Meditative Threads

Eluna's Temple, Sunrise.

A combination of place and time past Aya would have ever expected herself to be, yet here she is. Again. Actual sunrise was perhaps some time past, yet it only now rises high enough to point down over the Redridge immediately to the east and into the valley and the temples therein. The mul'niessan woman is currently seated on one of the many small benches, watching the line of line move along the ground and pushing aside the lingering pockets of twilight.

Another mul'neissa woman was present, Aryia to those that know her, was nearby Aya. Though, she was upon one of the many meditation mats next to the pool of reflection, eyes closed and her legs crossed. Slowly breathing, eyes half lidded as she merely watches the stars in the waters. She was here more for presence than anything. And for moral support for her sister.

Exploring of the city is nothing new. Huian is -not- from here. She is from.... out of town. But yeah, she finds herself in the temple district. Shje knows of the gods, and while some may have local names back home, their concepts and purviews do not change. So it is for Eluna. The seer is venerated by many. It's not that she has a single patron god or goddess, but those who meditate and look inward tend to do so with at least lipservice to the goddess.

And so, she makes her way inside in her crimson and white silks and leathers. Yeah, her outfit is subtle.... all sarcasm intended. But she is not asking questions so much as just wordlessly letting her eyes devour everything.

While this wasn't the deity that Sloan tended to speak to in the quiet times of his life, the butler nonetheless finds himself in the temple this morning. Dressed in his usual work attire of Black linen pants, White tunic and black linen gloves, the butler to the shining chalice enters the temple quietly. Hands folded behind his back, The tall clean shaven man of Aesir descent moves quietly in the morning air, pausing to settle on one of the viewing benches to look out over the pool and those meditating there. Noticing Aya, the butler nods politely and offers a wordless half smile.

Winding like a crescent moon through the sky, Asphodel's hand reaches through her dark hair to pull at the comb holding her hairstyle in place, and it comes down in a simple wave. Similarly, her free hand unties the tassle binding the prayer rug about her proper skirts like an overcoat, and she carefully collects the muslin folds of pearlescent black and white silk to be lain with respect for this evening's meditation. The look on her face is one of peace, but there is a line forming from beauty mark to the edge of her lips that would suggest the dreamspun has also shed virtue and judgment. Neither would appear to have any place in the world of Dreams. Slippered feet make only a soft rustle as the Llyranesi woman strides toward the place where the stars sing in her blood.

Meditation. Introspection. Peace. Aya currently holds none of these, having done too much of one and/or another and not expecting to find the last any time soon. So she notes the others arriving, though her initial response is only to return the nod from Sloan offered her.

Her focus then shifts to Aryia and she leans somewhat in her direction to ask, attempting to keep her volume polite, "Sister... Before we depart, do you think I should write letters?"

A grey ear twitches from all the sounds, Aryia taking a final deep breath In as she looks about the space, taking in those of interest. A couple out of place, she notes, while another seems like they could be a part of the pool itself.

The little interaction between Sloan and Aya is noted before her attention is dragged over to her sister. She stares. A hand raises, and quietly flits about, "To who, Daed? I don't see why not. But don't do that melodramatic shit again like last time or I will beat you with the paper the words are written on." Even if one can't understand the hand signs, the gist is given. And the gist is... crude. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Words. The word sister. Those reach the ears of the Jade Islander Huian. She perks up and turns her head. But she does not move to intrude. She is eavesdropping for sure. But only for a moment before she seeks out a corner where she can find some quiet solitude. And once she finds that, she crouches down to set her pack on the floor, and then withdraws the scabbarded sword from her belt and sets the whole thing on the ground.

She begins slow, patient preparations for meditation, making sure the floor is clear of obstacles, the light is just right. And only after that does she reach for that sword and quietly and slowly slide it free before taking a slow deep breath and beginning with the very start of her kata. Starting at the first tier, the most basic one. One must work their way to the advanced, not just skip ahead.

