Mul'ing Over Memories

Log Info

• Title: Mul'ing Over Memories
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Verna
• Place: City Library
• Time: October 31st, 2021
• Summary: During a rainy day, Aryia seeks out a certain Mourner that offered their services some time ago after being emboldened by a friend's recent turning of a leaf. Finding the half-mul'neissa at a table studying, Aryia leads Verna to a private study room to conduct the spell. With some reassurances from Verna, they get to work. The first casting is off; since the mute's memories are muddled after a certain point, its difficult to determine which end of memories to start on. One blunder leads to the spell ending short, and a second blunder with Verna showing a vaguely similar memory. At least, the emotions were similar. Third time's the charm, however.

And a shard of the mute's past is revealed. Before her time as a slave. Names are learned, previous positions of power gleamed, questions are answered and a dozen dozen more questions spiral off of it. Verna expertly changes the topic to give the shocked Aryia something to focus on after consoling her, them speaking about finding interest in other people with Aryia giving some advice as best she can. Aryia tiredly leaves, her head swimming with all sorts of old-new information to process, and leaves Verna to her studies.

City Library, evening.

Chilly rain drums against the windows of the city's library, a low rumble in the distance marks a thunderstorm over the mountains to the east. Indoors, however, is a reprieve from such a frigid environment.

One that Aryia takes wholeheartedly. Shaking off her treated grey cloak at the entrance, the mul slings the attire over her shoulder as she walks in, verdant buckle jacket closed tight to ward off the cold. Blazing eyes scan past the shelves and down the isles, looking for... a particular someone. She avoided the Defense as to not interfere with the work there, and this time of day, dusk, should be good to seek the Mourner.

Indeed, the weather and time of evening encourage indoor activities. Not that certain Mourner's appear to be overly inclined towards many outdoor extracurriculars. Thus it is no surprise to find Verna at a table, hood doffed, and attention upon an open tome. Several others are stacked nearby.

Aryia almost misses the Mourner, her breezing by an aisle as she goes. But she walks backwards, leaning on her back foot some before pivoting and approaching.

She clears her throat before getting to close, conscious of how quiet she slips around. A hand raises in greeting, feet stopping just before the table. There's an odd sort of resolve in her features, one that is reserved perhaps for the more convicted of faith. "Hope you're well. Are you busy, by chance?" a hand asks, a small flicker of a smile tugging at her lip.<Handspeech>

The movement by does not initially draw Verna's attention; there are others making use of the library, afterall. It is the halt and reverse in her peripheral vision, perhaps, or the wave and/or halt nearby that make her glance upwards to catch the inquiry.

Her Gloved hands lift to respond in kind (it is less disruptive to others and less likely to draw Lady Octagna's ire), "I am well and not overly occupied, no. What is on your mind?" She presumes a question or update, given that she was sought out.

Aryia give a light sigh, and relaxes some. "That's good to hear you're alright." She eyes an empty seat, and invites herself to sit down, taking a moment to drape the cloak over the back of the chair. She looks aside for a moment, steeling herself before looking back to the Mourner. "I've decided that I will take up your offer about that memory magic." <Handspeech>

Verna watches Aryia seat herself, somewhat curious until the mul reveals the intent of her visit. "Ah," Verna acknowledges with a nod of understanding. A brief moment is taken to note her place before she closes the tome before her and moves it aside.

"Do you have some rough idea as to a time period, setting, or other descriptors for memories you would seek? I presume you would not desire myself, nor perhaps anyone else, simply ... thumbing through pages, as it were."

She is reasonably quick to append with an assurance, "Know that, regardless of what is found, I will not divulge anything to any other, nor make any record of such information. Not without your express consent."

The questions make a mixture of pensive and confusion cross her face, Aryia fitting her chin into a palm and pursing her lips. If she could vocalize, there'd certainly be a 'hmmmm...' right now.

She shakes her head. "I figured you wouldn't. I have to... be a bit trusting and take some risks to learn these things. A friend of mine recently... let go of her past. And I really what to know what I'm letting go of, else it will eat at me for centuries."

