Just Breathe

Log Info

• Title: Just Breathe
• Emitter: Thurid
• Characters: Thurid, Aryia, Strike
• Place: TarRaCe Bathhouse
• Time: October 7th, 2021
• Summary: Thurid and Aryia retreat to the bathhouse to recover from their sparring match, only to run into a Strike that was relaxing there for the same reasons. Drinks are ordered, and then a question is poised to Strike from Aryia on how to go about doing what Strike does. What methods does she use? Thurid weighs in on her own aspects of channelling the mountain, but she falls silent to watch. Strike guides Aryia through a series of meditative steps, each one more abstract than the last. In the end, the mute woman is successful, to an extent. Conversation is light afterwards, but soon goes quiet as all settle into what they came there to do: relax.

Thurid heads with Aryia to the baths, offering a wave to those faces she reconizes as the pair pass through the main entrance and to the baths at the back, the Jotun woman heads into the changing room. Standing in the middle of the room and stripping off with the lack of shame typically reserved for the elderly, she tosses her clothes in one of the alcoves for washing, and then continues onward to the women's baths.

Aryia heads in after the giantborn, her none too far behind them. Following the same directive yet leaving on undergarments and a chest wrap. Her stomach has a lovely splotting of forming bruises under all the scars, something she massages with the heel of her palm as they enter the women's side of the baths.

The mute woman does not wait, her stepping in with a splash and a long sigh of relief.

Having been here for a little while, Strike is reclining in on corner of the baths, dotted with welts that will likely bloom into bruises, and her hair spreading like a slick over the surface of the wat.

Her head is lolled back onto a rolled pillow, and her eyes are closed as the half-mul allows the water to work it's magic on her battered frame. There's a broad-based tankard back from the edge of the pool close to hand, filled with something with the subtle hint of vinegar, citrus and honey, at a level that would indicate either she has not been here all that long, or she is nursing her beverage in preparation for a long soak.

While the weighty footfalls don't prompt overmuch reaction, people are going to walk by after all, the splash does bring her sitting upright to look around for the cause.

Ahh.

"Greetings." she puts forth, glancing about her immediate vicinity.

Thurid, too, is sporting a number of splotches and patches well on their way towards becoming bruises- mostly on her limbs, though her jaw has swolen where it was struck, giving her an oruchish look to her. She slides into the water, pushing its level up perceptably as she sinks in down to her armpits with a sigh of her own, eyes closed.

They open a short while later, as she looks over towards Strike. She nods approvingly at the other womans welts and bruises. "Training?" she guesses.

Aryia blinks as she realizes who else was in here, her sinking a bit out of habit to hide some. Shaking her head to get over it, she raises a hand towards Strike to return the greeting before motioning. "Good to see you, Strike," her hands twist and flex to say. <Handspeech>

"Yes." Strike answers softly, smiling a touch as the rouded tips of her shoulders peeking like short lived islands from the new water level on her shrug, "Karelin has an uncannily accurate eye."

Her eyes swivel toward the handsigns of the fulblooded Mul'niessa and she bows her head, "Likewise, Aryia, so..."

A look to elf and Jotun, and she lifts a hand to flag down an attendant, as she asks, "Fancy a drink?"

"I'd kill for one." Thurid replies, her own arms spawled out along the edge of the bath- not having the luxury of sinking all the way to her neck like the shorter folks. "Hot bath and a cold beer sounds like just what the cleric ordered." she says then with a dip of her head.

"We've just come from the sands outselves, had a little sparring match." Thurid informs Strike. "And what a match it was. I could barely keep track of Aryia she's so quick, and she's tough as boot leather to boot." she says, beaming as she sings Aryia's praises.

Aryia lets out a soft sound that should have been a groan as she rocks a fist in the air. "Yes, please."

The praise makes a dust cross the elf visage, her rubbing the back of her neck. "I mean, I just didn't want to get hit by that hammer... fucking thing hurts." <Handspeech>

Strike looks up as the attendant arrives, "A beer for her and..." she looks to Aryia, "Would you like something specific?"