Watching the interaction between Aya and Aryia from the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth and wrinkling at the corner of his eyes indicating amusement, the butler goes back to watching the pool. Not wanting to intrude on the conversation, he slides a littel further away on the bench. eyes settling on Huian, he watches the brightly dressed patron for a long moment, interest in the clothing and blade apparent.

Unfurling the rug upon the floor so she can both gaze upon the reflective surface of the pool, Asphodel stands back with a smile, already lost in thought, the ivory combs in her hands making a soft susurrus of whispers as she considers her own reflection. But alas, her hand slips, and a comb goes scattering across the well-maintained floor, a shell on the loose, scattering noisily along the smooth, frictionless surface the way all humiliating events tend to unfurl.

That draws a bit of curl to Aya's lips, at least. Now that she has Aryia's attention, crude or otherwise, she responds with gestures of her own. "Yes, him. I just want him to understand... " hand pauses and then resumes with a bit of shrug, "Maybe one day he would actually believe my words again."

She looks away, after, now noticing the shifting red, white, and sword of the one ... practicing? Meditating? Aya can certainly appreciate that method more than others. The skittering comb then draws her eyes from there to it, then back along it's path to Asphodel. "I believe you dropped something..." she informs the Llyranesi. Politely, if bluntly and possibly redundantly.

The initial routine for the swordswoman is something of simple stances. The sword tip moving almost like it was floating in water. The most common mistake people watching make, is assuming that going slow is easier. When extending one's arm out to full extension, blade thrust mimed, is actually quite difficult to do smoothly when one goes super slow. But the routines are not rushed, they are not pushed. Observers may notice that the more she settles into the routine, the more she seems to shed her problems, her emotions, and simply... be.

But after about a minute of the first stage, she steps up to something less focused on basic stamina and begins moving her feet in slow fight steps, footwork one could not help but recognize... followed by the body flowing along with the feet. Attempting to simply flow... not to bounce.

One doesn't pull a sword out in a temple without garnering some attention. The scarred mul'neissa flicks her attention over to the practicing swordswoman, her scowling briefly before-

Clatter clatter clatter. Aryia, still on the floor, turns her attention to the scattering brush. While Aya points it out, the mute reaches out to intercept it on the path and scoops the brush up. She rises slowly, gesturing to Aya, "Write it if it makes you feel better. But perhaps hold them until he believes you. Or, maybe, have someone give them to him if he asks about you while we are out. Just don't pull the same shit again is all."

Keeping clear of the practicing swordswoman, she ambles over to Asphodel, glowing gaze resting on her. The scarred mul holds the brush out to them. <Handspeech/Tongues>

the temple was a lot more lively at this time of the morning that Sloan would have expected. Eyes shifting to the comb scittering across the floor, the butler moves to rise as Aryia beats him to it. Settling once more onto the bench, he adjusts his tunic slightly, picking a bit of lint from the fabric before turning his attention back to the practicing Huian. one knee crossed over the other, sloan folds his hands over the end of the knee and remains silent for now.

"I'm so sorry," Aphodel whispers, partially to everyone, mostly to the inconvenienced conversation she interrupted. She has the wince of someone to whom this occurs frequently, and she accepts the comb with the cupped hands of an apologetic child. "Thank you," She mouths, again, cringing with apology.

There are four tiers of mastery that Huian has completed her training with. Though, one is never truly no longer learning. Each tier of the routine is more complicated and takes longer to perform the meditation routine with. Her moves are still slow, breathing tightly controlled as she pulls her elbow in and across her body before thrusting the arm out again. As she does so, her other arm extends fully behind her to account for balance offset. It is a little surprising, or it could be... with all of her slow-motion moves... a sudden full speed thrust goes before she pauses and goes back into slow motion.

