A Rivaling Answer
Log Info
- Title: A Rivaling Answer
- Emitter: Aryia
- Place: The Colosseum
- Summary: The sisters briefly catch up before they're interrupted by someone Aryia knows.
- The Colosseum, Early Morning
Grey, misty, chilly days tend to not make for good sport in the Colosseum. As such, the entryway into the ticket booth is closed due to the weather, but practice sessions are still on. On the opposite side of the booths is several team posters. One is of Angoron's Trials, another is Kor's Battleguard. And a new one shows a picture of a scarred mul'neissa woman, fist clinched in front of her with a scowl knitting her brows together, eyes glaring over the rim of her silver shades. Blocky letters at the top and bottom read: 'New Coach! Aryia! Special entry division! Weapons optional!'
Said coach is looking up at the poster, brows raised high as they've slung a bag over their shoulder. New scars line her arms-- impressions of chains. And she looks /beat/.
Yet.
Cocky. Were her slight smirk anything to go by.
Misty grey is a perfect time for a walk... at least for those who hold not the greatest fondness for glaring sun. It is not too surprising that Aya's steps would bring her here; it is has been nearly as much a home to her as any other location within the city. The bright posters quickly draw her eye in the gloom, with the familiar (scowling and scarred) visage depicted on one further drawing notice. A brow arches, then lowers as she spies the subject of said banner immediately below it and staring at it.
Unfortunately(?), Aya cannot simply step and appear adjacent to her sister. This means that she must make an unobtrusive approach in the far slower, much more mundane manner...
GAME: Aya rolls stealth: (18)+26: 44 GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (5)+34: 39
Aryia crosses her arms, resting on her back foot with her lips pursed as she examines the poster. She makes a brief sound- something akin to a cross between a huff and a chuff- and apparently looks pleased at it.
She turns, looking back and forth for a moment. And that moment is when a sibling passes behind her blind spot, the mist muting sounds as Aryia lazily ambles towards a door next to the ticket office labeled 'Staff only'.
Easy prey.
Aya creeps more quickly than lazily, so as to catch Aryia short of the restricted entrance. From immediately behind, she comments, "So, you are staff, now, sister? Do they not realize that when all your students decimate every opponent, there will be no more competition to be had?"
It's been a long time since it's worked.
And the time since before makes the humor multiplicative. Aryia all but throws a jangle of keys into the air as she flinches from the sudden, near voice. "Pfftbbtfft!" she vocalizes, whirling around.
She blinks.
Then huffs heavily as she lightly bops Aya atop the head. "Rude." Then she smiles, and gives a brisk, crushing hug before pulling away with a small, silent laugh. "Yes. It was pretty much that. I'm one of the team coaches. Just.. don't have a team yet."
She flits her gaze over Aya. "It's good to see you. How are you?" <Handspeech>
Aya's half-smirk is both wry and bemused... at least until the embrace; whence it softens and the firm hug is returned. "If you need volunteers..." she implies offer, but never finishes the sentence in favor of more important matters. "It is good to see you, as well. I am ... well. All is much improved from what it was. For you, too, it seems. First Captain, now Coach? Perhaps in a month you will be Empress?"
Aryia nods sharply. "As much as I would love to have you on my team, unforutantely beating the ever living shit out of any and all opponents doesn't make for very good sport. But--" she holds up a finger, grinning, "--I can certainly have guests come to help train!"
She shifts some, rubbing arms that are still healing from some kind of injury with chains. "For the most part. Been busy with shit." She blinks. Then scoffs, rolling her eyes. "The day I become Empress is the day I punch Taara in the face."
"How's Daed?" she inquires. <Handspeech>
"I will keep that in mind," Aya nods to the first, returning grin with smile. One that hardens as she adds, "If that is so, you have my support in your bid for Em-" her words pause as she notes the rubbing. Then the arms. Her eyes return to Aryia. "Is this shit something to be concerned of?" An arching brow and her tone suggests she is already so. "Are you well?" She scrutinizes her a moment longer before answering the last. "Daed is strong and does very well. He is comfortable, again. We are comfortable again."