A breath, a shaky one. "Something... before. Before the auctions. I don't remember anything before then. Just something. Anything. My early years." <Handspeech>

Verna nods once more. She takes a moment to remove her gloves and sets them atop the previously-open tome. Hands gesture, whether out of respect for Aryia or the stillness of their location. "Did you wish to do so here, or elsewhere? The process is brief, and inconspicuous, in either case."

She was doing this? Really? For real? Aryia's knee bounces a bit in nervousness as she dry swallows. A glance about, then back to Verna. "... we can use one of the study rooms here, if you don't mind," she suggests, standing to bleed off the nerves. <Handspeech>

Verna leaves her gloves where they lie; a simple marker of her yet occupying the table. "As you wish. After you," Verna agrees, gesturing with one hand after towards one of the rooms. Yes, she is allowing Aryia to lead the way. No, she is not aggressive about such. Either Aryia wishes to or does not, and has ample opportunity to reconsider without Verna pressing upon her one option or the other.

Aryia's fate on the decision was sealed as she saw the golem's head return back to its natural state. So there wasn't any hesitation moving forward, just that her legs trembled as she pressed on.

She leads them into a quiet room, the mute pulling the door shut behind them. Not much was in here. A small table, a few chairs, and a window that gently drummed from the dark rain outside. Aryia slides into a chair, doing her best to sit still. Yet, in the silent room, it's clear to see all the little nervous ticks the shadow elf had. Fidgeting with her fingers, a tremor in her leg, a glance to the door then down to her lap.

Verna follows her in, waiting for Aryia to select a seat. After she does, Verna moves another to face the first before sitting. As she settles, she notes how the mul is settled... or not quite so.

To help focus Aryia's attention, her hands lift between them to gesture. "I encourage that you attempt to relax, to let your mind wander to facilitate this." A slight pause and a flicker of her lips upward; no attempt at a grand smile this time, so it appears much more natural. "Whenever you are ready, take my hand.." After the signs, one hand remains lifted while the other lowers to her lap.

The motion grabs Aryia's attention, her biting her lip before nodding, a shaky sigh leaving her. A few moments are allocated for her to just breathe.

In. Out.

Right. In the silence of the library, one could hear the soft hissing of a, "Th-nk y-..." The smile was nice to see.

In. Out.

Aryia leans back in her chair, closes her eyes, and rests her scarred hand into Verna's.

The hand is accepted, and Verna's other promptly lifts to make a brief series of gestures that are not hand-signing. She also breaks the silence with a brief utterance, though with the minimum volume required.

With the surge of magic, she then attempts to retrieve and share with Aryia, once of Aryia's own memories. Admittedly, with only a rough frame of referennce and not the time nor wish to browse the collection... it is very much akin to flipping open a book to a page whose timing is estimated by its general position within the book. She does not know the contents until reading the page and then, of course, it is already done.

GAME: Verna casts Share Memory. Caster Level: 17 DC: 17

There is a hesitation from the mul'neissa as the incantation is heard. Her even breathing hitching. It feels as if bookshelf of memories is locked shut with a gentle rattle confirming it.

I-In. Out.

Resistance vanishes. And the doors creak open.

There is a plethora of memories one could choose from when the target is a sildanyari. Less of a singular tome, and more of an entire encyclopedia. A hand hovers over what to choose, resting on a tome near the end. A warm, fuzzy feeling surfaces, soothing out all worries.

Two hushed, soft tones.

"My North Star..." of someone else...

"My night blossom..." of Aryia...

Wrong end to start on.

Embarrassment could be felt from Aryia. As well as... a voice? Soft spoken. And full of unease. "... w-wait not... n-n-not that one..."

Verna has no context of time reference for the memory that unfolds. She does realize, in rather short order, that it is of a personal nature. Given that it is Aryia's memory, it is from her point of view, and thus carries the strong shading of her emotional context and subjectivity at that time.