Aryia frowns at Aspodel's apology. White brows furrowed as she hands the brush back. She holds up a palm, indicating to stop. Stop what? Then points to her lips and mouths 'you're welcome'. Her attention shifts down to Asphodel's clothing. Then, a minor glance over to Sloan. Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

She brazenly points to the two of them. "Your clothes," she signs. Even if one cannot understand her, the gist still is relayed from her tugging at her green jacket. "They are well made. Who made them?" <Handspeech/Tongues>

Sloan Watching Aryia, sloan looks down at his clothes for a moment considering before replying. "For my work clothes, I tend to purchase from a seamstress just outside of goblintown. She is good with a needle. For more causal clothing, I give my business to her daughter. She is not as good, but they have mouths to feed, the practice is making her better at her wares, and if bad comes to worse, I have sleeves that assist in covering more egregious tailoring errors." <handspeech>

Aryia raises a brow as the man signs back at her. "I think I who you speak of," she motions back. "I do tailoring work roughly around there. But I don't have a store front like most do."

She examines him again. "I see. The magic is helpful, but it doesn't feel the same." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Sloan Nods quietly and offers a quiet smile. "Mrs. Daniels is her name. Hattie. I grew up down there, she treated me well, so I do what I can for the family. You are right though, I prefer the feel of well tailored clothes." Pausing for a moment, he adds. "I am Sloan. I apologize, I did not wish to interrupt your conversation with your friend." <handspeech>

Aya did not appear to take any offense at the interruption, if she considered it one. She may have been mulling over Aryia's thoughts (or threats), in fact. Though the lingering of the curl to one lipcorner also suggests she is aware of the exchange, mouth and hands otherwise still until now.

"You did not intrude," she offers to Sloan. "Especially not when it is a subject so near her interests. She is rather overdue discussion on something other than my wailing of my woes." Perhaps they both are.

Aryia snaps a finger. "I know of her. Not personally, never met her, but word gets around when you visit the same textile shops." She tilts his head to the side. Ponders, then slowly nods. "I think I've heard of you. I'm Aryia. This is my sister, Aya," she gestures, motioning towards the other mul'neissa. The mute does, however, squint at Aya, and gives her a deserved flick on the arm for that one. <Handspeech>

Looking from one to the toher, Sloan nods. switching back to verbal communication. "It is my pleasure to meet you both." Despite the Aesir features, the accent was a polished Metropolitan Alexandrian one. "I hope the things you have heard of me have been favorable Mistress Aryia, as the things I have heard of your wares have been. Sought after Seamstress despite no storefront. Your work speaks for itself it would seem."

Aya suffers the flick stoically. That spot may be calloused by now. "Well met," she returns the acknowledgement of introduction. "Aryia's efforts are impeccable, in all things," she agrees. "You would need to search far and wide to find any unfavorable words of her." She shifts a few inches further on the bench. "That or ask her sister."

Aryia's visage is an odd mixture of being very proud with a accented tinge of disgust. So, a wide smirk, with a touch of grimace. "I'm glad the things I make get /some/ recognition. To be honest, I've only heard /of/ you, nothing much with it. And... drop the Mistress. Please."

She looks over at Aya, her puffing up with an ego. <Handspeech>

Smiling outright at Aya's statement, Sloan clears his throat. "Always seems to be the way in life though. never a harsher and more loving word than those from family." Looking back to Aryia, Sloan nods once more. "My apologies. Honorifics are a force of habit. Very few people take offense in my off hours to be called Mistress, or Master. Whereas One would not like to know of the societal unpleasantries that might be unleashed on one's employer should I fail to refer to one of the nobility without said-same honorific." Shifting slightly in his seat, the butler adds. "Still though, I shall endavour to refrain."

Aryia shakes her head. "I left that title decades ago, and do not wish to have it again, is all," she allays. The mute looks to Aya, gibing a firm nod at the butler's words. "I expect my sister to tell it as it is. Or, in my case, beat her over the head with the truth."