Aryia purses her lips, a conflicted smirk and a rare expression of weakness flashing across her face. "No," she rubs her cheek. "It's dealt with. I'm... alright. I can't say everything that happened, but I ripped a greatsword out of an angel's hands and they locked the sword to my arms. It brought back some... painful memories. But I will be fine. Promise. I punched them for it."
She stoops briefly to pick her keys back up. "I'm happy to hear that," she smiles. "You two deserve rest and comfort for the rest of your days." <Handspeech>
Aya regards her sister several moments in silence, perhaps judging the response against her own observations of Aryia's state. "Then it received the strike that it earned. If you require anything, you only need ask." With Aryia's smile, Aya's own expression softens. "As do you, and your comfort is part of my own. We are family."
Aryia fidgets a bit under the judging look. "I will keep that in mind and ask without hesitation. For now," she smirks. "I punched an angel, got away with it, and no one died. I consider that an excellent outcome."
Her visage too, softens. "We are family," she motions before reaching over to squeeze both of Aya's hands in hers. Release. "I promise you, that I am fine. Do you want to see my office? It's boring right now but I have tea." <Handspeech>
From the entryway, veiled by the mists, a wide and muscular figure stops short of entering into the hall properly. "... Aryia?" a gruff woman's voice calls out, echoing down the hall.
The mute looks over. Squinting through the mist. Unable to parse who it is. Also, what is she going to do, say something back?
Aya nods, finding that respose, and outcome, most excellent as well. Her sister's hands receive a brief squeeze in return. "Tea would be acceptable." A sudden half-smirk of bemusement curls her lips. It is soft rather than wry, however, making it perhaps unusual. "As I recently told Daed, it is the company and conversation more than the drink-"
Her words trail off at the calling of name and her eyes shift over towards the voice. She could say something in return, but she does not; it is not her place to.
Aryia gives a half nod of agreement towards Aya, but her perplexion is palpable.
Stepping slowly through the veil is a large and muscular half-oruch woman, olive skin tattooed to the heavens with depictions Khor’Dagorlth symbols. Wooden charms softly clank with each step, dreads of black bundled in a high ponytail as black scarla eyes squint down at the two, far shorter, shadow elves.
It takes Aryia a long moment. But recognition visibly clicks in her visage. "... wh-t th- f-ck...-b-ki?" she hisses quietly in surprise.
The half oruch woman looks between the two, up to the poster, then back down to the sisters. "I... don't understand," she says slowly. "You were... feeble and small. And now...?"
The new arrival flexes their fingers, turning to look at Aya, a twinge of frustration twisting their face. "You. Are you her master? Teacher?" she gruffly inquires.
Aya looks over (and up) to the oruch, expression turning flat as she studies her. Mostly flat, that is. The mention of 'master' is perhaps taken with a most negative connotation in reflex, if her tightening jaw and eyes are any indication. "I am her sister," Aya corrects. "We have trained together, at times, but she has made herself what she is now. You are...?" Aya makes the inquiry to the half-oruch, though her glance briefly flicks to Aryia with the obvious recognition displayed.
Aryia doesn't seem as put on edge-- actually, her expression is shifting towards something that could be described as happy? But it becomes quickly pressed down and away as she scowls, nodding with Aya.
"Ubaki," the Korite grunts, staring down at Aryia. "And this runt-" she points at Aryia. "-was on a ship with me a long time ago. Scared little thing. Wouldn't stop freaking out over every little thing. I showed her how to handle herself and didn't think much of it after she got off at the Alexandrian stop."
She shakes her head. The wooden charms softly clank. "Training, sibling. Who taught you then? Who gave you guidance to become... this?" Ubaki gestures to the poster.
Aryia firmly stares up at Ubaki, and a hand claps firmly on Aya's shoulder. That's her answer.
Aya is startled by the sudden clap upon her shoulder, though she makes every effort to minimize her reaction after the fact. With a method that should be wholly unsurprising to Aryia. Her lips curl into a half-smirk and a brow arches, both directed aside towards Aryia. "You sparred more with the Redridge than myself, sister," she notes. "The mountain also deserves its due."
Her attention returns to the now-introduced Ubaki. "I am Aya," she completes the introductions. "It was courteous of you to provide some measure of your own guidance so long ago. Aryia is quite adept at improving herself. Now she aids others to do the same." She mirrors the prior gesture towards the poster. "Did you come to seek training?" Aryia did mention she needs a team to coach...