Verna realizes this just as feels Aryia's embarassment, and reciprocates. The surprise the fullblood is speaking to her (albeit in their minds) is lost in that awkward moment. And, yes, Verna does feel these things; they are obviously just muted before they reach her features. Here, features and words are not directly involved. "Apologies! A new attempt..." She even seems a bit ...flustered(?) or rushed as she dismisses the existing as best she can (and before anything more excessively personal)... and right into another quick gesture, utterance and a memory...

Verna, sitting upright on a basalt slab in a simple shift with a cloth drape bunched at her waist. Another form, still draped, lying on another slab beside her. A few others present that may be familiar (Cryosanthia, Seldan). A sylvanori woman in a red dress holding Verna's hand in attempt at confort.... or perhaps mutual comfort, as commentary in the memor involves such things as "...He spelt the name Malik with your intestines..." "...Your heart was the dot on the I..." "Oh gods I think I'm going to be si-"

Yes, this also appears a wrong memory. More in the right direction... just wrong person?

Aryia is flustered as the mourner withdraws, her catching the beet redness of her face as the spell is cut off, yet the memory still plays out in the mute's head. She coughs, and looks off to the side before shaking her head and refocusing. The trust in Verna was still there, her cutting out before anything sensitive was shared.

The viewing of another's memory is discombobulating for the mul'neissa, confusion felt once more. Was this her...? No. It wasn't. The shadows were all wrong. And... was that Cryo? Seldan?

The remembered dialogue, too, makes a wave of nausea come from the shadow elf in this quasi-dreamscape.

The mute shifts uncomfortably in her chair. This shared space able to feel a wall of bottled anxiety coming from her.

In the frame of Verna's point of view and subjective emotional context in the memory, she is ...rather content. Perhaps even pleased. Some of the dialogue is concerning, and she is yet wearied from what looks to be a return, but is still very much not unhappy with the hand in hand. Less so as the contact break with the other rushing off to not be sick in the room...

Which is also where Verna, in the present, realizes what has happened. She is both confused and embarassed, now moreso than before. "That was not what I intended at all..." Again, then metaphorical STOP/EJECT button is repeatedly pressed. This time, however, Verna seems to pause to take a respite before any further (rushed) spellcasting and does not immediately invoke further magic.

There's a bit of recognition that comes across Aryia from the content feeling, her attention focusing on the the red dressed woman that runs off. Still, Aryia was off kilter, her feeling Verna jab the button.

The mute blinks her eyes open, her own embarrassment now mingled with a mutual one.

There's a long stare. "... well. I see we have some overlapping interests..." she wryly comments before shaking her head. A tiny smirk on her lips.

Another breath. In. Out.

She holds her hand out for whenever Verna was ready. <Handspeech>

Verna is not entirely monochromatic for once; there is a tinge of color on her cheeks as she attempts to regain her focus and composure. The comment sparks a moment of curiosity that quickly graduates to epiphany... perhaps as evidenced by a pause in the diminishing of the ruddy hue.

"My apologies. That was ... unprofessional and unintended." She clears her throat and conscientiously rubs her palms dry on her cloak as she calms, her own breath falling into step with Aryia's. Breathing is very important, afterall.

"I will aim further in the past. In your memories," she clarifies both points explicitly. Only then does she reach for Aryia's hand in a reverse of the start. Her free hand gestures distinctly and cleanly, regardless of the rote muscle memory; to be certain. She further focuses on Aryia and many volumes further to the front, comparatively, of the encyclopedia that are her memories.

Perhaps the third time is the charm, as some might say?

Aryia was terrible with people, but she does silently giggle at noticing the rubor abating its withdraw. She shakes her head, her free hand thudding against her chest. "It's fine. We can talk about it over tea later." There was a teasing in those signs, with the little waggle of the fingers at the end.

Third time's the charm.

This time, on the other end of the bookshelf, the first few books were in disrepair, dusty, and littered with cobwebs. Down one is pulled, a plume of stilled dust wafting from it as, carefully, its ancient pages are opened to bare.

The words are smeared, sketches and paintings there but ruined by mistreatment, like oil on a canvas. But unlike before, the ruined script made sense, the artwork understood.

