Tea by Any Other Name

Log Info

• Title: Tea by Any Other Name
• Emitter: Verna
• Characters: Verna, Aryia
• Place: Lower Gardens District
• Time: October 23rd, 2021
• Summary: On a foggy day in the gardens, Aryia is drinking tea at a vendor, going over some notes and self reflecting on some recent events. Verna, leaving the Soldier's Defense, joins the mute woman. They speak of recent murders in the city, as well as narrowing down the strange tongue Aryia was able to comprehend. After eliminating some exotic languages, Verna speaks a few, one striking true, and causes Aryia to become incredibly confused once more. A number of theories are thrown about on how Aryia would know such a language despite her stance on outsiders in general, and the things they are connected to. Topic shifts to a heavier one: Verna revealing an aspect of Charn culture that lines up far too well with Aryia's existence, with her adding that some magics could help suss information out. The Mourner shares a bit of her past, but warns Aryia to not explore her own in a physical sense. Aryia doesn't take it so well. She cools off, and Aryia settles on trying to figure out this recent language development, and she leaves with the promise to chat later.

Chilly, damp, and fogged. Such is the current change of seasons such that 'Tis the season to be dreary, perhaps. The Soldier's Defense hospital has become quite the focus for activity in light of the temples' closures. Most any or all in need of healing are not treated here.

On a related note, those beyond healing also receive their post-life preparations here, as well. Not in the same room, of course, out of respect for both the living and the deceased. It is from that other wing that Verna emerges to step out into the gardens for some measure of respite. Her attire makes her something of a spectre to most amidst the mist and dim.

Perhaps in a safer and dryer location for self reflection, the gardens were a decent spot to have some sort of self-reflection, as well as gathering one's thoughts. None too far from The Soldier's Defense was a little tea stall for the garden goers, a few high stools present to take a break and ponder.

Aryia, in her saved verdant jacket, was partaking in such, a small pot of tea next to her with a half full cup and a filled journal in front of her. A page flips to fill out more, but pauses to take a drink. The cup stops halfway to her lips, the mul'neissa woman spotting the spooky spectre gliding through the mist.

She blinks.

Oh. Verna. Not a...- she clears her throat and raises a hand toward the Mourner. A soft two-toned whistle following soon after to get her attention.

Indeed. She is much to short to be a spectre.

Verna's hood turns at the whistle and, despite her visual acuity lack in comparison to the mul'niessa, she is able to note the wave. Her approach brings more into focus and confirms her initial suspicions; it may be that few whistle and/or wave to her.

"Good day to you," she greets once in conversational (via voice or otherwise) range.

Aryia gives a small dip of her head and a hand flicks a couple of motions. "And to you."

She gestures to an empty stool beside her. "Want some tea?" she offers, ending a motion towards her teapot beside her journal. <Handspeech>

"Yes, thank you." Verna accepts, doffing her hood, and then her gloves. The latter disappear into the folds of her cloak and robes before she takes a seat. After settling, and sitting silently for a moment, she comments, "I presume that it is the favorable weather that brings you to the gardens, today?"

The mute fullbood gives another nod and gestures for the stall-keeper for another cup. Acquired and poured, Aryia slides a lukewarm green tea over towards Verna in the silence.

A shrug, Aryia flipping back a page on her filled out journal as she signs. "That, and it's not the river. Not very often the sun is blocked, hurt my eyes. And you? I guess they got you running around all over." <Handspeech>

Verna echoes the shrug partially, the shoulder motion accompanying a gesture to the hospital. "Across the city somewhat, but not so terribly far. Healing and funerary services are currently being held here due to the restrictions. It is a recent series of homicides that have me moving about the city more than anything else at the moment."

She accepts the tea and takes a sip therefrom. "Regretably, killers are not so polite as to deliver the deceased to an appropriate location, nor even notify us of the need for services."

Aryia raises a brow at that bit of news. "That's weird. Didn't know that was going on. I hope you all manage to figure out who's killing people. Are they just leaving the bodies out for you all to find? Sounds like someone messed up in the head and sending a message if they're doing that."

A sigh does leave her, and she looks off to the hospital. "I'll keep an ear out. I tend to hang around the less savory places, so maybe I'll catch something." <Handspeech>

Verna's lips purse. "In attempting to contact the families of the deceased, I have discovered a commonality between the victims. None hail from this city, and most or all arrived rather recently. They appear to have no family members in the city."

