A Drapes Faux-Pas

Log Info

• Title: A Drapes Faux-Pas

• Emitter: Aryia

• Characters: Aryia, Ravenstongue

• Place: Market District

Lower Markets, Late Morning.

The sun shines down upon Alexandria, intermittent, lazy clouds offering temporary shade before rolling off from a light breeze. All things considered, despite the madness outside the walls, everything seems... perfectly normal. Nothing remiss. Normalcy something missed sorely.

Amongst the stalls is that of a scarred mul'neissa woman, her signature verdant buckle jacket tied off around her waist as she holds a bag over a shoulder, several bolts of fabric peeking out from the top. She's in the process of buying some more supplies for her tailoring needs, but her attention falls upon a rolled up coil of a shiny silver ribbon.

She pauses, staring at it. The crowds go by, the shadow elf seemingly locked in a trance.

Normalcy. It's a phrase that's like a dream for Cor'lana, the violet-eyed sorceress dressed in the same adventuring robes she wore into Charn. Pothy isn't with her this time, the white bird absent from her sojourn out into the world, but the woman looks more befitting for war than for a stroll into the market. It's a look that gets more than a few eyes onto her, but she seems to hardly care.

It's also a thing that clashes rather violently with her steps up to the cart adjacent to the one that Aryia's at, where she says, "A dozen red roses, please." For it's a florist's cart, and Cor'lana has a rather happy look on her face as she makes the order. It's only when she spots Aryia out of the corner of her eye that the pleasant smile turns to an intrigued expression, one dark brow lifted up slightly.

"How's the tailoring, Aryia?" she asks.

Aryia is practically transfixed upon the simple strip of, acting more or less like a stone in a river as people flow around her. A grey ear twitches at hearing her name, the mute swiveling her head slowly towards the half-sil enchantress.

Her gaze drifts from the ribbon, to Cor'lana, down to the fey-touched's hands, to the ribbon. She seems to forget to use her hands, her lips moving a reply, but lost to the crowd.

She reaches forward, and pulls a length of the silvery textile out. "It's going good," she finally motions, shining eyes drifting back to Cor'lana. Tears pooling at the corners. "It's going really fucking good." <Handspeech/Tongues>

There's an understanding look in Cor'lana's eyes, and she signs back to Aryia. "It's good to get that weight off the shoulders," she explains. Even though it's been quite a while since they signed to each other, Cor'lana isn't missing a beat. "To not have to bear that weight anymore--it's a blessing. And for all the other things that Telamon and I deal with now--to know that thing isn't going to hurt anyone anymore is panacea enough, at least for a while."

She looks back to the silvery textile. "What're you making with that?" she asks, peering at it. "If I can be nosy, that is. Tell me to fuck off like you usually do if I'm stepping out of line." There's a cheeky little grin with that. <Handspeech>

Aryia can do many things. Tailoring, sailing, punching the soul out of someone. But conveying her emotions? Good luck. There's a roiling, mixed emotion that stirs behind her scarred visage. "For the... longest time. I have been training. I have been preparing myself. At first to save my sister. Then again to save my sister. And now... and now it's.... it's done."

She blinks, a steady, slow stream of tears dripping down her face as she looks to the ribbon. "... no I won't tell you to... the.. first gift I gave Aya was ribbon for her hair," she signs, finishing with brushing a hand over it, gaze distant. "I... don't know. I saw it and I just... I... everything is..." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Fingers grip the fabric tightly, ragged breathing belying covered sniffling as her ears droop. "-t's -v-r.." she hisses between breaths.

The cheeky little grin fades into a smaller, yet still warm smile with Aryia's display of emotion. Cor'lana steps forward, opening her arms up for her friend. "The hardest part is, in many ways, moving on," she says audibly. "To know that it's done, to know that it can't hurt you again. To know that the mission is over. I've experienced that, too, you know."

In a way, it's an odd thing to experience--considering this woman was, only two years ago in the time that she and Aryia had known each other, an anxious wreck of a girl hiding in her hood and chasing after her snack-hungry raven. "It's a challenge to figure out, 'well, what now?' after all of that. Thankfully, you have a stellar tailoring business."