And the analogy melts away.

"So, dear, what do you think?" an older woman's voice asks from behind, sharp ears able to pick up every note of timbre from the soothing yet strong tone of Undercommon.

Eyes slide open.

An oddity for the uninitiated. Shadows hold nearly no sway over mul'neissa, as the casted umbras from lights behind the standing mirrior were not shadowy depths, but instead colorless features.

Which, such mirror had its own features. Framed in a simple silver along its edges stands a young mul'neissa girl, perhaps no more than nineteen. A braid of moon colored hair threaded with crimson and black ribbons rested over her shoulder, a pair of milk colored eyes scanning up and down along her attire. It in matching hues of black and crimson, the dress simple, yet inexplicably ornate in how it hangs off one shoulder and terminates at the calf in a slit.

"Hmmm..." Now that was an odd sensation to feel after so long. A vibrating in the throat. The teenager in the mirror opens her mouth, a proper speech leaving her, practiced and poised. Middle in its pitch. "I feel as if this is lacking something... extra. Like an errant stroke of a brush on a canvas that ties it all together," she points out, straightening her already practiced posture.

Aryia, during all of this, is stunned in the quasi-dreamscape. A shaking voice could be heard, sourceless. "... i...i-i-is that... t-t-that me..?"

Verna is just a facilitator, an observer ... and, possibly, an advisor. She engaged the memory, and now observes it. Only afterwards, folwing the query, does she comment. "This is not a memory of my own," she notes in a similar sourceless voice, "though the general situation is not unfamiliar."

There is confusion that comes from the normally mute woman. "... wait, how did you hear tha- oh, shit. Uh... uh... this is too fucking wei-"

More is happening, the perplexion halts as all attention affixes to it.

Milky eyes, lacking their glow, glance up, past behind herself to the figure beyond.

A taller mul'neissa woman, firmly in her second century, gives a small nod. Their hair was of the same hue as the teenager's, yet deep violet eyes didn't get passed down. Dressed just as properly, and with the same poise, she aligns a hand on the teen's bare shoulder. "Why, Zilstrae dear, you might be right," she intones with a warm smile. Heels clack as the matron steps out of the view of the mirror, the memory focused on critiquing whatever it was Zilstrae was wearing.

"Xarann should be home any moment, I think he would approve," the mother's voice mentions from off to the side.

"I do not see why father wouldn't," Zilstrae quips in that teenage manner.

The sensation that comes from the mute woman is... so wholly complicated that it is difficult to put to words. There is a spike of adrenaline. A fight or flight response from this whole situation. Yet instead of either of those options being chosen, a third choice is made. Freeze.

And watch.

Verna returns to full observation as the memory continues, falling 'silent.' The mul may well react strongly, thus Verna focuses upon the details, lest something be overlooked in the emotions of the moment. Information is gleaned, indead.

This does not mean that she ignores Aryia, nor its impact. She attempts to console, comfort, and/or calm Aryia as the scene unfolds. Whether to minimize interruption or due to her own recently-relayed memory, she does this with a (possibly) assuring squeeze of Aryia's hand.

There are many details that Verna can gather from the edges of the memory's vision. Fine curtains of silk hang beyond. A gilded writing station. A few... symbols strewn about. Magruim and Taara, none too surprising.

A soft laugh echoes in the room, the clack of heels returning to stand behind the young Zilstrae. Both arms drape over her daughter, and a brooch is pinned to a crimson sash tied at the waist. One of a side profile depicting a chained cockatrice superimposed upon a broken shield. "You know how he is, appearances and all that," she chuckles, fussing with the clothing. "Are you ready for the gala?"

The kid huffs, frowning some. "I still feel it is a waste of ti-"

Still frozen. The hand was trembling in the material. The memory was being dredged up. Anxiety building. Something was coming. The feelings were there. Aryia returns the squeeze as if its her only anchor.

