Sun, Moon, and Earth

Log Info

• Title: Sun, Moon, and Earth
• Emitter: Andelena
• Characters: Andelena, Aryia, Barclaiigh
• Place: The TarRaCe
• Time: February 3rd, 2022
• Summary: Andelena is having a hearty meal in the TarRaCe, sighing and bemoaning over what to do about a certain individual. Aryia shows up like she owns the place, cutting Andelena a suspicious glance, but the Daeusite invites her over to the table anyways. Barclaiigh finishes fixing up a stopper for the barkeep, and joins the others as Andelena brings Aryia a drink. Introductions go around, as well as the approval of the bathhouse. Barc thinks Aryia is casting magic, though it's just her speaking with her hands. She keeps to writing. There's a promise to do some training, whatever that entails, and Aryia heads out. Andelena and Barclaiigh speak a bit of tense familial relations, and then the Sunguard bids him farewell.

It's a pale and foggy afternoon in Alexandria, but at least the TarRaCe can boast the presence of a Sunguard today. The holy warrior is sitting at the table, although her giant frame for a human woman makes her seem out of place in the not-quite-human-sized chair that she's been given. She dines on a rather healthy-looking lunch, albeit a large one, of meats, vegetables, and rice.

The Sunguard leans back in her chair for a moment and shakes out her mop of copper-blonde hair with a sigh, a gauntleted hand going to her forehead for a moment. "What am I gonna do about him," she murmurs to herself. It's an exhausted sort of talking--the only sort of talking to oneself that some people engage in, as it's really a thought that was said aloud but perhaps shouldn't have been.

The door to the TarRaCe opens. Then shuts. Not particularly anything out of the ordinary.

Though /was/ out of the ordinary (to those that did not frequent the place) was that of a grey skinned elf power walking through the floor like she owned the place with a green jacket slung over her shoulder. A mul'neissa. In... Alexandria?

Milky eyes shimmer brightly despite the well lit room. And she was terribly, terribly scarred, the old wounds tugging and pull her visage in various directions. Compared to the holy warrior, she was much, much smaller.

Though there was this faint feeling of: 'yeah, she's dangerous'.

Said glowing gaze flicks to the priestess, her squinting some in suspicion as she passes on by.

The Sunguard squints back a little at the mul'niessa, sitting up in her chair and righting her posture. Nobody in the room seems perturbed by her presence, however. But the squint is replaced by curiosity.

"Hey. You an adventurer?" she asks. It's not delivered with the malice that might ordinarily accompany a Daeusite inquiring something of a mul'niessa. "You seem like you've done some shit, and that always gets my attention."

She gestures to another chair at her table. "I'll buy you a drink. Promise I won't preach or some shit, I'm just here for a meal and a conversation to get out of my head."

The scarred mul'neissa slows to a stop a few feet past the Daeusite as she's spoken to. She peers over her shoulder, appraising. Squinting more. Her lips pulling into a sneer- no, that's just them pursing. Thinking.

She rocks her head side to side before huffing and executing an about face.

The small elf kicks at a chair to pivot it around, plops herself into it, then rests her arms on its back while staring at the human.

She blinks twice.

She's said nothing. Though, she lifts a hand, then pokes the table twice with a finger.

The frizzy explosion of auburn hair rises from behind the bar like the day's absent sun and Barclaiigh whistles the barkeep over to show him the repaired bit on a keg tap. It's not poked into a barrel at the moment so it's mostly a demonstration of the action on the twist. "See. No more squeakin' 'n it won't sputter on y' and stink up yer boots."

The Khazadi wildman shuffles his way back towards the stoppered keg and swaps cork for tap with a minimum of spillage, sucking his fingers clean after. His other hand frees his tankard from the loop on his belt and he helps himself before giving the other fellow coins to pay and sneaking out extra-careful from behind the counter and back towards the patron-side of things. "Dwarf tested, druid approved," he toasts.

"Course," the Sunguard replies to the much smaller of the two women at the table, followed by a nod. It's only proper custom, and honestly, the whole situation is just odd. Might as well get the most universal social glue flowing.

"What's your preferred poison?" she asks as she hops up from the table and walks over to the barkeep to get the drink Aryia prefers.

While she's there, Andelena looks down at Barclaiigh and nods. "Hey Barc. You improve the swill vessel?" she asks in that usual rather rough and tumble fashion for someone wearing the Sunguard's brilliant white cloak and Daeus's preferred weapon on her back.

The supposed adventurer mul'neissa glances over to the bar, her raising a brow at the dwarven man. She rubs her chin, unsure if she's met them or not before. Wasn't part of the staff, that's for sure.

