Wade Through the Muck

Log Info

• Title: Wade Through the Muck
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Verna
• Place: Lower Gardens
• Time: December 19th, 2022
• Summary: Verna seeks out Aryia for sage wisdom and guidance. In the end, even when there is no answers, there is always an answer. Though, presented less pleasantly than that. This is Aryia we're talking about, after all.

Lower Gardens, Morning

It's cold. It's grey. At least in the blessed gardens outside the the Soldier's Defense, it's tolerable, though the chilled air sneaks up on oneself if they were not girded properly against its bite.

Blasted snow and ice makes it harder to find proper places to train. And while it would be severely frowned upon to train one's body via percussive maintenance against structures and nature, at least other methods were present. Dangling off the branch of a tree some ten feet up is that of a scarred mul'neissa woman, barely lit by the overcast sky. She's upside down, legs wrapped around the branch, an exhale of a huff as her green buckle sways from side to side beside her as she curls up in an inverted crunch. She's been at it for some time, were the sweat on her bare arms and brow anything to go by.

Many of the gardens in the city are prime locations for peaceful walks and/or contemplation. Given the season, the enchanted gardens moreso. Verna may be in need of peace and/or contemplation, yet she is also in need of something not currently found in the other gardens.

Namely a specific, inverted, arborically-fastened, adbominally-improving mul'niessa.

Verna's gray cloak and hood make her blend well into the environment, so she may approach quite near despite her lack if innate silence.

And that inverted mul'neissa just keeps going. Who knows how many reps she gone at by this point?

The only mote that breaks her mental concentration, meditation, or whatever is abandoned slightly as her usual silver shades nearly fall out of a pocket.

Aryia's breaks her rhythm to snatch it from the air, glowing gaze taking in her upside-down surroundings for a brief moment before-

Wait. Was that?

Breath clouds roll free from the mute in huffs, her letting her arms dangle lazily with her magical optics held in one grasp. The freed one gives a wave in greeting.

Verna lifts a gloved and to return the gesture before it begins to move more meticulously and is joined by the other. "My apologies. I did not mean to interrupt your training." Her hands pause for several heartbeats before resuming their motions. "I am in need of your counsel." <handspeech>

Aryia quirks a brow, head tilted off to the side as her ponytail swishes and sways. A hand waves off a dismissal of apology, the mute grabbing her jacket and kicking off. Boots land on the pathway with a dull >thud<, and she slings her jacket over a shoulder.

"My counsel?" she echoes with a hand, squinting. "I'm not liable for skull fractures. What do you need that is so urge that you skip hellos and how are yous?"

At least she's honest.

<Handspeech<>

That... is a very valid point. Verna exhales a long breath made visible in the chill. "My apologies, again, Aryia," she now mentions aloud, if not overly loud. "Good eve to you. I trust all is well?" While not discernible in signing (save, perhaps, for slightly shaking hands attributable to the temperature), her vocal tone less neutral and flat than her norm. It carries weariness and/or worry.

Aryia squints. Then looks up to the sky, and back down to Verna. "It's morning," she deadpans. "I'm good. Figuring out legal business with stuff. City's pissing me off. The usual."

Shiny gaze flicks down to the hands, then back up to Verna. A long ear twitches. A light sigh escapes, and she steps forward, donning her signature jacket. "Talk." <Handspeech>

Verna pauses yet again, lifting her hands to doff her hood. All so she can lift her head to look more skyward. 'So it is. I misjudged the time.' Her eyes lower, the circles beneath them denoting the same weariness that was in her voice. She awaits Aryia to don her jacket and be settled... or simply takes the natural pause for her own use.

When she resumes, she does so with her hands. "I am concerned for Auranar, for a number of reasons, and am uncertain how to proceed." One final, shorter pause and she gesticulates briskly. "I had need to disguise myself and she was amused to share her wardrobe with me for that purpose. My actions gained the ire of some misguided individuals. She was attacked, I belive mistaken for myself. She was not seriously injured, but she was pained more by her lack of ability to defend herself. She feels inadequate in many ways, when she is anything but." <handspeech>

Aryia's gaze flits about Verna as she doffs her hood. Features are noted. Signs are read. Again her head tilts to the side as she stretches her arms out to the side. Left, then the right.

Brows raise, then knit. A dash of empathy flits across her face. "... I remember being like that," she mentions, kicking a boot against the ground. "My sister is so much stronger than I. I was quite frustrated at myself, more than anything. I couldn't push myself far enough, couldn't /get it/ like her. Felt like shit, like I was weighing things down."

She looks to Verna. "She may feel like that because her comparison is you. You are fucking nuts with magic. She can do a little magic, but nothing like yours. What she must realize is that we all have our places in what we are good with. Violet is good with books and finding out things. I'm good at beating shit up. You're good at magic. But Auranar and Violet can be subtle, where we can't at all because of our influence."

