Begrudging Aid

Log Info

• Title: Begrudging Aid
• Emitter: Aya
• Characters: Aya, Aryia
• Place: Port Alexandria
• Time: June 10th, 2022
• Summary: Aya pays a visit to Admiral Zilly to inform her about new information regarding the hunt. Said Admiral's work adding a precarious hammock is put on pause as she gets the update. Much to Aryia's dislike on the subjects involved. They swap insights before work the The Balance is resumed.

Gray, bright. Rain, sun. The Alexandrian sky cannot seem to decide what it wishes to be this week. At least for now it is dry as Aya descends to the pierway to step along the moorings. She does not oft visit the yards, though has so moreso as of late; and typically for one specific reason. Unfortunately, there is one innate issue with ships and crews: they are not always in the last place one left them.

The Balance bobs idly at new spot on the dock, the two toned black and white sails having been furled to avoid being jostled about. Thankfully, they serve as an easy marker from afar, as none else flies such colors. The ship's captain, a mul'neissa woman with a green jacket tied around her waist, hangs upside down from some rigging that goes up to the top of the mast. Legs looped through the top knot of ropes, she's fussing with more sailor's knots as a braided rope dangles down into a coil from far above. A sheet of fabric billows beside her, kept from flying away as its tied to the rigging.

Is... she putting a hammock on top of the mast?

A hammock would be one of Aya's guesses; that or Aryia is drying ber bedlinens? Only one of the sisters is gifted in nautical nonsense. "Is it laundry day?" she calls up as she stops at the pier before The Balance, "Or have you run out of room for large sails?"

Aryia pauses her work, craning her head back. A smile cracks her lips, and she scoffs, shaking her head. A finger is held up to afford a moment, the mute tying up the braided cord to a hook on the mast before taking her jacket off her waist. She loops it around the braid, grabs the rope over the jacket, then sliiiiiiiiiiides all the way down to the deck with a light 'thud' at the end.

She beckons Aya aboard, her wafting off her verdant jacket. "Sleeping spot," she answers simply, tying the appareal back around her waist. "Looking for a joyride?" she motions jokingly. <Handspeech>

Aya watches her sister's descent to the deck with amusement, and has a slim smile of her own to greet Aryia. Her eyes shift back up to what is, apparently, a hammock, indeed. "Room for two?" she signs, pointing at it and arching a brow. Judging from the growing curl and wry in her lips, she probably is not referring to herself.

This is confirmed when the smile dims and her head shakes in the negative. "It looks a lovely day to sail, but no. I have a different trip to plan. There is another way to destroy the fiend, I learned, though it may be little easier than marching into the Iron Hells. Or I would need to do both."

Aryia blinks at the jab, her rubbing her neck and silently chuckling. "I wish. If the boat was bigger I'd do it," she gestures with one hand.

She leans back against the mast as matters are voiced.

White brows shoot up. Some relief sags her shoulders. "Thank fuck, I really don't want to got here. What do you got?"<Handspeech>

"Neither do I," Aya admits after taking the small hop to board. Small hop for either of them, at least. Her hands then lift as she considers signing, then lowers them with an exhaled breath. Some aspects she may have enough difficulty sharing vocally, much less non-. "There is a weapon, or are weapons, purported to destroy anything. They belong to fey royalty and are used in the Wild Hunt. The demon duke feared the Hunt, so I believe they are a threat to fiends. Mikilos once acquired such a weapon, and Seldan possessed it for a time, after bartering with a fey queen." It is a strong lead, though Aya does not appear overjoyed.

Aryia's expression jumps quickly from hopeful to a furrowed, deep scowl. She hufffs, hands going to her pockets as she idly kicks the coil of rope over to the edge of the boat. "... f-ck-ng h-t- th- F-y," she hisses in a grumble.

She takes a breath, then pinches the bridge of her nose. "Ok. That's a start. I was really hoping we could do this without any sort of deals or pacts being made-" because that's always gone so well? "-but what the fuck ever."

She throws her hands up. <Handspeech>

Aya's lips purse at Aryia's reaction, though it is not unexpected. The last comment us certainly justified, and wise, and causes Aya to wince. "There will not be any such things any more than is necessary. I have no intentions of becoming a ... pet for some creature in another realm." She does not say 'again.' "We only need borrow it, as they did before, so any arrangement will be temporary." If she is hoping to reassure her sister, her tone should likely be more... reassuring.

She continues, "Of those fey known to Mikilos, one never admitted to having such a weapon, and one is, by his account, utterly insane. That leaves the same weapon, and owner, that was used previously: Mortal Dread, the weapon of the Queen of Air and Darkness. According to the archmage, she is fond of agony."

The reassurance is muted at best, Aryia pursing her lips and crossing her arms. "Any amount is uncessary in my opinion, but I'll instead elect to just bitch about it," she sighs with a half-hearted, muddled agreement to the idea.

It's something?