Her attention settles on the Sunguard. She blinks.

Was she too haughty to say anything?

The question is answered with a few gestures. A big shrug with her bottom lip stuck out, hands up, then she points to the Sunguard's drink.

"Tap squeaked'n sputtered like m'twice-great opa." Bar answers before taking a slurp from his mug. His thin lips smile wide in appreciation for the brew, his mustache dripping until he takes a moment to suck it (relatively) dry. "Poor fella was wearin' more'n he was pourin'. Ma wouldn't stand fer that sorta waste at th'waystop."

The dwarf leans to one side, looking past Andelena briefly to offer the unfamilair elf a guileless smile before settling back flat onto both sandaled feet. "Should try th'baths iff'n y'get a chance. Worth a visit," goes the non sequitur.

"You performed an incredible act of public service, Barc. Light shine on you. Come join us at the table--I'm making new friends. What's the point of picking up and moving countries if you're gonna sit like a sad sack of shit by your lonesome in a place full of people?" Andelena offers Barclaiigh with a grin. She orders one of what she was having--which appears to be ale--and brings it right back to Aryia, setting it down in front of the elf.

She contemplates the bathhouses for a moment. "Yeah, I'll probably give the baths a go later. The little place I'm renting right now barely has a shower big enough for me. Swear I'll end up with a crick in my neck eventually. You ever use them?" she asks, her steel-grey eyes darting to Aryia to get her opinion.

The scarred elf tilts her head to the side slightly as she observes from her spot at the table. The smile is met with a non-comittal raised hand in greeting. It seems like she caught the conversation from across the way, because the Sunguard's words make the silent woman sputter in a quiet laugh.

The drink is scooped up, and in a very un-elf like fashion, is glugged a number of times before setting it back down.

Wiping her lips off, she looks back to the bathhouse entrance, then towards the Sunguard. There's a sparkle in her eyes, and she grins, nodding enthusiastically.

A hand moves to a pocket on her jacket, pops it, then pulls out a well worn journal. It cracks open, and a pen scribbles on a blank page for a moment before its turned around to be able to be seen. It reads in a practiced Trade:

"I love the bathhouse. I go there all the time."

"I'm Aryia. Before you ask, no, I can't talk. And no, I'm not going to try to."

Waiting a moment for Andelena to lead the way and take a decent lead, Bar falls into step. The dwarf walks with his elbow up and out so his arm can act as a proper stabilizer for his drink and he pays great care nto to trip over- or bump into folk on the short trip. Back in town a few days now, his equilibrium in crowded rooms is a sight better than that evening at the Fernwood. Arriving at a chair, he eases himself down into it while cocking his head to peer at the book and fishing his spear out from under his cloak.

"Ah! Barclaiigh Stoutbrew," he offers with another friendly smile. "Of the Redridge Stoutbrews' fields, brewers, and waystop." The spear is set to lean against the table and an empty chair. He pats the loose thong of boar's tusks hanging under his beard, "'n this is Truffles. Good t'meetcha, miss Aryia."

Andelena looks at the journal for a moment. Curiosity flashes in her eyes, and she both asks and signs, "Do you sign?" Then she switches to verbal speaking. "I learned it years ago. Served me well since then. Good to meet you, Aryia; I'm Andelena. I'm a travelling Sunguard, originally from Selentia--kind of tumbled around in the Myrrish kingdoms for a while before coming here. And it looks like I'm staying. It's nice to have a break from the bullshit over there."

She raises her own cup of ale in sort of a cheering notion before she also knocks hers back in a motion that would make a dwarf proud. She wipes her mouth with the side of her hand. "So, bathhouse is a good time. Good to know."

Aryia's eyes flick to the spear for a moment, making sure it stays there. Force of habit.

She tilts her head to the side at hearing his name, eyes going off and up to try and remember if that family name rang a bell... nothing clicks, so she gives a nod and waves once more, though she affords a glance to Truffles. A slow, unsure nod.

Relief spreads across Aryia's visage at seeing the familiar movements that Andelena uses. Her pen drops back onto the journal as he own calloused hands flick and motion, "Thank fuck. I hate playing twenty questions with most people as they keep asking questions and I can't write fast enough."

A glance to Barc, and she scratches her head. "But I don't mind writing if not everyone can understand me. But, yes, I go to the bathhouse all the time. Good place."