The setting appeared to add more weight to Verna's hypothesis on Aryia's general past. The poise, patterns of speech, the finery. Names are noted more than ornamentation as a 'gala' adds more confirmation. Would it be inconsiderate or insulting to Aryia were Verna to prefer to be proven incorrect?

Still, her role or roles in this remain. As before, she does not interrupt, even with the sense of building tension. A negative event is implied by the present; expected at some point, regardles of details of origin. Dependent on the timing of their observation...

She simply maintains the hold in the prime material in attempt to serve as that anchor.

The memory continues as the hand is held tight in Aryia's grip.

Sharp ears pick up the sound of muffled running, the memory swinging around to a set of large double doors in the bedroom as they slam open.

Stumbling in was a wide eyed, one armed mul'neissa man, his milky gaze flicking around before landing on the duo. A piece of paper is clutched in his singular hand. Crimson hair a tossled mess and his suit in disarray. "K-Khalees! Zilstrae!" he gasps.

"Xarann..? Honey, is.. something the matte-"

Confusion bubbles up from the teen in the memory, her glancing between both the parental figures. "T-The deal it... i-it fell through...!" Xarann shares shakily, his voice growing quiet as he drew closer to the two ladies.

The confusion grew tenfold for Zilstrae, the memory's gaze flicking between a distraught father, and a paling mother.

"... Taara save us..." the matron murmurs out, her grip tightening on her daughter's shoulder.

And then the oil smeared book closes.

In the material, Aryia's face is locked aghast. The blazing eyes quenched, two solid streams having crested her cheeks and empty at her jaw. Shadow falls from where they drip, splashing out in small plumes in her lap. Parted lips tremble amongst paled grey skin as their joined hands betray the overwhelming shock of the dredge.

Shock. Loss. Mourning. These are the states Verna is most accustomed to encountering others within. Even after the book closes, with senses and presences fully returned to the here and the now, she remains as she was: a silent anchor point. The primary difference is that she now watches Aryia with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

There's nothing that Aryia does for a solid... minute. Or two. Aside from the drip drip of shade from her jaw and the trembling in her frame. Slowly, she breaks her petrification, her looking to her hands, then slowly smoothing her jacket out, running a hand through her hair until there was no more thread. But kept going like there was more. She looks over her shoulder, just like she did in the memory. But no one was there.

So instilled in shock, she forgets to use her hands as a strained, pained wind comes from Aryia. "...m-m-th-r... f-f-f-th-r..." she hisses distraughtly in her native tongue, gripping at her shirt over her heart. So many foreign emotions dusted off. So, so many at one time.

The mul appears to be about... Ten seconds away from having a mental breakdown, were the increasing drip of umbra anything to go by from her arms and face. <Undercommon>

"Continue to breathe," Verna reminds. It is still important. "Focus upon inhalation and exhalation." Whether or not Aryia was able to, or allowed to, process this information in the past, she has little option but to do so, now. An aspect of which Verna did warn her, though she does not remind her of that fact at the moment. "There are no others here and now." Whether assurance of no threat or confirmation of loss, it is a simple truth.

Stimuli. Something to rake against the disturbed pools. A long ear twitches. Just as the shade starts to become a plume, there's a sharp gasp.

.... i-i-in....

Out...

Aryia finally perceives Verna, the drip of shade slowing as she reaches her hands out towards her. "... p-pl-s-..." she hisses, the pugilist's worldview firmly cracked.

The Mourner is, indeed, the only one there.

"I am here," Verna notes the obvious, offering hands as available to accept or otherwise support those reaching. "It can be too much to burden at once. Do not attempt to. You do not need to."

Aryia takes the accepted hands in a different manner. She slides past them, her nearly collapsing into Verna as she buries her face into the willowy robe and strong arms wrap around the Mourner. With the shock shattered and the despair destabilized, the mute goes for a more healthy outlet; she silently sobs. Just letting the burden wash over her.

This is another situation that is not so unusual for Verna. In many regards, Aryia is no different, now, than any other who grieves for family lost; hers is simply much delayed. Thus Verna is hugged, and remains firm as much as she's able. There is not so much of her beneath the robes, and what is there is rather soft when compared to strong or even wiry.