She looks to Sloan. "The nobles do have a stick up their ass about titles and what not. What is it that you do? You seem... I can't put my finger on it. Like you should be up in the nobility district." <Handspeech>

Grinning now, Sloan looks down at himself in his livery. "I will take that as a compliment Aryia. Truthfully, I was whelped in the Lower trades district. Formerly I was employed as a gentleman's gentleman to Lord Halston's only son Geoffrey. When he decided to join the ranks of the Adventurer's guild and decided it would be untoward for a proper adventurer to have a Valet, I moved my employ to the Shining Chalice where I am now the Butler."

Looking between the sisters, he adds. "And what of yourselves?"

Aryia raises a brow. "I see. Shining Chalice. Telamon runs around in there, if I remember correctly," she mentions. "Do you dip your toes in the adventuring work then?"

She looks to her sister. Nudges her arm with an elbow. Then answers. "I do tailoring between big jobs. But I guess you can call me an adventurer. Though in the loosest of terms. I just punch shit that pisses me off. I don't have a title or anything." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Watching Aryia quietly, Sloan nods and leans a bit closer as he speaks in quieter tones. "Truth be told, I have found myself needing to resort to less than gentlemanly means in the recent past myself." Considering her question though, he adds. "I do from time to time. Lord Halston did sometimes see fitting to send me afield to gether information for him on the goings on around the city and beyond the confines. Master Telamon requires less of my time than my previous position, so I have found myself amongst the ranks of the adventurers from time to time. The stories that come from it are interesting to say the least. In fact, I met a Dragon not too long ago."

Aryia's brows furrow as she listens. "Sometimes you have to. Can't do everything properly. Shit. I'd be strung up by politeness and waiting if I didn't just break what needs be broken. But that's good Telamon isn't taking up all your time."

But that though. That makes her expression shoot up, back straightening. "Wait, what? A dragon? Where?" she asks briskly, excitement lining her gestures. <Handspeech>

Chuckling softly at Aryia's response, Sloan adjusts his posture on the bench once more. "It was about a day out of the gates. Not too long ago. Poor thing had fallen asleep and it's magic had gone awry. found itself trapped in vines. Poor thing had nearly choked to death until we freed it. I was unaware of the fact that it was a dragon until I found myself face to face with it. Very friendly creature to be honest. Grateful that we didn't kill it outright."

Aryia seems to deflate somewhat, her crossing her arms and huffing. Like a child not getting to play with a toy. Or a fighter not getting a personal challenge achieved. "I see. At least you were all able to get them to safety. They can be a great ally to have when helping them out."

She looks Sloan over. "A butler helping dragons out. Shit. Reminds me of when I started out, ducking devils and shit. You aren't just some person's servant, that much is obvious." <Handspeech>

Shrugging slightly, Sloan offers a quiet smile. "We are all of us more than the sum of our parts though Aryia, Are we not? I am a simple servant for the most part. Sometimes I inadvertently rescue dragons. I cannot say I have ever fought a Devil. I did find myself in a magical tower in the Elemental plain of Air more than once though. Extremely interesting time there. There were imps, and books, and Elementals. All of which were homicidal. Including the books. It would seem it once belonged to a magus of some sort. Very old. Interesting statue of Animus in it."

Aryia raises a brow at that story. "... sounds like some shit the Resurectionists would be interested in," she mentions. "But, yes, fair point. We all have a lot about us that makes us stand out, even in a hidden manner. Especially if you're going to different planes of existence and what not. I've only been to two. One was fucking terrible, the second one was weird as shit but was worth it." <HAndspeech>

Grinning once more, Sloan nods. "I believe I can concur. the Plane of Air was as you say 'Weird as shit.' But it was an experience nonetheless. Another adventure comes to mind as well. Also under that same category, though it didn't involve travelling to another plane of existence. A group of us were hired to deal with ghosts in a Tevern down by the docks. the name of the establishment escapes me at the moment." Here Sloan thinks for a moment before continuing on

"We went in and placed coin on the counter. the bar was empty to this point. once the coin was placed, the room filled with patrons, and a rather rousing bar fight ensued. It was quite a 'Dust up' "

Aya doesn't have an intriguing talent or hobby, as her sister does, to speak of between bouts of 'punching shit that pisses her off.' This leaves her content to once more listen and observe. The conversation is not about her, nor need it be, of course.