She looks at Andelena, scratching her head as one hand trails off, "... so...." <Handspeech>

"Yes, the bathhouse is a good time." Bar has another go of his drink, small eyes drifting in thought. He flushes mildly and adds "for bathing" so that it echoes around in his mug. The broad shoulders roll back and he sits up, resting his tankard to look around. "Used t'see miss Sabina 'round at all hours... 'n miss Rupi'n miss Cryosanthia. Even saw Tanith Ari-Ari Sicksel here once..." He huffs a silent laugh and smiles at the memory.

Aryia's gestures earn a dull look and "o"-shaped lips from the Khazad. Then he turns and looks around behind him before glancing back to Aryia, "Y'castin' a spell, miss Aryia?"

Andelena snorts. "No, not casting a spell. She's talking. She's saying she's glad she doesn't have have to write fast to keep up with my questions. But she doesn't mind writing for people who don't understand her. That'd be you, Barc--I'd say Truffles, too, but I'd be really damn impressed if the beast could read. You could charge money for that kind of shit."

Andelena leans back in her chair. "I was actually going to ask if they were mixed-gender. I don't have a problem with that, but some human men get an inferiority complex if they see a woman who's taller than them and has thicker muscles than the size of their wrists, so they do stupid shit, and, since I'm a Sunguard, I have to be the one to correct 'em. Usually violently. It's the only way you can get through to some of them."

Aryia's quietly snickers at the mention of a good time, her laugh really just sounding like breathing noises. Though, her visage goes a bit forlorn, nodding in agreement. She missed them too.

She blinks, her cheeks coloring as she shakes her head quickly and gestures towards Andelena who had the gist of it. She picks up the pen once more, taking a minute to write out more things. Scribble scribble, show.

"The only magic I do is breaking shit with my hands. And, well, some other small things but that doesn't mater."

"Yes and no. Here:"

She draws what looks like a simple layout of a room. Three boxes side by side, with a big line dividing them. One side gets labeled 'men', the other side 'women' and the center is labeled 'mixed'.

The writing resumes: "Flip it around for me. Some think I'm too small to take care of myself, then they get their arm yanked out of socket."

As Adnel speaks of stature and build, the mute glances her over, up and down. Appraising. One that could easily be seen as 'mhmm. Mhmm. Yep. Mhmm. Yeah I can take em.'

Barclaiigh glances between the two women and grins, reaching beneath his beard to gather up the necklace. "Truffles was'n old family boar that stuck t'me when I left fer th'Grove. Died helpin' me save m'auntie'n now he's a spirit-link with Ea." He lifts up higher and brushes one of the tusks against his lips affectionately before it falls. "Spend'n ocean a time on the road alone'n y'start talkin' t'yer dead pig'n bear buddy," he admits with a bashful shrug.

"... but, no, they can't read. Neither of'm."

The Khazadi man can't help but size Andelena up when she goes on her tear about human men and inferiority complexes. It might actually be considered staring before he catches himself and issues a distracted cough. Suddenly everything else is interesting; the inside of his tankard, the woodgrain of the table, ESPECIALLY Aryia's little map. What neat little boxes.

Andelena's used to staring. She's a tall human woman who is more muscular than most people are. The only room in which she's not standing out of the crowd generally consists of jotun and makari, anyway, which most people would have a hard time measuring up to. But she doesn't call Barc out on it. One would assume you had to be drooling yourself and wolf-whistling to get her to do anything about it.

"You sound like you'd be fun as hell to train with, Aryia," the Sunguard says, grinning. "At the very least, you'd be different to spar with compared to going at other Daeusites in the temple all day. I feel like it gets you into a rut if you do."

Aryia nods towards Barclaiigh and his story, gaze settling on the tusks he shows off. She herself never really had a bond with any animal, but it was something she could respect. Scribble.

"I see. At least he rests well now."

She blinks at the Daeusite, her head slowly tilting to the side, moon colored hair spilling over her shoulder. Scribble scribble. Show.

"I don't know about fun, but, uh, sure. Your temple might fight with honor, but I sure as fuck don't."

She gives one more once over, considers something, then gestures slowly for her, "I go to the Colosseum to train. Can catch me there." <Handspeech>

"Truffles had a good, long life. Nothin' to be sad about there." Bar grins at Aryia, "'n most folks don't get t'wander th'world with their childhood pets until they're ready t'lie down'n help th'trees grow, themselves."

The Khazad ventures a sideways glance at Andelena and relaxes a bit when he realizes she's not scowling. As awkward as it is to get his city legs everytime he's back from the wilderness most folks seem to be more than patient enough to endure it. Which is nice. He drains the last of his tankard and issues a sigh. "Y'ever want t'wrestle a bear... well, Porter gets ornery some days and it's exhaustin' trying t'keep up with him on my lonesome." He curls two sausage fingers and gets a rap-tap-tap on the tabletop, lifting his mug for the barkeep when he catches the man's eye. "Cold like this he just sleeps, though. Kid's still a growin' boy."