One key difference in this instance from others is that Verna was somewhat intimately involved in the event or, rather, the recollections prior. She was not present in the past, though the sharing did make it seem as such; perhaps as real to her as it was to Aryia. She reaches around to complete the embrace and simply hold the fullblood in return. There are any number of possible logical reassurances to offer, but she chooses to simply remain silent, now.

It's some long moments before Aryia is in any sort of shape to converse. The passage of time was a blur as the dark sky. For what the mul'neissa cries for? It's uncertain. Is it the sudden, crushing reality that one's parents were someone kind? Was it for the life that was once lived? Or the answers that only spawned a dozenfold more questions? It's uncertain, but what is, is that she cries.

Pulling away, slowly, her face a mess and eyes a dim flicker comparison to what they were once before, Aryia wrings her hands as she takes her seat back. Her face sullen and emotionally exhausted. "Thank you..." is flashed somewhere in the nervous tick. <Handspeech>

"You are welcome," Verna responds without breaking the stillness. "I dislike that the truth of the past is painful, but you hold the right to know the truth of it." A pause before she adds, "It would have been best had I found the first memory last.." Truth? Tease? Jest? Fingers are always deadpan.

"I just.. don't know. I-I need to process all of that. I-I can.. remember it now..." Aryia shakily replies in the pause, her halfway to reaching for her journal in her jacket before pausing at the addendum.

The strange thing with emotions is, they get all sorts of jumbled up when stress was so high. So a silent bark of laughter cuts through the gloom before her face tinges red. A welcome change of topic. "... yes... I would have liked to end on that note. That was... um... my..." she searches for the word, hands circling the air. "... girlfriend." <Handspeech>

Verna nods, appearing more relaxed with Aryia's shift. "I inferred that are quite fond of her." Emotional context from the memory made that rather unavoidable. While relaxed, she does not quite share the laughter nor ruddy hue.

In fact, her lips purse at a thought, or concern. They remain so before she inquires, still in overly-proper, stiff, and now somewhat hesitant signs, "If I may ask... How did you know? When did you know? ... What process did you both use to determine your relationship?"

Aryia gives a shy, if muted, smile, her looking off to the side and rubbing her neck. The journal does get pulled free from an inside pocket and is placed upon the table for later. The topic was so nice to speak of after all of that. "I am... quite fond of her..."

Then there's a bunch of questions thrown her way. The elf blinks, her smile softening. "... would you believe you are not the first person to ask me such things?"

She shakes her head. "Slow yourself, please. I'll answer, I promise. Just, is this about that elf I saw? In the red?" <Handspeech>

Verna is mildly surprised by the call to slow, though heeds it. If she is not the first to ask Aryia for such information, this suggests that the mul is a valid source of said information, does it not? "Yes." The base answer straightforward, unlike the remainder. "I am uncertain of my thoughts of her, or her thoughts of... anyone."

Aryia softly sighs, her pulling up her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. She looked exhausted, but the conversation was giving her fuel. Her smile strengthens slightly. "I could feel how you felt when you were with her. Is that how you feel when she is around? Or when you see her?" <Handspeech>

A single nod and a single sign. "Yes." Lips then purse in uncertainty. "Perhaps. I was only with her on a few occassions. Most of which involved on or the other returning from death." Verna being a Mourner might make that statement seem less odd. Possibly. Maybe? Perhaps not.

"I did not think much of it and had not encountered her for some time. Until the day before yesterday. It was surprising."

Yep. Aryia knew that stage. It was how she felt with her other early on. "Sounds like you caught some feelings for her, and didn't realize you were somewhat fond of her until she came back. It... reminds me of when I would see V-I-O-L-E-T. Violet.-" She spells it out first, then shows the sign for it, a modified version of the color 'purple'. "Like everything was okay while they were around."