Aryia is lost in her head as tears continue to drop. Clearly visiting every memory leading up to this moment. And again, as she drifts to watch Cor'lana, arms opening. Feeling like she was watching the half-sil evolve from a mousy, lost girl, into what she is now. And herself, scared, alone, confused. Now with the confidence and grit that not even mountains could hold back.

The mute sharply inhales, suddenly aware of the here and now. She stumbles forward, dropping everything to the floor, uncaring that it scatters as she falls into Cor'lana's open embrace and returns it with gusto.

Aryia sobs.

Cor'lana holds Aryia, of course. Her hands pat the woman on the shoulders reassuringly, and her violet eyes half-close--which, now that Aryia is up close to her, Aryia can see that they glow softly of their own accord. She has really changed.

"You did splendidly," she says softly, loud enough for Aryia to hear. "We all did. And now the time for moving on is here. I won't call it peace--because rebuilding is really its own sort of journey that can be chaos of its own type--but you don't have to be preparing for that war anymore. Because we won and it's over."

The sorceress's gaze briefly flicks up to an observer nearby who's looking at them both. There's a subtle glare in her eyes, and the man shifts uncomfortably, looking away. She looks back down to Aryia. There's not going to be a single person interrupting this moment of comfort between friends as far as she's concerned.

Aryia is just smaller enough to bob her head in agreement and bury her face into the crook of Lana's shoulder, the usually firm grasp like putty as the mute just lets a bundle of emotions out.

A minute later, she calms, a flagging, ragged sound coming from her throat as she holds the embrace. Her head raises. Grey lips beside pointed ears. "There's never truly been a real fucking moment in my life where I don't have to worry about shit," she whispers, a quiet, barely heard thing. All the missing syllables heard in the ghost of air. "Always having to be ready for some bullshit to come down on my head, or people I care about. But when it tried to take me, I felt so fucking pissed that we were so close. And when I saw you draw that blade. After Seldan gave it the setup blow. After Telamon kept Aya down. I knew. I knew. That bitch wasn't going to fuck us anymore."

Her fingers curl into Lana's clothes. "And I couldn't be any more proud of us. Of you. Thanks for staking that bitch with the fuck off stick."

"We both have so much to be proud of," Cor'lana answers in turn, still soft-voiced. "When we first met each other two years ago, Aryia, we were different people than we are now. And yet--we're still the same in some ways. The potential was there and we seized it. Still are seizing it."

Here, she gives Aryia a gentle squeeze. "I'm personally not stopping until I see a reason to," she says. "There's still darkness out there in the world and I intend to see it put down. But you and Aya? You both deserve a good, long break. A vacation, even. I'd recommend where Telamon and I went for our honeymoon in the Mythwood--but I think you'd be bored in a forest." There's a small flicker of amusement in her voice. "Or maybe you'd be really amused. Depends on if you find someone to fight in the woods or not, I guess."

Aryia returns that squeeze with one of her own, thankfully nothing more than a firm embrace than anything rock crushing. Finally, she pulls away, wiping at her puffy eyes as her silver clad ears slowly perk back up. "Yes. We're still the same. I'm still lost, you're still too curious for you own fucking good," she motions back, a flicker of a smile pulling at her lips. "Still... seizing it. Yes. I guess for me, I have to figure out what to seize."

A breath escapes her, gaze soft and half lidded. "Don't stop. Please don't. I am beyond jaded to the darkness in the world. But I'll lend a hand where I can- after a break, yes."

She can't help but snort, a snotty sounding thing. "Come on, I can have fun without beating something into dust, am I so base to be amused by that- wait, no, don't answer that," she shakes her head, smiling lightly. "I'll keep that in mind, but to be honest, I don't think they'd like me and sister much. I was thinking of maybe sailing. Jade Isles perhaps." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Cor'lana smirks at that first remark in her direction. "Given what all I'm accused of being these days," she replies audibly, "I'll happily take 'too curious for my own good' and wear it like a badge of honor. And while it's true that there is far too much dark in the world--I've decided rather than to let myself be swallowed by it, I will defy it and spit in its face."

She looks thoughtful at the idea of sailing. "Telamon keeps mentioning the Jade Islands," she says. "He can take us just about anywhere that one of us would want to be in the world, I suppose, so it only makes sense. For that matter... So can I, now. Between here, between there, between planes."