Her expression deepens. "While this trend, if a factor, may limit the targets, I advise caution. The latest victim was found just this past night. All appear to have had their throats cut... but we discovered this is an attempt to cover puncture marks. They were intentionally exsanguinated, and very little of that blood reached the surroundings." She chases this explanation and concern with a few more swallows of tea.

Aryia's brow pinch pensively, her scratching her head with the end of her pen. And the method of execution makes her rub at her scarred throat. "... that's... horrifying. And strange."

Some more tea sip sipped, and topped off for both cups. The mute looks to her journal, flipping to an empty page and resting the tip of the pen there, as if it would spill out more insight. "It... kind of sounds like whoever is doing this either does people from out of town to tie up people like you, or they have a certain outside reason, politics or something, for it." <Handspeech>

"It is both of those," Verna agrees. "I believe it could be due to vampirism, or other nefarious need for blood. Regardless of the details, the perpetrator or perpetrators should not be taken lightly." Sip. It may be acceptable tea conversation in Vardamen circles despite the oddities.

Verna does not expound nor theorize further, however, and instead glances to the rested pen and blank page. "Did you experience further oddities of your own, or determine other aspects that puzzle you that you wish to pursue?"

Aryia blinks, paling somewhat. "... I've only heard of those before. Yes, I, uh, won't be stupid about it." She pulls at her collar, looking off to the gardens. A vampire? Maybe she's ran into one of those once or twice in Charn. But if stories were true... She shudders.

Her attention shifts back as Verna as attention is directed to the now. A sigh leaves her. "No other things have came up," she answers, flipping back a few pages, each one filled. It reads like a journal entry, trying to elaborate on intangible feelings. It's very vague, using many metaphors and similes of rushing waters, oceans, shadows and light. Poetic, in a certain lens. "What part do you think I should try and figure out first? Mul'neissa things? That weird language I heard? Something else?" <Handspeech>

Verna may make passing note of the flipping pages, but she does not make any apparent attempt to study the contents. It would be difficult considering the angle and orientation. It might also be considered impolite by some. She does consider the question and options for some time.

"What mysteries you wish to focus upon and in what order is your prerogative and decision. I realize that determining such can be a challenging mystery of its own, but what you value, and how much, is not a choice that I, nor anyone else, can make for you."

The unsatisfying answer to her request makes her lips pull down slightly. The hard part of having dozens of questions was having no real direction to start. She looks down to her written words, hoping that maybe it'd give Aryia some guidance on how to proceed. This assistance she was used to getting lacked that personal touch, and it felt odd.

"I guess... she starts, flipping forwards then backwards in her literature. "... maybe we can start with narrowing down that tongue I heard. It was different than the other ones the demon thing was barking. The others were really rough and angry sounding. This one was... soft. Soft like Sildanyari, but in it's own way." <Handspeech>

Verna nods in acknowledgement as she listens. While perhaps not the most warm and cheery in countenance nor tone, she can remain quiet to listen, with focus and interest, rather well. "Hmm. If we presume, for a moment, that the creature was some form of demon or devil, it would likely speak Abyssal or Infernal. They are the tongues of the various Hells and are rarely considered pleasant on mortal ears; sometimes disquieting even to one's bones or beyond. Not a choice for casual conversation any more than those who would speak it."

She wets her whistle anew before offering, "The antipodean to those would be Celestial, used by those in the 'higher' planes; the servants of the god light. Angels, if you will, and their relations. While also awe-inspiring in its own right, it is also said to be melodic, musical, or even rapturous to hear. Much depends upon who or what is speaking, the listener, and the contents of the dialogue, of course."

Aryia blinks as she gets a rather rich, information filled answer. Pages are flipped to a blank slate, pen scratching to fill out new pieces of the puzzle. Bits of the information of what the languages were called seemed to be new to the mute woman.

Though, her brows knit some, the pen slowing its scribble. ".. a friend told me about angels once," she starts, looking conflicted on the subject. "I don't understand why we see all these devils and demons fucking things up, but never any angels helping fix it or stop it from happening."