She blinks, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. "Of course this fey loves agony. Why can't the fuckers ever enjoy something like, I don't know, a good joke or something. One fey's bullshit is all about being a lonely bitch, and this one likes torture."

Properly vented, she huffs, crossing her arms. "I'm done bitching about it. Not sorry."

Now she finally addresses the actual solution set before them, the pugilist running a hand through her hair. "Right so we do some shit for them to get the sword for a bit, then... I'm guessing we just... stab the bitch with it?" she offers in simplified explanation. <Handspeech>

Aya cannot blame Aryia for her bitching. For one, she is extremely gifted at it. For another, she has every reason to. She steps to her sister and puts a hand upon her shoulder. "You never need apologize, sister, for your thoughts, for who you are." Her expression is soft, though some of the words and intent may be familiar. "And yes..." she nods, freeing her hand to echo the last gestures emphatically, "we stab the bitch."

The gesture disarms the disgruntled sister, the giant scowl lifting some to being more of a faint smile. "Thanks. And anyone who says otherwise is going to get a big red welt in the shape of my hand."

Aryia can't help but snort at that. "Stick them with the pointy end. Sounds like a plan. I'll... try my best," she signs, finishing with rubbing her arm. "Never was a fan of holding pointy stuff. Though I feel the poetic justice is best suited by your hand, considering what that... angel? Thing said." <Handspeech>

"Sister," Aya's hand firms on her shoulder, "you already bargained once, for me, because of my dealings. If there are any more to be made, I will make them." She nods at the last point. "It should be my hand to end it, as I think I am the one who created it." A pat and her hand lowers with a long exhalation. "I made a realization... a guess... a feeling? of how the fiend may have come to be."

Shining eyes squint at Aya over the ever present silver-rimmed shades. It's a stern, worried, warning, chastising look that bundles everything into one singular glare. But she doesn't contest it, instead her cutting it with a faint nod and a steady breath In.

Out. "How do you mean?" <Handspeech>

"I saw what he did to Lily..." Aya begins, turning her eyes, and then her head, from Aryia at that recollection. The mast. Yes, the mast is interesting. "He took her... soul? Twisted it into something horrid. Some sort of fiend? Then returned it to her body, warping it the same." She falls silent for several long moments before looking back.

"He wanted my soul, as cost for betraying him, but I had denied him. Yet he wanted me as a servant, also. That was the exchange to free her. What if he did the same to me? My soul, or a piece of it, corrupted into ..." she makes a vague gesture "that. It knows my memories, my skills, my NAME. The spirit said that I would never be whole until it was destroyed. What if that is why?"

Aryia crosses her arms and leans on her back foot, listening intently. All the warning glares and complaining has been expunged for the time being, instead all that was left was the careful consideration of the 'wise mentor'.

Her gaze drifts off her sister and up to the dual tones sails. A hand lifts to explain her line of thought. "So... he took a chunk of you, discarded the rest to die that he didn't need, then corrupted what he had to make it do his bidding."

She rubs her chin. Then frowns slightly. "And utterly destroying it does effectively make you not whole. Hence the... 'this is your last chance' like the spirit said. Or maybe destroying it will let your soul mend a bit. I don't know."

Her gaze finds Aya once more. "So it is you. Was you. Perhaps the vile parts of one's self exacerbated to horrid levels."

She closes her eyes, and lets out a long sigh. "Right. Fey sword. Stab a bitchy not-Aya. Hope to whatever's out there that it doesn't backfire." <Handpseech>

Aya looks to Aryia as she muses and 'speaks,' brows gradually lifting all the while. When she is finishes, Aya's mouth curls wryly on one side. "You state it far more intelligently and clearly than I did, or could. I spoke a guess, and you convey it as undoubtable proof." Aryia has a way with words, and the compliment is genuine despite her expression. "It is the bitch I could have been? Or was?" She still refuses to engender it and then nods at the summary. "That is the plan, yes. It is better than we had."

Aryia shrugs. "Just putting pieces together," she brushes off, but can't help but smirk slightly at the compliment. "Perhaps both? Regardless, it's something of the past that needs to be corrected, and stuck with the present to not be a future problem."

She bobs her head, and snaps a thumbs up. "You say the word, and I'm there with you. Ready whenever." <Handspeech>

Aya reaches out in attempt to claps the up thumb. Well, rather the hand it is upped from. "Thank you, sister." A pat and then her hands lift to confirm, "I will say the word. Until then, I should leave you to your ship. Unless you wish help?" Perhaps unsurprisingly, she adds, "Admiral Zilly" aloud with a renewed uneven grin.

Aryia clasps the proffered hand and sharply nods.

She blinks, silently groans and rolls her eyes. "It's Captain, get it right," she motions with her middle fingers extended as if to say 'also fuck you'. With no malice though, were her matching grin anything to go by.

"Sure. If you can braid the rest of this rope while I'm making a lattice up there..." she signs, walking backwards while pointing to the coil she kicked over earlier. <Handspeech>

-End Scene-