Nida, With A Shiny White Band - Open and Closed Prompts

[skyward_eyes]

WHO: Nida
WHERE: (Where the post takes place)
WHEN: February 5th - 15th, Closed Mingle on February 9th
OPEN TO: OTA, one Closed Post for now
WARNINGS: Possible Mentions of Self-Harm

---

OTA - Dojo - Taking Over

He was asleep when it happened. Somewhere in the night of the fourth the change happened, a screen that made no sense, the band on the device at his wrist turning white. OF course as it was one of those rare nights lately where Nida had gotten some sleep, he hadn't noticed. Instead, when he'd woken up he'd just found himself... moving. He couldn't stand being still anymore, not with all these people who needed a bit of something to keep them moving after those visions. He skipped breakfast that morning not a mistake he'd make another day and headed over to the empty dojo.

Most of his days are spent in the dojo for the next chunk of days. When he's not actively out talking to others, trying to serve as a support network, he's in the dojo from just before sun up to just after sunset. Sometimes he's sitting on a chair, a knife working over a piece of wood as he cut out the general shape of some practice daggers. Other times he limps damn him for spraining his ankle, it wasn't what he'd meant to do around the edges of the mats to check for any tears or splits he needs to repair. Still other times he regards the empty spaces, mind already building up the ways he can make this place better.

And always, always he calls out a bit cheerfully if someone enters while he's there. Because this space, he has resolved, will welcome all comers. No matter what.


OTA - Around South Village - A Little Luck

You can't always be at the dojo.

Nida had stared at Seifer when he had been told that. Clearly it was not true. Clearly he was more than capable of doing just that. But... Well, he got the point. Being holed up in two places isn't much better than being holed up in one.

So a bit of time every day, usually around the lunch hours, were spent with Nida wandering the village. There were rounds to be made, friends to be found, help to be supplied. And, whenever there was a chance of skin to skin contact, a hand reaching out to touch. Not like people here couldn't use a bit of extra luck.


Closed Mingle - Because You Miss Them - Closed to Seifer, Rinoa, Sam, Billy, Tommy

The boxes show up that morning, just sitting in the kitchen when Nida hobbles in at an ungodly hour. He moves immediately to grab a kitchen knife to cut the first one open. Despite his name being on it, it's full of yarn. He smiles and shakes his head, moving that one aside because he can talk to the others about it later. The next is a larger box, but strangely light for its size. With another few cuts he finds himself pulling out a wok. What in the world could that be...

Somehow he knows what the last box will be. With a quick cut it's open and he starts unloading ingredients into the fridge. Curry. Seems like he had the answer he needed for when and what to cook.

A quick message goes out to the others over the network. He doesn't care how early it is.

Hey nerds, dinner at my house tonight. Red Lamb Curry. Eat at six, come by earlier if you want to help cook. Someone please help cook, I don't want to mess this up.

[OOC: Please see first comment for Mingle, everyone can post their own things under that if they want to interact.]


[OOC: If anyone would like their own closed starter for the first half of this month, please let me know. This is mostly meant to cover Nida through the White part of his Off-Color time.]

Comments

[whipshots]

"Aren't we all, though?" Brigitte offers. "Carrying pain, I mean. But -- I also understand your point. Some people are already carrying a lot, or more than usual, and should not add on more. Secure your own oxygen mask before helping others. It's a pretty important concept."

She might be desperate to help others, but she knew triage. Priorities. If she, the medic, was wounded in a battlefield situation, she'd have to take care of herself before she could even begin to attend to others -- and if that concept applied to physical injuries, it could apply to emotional ones too.

"When it comes to this thing," she taps her wrist, "I would only take on as much as I know I can handle. But not everyone knows their limits. So. Yeah, I get your worries."

(Meanwhile, in the back of her head, that little to-do marked check on Rinoa grew even bigger.)

[skyward_eyes]

Secure your own what?

"Would you even necessarily know how much you were pulling from someone before-hand?" Nida countered. "You can't know, not until you pull at the thread, now much will unravel. How much is left in your hands."

No, it's just... Nida sighs and shakes his head.

"I think that, the weight you have the power to carry, is more a curse than anything else in this place."

[whipshots]

Brigitte's mouth twists into a small, sad smile: a far cry from her usual sunny expression. (But it's actually something of a relief, that she doesn't feel the need right now to plaster on a bright, beaming look when she isn't feeling it. She's been doing enough of that, most days.)

"I agree," she says, and it's one of the few times you'll have caught her admitting it. It's a valuable power, it means she can help her loved ones in such a unique way -- but it's heavy, it presses down on her shoulders and chest sometimes, and it's a risk. Somehow finding that balance of carrying what you can, without your metaphorical back breaking.

She's looking down at her boots now, trying to get herself back on track. Remember why she came here in the first place. "We should probably do some training, huh?" Brig suggests, and her voice comes out lighter than she'd expected. It's a clumsy segue, but she can't quite figure out how to do it otherwise.

[skyward_eyes]

"I always found it's a good way to get the stress out of the system. Make your shoulders stronger, if you're giong to carry the world," Nida agrees, but he seems a bit sad for her. After a moment he offers his hand out to her.

"If you can keep yours in check, I can at least offer you some confidence to cheer you up for the workout. It's sorta refreshing, I'm told."

Because he thinks that lightness to her voice belongs there more than the sad smiles. Reminds him of the underclassmen back home, the young kids who never really understood what they were getting into. He was one of those who was assigned to them in their first weeks, helping them get around, holding them when they needed to cry, talking to them in those dark places between sleep and the morning to get through it. He didn't even realize that it might count as a bit of experience for handling all of this.

[whipshots]

Brigitte typically carries herself with so much purpose, lifting others up, a stalwart source of strength and comfort. So when she runs dry, she runs dry. She’s so accustomed to giving strength to others that she forgets, sometimes, how to keep some of it back. And it’s been inexpressibly hard without her usual support network by her side: no old friend to laugh over familiar jokes with, to lie awake gossiping together, the warmth of her mother pressing a kiss to her forehead, Reinhardt’s hand on her shoulderblades. Instead: a lonely inn bed, listening to the murmur of voices and half-pretending they’re her family.

It wears her down, sometimes.

So the woman accepts Nida’s hand, and after a moment, feels the strange warmth flow into her. Confidence. Motivation. A sense of you can do it. A belief in oneself.

“You know, that isn’t half-bad,” she says as she lets go, marveling and looking down at her hand, the white band on his.

[skyward_eyes]

"It's not," Nida smiles as he takes his hand back. He's happy to be helping her, because clearly she needs it. "And for right now I can give people something a bit better than just defense. Right now people need this more."

After that he backs up into the room more. "Come on, I may not be able to help you work out much, but I can hold the punching bag if you want it."

[whipshots]

"Deal," she says warmly. Cracking her knuckles, already sounding more buoyant. "If someone holding things so you can punch them isn't the mark of a good friend, I don't know what is."