, speaking the truth and being truthful were two different things. And of those that were in the room that day, only two of them were Charnese. She just accepted the response with an empty, "Alright."

The hug tightens briefly, as if to keep the one in its hold from melting into shadows. She just nods into the hold. <Handspeech>

Aya isn't sure, herself, of what she expected Aryia's acceptance of that would be, as the one perhaps both most likely and least likely to accept it at stated value. This makes the flat acknowledgement... somewhere in between? Where it should be?

She is silent for a time, simply accepting (and lightly returning) the embrace. Further explanations may or may not help, assuming that she can even give them sufficiently. Still, she won't close that option.

"As I would still teach you, if you have any questions, you are free to ask them. I will answer as best as I am able."

Aryia just spent the time gathering herself. Getting the nervous shakes and tremors of fatigue under control. The silence was welcome. And wanted. Just some much needed reassurance.

Silence broken, Aryia reluctantly pulls away to sign, the hand held being released to help elaborate. At least she wasn't a nervous mess anymore. The mute woman thinks, a look stolen over towards the poc-marked wall. She tiredly glares at it, like it would topple the last of it over. "Mul'neissa magic. I've seen it used. Used on me, on others. No one taught me for obvious reasons. And trying to figure it out myself just ends up pissing me off." <Handspeech>

Aya nods to her, now that she can better witness it, and also returns to signing now that hands are free. "More difficult to discover alone, I imagine, though the power is already within you. Influence of shadow and, conversely, light, is in our veins."

She gives a cursory glance to the alley along with a vague gesture about the same. "Would you wish to study here? Now? Or otherwise?" <handspeech>

Aryia gives a small dip of her head, her rubbing her sleeve and wincing from the smarting. She steps towards the opposite wall- the unblemished one-, and rests her back against it. Slowly sliding down until she was sitting. "I... I think I can do it. Maybe, I'm not sure. I know I have something." She points to her eyes, before continuing, looking up at Aya. The pugilist looked exhausted. Perhaps not in the best of shapes or headspace to tackle the intangible.

She sighs, pulling up a knee and resting her chin on it. "... I wish now. But I... need rest to try. Or I'll just punch walls again." Perhaps that last bit was an attempt at a joke, judging by the ghost of a smile. <Handspeech>

Aya nods, and a corner of her lips curl. "I think you have mastered that task, for now. You should rest, then, and tend to your hands, before any further training." Not that Aya would ever turn her pupil's hunger to learn into motivation to take care of herself... <handspeech>

Aryia closes her eyes once signs were read, and slowly lets her head lull back until it mutedly thuds against the wall. Another chuckle. Then she pulls herself to her feet. Shaky legs until she gets herself stable.

"Bath. Bandage. Bed," she motions, slowly stepping over towards the vandalized wall. Aryia stares at it, looking at the one spot that was cracked and weak, yet whole between all the holes. Her eyes squint, muted emotions flicking across her visage. Sadness, fear, anger, frustration, resolve. "One thing I do hate," she gestures to the wall. "was that ever since the fight on the banks, the one thing that has always decided to fuck up things I have learned to care about. The one thing that has nearly killed me many times. The one thing that is essentially the root of all my problems."

She cracks her neck. And suddenly throws a haymaker at the wall. It doesn't budge. "I."

Another strike, and uppercut into the rock. Some of the mortar falls away. "Hate."

Aryia winds back up, fist cocked all the way back. A hooked finger taps the side of her forehead. "Fiends."

It drives through the wall, a plume of dust kicking up. There's a bass-filled crack, and a crunch, a spidering splinter webbing its way to the other holes created. There's a beat of silence, and then the swath of wall crumbles down around her outstretched arm. Aryia inhales deeply, purses her lips, and spits on the pile of rubble.

"I'm going to the baths. Up to you if you want to come with me." <Handspeech>

"Indeed." Aya concurs with the triple-B suggestions, then her hands halt to listen to Aryia, then watch as her signing is interspersed, emphatically, with impacting punctuation. She then watches the wall succumb before commenting.

"The fiends should fear you. If they don't now, they may well soon." The invitation is, well, inviting, though Aya hesitates. "I would enjoy the water, and the company. But there is another I should speak to, first. Perhaps I coud join you later?" <handspeech>

Aryia nods at the hesitation, her moving up to Aya. Each step making dust and pebble rubble fall off of her shoulders. "Alright. Might be passed out or whatever should you be there." She looks down at her feet for a beat, before gesturing with a hint of a smile. "... thanks for talking with me.." <Handspeech>

Aya's lips curl into a fresh smirk as she reaches up a hand to brush at one of Aryia's shoulders. "Don't drown." Her expression then warms to a less wry smile. "It is always my pleasure and you are always welcome. Be sure to have your clothing washed, as well." She adds the last before gesture to the roadway past their little alleyway. <handspeech>

The mute elf looks down at her clothes. Sweat drenched, dusty, damaged clothes. There's a moment of pause, like that wasn't even on her to-do list. "... I should do that."

With a tired sigh, she ambles towards the road, giving a small wave to Aya as she went. From the ways away, she motions, "I will see you later." And with that, she heads off in the direction of the TarRaCe, likely the complete opposite way that Aya intends.<Handspeech>