A sigh. "And it's really hard to get that through someone's skull."<Handspeech>

Verna listens... rather, processes, as one does in this instance. After parsing it all, she nods. "You are correct, on all counts." She frowns. "Worse,I cannot aid her to the degree that I would wish: I can share knowledge in many ways, yet not with magic. Her power is within her lineage, within her, and neither bestowed by any deity nor studied."

She pauses long enough to echo Aryia's sigh. "I would see her safe, yet ... I cannot protect her at all times. Nor would I wish her to feel that she NEEDS to be protected at all times. She is a powerful woman in her own right, and my better in inumerable ways... I do not know what to do."

Her shoulders sag and her hands lower, though there is a delayed resurgence as she hastily adds, "She now seeks training from the mul'niessan performer at the Tarrace, with whom she seems rather ... impressed by. I am not convinced that his motives are ...trustworthy." There is renewed set in her jaw, and her eyes carry a hint of ire(?) in addition to concern. <handspeech>

Aryia rubs her temples with a hand. "Yeah, magic shit I can't really figure out. Trying to learn that stuff is sort of-" A pause. "... within her?"

There's a pause. The mute is thinking. Weighing. "... some of the things I can do require a certain degree of introspection and understanding of self. Perhaps there may be some overlap. I can't really... show how to further lineage magic, but I could maybe help guide?" she throws out there, finding one line of logic that could be followed.

At that news, however, the usual frown returns to Aryia's face. "... do you mean that smooth, bitch boy Zero?" she huffs, scowling. <Handspeech>

"Yes," Verna states aloud, and possibly moreso that she intended. A long pause before she resumes, in signal.

Verna says "She wishes to better defend herself physically, as well, though I cannot deny the benefit of magic in addition." She gestures to Aryia. "You mentioned subtlety is not our strength. You are correct, but it is better suited to her. I..."

Yet another pause. "I did not expect that you would train her in magic, nor did I seek such. I... simply welcome any advice for myself. Or her. Or whatever physical defense, however basic, you might be able to guide her with. As much as I would prefer to aid her in all things, I lack the capability."" <handspeech>

Aryia snorts at that before shaking her head. "Trust me Verna. While he may be a pompous asshole, Auranar isn't his type. Or mine. I know him from... you know," she waves vaguely. "But he does deserve a smack on the lip."

She puts her hands in her pockets for a moment, lips pursed and off to the side. Gaze dips to the floor. Lips mouth the word 'advice'.

A mote of silence, in stillness.

"I can teach her some basics," comes her eventual suggestion. "I do plan on eventually teaching those that want to learn what I do."

The suggestion sounds more steadfast as she nods to herself. "If she finds herself inadequate, then we can suss out what makes her adequate. The mind is only as strong as the body. And the inverse is true as well. I won't give her the hell that I put Cesran through, but I can guide her some."

"As for you," she points to Verna. "Why were you stealing Auranar's clothes to be subtle? You know everything she wears, she stands out in." <Handspeech>

The response is, in order: mildly surprising yet also unexpectedly reassuring; encouraging and, last yet certainly not least, guilt-intensifying. Verna's shoulders sag and she frowns. "I did not steal her clothing. She suggested it and found the prospet quite amusing." 'Dress-up Verna' is not a common past-time, perhaps? "I needed only not be recognizable as myself... or so I believed. Instead, it brought angry citizens to her."

As worrisome as this is, her frown deepens. "Disgruntled workers may be the least of the worries, now. A new dream, nay, nightmare visited me. I do not know if more are to follow... and I do all I can to avoid the threat of that answer." <handspeech>

Aryia bobs her head, a sigh escaping her. "Fair. Next time I can just give you a bunch of stuff that I don't like. Works well for throwaways."

A brow quirks, tilt of the head again. Followed by a long, long huff as she rubs her face. "I fucking swear, it's always dreams and shit. Is it related to that shit a long while ago? Where everyone who could use magic slept like shit?" she complains, shooting in the dark. And also apparently fed up slightly with more mental gymnastics that she's had an annoyance past about. Why can't she just punch problems away? <Handspeech>

Verna's face contorts into a conglomeration of prior expressions. A culpable scowl with consternation sprinkled in. "I believe so, but this is ...different." She is uncertain of the best adjective there, though far more confident in the next. "Worse. It was one part vision, intended to aid, and ... far too many parts nightmare. It was not vague unease of apocalypse to come, nor subtle threats of deep evil in the shadows. It was specific and personal."

A fresh pause, and a long one.

"Aura is in danger, from a threat that -I- unwittingly returned to our world." <handspeech>

Aryia has been satellite to a fair number of 'things in the brain' in the past. And with all that is explained to the mute, she poses just one fact.

"If the next words out of your hands is that fucker E, I /WILL/ deck you in the face." <Handspeech>

As much as Verna feels the situation is horrible, no, that would be orders of magnitude worse. Unfathomably so. Enough that Verna blinks at the statement, though she is promptly shaking her head in the negative. "No." That thread of thought is promptly snipped before it can unravel. A deep breath, despite that the communication is non-verbal.