"Honestly, I fight however it takes to get the job done and protect the people. Probably where I butted heads with my mentors a lot," Andelena replies to Aryia's sentiment regarding fighting styles. "In case you haven't guessed from my pretty little mouth, I'm not exactly your typical high-and-mighty type. I'm just here to make sure people live their lives in peace and the bastards who infringe on the laws that keep them safe get their justice. Everything else is window dressing and silk pillows like it was back home--and I had enough of that shit by the time I was seven. Consider it a deal--I'll catch you at the Colosseum today."

She looks over at Barc and smirks. "I've never wrestled a bear before. Just some really hairy men you could probably mistake for one, though. So, I'll put that on my to-do list."

Aryia offers a light smile to Barc, her giving him another dip of the chin. Her brows pinch a bit, and she picks up her pen while downing the last of her gifted drink. Scribble scribble.

"Yes, sure, I'll wrestle a bear," she pens with a straight face.

She tilts her head to the side at Andelena, raises a brow. It's uncertain if she respected those ideals, or just tolerated them, but the mute dips her chin ever so slightly. Scribble scribble.

"Okay. Well, give me your best when you get there. I got to go do my daily jog. Bring your weapons or whatever you use to train, need to know what I'm working with."

She stands, pushes the empty mug towards the center of the table, and puts her jacket back on.

"Later," she gestures with one hand, twisting it down with her thumb and pointer stuck out. She looks to the door, huffs a bit as she bounces on her feet, then heads back out into the fog. <Handspeech>

Barclaiigh can't help but laugh when Andelena mentions really hairy men, patting his considerable chest and then dragging fingers through his great bush of beard. "No idea what that's like," he laughs. The chair groans as the dwarf shifts, digging into a pouch and fishing loose a few coins to give to the barkeep when his new drink arrives. "Hope y'have luck with yer quest. Few payin' jobs I've taken t'keep m'bones a little warmer this winter've involved splashin' through the sewers'n helpin' unnatural abominations rut with their females."

Small eyes narrow as Bar pauses to chew on that phrase. It really doesn't sound any better no matter how many times you say it.

"Good'n holy work is nice, I bet. Hope someone sees m'cousin to her light. Roa knows we can let amibition'n greed take th'reins but..." He trails off and glances at Andelena, grinning. "Sorry. Family drama," he toasts and has a drink.

"Well, that's adventuring for you," Andelena says, a brow raised at Barc's mention of a previous job after she gives Aryia a wave farewell. "Occasionally you get into some weird or some stupid shit. Most of what my partner and I did back in the Kingdoms was going around busting petty crime. Theft rings, noble embezzlement, shit like that. We were good at it, too."

She sighs. "Then it all went to the Hells in a handbasket--and now the handbasket's been found, but it's all fucked up. I don't know, I'm not good at that metaphor bullshit. You get what I mean. Just glad he didn't run off to go tumble some other woman with big tits and no brains nor muscles."

The Sunguard takes a moment to tear into a bite of meat from her plate. Finally, she asks, "You got family shit too, huh? Guess we all do. What's her deal?"

Barclaiigh sucks his mustache and shrugs, "I shouldn't, sorry. I may not see kin beyond auntie much these days but it's not reason t'spread gossip." He offers a consoling smile and adds, "'ll just say her husband ain't m'favorite'n leave it at that."

And that's an understatement judging by the expression he levels at the table. Changing the subject!

"Yer lost fella, there. He almost didn't seem t'know how t'be around you." He's not awesome with people but he knows pack dynamics. Alphas. Subordinates. "Hope that smooths out."

Andelena's a strong woman. That's both a correct statement and somewhat of an understatement. Yet the bravado falters when Barc mentions her 'lost fella'. She sighs, putting her fork back down. Her plate's empty now anyway.

"Maybe," she says. "There's a part of me that still really wants to yell at him. Sometimes I can barely stand to be in the same room as him. And sometimes..."

She shakes her head, her mop of copper-blonde hair flowing with the motion. "I don't know if it'll ever be the same way. Don't think it could be. But I won't trouble you with that." The Sunguard rises from the table and pushes her chair in. "I oughta go. Take care, Barc."

She strides out, the white cloak flowing behind her in that brilliant flash as she goes out through the doors. For all that's worth, she stands tall, and to some, that might be taller than anyone else.

-End Scene-