She looks to her notes, and the three outer-languages written there. "I don't even know the signs for these," she mentions offhandedly with a gesture towards them. But she pauses at the description of one she wrote down. "... it... did sound like music, now that I think about it..." <Handspeech>

"It is my opinion," Verna begins with the caveat, "that such forces are always at work, whether we are readily aware of them or not. The infernal and abyssal are innately evil; they seek to conquer and control, whether through wanton terror and destruction, devious bargains and trickery, or some combination thereof. Regardless, they gain power from taking power over mortals... thus interactions with mortals is required. The Celestials, however, are motivated by good. Their nature may not always match our individual concept of this, but they do not require our approval nor worship to act in their nature."

She pauses to inhale, and possibly for emphasis. "In short, a demon that wades through the city or countryside ravaging all in its path, compared to a Solar who might seek out and slay demon in the hells, themselves. We would certainly not forget the first, and might never be aware of the second."

Returning to the more simplistic topic of lanuages, she has a thought. "Do you believe that you might recognize the tongue were you to hear it again? I am no outsider, but I am fluent in their languages. If naught else, we might determine what it is -not- by process of elimination?"

The atheist mul'neissa sighs and shakes her head. "Well then they're doing a sort of shit job right now at making people not look to other things or resent them for seemingly doing nothing." Aryia, clearly, didn't have a positive outlook on outer beings, regardless of where they fell on spectrum.

Aryia sighs, digesting that bit of deluge of opinion by sipping on what was left in her cup. The offer makes Aryia twist towards Verna, her face pinched in confusion. "... uh.. sure?" she accepts uncertainly, preparing herself for a wave of perplextion like last time. <Handspeech>

Verna shared only her opinion, not necessarily dogma, and she does not question Aryia's own opinion. They are individual and may vary, afterall. With her acceptance of the other suggestion, however, there is little to do but try. It may or may not aid Aryia, but they would not know without the attempt.

"I sit here with you and drink tea," she states simply, and perhaps slowly, in tradespeak, along with a lift of her cup in gesture at the end.

Next, she ... perhaps sounds as if she is hacking up, gargling, and/or drowning in some internal bile and/or broken glass. "I sit here with you and drink tea." <Infernal> Again, the cup lifts in gesture. Afterwards, she does take an actual sip, likely to wash down whatever was in her throat before continuing.

More sounds are uttered, though these are likely far more pleasant (yet possibly no less challenging for a mortal to produce). "I sit here with you and drink tea." <Celestial> A repeat of the lifted cup, to continue the context throughout the iterations.

Aryia quits her note taking to face the Mourner more directly. She looks a little perplexed at the simple sentence, though, she does nod slightly.

The next set of syllables of shattered glass makes a grimace flash across her features. Not one of comprehension, but of the instinctual reaction of hearing the Hellish tongue. Distrust, a tinge of fear. But such emotion were muted in this controlled environment, the pugilist slowly picking up on what Verna was doing.

The third set...

The dulcet tones harbor a physical reaction. Immense confusion crosses Aryia's features, her raising a hand to press against the side of her head. Eyes shimmer bright for a beat before she closes them. She grits her teeth for a moment before gesturing briskly, "Yes, yes, that's the one... for fuck's sake, /how/ do I know this??" <Handspeech>

The reaction is somewhat unexpected... though, in hindsight, perhaps it should not have been so much so. In any even, it is progress. "Intriguing..." Verna takes another sip, consuming the last of her cup. "Something was learned, and it is a step towards answering further questions. The most likely answer, given what I gleaned of your opinions concerning outsiders and possibly the gods, themselves, is that you are somehow ... touched by a celestial. It could be due to a recent experience and you were not aware of the significance. It could be an event in your past that you do not recall. Such traces can follow one's bloodline, as well, so it is possible that it is something passed down through generations. One blatant example of this is sorcerors that gain their power due to pacts or mingling of blood that occured in ages past."

Aryia shakes her head, trying to clear the confusion that she was plagued with as she wipes at her face. A tinge of sweat having built up on her brow. "Touched?" she repeats, finally opening her glowing gaze once more. "I haven't... spoken with any celestials. I feel like I would know if I did. And I don't know if... my family had some kind of bloodline thing. I... don't, uh, know my family. Or my childhood, for that matter," her signs become smaller. "Even using my mul'neissa magics is hard. I still struggle making little lights."

Her brows do pinch a bit. "Why would my opinions of the gods matter in something like that?" she motions, hoping to not get /another/ lecture. <Handspeech>

"Celestial is a language that many clergy, or those otherwise allied with the gods, choose to learn, and teach," Verna explains. "I intended to convey only that such seemed less likely, in your case. No judgment nor offense was meant," she adds.