Her head pivots slightly toward Thurid while her eyes hold to Aryia so she doesn't miss a reply that she will likely have to translate, "It sounds like a good training excercise, and a valuable learning experience."

Thurid nods her head in agreement, "It was a good exercise indeed, got my blood pumping that's for sure." she muses then. "Been on a Mission of late, to Dran. And would you believe it, even in such a place I had little need of my hammer. I'd begun to worry I'd forget how to swing it." she muses.

She peers across at Aryia, and smirks, "At least it wasn't the real one. Or better yet, I've come into some funds. And had been thinking to get a new head cast in Adamant." she says.

Aryia shrugs and shakes her head. She gestures off to Thurid. "Whatever she got. Beer is fine."

There's a little nod, her sliding around in the water a bit to be in a better spot so Strike could see them. The shadow elf purses her lips and rubs at her stomach again at the thought of a metal hammer crashing there. "That'd do some damage," Aryia comments. "It was good. It sort of... put into perspective the differences I've made in myself in that short amount of time."

A thought crosses her mind, the mute woman sitting up and looking more attentive. "Hey, Strike. I... got a question for you." <Handspeech>

Strike nods to the signs and looks up toward the attendant, "Two beers, please." before she shifts her focus to accomodated both her companions in her view, "Some things require a more delicate touch. One of my first guild missions I only used my alchemical weapons."

With the fullblood's quizzical signing, she arches an eyebrow and grants a curious, "Certainly?"

Thurid nods her head once more in agreement, "It's not just a matter of your strength and quickness, mind. As I said, you seem more sure of yourself. A strong body is nothing without a strong spirit." she says, and leans back against the edge of the tub. She is careful not to intrude on the others personal space as she stretches out her legs a bit, and falls quiet for Aryia to ask her question and hear its answer.

Aryia glances to Thurid, a weak smile crossing her lips. "That is a good point. There's a been a handful of things that have certainly contributed tot hat as of late."

The mute woman takes a few moments to figure out how to phrase her question. "A while back when we talked about... spirit," she begins. "How do you use it in different ways? I've figured out how to make myself not feel pain. But I've been trying to move faster. Very, very fast. I saw you do it in Charn, but I'm trying to go even faster than that. I can't... figure it out. I end up smashing into walls." <Handspeech>

Strike isn't sure what question she was expecting, but for some reason, that wasn't it, and so much is hinted in the momentary curl of her eyebrows. She glances to Thurid, "I presume you know her words." she speculates thoughtfully, then looks to Aryia, "I normally can't move to the same pace as I had then, Seyardu had given us a magical boost I was able to augment myself with."

Hmmm, "When you tune your focus into yourself, to suppress pain... do you feel the channels of energy, there?"

Thurid lifts a hand and wobbles it at strike's question, "Not without assistance." she admits, and turns to watch Aryia's hands move, listening to Strike's answer with one ear. She frowns a bit, "Smashing into walls doesn't sound particularly helpful. Through them, on the other hand." she says, her lip curling into a smirk.

Aryia makes a small chuff of a chuckle at Thurid's joke, but she sighs and nods. "No, it's not fun."

She gives a slow sigh and ponders the question. "When I do that, I feel..." she starts out, a hand hovering over her heart. "... the memories coursing through me. Flooding me. Nothing hurts because the memory I recall was the most pain I ever felt. I try using different memories, to various degrees of failure. I don't feel a channel, or... whatever that's supposed to feel like. Or maybe I do, and I can't figure out how to redirect the flow." This was the closest she was going to get on having a mentor on the topic, so Aryia gestures as openly as she can. <Handspeech>

Strike nods, looking to the Warrior for a moment, "If you miss something, I can translate as needed." she offers.

Her attention is swift to return to the handsign, intent on the woman's approach to a handy solution to certain combat issues.

Shehe gives a slow nod, and a quiet, "I see." before she twists, reaches across to grab her tankard for a drink before setting it back in place..

"Aligning my spirit to this frame... my body... the way Kanyk taught me, means my particular means of... expressing my approach may not always synch with your own perceptions."

A slow breath, then, she extends her hand, fingers together, palm up, "Lay your hand upon mine, please."