"The vampire, Kol Demontry. He once served the same entity as, and was a threat perhaps second only to, the archfiend. He..." Verna hesitates, considers. "He and I have an unpleasant history. Now Kol appears to work alongside the lycanthropes, or the Red Maw, itself. I do not know his true motives." <handspeech>

The cloud of breath that Aryia huffs spills from mouth to ground, heavy, and free. "Thank fuck."

Then answers. "... isn't that the vampire that has a Crimson Pen story with Mikilos?" she signs, a tinge bemused, mostly annoyed, and a touch worried. "I guess maybe if you're having weird dreams- nightmares-, you may want to speak with a Elunan priest? That's like, their specialty, right?" <Handspeech>

Verna's consternation deepens at the question and she becomes thoughtful for a time. "I do not know. Perhaps?" She had not collected nor studied that particular series for some time, now. "There are many aspects of this I cannot explain, much less hold answers to, beginning with how an utterly destroyed undead sociopathic sadomasochist was reconstituted."

The signing pauses for her fists to clench in ire before she takes a fresh, calming breath. "I am sorry, Aryia. I do not expect nor demand that you hold all answers. I simply know that I do not, and that you have oft granted me wisdom I lack in a great many areas. No, I have not yet spoken to the Elunans." <handspeech>

Aryia lightly shrugs, though her attention flicks to the clenching fists for naught but a brief moment. "I get it. You're frustrated. I get frustrated all the time. While it is important to remain calm, sometimes it is best to let emotions vent, then reel it back in. We are mortal, after all."

She stares at the mourner. Then without a thought, she suggests: "Punch me."

... what?

"Hard as you can. You'll feel better." <Handspeech>

Verna is accustomed to hearing plain, practical wisdom from Aryia. The directive seems neither, from Verna's perspective, and unexpected to say the least (even if that perspective could be considered hypocritical, all things considered. The mourner blinks twice, stares, and even speaks aloud. "What? I do not understand. I-" pause "I am not frustrated nor angry with -you-..."

One of those rare Aryia smiles cracks through. "You don't understand. You're frustrated that you don't understand. Can't understand. Not in how to help Auranar. How to parse these nightmares."

The mute starts to walk in a slow, languid circle. "Sometimes, there isn't an answer, or a way, or a path. Sometimes you have to bumble your way through the muck until you can see something."

"You want wisdom? Here's a nugget: fuck whatever is out of your control. It's not worth your energy. Focus on what you can control. You don't know how to reassure Auranar to keep her safe physically? Can't do shit about that, but you can direct her to many folks you know to help with that."

"Dreams? Eluna. Nothing comes of it? Fuck it. Wait until something does. Write it down. Keep track. Wade through the muck."

She stops finally, both hands open as she pats herself. "Myself? I get frustrated all the time. Why the fuck you do you think I punch boulders all the fucking time?" <Handspeech>

Verna falls as mute as Aryia as she watches the other woman, pivoting somewhat to follow her circling, if mostly with her eyes. Even Verna's hands fall to her sides. Not that her processing of this is indiscernible: it shows in her visage.

A slight nod and frown as the key issues are restated plainly. Furrowing of brow in thought at the general statement of theory. Widening eyes at the specific courses of action for the specific key issues. A hint of smile at the mention of prior examples.

She is silent for a time after Aryia finishes her discertation. "Thank you. I cannot control all things nor know all things, regardless of how much I might wish to. I will do as you suggest." She then adds, with further curl of her lips, "Save for punching boulders." <handspeech>

Aryia's lips quirk up in a corner, a shade of a smirk. Perhaps a tick picked up from a non-blood related sibling. "You sure? It's really cathartic. And the miners pay you for it," she jokes before shaking her head with a silent chuckle. "Anytime. Took me a long while to learn how to say: 'fuck it, can't do anything about it' without getting pissed about it."

A glance to the mountains. "... I'm still working on it."

The mute steps forward, a hand reaching over and down to clasp the Mourner's shoulder reassuringly. "Appreciate that you think so highly of my bullshit." <Handspeech>

Verna reciprocates the gesture, hand upon should, choosing to speak in lieu of single-handed gesticulating. "I expect that myself striking a boulder would conclude as well for myself as such does for the boulders when you strike them. I think highly of your wisdom, as that is what it is." As to the work yet in progress, she admits, "Perhaps I should state that I shall attempt to do as you suggest. You have more experience doing so than I."

Aryia just laughs. A silent, breathy sort of thing. "Haaaa... ah... ha..." A cough renders it short, and she rubs at her throat, shaking her head with a grin. "At least if you break your hand, you can fix it, should you attempt such a fate."

She releases the Mourner, taking a half step back towards her tree branch from before. "Seek me out if you want more morsels. Or throw Auranar at me if you so wish. Remember: if it's out of your control, fuck it!"

She throws her jacket up into the tree, and with naught a moment to crouch, she leaps up high, twisting to catch onto the branch with her legs. Aryia dangles.

Thinks.

Pouts.

"Shit. I lost count. I have to start over," she gestures upside down. <Handspeech>

-End Scene-