That clarification made, she pauses to consider Aryia's past... or, perhaps, Aryia's lack of knowledge regarding the same. "There are options to aid you in discovering your past, if that is a path you wish to pursue. Your time as ... a commodity would be recorded by those responsible. Receipts, bills of sale, expenses, and so forth. That is a trail that could be followed."

"Additionally, I am familiar with magic that brings memories to the surface, allows them to be shared, even to one's self if it is something forgotten. It is rather ... intimate to allow another inside one's thoughts, so I do not judge any reluctance. It is merely proper that you are aware of options."

Aryia gives a little shrug. She didn't seem offended by any of it, just perplexed. By, well, all of this.

The full blood scratches her head, her gaze unfocused as she tries to recall something. Of that smeared past. "It could be. But I was traded a lot. I mean, a lot, a lot." Her frame deflates some, even her silver clad ears droop slightly. "My first memories are nothing but auctions for a couple of years. So much that my mark is basically gone from how often it's been changed."

The notion of memories being drawn forth, as well as a stranger seeing some of her more intimate horrors makes her shift uncomfortably. The idea of having lost memories revived sounding enticing, but the unknown of what the contained was off putting to have another peer at it. "Uh... I... maybe. I don't... know you that well yet. I'm sorry." <Handspeech>

GAME: Verna rolls knowledge/nobility: (19)+9: 28
GAME: Verna rolls knowledge/local: (14)+9: 23 

Verna holds up a hand at her apology and shakes her head. "As I said, I made no presumptions. There is no need to apologize for keeping your thoughts your own. It is merely a possibility, and there are likely others who could offer the same, if you were more inclined."

After this, however, she frowns at the remainder (or preceding, in this case). "Do you recall if you were ill? Infirm? Disruptively defiant? Such frequent resale is quite uncommon." Poor business practice, though she does not explain in quite that detail nor term.

"I'll keep that in mind in as a possibility. Maybe know what methods you use so people I trust with it a bit better can do it," Aryia mentions.

The mute closes her eyes at the questions, propping her face up with a hand as well as burying her visage into it with a lofty sigh. She purses her lips. Fingers drum against her journal, tips tapping the words of outer languages. After a long moment, they stop to motion blindly. Slowly. "I... don't... remember. It's... a blur. Like oil smeared on a canvas. Anything before the auctions is just... that. It's been so long I don't know if its some magic thing or just all the bad shit ruined my memory. I spoke Undercommon and Sildinyari before I lost my voice. So obviously there's... something. I just..."

She pulls her head up, a bit of a lost look to her as she uses both hands to give a massive shrug. <Handspeech>

Verna nods once. "Of course. I referred to a spell known as Share Memory. Should you find one whom you are comfortable with who can utilize magic, I can provide a scroll of the spell. There would be no investment required from them, or yourself."

Her lips purse deeply; in thought, perturbation, or both. "Do not feel badly that you remember little. I witnessed a similar situation once, as a child; one who changed hands many times in a short period of time. I did not fully understand all at the time, but if your past was similar to theirs... it was their sole intent that you forget. It could explain many things, if it were the truth."

Aryia blinks at that. "I can pay for it, if you're sure about that," she counter offers, waffling a bit that someone would just go out of their way to provide such a thing.

Verna's further explanation draws white brows together in concern. She raises a hand as if to say something, pauses, then resumes, slowly. "... are you saying that me not remembering anything... could be on purpose?" she asks, baffled. <Handspeech>

"Yes," Verna states rather plainly, "it could be. While I am not a master of Charneth politics and trade, I can explain what I experienced, and, as I later learned, the theory behind it. If you wish." She doesn't mention the counter offer.

Aryia blinks a few times, lips parted as she sits there. A metaphorical hand over a box that's been closed for too long, and worried of what might be inside. A long moment of hesitation runs through her. But, slowly, she nods and leans forward. Cracking the box open.

She'll probably forget the counter offer.

Verna nods, taking a moment to run one hand through her near-nonexistant hair. "I was a child; old enough to speak and read well enough yet too young for much responsibilities. A human girl, a slave, of my age or equivalent, was brought into our home as a ... housemate, a companion. From her perspective, in hindsight, I suppose that it was a compartively comfortable role; she has a playmate, little labor, and was treated well. Once the season shifted cold, a few months later, she was sold elsewhere." Possibly mindful of her previous near-lecture, she chops this into smaller pieces and pauses.