That makes the sorceress snort a little. "I really have gotten pretty far and away from the thing I was when I arrived here," she says. "I don't think I ever imagined... I'd get this far, really."

Aryia briefly gathers the things she dropped and sets them aside, her bobbing her head as Lana speaks. "Same mindset here- not letting that shit take me. Been there, done that. I'll deck any fucker that wants to fuck with me."

She turns her gaze southward, toward the direction of where the port would be. "Interesting place, I've heard. Though, half the fun is getting there," she teases. "But I guess I have no room to talk, since I can do something similar on a smaller scale."

She looks back to the half-sil woman, a light grin on her face. "Shit, you and me both. When I got here, I was just trying to find a purpose. Still am, in a way. But my mind is clear. I think, at this point, for you, me, sister, Telamon, our next thought is- is this is as far as we get?" she points out, thoughtful. Through the veil of vulgarity, the true wisdom shines through. "We have reached the point where our self doubts are cast aside. We have gotten far. But how much further? We crested the mountain. But the sky doesn't stop there. Nor the moon. Nor the stars. Cor'lana." Her gaze drifts back down to her friend. Her finally now noting the glimmer in the other's eyes. "We reach for the stars. But do we truly understand, after all this dead weight has been removed, what it is we are reaching for?" <Handspeech/Tongues>

Cor'lana smiles lightly. "I think I do," she says. "The point of all of this, at least for me--was to live life on my own terms, to live life and be able to thwart those who would try to ruin the happiness I have. And to some degree--I do it to ensure that other people don't have to strive to our heights. That an ordinary person doesn't have to go through the pain we've endured. That they can go through life worrying about the more mundane things. We all die in the end, but..."

She thinks a moment more. "I want people a chance of a happy existence. And far too often, lives are cut short because of things far beyond most people's ken, no matter who the person is who lived. The people left behind have to grapple with that--and that's the unkind part. Those of us who have these powers, these gifts--I think we should use them responsibly. There are people who make better 'guardians' than myself, but--I will help the people who need it. I will help the people who remind me of myself."

Aryia rests on her back foot, a hand on her hip as her bare, muscled arms shift to cross just one. Snowy brows pinch slightly, listening. Parsing. "You have good reasons. Better reasons than mine, to be honest. For you have family to look after and happiness to guard."

She nods once. "These capabilities we have... I agree. I don't think others should have to go through this hell to get here. But we should do our best to educate those inexperienced to have a fighting chance, should the darkness arise. It's what I've been doing at the Colosseum for the longest while now." The mute ponders briefly. Then quietly huffs a silent chuckle. "I suppose that's where we differ, despite how similar it is. You help people that remind you of the troubles you faced. I help people because..."

The pugilist is stymied. Finally with everything going on, she never really had the chance to think of this. Her true driving force. "... I don't know," she signs honestly. "But what I do know is that fuck faces need a heel in their skull to stop being pricks to others, and some people pull the punch needed to do it. I have no qualms doing it." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"You help people because you're a good person," Cor'lana responds to Aryia. "That's my opinion, anyway. People cause trouble and you're there to put it down if needed. That's really not a bad thing at all."

There's another moment where she just smiles brightly. "I also think you just like beating up people who deserve it, and I'm like that a little, too. Different reasons, I think, though."

She looks over her shoulder, where the florist has arranged all of the roses she wanted in a nice bouquet. "One moment," she tells Aryia, taking a step back to pay the florist for their time and drawing the delicately-wrapped flowers into her arms, beaming all the more for having such beauty there so close to her hands. "I bought these for Telamon," she says. "It'd be a surprise, but there's no surprises between us these days. Our house is currently being rebuilt, and I'm of the opinion that a wife should romance her husband, too."

Aryia holds her hands out, palm up, like she'd been caught. "You got me," she gestures with a light grin. "There's a certain amount of catharsis of beating up assholes after enduring assholes for decades and decades. If you think I'm a good person, then so be it. I don't see myself as either good nor bad. Just doing what needs to be done."

She nods, letting Cor'lana gather her things as the mute steps aside to get a length of that silver ribbon from before and scoop up her belongings, throwing it all into her satchel and tossing it across her shoulders.