The full blooded mul'neissa's eyes slowly grow brighter in luminosity. "I knew I had caught feelings for her when I realized my mind was wandering, and it would always wander back to her." <Handspeech>

Verna nods anew as she listens, to acknowledge that and convey her understanding. "It is not something with which I am accustomed." Yes, even her signing is especially, overly formal and/or proper. "What of her? How best do I investigate where her thoughts dwell, if at all? It seems most simple to directly inquire..." Yet there is an unspoken hesitation implied, leaving the statement unfinished.

It takes Aryia a moment to understand the proper signs, as hers were a lot of slang and variations. But, she silently chuckles behind a hand. "As... nerve wracking as it sounds. You tell her how you feel. When I told Violet that I was fond of her, she told me that 'no one was closer'. My sister told me that you shouldn't hesitate for things you truly desire. It's a bit... heavy handed, but I get what she meant."

The elf smiles warmly, for different reasons now. "How can you not know if you do not tell this elf you enjoy her presence? And you wish to see her more often? You ask directly. Ask if she wishes to do the same. And if they do... well. That's it. That's all you need to do." <Handspeech>

Verna listens, or rather 'reads' the response to her queries with some interest. A nod. "I understand. It is an efficient and entirely logical approach..." The hanging pause implies a caveat to it, however, illogical or impractical as it may be. Her lips purse and she eventually acknowledges and repeats the mention immediately prior, "Nerve-wracking, as you say."

Aryia snerks weakly, her pressing her palms into her eyes to be rid of dried tears. "And what is making you hesitate? You are a woman of logic. I can see myself breaking down from the nerves, because, uh, well, I did. But you seem more put together about things than me." <Handspeech>

Verna straightens up in her seat, as if to confirm Aryia's assessment, even as she considers the comment and inquiry. Further, she chooses to reply with gesture and sign. "I -am- a woman of logic. Logic and truth are the most efficient and successful paths, in my experience." A pause before she expounds, "That does not imply that I do not have doubts, concerns, nor any other emotion."

Aryia rubs at her neck. "Right..." she slowly motions with one hand, underestimating others as her mind was still all sorts of jumbled. One part trying to give advice, another wanting to pick away at the mountain of information that was dredged up from the decades past. "And what doubts are you having?" she requests. <Handspeech>

Verna's lips purse and her hands delay before they respond. "That I prefer logic does not guarantee that she does, or in the same regard. I might offend her. I do not wholly understand my own feelings, thus I might confuse or mislead her in some way. I ..."

Another pause as she considers. Analysis is nothing new to her, though self-analysis is hardly common. Her expression deepens to a frown. "She may simply be uninterested. There is no guarantee that the truth will be pleasant." That this truth was recently pointed out is not lost upon her, though it makes it no less valid.

Aryia shifts a bit, her scooting forward on her chair to watch the sharp and formal signing. A small sigh, her setting her feet back down and smoothing her hair back. Her hands are still for a moment or four, her watching the rain drum against the glass. "... there is no guarantee the truth will be unpleasant either," she logically retorts before shaking her head. "Look, Verna. This sort of thing is hard to understand with logic and reason. For me, when I told Violet, I was so nervous. I thought she would hate me. A Charn mul'neissa. I wasn't sure if she even had the same interests. But I overlooked all the time she spent with me, and how we grew so comfortable with it being just us two."

A cycled breath. "So. If she enjoys your presence so much, and from what I saw in that memory, she seemed to be rather... close, physically, to you. Just ask if she'd like to spend some time with you, just the two of you. Over tea or... something. Nothing about work, or your duties. Or hers. Just the two of you. You may think you are boring, but she may not think so." <Handspeech>

Verna nods once more; she cannot fault the wisdom of Aryia's words, in general, and sought her advice, more specifically. It could well be that her lack of experience and skill in such matters is complicating even conversing with others on the topic. She exhales, inhales, and then speaks. "Thank you for your insight and advice,and I will follow it. It is entirely possible that I ... over-analyze the situation. I simply wish to make the interaction as positive as I am able."

Afterwards, she adds, in her stiffly-articulated gestures, "My apologies for so many questions when you must already hold so much to digest."