Thurid, for her part, simply takes her tankard- a two pint one, as she usually gets in places she frequents- and takes a healthy glug, wincing a bit at the pain in her shoulder. While the other two converse on their particular fighting style, she rolls the pained shoulder and begins to rub at it with her thumb, kneading the bruised flesh. "S'pose I'd never given thought to how other's abilities work. For my part, I simply beseech Angoron. As my connection to my god grows strongers, the Miracles I can coax forth become more impressive." she chimes in.

Aryia gets her drink and takes a similiarly large gulp, her sighing and wiping off her lips with the back of her scarred arm. Her head tilts to the side at the request, but she shrugs. She starts to slide over to Strike, but pauses midway to look to Thurid. "Tried that, never worked for me," she mentions offhandedly to the war priest before aligning her wet hand atop the outstretched palm. <Handspeech>

Strike shrugs her shoulders to Thurid's remark, softly returning, "I don't consider the gods to have any particular note of me over anyone else, nor I one over any of them. Their agents do their work, and what groundwork they laid before my construction, or effecting my reformation is too intricately woven for me to fully grasp."

Her attention reorients as she feels the hand alight on hers and she intones, voice a soft neutral, "Breathe slow... and deep. Feel the air enter... then... leave... Close your eyes."

Even as she speaks, the repackaged soul is watching the ripple of water around Aryia, the sweel and retreat of her chest and starts to synch her own breathing to the rythm she observes.

"They hear, even if they do not always answer." Thurid says, unable to resist the urge to proselytize just a little. But then she settles back, to let the other women pracice their own art, while she contents herself with her beer, taking another swig of it.

Aryia gives a small nod at Strike's insight, her partially agreeing with it. But previous discussions about weighing in on such matters tends to beget negative assotiations, so her free hand remains silent despite cleaaaarly biting back any comments with Thurid's addendum.

The elf's face scrunches up slightly at the instructions, but she gives a small shudder of a sign and nods. Her throat bobs, eyes close, and she focuses on breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

It's hard for her to keep still. A tremor here, a slight hitch of her breath there. A twitch of an emotion on her face. The water ripples faintly with each motion.

"I do not deny." Strike answers with slow sign from her other hand as her eyes turn toward Thurid for the moment. <handspeech>

Back toward Aryia, the half-mul's attention, if it every fully left it, returns, noting the lack of stillness within her.

"Keep breathing... in...... out... let your mind turn to the rythm... your breath in your ears, the subtle pulse of your heartbeat... let your body relax. From this point, if you if I ask a question, simply nod slightly if the answer is yes. Do not try to sign, it would be distraction."

Her sonorous, even zen tone continues, "Outside is noise. Hear... only my voice.... and let your mind reach for the stillness."

Thurid settles, and remains quiet- allowing the other two to concentrate, and avoiing interrupting by continuing to interject. She just lays back against the edge of the tub and keeps her trap shut.

Aryia's jaw tenses for a beat at the further instruction, her giving a small nod and focusing soley on her breath. Her heart. How the beat makes her body move. Ears faintly twitching from errant sounds. Her forces her shoulders to lax, and her head dips a bit in concentration.

Strike continues her breathing, giving a little nod to herself, and quirking a quick smile to Thurid, before she resumes, "In and out... the waves upon the shore... steady... quiet..."

There is a glance to their hands, then, and she continues, "When your thoughts are still..... nod."

The waves of the shore. Silver clad, long grey ears visibly move back to be a touch flatter against the sides of her head. The sound of waves. She heard that soft noise before she ever got to see it with her own two eyes, in that box. Sat there, listening to it for hours on end. Starving.

She found that moment, and emulated it.

Aryia's chin ever so faintly dips.

"Stillness...." Strike intones softly, "The flow is all... in.... out."

Her hand is like a statue as she speaks, as her breathing is still timed to that of the other woman, that any disruption of that steadiness is coordinated with that of the other.

Steady.

"There is a flow through your essence.... through all things... it is there behind your thoughts... the link between soul, mind and body."

A glance to Thurid as she seems to be enjoying the demonstration, then back to her gifted bellow brawler, "There is a faint... tingle... an energy starting at the base of your skull... flowing to your chest. There, it splits, to your shoulders.... your arms... to your fingers. At your waist... it spreads down your legs... to your toes."