All of Aryia's attention is focused on the leacture, both hands on her knees as she's leaned forward to take in each detail, regardless of how minor or relevant it was. She bobs her head. "I did have some masters like that, where I was put in a house for a bit of time and had to do random little things. They never lasted long," she comments, reinforcing what Verna had experienced. <Handspeech>

"The following spring," Verna continues after acknowledging Aryia's comment, "she returned to our house. I did not realize it immediately, as she was clothed differently, her hair different, and she bore a different name. Still, in a few days, I realized that it was her. When I called her by her previous name, she refused to answer. She was frightened by it, though I did not understand at the time. Wishing to not upset her, nor my parents, I used her new name. Some aspects were unknown to me, but I did learn that those housemates that I upset, or grew too fond of, would suddenly be absent and elsewhere. She was moved several months later, in the midst of summer."

"I expected, hoped, to see her the following year, but I did not. The year after, when she again did not return, I was old, bold, and believed myself wise enough to inquire of her whereabouts."

Aryia continues to listen, her face getting a bit of sadness for a younger Verna that had a friend ripped away. The mute knew what that was like: finally getting to know someone before being torn from such threads before having to make new roots elsewhere. Again and again and again...

Another comment. "They... did refuse to give me a name..." hands slowly mention before returning to the story. "And then what happened?" <Handspeech>

Verna's expression turns decidedly sour. "It was then that my mother chose to educate me of Charneth Houses and their interactions. She was a flourishing matriarch of a powerful merchant family. My father, previously, was of similar station in a similarly rising House. They were competitors. They decided, at some point, to combine their resources, align their interests, and consolidate their influence. Thus, they wed and joined their Houses. I was the proof of consumation."

"Not all interactions are so peaceful, of course. Houses will war upon one another; the victor destroys or absorbs the loser, one in too much debt to another can forfeit its own existance. Some of the old house join the new, many are simply put to death."

"Others, I was told, are sold into slavery, yet not merely for simple profit. To avoid future risk of rightful heirs or vengeance, they are sold, and resold, time and again. Names are changed, or removed, homes changed, repeatedly until they no longer know who they are, or were. It is most often done with children, as it is considered -humane and merciful.-" The edge around those words bleeds through as Verna does not agree with that description.

She exhales a sigh. "Even as I recall this... I cannot recall her name; either of them."

A bit of surprise flicks across Aryia's face at seeing an expression other than neutrality cross Verna's features. And then nobility gets involved. Annoyance rises at the topic, but is shoved aside to pay. Attention.

Sorrow was the next thing to show up. Was that all Verna was to her parents? Proof? They must have no cared about her well being that much due to removing playmates so easily. Or perhaps there was some other factor? But it couldn't have been, if Verna's mother explained all this to her half-mul'neissaian child. Sorrow turns to deep seated anger, one that she was well acquainted with, as well as a dozen questions, but its squashed for something more pressing.

A mote of compassion. Aryia reaches forward as Verna finishes, a scarred hand settling on one of the arms atop the baggy sleeves. "I'm sorry," she motions with her free hand, looking as if Aryia did, truly, understand such frustrations from the other side of such a cruel system. "Thank you for telling me all of that."<Handspeech>

Verna may still be searching her memories for her own frustratingly absent bit of information, as the contact isn't immediately noticed. When it and Aryia's one-handed comment register, they do so with a bit of a start; surprise, at least, in the reflexive retraction of Verna's torso.

She is left blinking a moment and her look of consternation softens. "You are welcome..." and now her visage twists back to ..something. Similar to before, yet perhaps more pained. "Given our respective places on either side of the both proverbial and literal fence in this context, it is I who should be apologizing to you. It is quite likely that my own House lies within your stack of layered marks."

The reassurance abates as Aryia pulls back at the subtle retreat. She knew that feeling all to well.

The mute shakes her head and waves it off. "You're fine. You didn't do anything, and you know how terrible it all is instead of participating in it. Your House might have done something to me, but /you/ didn't," she points out with one of those marked hands. The pugilist thinks for a moment before smirking lightly. "Weren't you the one that said the deeds of one's bloodline shouldn't be blamed on every similar individual? Or something like that?" <Handspeech>

Verna makes a slow, deep inhale, followed by a similar exhale. With the latter, she briefly sags, but her countenance returns to bland. She straightens afterwards and nods. "You are correct, on all counts. It remains a concern, still, but let us return to the true topic: yourself."