Aryia gives a chuff, her shaking her head with a small smirk. Her exhausted still, but feeling a bit better due to feeling like she helped out. "Perhaps. I overdid it as well. It's okay if it doesn't work out. And if it does, you won't live with the regret of not acting on it. Just be yourself. Like I said, you may see yourself one way, but she may see you differently. Hopefully for the better."

The elf sighs and her shoulder sag, her turning towards her placed journal to silently scribble a few, languid strokes of scripture down. "It's okay. It... was nice to think about instead of.. whatever the fuck that memory was."

Her eyes settle on the words. Words... names. In Undercommon.

"... I don't know how I remembered how to write that. And... is... that my... name...?" she slowly signs before pointing to the first name. Her face a complicated mix of emotions. <Handspeech>

Verna may be glad for the shift in topic back to Aryia for similar reasons. She leans to regard the page and the writing upon it, then nods. "I believe that was your name in the memory. How you prefer to be addressed is entirely your prerogative." She concurs, yet also notes what she believes is a pertinent distinction, along with, "As an example, I chose to forgo my House surname once I emigrated."

Aryia shifts on the chair, looking at the word. "... I. Don't know... I don't even remember my family name. I might have to think about it for a bit." She mouths the name. Zilstrae. It felt... right. Familiar, yet rusty. "There was... a lot of feelings. Weird ones." <Handspeech>

"With that information," Verna suggests in sign, "we could readily determine the House and family name if you wished." Yet another informational note rather than an urged course of action. "Along with the facts, the memory brings all that the experience entailed. It may trigger further memories, and you will need time to incorporate all that you learn."

She pauses for a few moments before noting, "In some facets, our histories in relation to ourselves are somewhat reversed: much of yours you did not recall, and much of mine I would prefer to forget... yet neither of us are merely the sum of our past."

The elf sighs and pinches her brow. "... maybe later we can find that out. I might... need to rest on all of it. Especially if I start to remember more."

Aryia looks up, her tilting her head to the side. "... you are right. I just wish I knew what was adding up to make me." <Handspeech>

Verna considers Aryia a moment before she offers further, "I expect that you are the sum of your experiences, primarily those which you recall. New discoveries can and do broaden and improve us, as we incorporate those as part of our other experiences, or so I believe. Most experiences are encountered over time, so take all that you need to process these are they arrive."

Aryia shrugs slightly, her writing a few more notes down and standing slowly. "Yes, I... know. There is some things about me that happen without my thought. This Celestial stuff, this family stuff, and... a lot. Just a lot."

The elf shakes her head and puts her journal back into her jacket. A pause, then she steps forward to rest a hand on Verna's shoulder. "... thank you. For all your help." <Handspeech>

Verna reaches up to reciprocate the gesture, "And I thank you for yours. Should you have further questions I might aid you with, I shall. As to incorporating what is learned or musings of yourself, I expect that your friend Violet may be quite helpful."

Aryia smiles softly, if a bit weak due to her lethargy, her leaning into the hand for some. "I'll more than likely come back to you after I've sorted all this out..."

Though, now her face tinges red at that. "Yes, she's very helpful. And perhaps your elf friend will do the same for you."

She winks. <Handspeech>

Verna is not brawny, but keeps the hand there as a moment of support, rising from her chair to help support it physically. She supposes that the return mention is only fair, though perhaps optimistic from her view. Not that optimism is a negative, if the light curl of smile the thought draws. "The best of fortunes upon us both."

Aryia gives a proper grin, the light in her eyes returned. Her breath even. "And you as well."

She nods, pats the shoulder, then quietly leaves.

A cursory glance out the door would reveal that she was just simply gone.

-End Scene-

OOC Chatter

<OOC> Verna skims logs and realizes Aryia may know said elf. <OOC> Aryia says, "she does?" <OOC> Verna corrects, "May have been in RP with said elf, rather." <OOC> Aryia scans as well <OOC> Aryia says, "ah, yeah, in that very crowded scene" <OOC> Aryia doesn't think aryia would recall them, tbh. She was a bit busy flirting with Venom. <OOC> Verna laughs.