Now focused on the physical point of connection between them, she gently instructs, "Do not think.... do not remember... and when you feel.... nod once more."

Kanyk struggled with her on this one, to be fair.

The directives from Strike wash against her and pull away with each coordinated breath. Her voice became muffled to Aryia, like they were speaking from the outside.

Such philosophies might have been scoffed at if the mute woman were in a different state, but instead, she allows the instructions to trickle in.

Behind the thoughts. Behind the... memories. What tied them together?

Aryia's lips part ever so slightly, a hint of her inner self relaxing further. Her hand still not from practice of zen, but practice of labor and decades of strife.

A tingle? What tingle? That nearly made Aryia break out of her trance, but her routine breaths drew her back in. She searches for that sensation. Head still for a long few minutes. The mute felt her arms where they were, where the water touched her skin. Toes against the ground. Worked her way backwards: elbows and knees, hips and shoulders neck and chest. Collected to a single point where her spine met her skull.

Do not think. Do not remember.

There was no box. There were no memories. All were connected by that beat of life: emotion.

In. Out. And from the base of her skull outwards, she felt nothing more than herself.

Twelve minutes later. Aryia nods.

The half-mul doesn't move more than breath demands, a regimented body driven with the soul of a what had been a machine.

A machine that could reach beyond.

A machine that, perhaps, at the barest minimum, could feel her fellow fighter settle herself into alignment.

"Within the river... there are layers..." she continues.

"One is steady.... slow to change, shaping the course of the others, like a riverbed. It provides strength. Endurance."

In... out.....

"The next, faster, still... grants power.... the potential to move forward."

In... out...

"The surface... fastets, yet... warm.... rippling... grants impulse, sensation."

In... out...

"When you can feel it... nod."

The full blooded mul'neissa keeps her breath in tandem with the other. As the words came in, her mind filtered them into her own perception. Her own strife. Her own...

Within the emotions, there are different layers.

One is steady. Slow to change. Influencing the others. The foundation for all. It provides will, a reason to see the day.

In... out...

The next, more burning, is passion. The drive to keep one foot in front of the other despite the all that collapses around. A memory cam- no. Not the memory. The feeling of the memory. The underlying energy underneath it.

What did it mean, and why did it burn as bright as the star above?

In... out...

Her lips part further. A lone tear collected and rolled down her face without a single twitch of her acknowledgement.

The surface was sensation. The now. The waters. The hand in the other. The swelling in the chest. A sudden smile without thought. A second tear to join the first.

In... out..

The elf ceases any more movement. No trembles. No errant twitch.

In... out...

She nods.

In...

Out...

"The surface... sensation...." Strike resumes, "Impulse... let awareness focus on that flow... In... Out..."

The sensation she gets is unlike her old mentor's, but that is probably to be expected, but she has touched her ki, that is certain.

The half-mul continues, "When the other layers are still.... nod." in that same, zen tone.

What was above that? On the surface. Was impulse not- no. Not reactions. Sensation. The skin again skin. Steam brushing against hair. Air moving through the lungs.

In...

Out...

Be aware of the base emotions. What gives the reason.

Be aware of the passion. What drives one forward.

Be aware of the reactions, the feelings worn on the sleeve.

Be aware of the sensations, that give such reactions.

Be aware of them all.

The emotions settle.

In...

Aryia barely... barely nods.

Out...

Strike continues to breathe in synch with the fulblood, able to read that she has touched her ki, but little more of real detail.

In.... "The inward flow... brings sensation...."

Out.. "Outward carries your will."

In...

Out... "Outward turns will.... to action..."

In... "Let the inward flow.... fade into silence...."

Out... "When the flow is only your will... nod"

Unbeknownst to Aryia, that's exactly what she's doing. Her finger was on the pulse of something. Some deep and shallow. In the dark where even her sight could not pierce.

In... the noise of the shore.

Out... why did it burn so hot?

In... the muffle of the box.

Out... the reason to keep on.

In... ...

Out... and why was it as bright as the star above?

In... ...