"If this theory is, in fact, truth for you, it only provides a course taken to where you are now." She pauses for some moments before adding, looking to Aryia firmly, "I would suggest that you NOT attempt to follow that course back to its origin."

Aryia squints ever so slightly at the request to remain on topic. Looks like the mute wasn't the only one that was hesitant to speak of their past. She gives a light smile and nods. "Very well."

The full elf blinks, the warning seemingly pushing her back some as she sits upright. Her hands twitch a bit between hand signs, brows knitted in confusion, "I- wh- but-" Then that small gate of built up mysteries for herself leaks, hands moving quick and fueled by heart than logic, "B-But I have so many questions! What was I before? Why can I tailor so easily? Did I have a family? There's literal /decades/ missing!"

And there's the textbook reaction one has.<Handspeech>

Verna lifts and partially extends a bared hand. It is not a full sign to halt, nor does it reach to the other's shoulder similar to Aryia's gesture. Instead, it falls somewhere in between; awkwardly so, and she lowers it back to the table.

"While it is only my advice, and you are not obligated to heed it... please allow me to explain. It is not so easily given for the same reason you would prefer the opposite encouragement: the desire for knowledge."

The small deluge is quickly sealed back up, Aryia sighing and flipping to a new page in her journal. She scribbles down bits of the disturbing information, so she could recall it later to fill it further.

But once more, at the behest for elaboration, Aryia returns her attention to Verna, a yearning look about her features that just wanted to know more. "Then please explain. You've given me more to go off of than I've ever figured out in my entire life." <Handspeech>

Verna nods lightly and there is a brief uptick in her features at the opportunity, though it is soon lost as her lips purse. She believes he reasoning is sound and logical, even beneficial; none of that makes it necessarily pleasant.

"If we presume, for the moment, that this is what occured to you... What could you expect to find at the end of that search? the former members of your House would be long-deceased, assimilated into another House, or possibly in hiding or unaware. It is far more likely that those you find would neither recognize nor acknowledge you; worse, you could readily encounter those who sent you to your fate and they may well wish to revoke the reprieve on your life."

"If you did find further link to your past... would it be a measurable mark of who you are? The experiences that you do recall are what molded you, guided you, directed you. As example, were you to learn that you were now the matriarch-to be of a royal house, would you suddenly become a Princess and leave Alexandria for a throne in Charn? Be served by a manor full of your own slaves?"

The wall of cold calculation hisses hotly against a burning heart. And based on the deepening frown, then worry, then slight fear on Aryia's features, the wall was easily winning. So much so that it topples over and crushes the heart into embers.

The pugilist drops her gaze to her lap, calloused fingers picking at nails. Verna was right. Brutally so. "I just... wanted to know... after so long..." she motions slowly, her argument weak against the wall. Though she sighs heavily, deflating, and buries her face into her hands. <Handspeech>

This is hardly the first time that Verna has delivered unpleasant news. She is a Mourner, and regulary informs or coordinates with living relatives of the passing of a loved one and/or the desired arrangements regarding such. This could be one reason why she is not so easily expressive; daily practice.

This does not make he stone nor cold, necessarily. "You..." she pauses, feeling obliged to add further words, yet not having gathered them all. "You are not wrong to want to know. There is no guarantee of answers, nor that finding them will grant you what you seek.

"Many ask 'Why?' when loved ones perish due to misfortune or accident. There is no guilty party to punish, but they seek an answer regardless. A verifiable cause and effect will not return their deceased to life, nor assuage their grief; they simply seek any salve for a pain." Verna defaults to what she knows to convey ... confirmation? comfort?

It's uncertain if the Mourner's practiced assuages actually help the mute mul'neissa. Such things might work for something that is truly gone, a grieving that could only be quelled by acceptance of the facts that what once was is unobtainable.

But this was not the case. The wall is pushed back ever so slightly. "But Verna... my past isn't dead. I'm still alive. You go a century without having a name to call yourself by that isn't something degrading and get back to me without any burning questions, see how that works out for you."

Embolded slightly, she sits upright. Hands framing hypotheticals. "Imagine you're me. You go your entire life being told you're only worth the meat on your bones and the work you put into where ever you are. You get no name. You get no history. You get no friends. Absolutely, totally, nothing. And then you get told, all that terrible shit you went through... there was a /reason/ for it?"