Some of the discussion of past adventures does spark something of a frown, though she does try to minimize it. Still, it is enough to spark some comment to Sloan with a nod to Aryia. "Not all travel to other realms is pleasant. I would say most is not... and I hope you might never need fight devils or demons or whatever the fiends call themselves."

Aryia snorts at that. "I'd have love to been to a bar brawl. Haven't been in one in quite some time. At least that brawl sounds like it was supposed to happen, yes?"

She looks to Aya and gives a firm nod. "Yes, most places are not pleasant. And stay the fuck away from fiend shit. Trust us. We know," she motions, looking tired at the mention. <Handspeech>

Turning his attention to Aya, Sloan nods in agreement. "A sentiment I share Aya. I have heretofore been content in my life not fighting such things, and pray that it is a part of my life that remains a constant." Shifting his position to look at both of the sisters more comfortably, he adds. "It was never my intention to leave this plane of reality. It just turned out to be what happened. Getting out of that tower in the end proved to be tricky. the tower came too close to a very large storm. We were nearly consumed by it. Had it not been for another group of adventurers and a rather colorful Egalrin diving through the portal to retrieve us, I fear I would not be having this conversation now."

"May your good fortune continue, then," Aya acknowledges Sloan's statements all. "You are here, we are here. There are many things in the past that could have prevented that, but they didn't." Her eyes flick to Aryia. "After one brawl with you, sister, who would be foolish enough to want another? Even drunk fools can only go so far."

"Good," Aryia signs, her hand falling into another with a heavy smack. "Glad you managed to get out of that mess. Just remember that, pulling other folks out of messes can seem rough, but they end up doing the same for you."

She looks to Aya, a brow raising. "You'd be surprised how much pride pack into their backside. There's still dumb fucks that try and take me on in the Colosseum."

She looks back down to the mat, her rolling her shoulders and sits back down on it. <Handspeech>

Nodding in agreement with Aya, Sloan adds. "And yes. the brawl was supposed to happen. I'm not sure of the details, but it would seem that it was a re-enactment of a famous brawl that happened on the site in years past. perhaps the tavern was missing the old days, I do not know. I do know it was a good bit of exercise. Before I took employment as a servant, I was known to take employment as a bouncer from time to time." Looking from one to the other once more, the butler looks towards a nearby window and sighs. "It has been my pleasure to make both of your aquaintances, but I fear I must be off. I've shops to attend before my day starts at the chalice. Some of the masters there have strong preferences on what they will partake in to break their fasts."

Standing quietly, the young looking Aesir offers a stiff, polite bow to both.

Aya takes Sloan's prompt to rise to her feet. First, to return the gesture to him. "A pleasure. Don't let us keep you from your responsibilities. I have a few of my own I should tend to, including finding a meal." That could be another reason for her rise.

The final option may be the simple strething of her legs. "Maybe afterwards, we could see if there are still eager fools in the colosseum today?" This last is asked of Aryia as a brow arches.

Aryia chuckles silently at that. "Shame that I missed a famous brawl. Would have been fun to see it." She quirks her head to the side before giving a light wave. "Nice to meet you," she signs in parting, giving a faint bow of the head in lieu of bowing. "Later."

She looks up to Aya. The offer piques her interested, lips pressing together with an 'oooh'. She pops to her feet, bouncing on the balls of them. "I am down to put some fools in their place." <Handspeech>

Nodding to both once more, Sloan heads out into the street, hands folded behind his back once mroe as he moves at am unhurried pace.

-End Scene-