Out... a nod.

In...

Out....

Strike's eyes turn to the woman then and she nods herself before she gently bids, "Open your eyes."

In...

Out...

Once they have locked eyes, she continues, "That layer... the surface of the river, is where you control speed. It brings your experience into your awareness. It carries the commands to your body."

She smiles, somewhat self deprecatingly, "Perhaps... as your talents and experiences were so extensive... and that has always been your body... you were able to touch the flow much, much faster, than I was, when Kanyk was teaching me."

In...

Out...

The shadow elf's eyes slowly slide open. Milky eyes shimmering brighter than they've ever had been before. She both sees Strike in front of her, yet doesn't. It just simply was. And is.

Eyes lock, tears dried on her face as the words just are. But of course, she doesn't have the practice, and the stilled emotions shift just as she raises a hand, finally, to reply.

"I've never been able to do anything of what I could do until I got here. I just... pushed my body harder and harder, wanting really hard to do what I needed. I guess I just had it after a few decades. And it took a few people to tell me where to look."

Her blazing eyes look down to their touching hands, and she slowly pulls it away, her inspecting her calloused and scarred fingers. They flex slowly. Seen in a new light. Her lips do not splay in a smile in a flash like they normally do, it spread slow, and earnest, "Thank you, Strike."

Then, a question. "Was that person your mentor?" <Handspeech>

Strike curls her fingers closed and opens them once more as she allows her arm to sink back into the water beside her, "Once I came to Alexandria, myself, yes."

A frown of thought, "I came to Alexandria after my conversion, rather."

She twists to once again retrieve her drink for a swig, "I was... training my body, trying to compensate for the softness of my new limbs, the imprecisions in movement and so forth, when Kanyk found me. I was trained to use my body as my primary weapon, even moreso than most Golems."

There's a little shake of her head, and she continues, "He showed me how to employ the forces within us, but it took a long time before I could actually touch them as I can, now."

She sets the tankard back into place and smiles, "You're quite welcome, Aryia. I'm glad I was able to help."

Aryia gives a slight nod like before, her a bit rooted in her spot as she slowly sloshes herself out of her stilled pool of inner self. She knew about the conversion, and perhaps how discombobulating that might have been for the once-golem. "I imagine that was a lot of fractured bones," the elf comments, finally sliding to the side to sip on her drink.

She gives a small sigh, followed by a faint smile. "Better late than never," a hand notes. "And now you showed me how to do the same. I'm sure he would be proud."

A soft exhale through her nose, and she dips her head slightly. "And I appreciate it greatly. I've had a few of people help me, you included. I just... never knew what it was I was using." <Handspeech>

Strike smiles thoughtfully, perhaps something nostalgic touching her eyes, then, "I like to think so."

She settles back against the edge of the pool and ndos to her words, "I'm glad you had more help." and sinks a little further in, till the water is to her chin. Siiiiiigh....

She smirks a little bit, then, "Not as much as you would expect. I had switched to using a staff early on, to compensate for my new lack of armour. A great deal of my early training also had to do with... understanding all the sensations my new body was trying to tell me, and coping with the losses of some senses, and of course..."

She makes a face, "All the leaking."

The full-blooded elf does make a similar face. "Yes. We tend to leak a lot. Even just a scratch can turn into a problem, unlike a ding in metal."

She turns as well to sink in, her brushing her moon-colored hair out with her fingers. It felt like her mind was on fire. So many questions for herself to be spent in introspection. She wasn't sure what to speak of next. As all she wanted was to get lost in that sensation again.

"I... think I'm going to sit here for a while after all that," Aryia gestures to the relaxing Strike before mulling with her beer in hand. "If that's okay." <Handspeech>

The half-mul nods, apparantly perfectly at ease with the world if it would just let her continue to soak, "More the rest of it, really." she replies with a wan smile, "But I understand there are places and times for those conversations. Neither is here."

At some point, someone taught her to wink.

As Aryia settles in for a good long soak, herself, Strike nods, "Not at all. It's been a good day of training, and now comes the recovery. Relax and mend." With that, the monk settles in to what could be a soothing soak in companionable silence.

-End Scene-