Aryia's eyes tick up a few steps in luminosity. Hands smacking together as the signs before more fiery. "And then I learn I have /value/? As a /person/? And I'm capable of so much more than I thought because I was /denied/?? Of course I want to know what's been eating away at me for seventy. Fucking. Years!" <Handspeech>

Verna listens to the response; attentive if mostly non-reactive, even with it becomes more energetic and passionate. She dips her head several times in acknowledgement. After Aryia completes her explanation, Verna further acknowledges the content.

"I am not you, and my past is not yours. There are similarities, and I can readily envision some of what you ask from those experiences, but that is all. My advice was a suggestion, not a demand."

She regards Aryia for a time as she considers further words and finally offers them. "I could offer further counterpoint or example, but there is no need to justify a suggestion. Whether or not you wish to pursue this is most certainly your decision. Should you decide to do so, or not, I will assist you however I am able."

The glimmer in Aryia's gaze was a clear window to her conviction, her posture straightening and lips pursed into a thin line. She wasn't upset. She was determined.

The Mourner was hard to read. The mute wasn't sure if the neutrality was apathy, or the offer for assistance was Verna's way of expressing herself.

She takes a moment to herself to cycle a breath, and look off to the side to ponder. "... I may end up taking you up on that offer after all. Maybe after we sort out this... angel language shit," she signs slowly. Then, "... thank you. For your help." <Handspeech>

"You are welcome," Verna responds with the typical, though her face briefly contorts. Upwards? A smile to accentuate the earnest in the response... or something resembling a smile. It is exagerrated yet stiff and shows a great deal of teeth; more a moving of lips than cheeks or mouth. Not unlike a dissicated face, perhaps, with soft tissue shrunken back from bone.

She releases the perhaps too-much effort and her visage slackens to normal as she shifts to the topic of ... the other shit. "Your celestial gift does appear to be quite the mystery on its own. I am rather curious as to its origins, myself."

Was it genuine? Or practiced? Aryia, to be honest, didn't care. She was glad to see something crack across the Mourner's visage that wasn't a flat expression, and she herself lets a smile spread across her determined face.

A sigh, and she runs a hand over her hair to push some loose white threads back. "I am too. Despite how... confusing it is." <Handspeech>

"It should be less confusing once you have more information," Verna assures her. "Even if the cause was completely coincidental, knowing that is beneficial."

The stall vendor takes the empty pot and cups away as Aryia gives a huff. "Then what should I do to clear the confusion up? Where do I start?" she signs.<Handspeech>

Verna considers that question, which she'd obviously avoided a direct suggestion for in her prior comment. "Given as there are several possibilities, there are different paths to address them. If the influence is from your past that only now surfaced, then you may well find answers in the investigation of your past." Which Aryia has already made clear is a priority. "If it was from a more recent event, we would need to analyze those. As noted, I can assist, but I do not yet have any exact, certain answers for you."

The unsatisfying answer was, at the very least, expected, so the frown was muted to a flicker on Aryia's lips. "I don't... know what event it would be. I've just been fighting bad stuff recently. And you yourself said looking into my past would be dangerous so..." She pinches her brow and gestures with her other hand. "... so I guess I just wait for now and see what happens." <Handspeech>

Verna nods. "I regret that I do not have immediate answers for you. This will require time, planning, and patience." She realizes this is, again, not what Aryia would prefer to hear, but it is the truth. That would require.. meaning looking into her past. Since one does not simply walk into Charn.

Aryia gives a little shrug and closes her journal. Head swimming with a plethora of questions with no foreseeable answers for the time being. "I suppose. Regardless, thanks for helping. I really appreciate it," she gestures, giving a light smile, though a tired from all the revelations. <Handspeech>

"If anything else comes to mind that you wish to share in the future, you are welcome to," Verna offers. After a pause, she adds, "Or, if you merely wish to converse. I understand that this is all a great deal of information to consume."

Aryia slips her journal into an inside pocket on her jacket. "I'll keep that in mind," gestures during the pause, but her finger hovers near her head at the addendum. "... I... will take you up on that offer. For sure. I'll see you later, then."

With that, Aryia gives a parting wave from the hip, adjusts her jacket, and quietly walks into fog.

A burning question was left in her mind: 'Just who am I?' <Handspeech>

-End Scene-