Aryia cannot help but snort at the mention of her other, unmoving sparring partner, as she gives Aya a pat on the shoulder.
Ubaki furrows her brows. "Aya." A look to the coach. "Aryia." She grinds her teeth, tusks poking out from her bottom lip. "I couldn't let a weakling get themselves offed in a scrap without some kind of guidance. Kor wouldn't approve." The Korite squints up at the poster, then back down to Aryia. There is a long, contemplative silence. Then. "You found your answers on your own, so says your sister. I do not seek training. I seek... answers."
The half-oruch flexes her fingers, tightening into fists and releasing them. "Tell me. Both of you. Why do you fight?"
A white brow arches at the explanation and the related question that follows, both. Perhaps not what she had expected from a Korite... though it is hardly out of place, in retrospect. "An intriguing question." Her arms cross before her, albeit somewhat casually.
"When I fight it is because I choose to; for myself, or for others as I deem mecessary."
It's true. It's a question that a Korite wouldn't ask. And despite how Ubaki is clearly holding back some kind of frustration, she's listening. The answer received elicits her jaw to flex. "I don't... understand..." she admits slowly.
She looks to Aryia.
The mute looks at Aya, nodding firmly at her answer before she provides her own. "Because in the end, the only person I can rely on is myself and my friends. I must be reliable." <Handspeech/Tongues>
Ubaki blinks at Aryia, the language barrier being hopped. "... I don't get it..!" she growls, clenching her fists. "What's the point of being strong if you're only going do so when needed?"
It makes sense now. A Korite monk. Disillusioned from battle.
Aya's other brow lifts to join the first at the response from the oruch. The surprise that prompted the first shifts towards curiosity, and perhaps more. She offers Aryia a brief flick of glance that carries assurance and agree, though also some concern. The last lingers as her eyes shift back to the inquirer and her arms lower from her chest. "One's reason is not always the same as another. By the same token, what is considered strength can vary and all are correct. What do you consider strength, Ubaki? How would you make use of it?"
Ubaki chuffs, looking off to the side. "I thought strength was winning in battle. Overcoming injuries. Clashing. I did this for as long as I drew breath. And yet- it's not enough. I've plateaued. I beech Kor for answers, and I am told to keep battling. I don't know what strength is anymore," she answers Aya, growing more frustrated.
"I sailed around the countries, traveled. Found no answer. Yet I come here, and- and-" she throws her hands at Aryia. "You! You're-- how?!"
Aryia blinks dumbly. "I still seek answers." <Handspeech>
"No you don't!" she growls, stamping half step forward. "You've surpassed myself in a couple of years that which took me decades!"
The Coach raises a hand, her still blinking.
"I'll figure it out! I'll get past you!" Ubaki declares, wooden charms on her hair clonking angrily. "I promise! I'll be back!"
The Korite briskly leaves.
Aryia, stupefied, stares into the mist. "... th- f-ck...?"
Aya can wholly understand having one's beliefs cast into doubt, a worldview upended and turned inside-out. The admission from Ubaki is received with open ears and perhaps pity rather than retort or sharp comment. Her sister, in her unsurprising wisdom, offers a consolation and assurance. Then all is returned with denial and anger and the oruch is stomping off.
Aya blinks at the sudden turn, though her surprise is brief; she -they- can relate to the frustration and defiance, as well. She exhales a breath. "I have the strong impression that she has much to learn, or re-learn... but before that, she must be receptive and willing to." Her lips purse in thought before it is her turn to clap Aryia's shoulder with a hand. "Fortunate for her that the Colosseum has a new coach." And the oruch already committed to return, even!
Aryia is broken out of her stymie from her sister's words. Her ears droop slightly. "Yes. And I have a feeling we're going to have to beat the shit out of each other to get that being receptive to happen," she signs, sighing and rubbing her face. "Honestly, I was kind of happy to see her again, she helped me a lot. But... fuck."
It's her turn to flinch from the clap. And she silently groans. "Oh fuck off," she signs in jest with a tired smile. A key unlocks the back offices. "This is going to complicate things. Come. I have more than just tea back here. And I'm going to need it." <Handspeech>
-End Scene-