She glances down at the flowers, leaning forward some to inspect them closer. A hand reaches out, thumb going across a petal to feel it before standing back upright. She's still an elf, after all. "They're very pretty. I agree on that sentiment. Though, your house is getting rebuilt? Renovations? Do you need a hand speeding that up?" she offers, flexing an arm. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Cor'lana looks around the market for a moment before she signs, "Werewolf leader broke into the house." <Handspeech>

Then she clears her throat and adds vocally, "Asshole decided to break everything in the house out of spite. The reconstruction efforts are ongoing. We're living elsewhere for a while, though."

She smiles brightly. "I would love it if you could contribute something to the decorations. It'd be nice to have something from all of our friends in the house, you know?" She makes no mention of contributing to punching werewolves, however, and judging by the slight glint of something lethal in her eyes--she might just have that one covered all by herself.

Aryia's relaxed attitude falters slightly at that. But she rubs her face. "Little baby throwing a temper tantrum, I see," she gestures, shaking her head. "At least it's just stuff."

The offer for the mute to contribute something gets her brows to shoot up. Ponder. Look back to the stall. A finger is held up as she buys the whole reel of that ribbon and returns. "Drapes. Everyone needs bitching drapes in their house," she signs. "I'll make your curtains and drapes. No charge, of course. Might see if I can get some silver thread to make it sparkly and fuck with shit that wants to try that again." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Temper tantrum is exactly how Telamon described it," Cor'lana says with quite a lot of bemusement in the voice that doesn't extend to the smile nor the eyes. "Indeed, at least nobody was hurt. The pixies are safe. Pothy is safe, although the poor boy was rattled by having an intruder in the house--he narrowly escaped."

She looks at Aryia for a long moment.

And then in a moment that proves yes, it's still Cor'lana, she asks, "Shouldn't the drapes match the rug? I heard something about that once. It's a faux pas if you don't."

Aryia breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. Glad everyone got out okay. Just let me know what color you two want and I'll get to work on that. Tailoring work has been light as of late."

She returns the look with a quizzical tilt of the head.

Glowing eyes blink. Then cheeks puff out as Aryia explodes into laughter. A wheezing, breathy sort of sound as she holds an arm around her gut. "Fuck me, I needed that," she gestures, standing upright as she wipes a tear away. "Your innocence is still beyond amusing." Taking a breath to steady herself, a stupid grin quirking her lips. "That's only true for people, Cor'lana. If my drapes are white-" she reaches up to waggle a lock of hair. "-then the rug must be-"

She crudely gestures downward. "Don't get home decoration advice from the Pen," she teases. <Handspeech>

Cor'lana's fair skin blooms just as easily as ever into crimson. "Oh. OH. That's what they were talking about?" Her free hand goes to hide her face. "I thought they'd meant..."

She sighs. "No, I heard someone say it once, and I didn't catch that context to it. I really and legitimately thought they were talking about home decorating. And no, if I took home decoration advice from the Crimson Pen, I'd apparently have a menagerie of men in the house, and I don't think Telamon would like that at all. Nor do I have use for more than one man anyway." Ouch.

The sorceress looks down at her bouquet of roses and smiles more tenderly. "Speaking of which--I should go and get these to Telamon. Maybe I'll come over and get a dress from you soon?"

Aryia breaks into a snickering sort of laughter, grin hidden behind the back of a hand. "Cor'lana, you wouldn't catch said context unless it hit you in the face. Even then, it'd have to be named Telamon," she motions her quips, ending with poking Cor'lana's arm a few times in jest. "Or women, if you go to the other side of the same aisle in the bookstore. Or both. If you go far down enough," she taps her chin, far too familiar with that section of the literary establishment. The mute shakes her head, chuckling as she tightens the strap on her bag. "I feel like he'd tell them all to politely yet firmly to leave. While Lily has a fucking nosebleed all the while."

The pugilist grins. "Sundresses are all the rage right now. You know where to find me. Catch you later," she flashes with her hands, one reaching out to clap Cor'lana on the shoulder before she steps back. Crouches. And propels herself up and atop the roofs before she could be seen hopping and dashing away down the urban horizon. Who needs magic? <Handspeech/Tongues>