sixthiterationlogs | Nida, With A Shiny White Band

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

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'd love to have padded weapons, but there is the same problem with weight issues. And I know nothing about working with leather or any of that so this... this is the best I know how to do until I can figure out who to work with for some of this. Granted, my own training back in the day involved live blades from pretty early on."

From his understanding that isn't exactly something that most people are good with and probably not the way to take it here. Plus he has no intention on trying to enforce that with other people instructing here. Still, a wooden baton was better than nothing. And, of course there was one simple rule of combat training that Nida had always held to.

Pain is the best teacher.

"Just because your training started with live blades doesn't mean the others would be comfortable with it," Brigitte reminds him, but gently, taking his words at face value. She doesn't know all the specifics of a childhood at Garden, but she's gathered... enough. "I mean, my childhood involved accidentally burning myself on hot metal because I got started working early, too. But my goal is just to get people used to combat in the first place, with stuff they might be able to find lying around. Some of these villagers started off as office workers back home. Not everyone is even used to taking a punch."

Not everyone was like them, in other words.

Which was a thought he'd already had, but he wasn't going to voice that. Really, it would sound like he's arguing, and he doesn't want to do that. So he smiles graciously as he takes her comment. That works for him.

"Part of why I use polearm styles is because, even with a shortened weapon, the principles are such that they can be improvised onto a good variety of lengths of wood. It was an easy thing to improvise. Granted, that isn't all my style was, but it was useful. Clubs would suit that well as well."

With that he moves from where he was, walking toward a closet off to the side, inviting her to follow him. Ignore the limp please. Soon he's got the closet door open to show how meager of a collection of starting weapons they have, and all wood.

"We're going to have to take time to get up to something suitable. But with actual clubs I would want to know if you'd just be starting them with a feel for weight or size, or if you want to go straight for having to deal with something with a strange weight on the end, more like a maul. If it's that, I'll start trying to find ways to get padded things together post-haste. Sometimes people really underestimate the sheer force that is amplified with a lever. It's distressing how casually I've seen some people swinging bo staffs around."

Brigitte follows him, intrigued as they poke their head into the closet. She's mostly just been focusing on her own workouts here, and strength training with Maine; she hasn't had much of a chance to size up the dojo's actual resources, particularly the new things Nida's added.

"Since you specialise in polearm styles, I can go ahead and specialise in weighted weapons. They're what I'm a bit more experienced with, too -- I fought with a mace back home." A beat. "Actually a mace-slash-flail, but I'm not giving a flail to newbies."

Talk about levers and the risk of harming yourself when swinging something around.

"Oh Hyne no. Please don't. I need to figure out how to get my green back first, and get the first aid area set up before that," Nida says, actually horrified at the idea of a flail around here.

Doesn't hurt that one of the scariest person he knows uses nunchaku sized such that you could basically call them an exaggerated flail and... and she made that terrifying.

"Oh, you're green? That's really useful! And on that note, actually--" She waves her wrist at him, gesturing to the light grey band. "I'm a medic, kind of, and I can take away people's pain. So I can help out with the first aid area too, if you ever need. I'm usually just down the road at the smithy."

"Normally, but..." Nida holds up his wrist, and yeah, the device is white. As for the rest, Nida frowns. The gray band, and pain.

Rinoa. Oh dear Hyne.

"What does it do, exactly?" Nida asks, horror in his eyes.

Brigitte tilts her head at that strong reaction. There's clearly some context she's missing here, but she goes ahead and explains, "It takes away someone else's physical pain or emotional pain, and you take it on for them. Like, it transfers it from them to you?" It wasn't exactly pleasant, but she could still understand how she'd wound up with that ability. Her whole goal in battles back home, after all, was to field the hits for her teammates to protect them.

Then, "Why do you ask?"

"Rinoa doesn't deserve that," Nida whispers, shaking his head. After all she's been through, it's not something he can handle. She doesn't deserve it at all. Remind him not to touch her skin to skin for a while, because he doesn't want her suffering under his pain.

"I have a friend who is gray. She's been through so much that she doesn't... She deserves better things."

Is it Rinoa? feels like a too-blunt and nosy question, even for Brigitte, so she bites down on that instinct. (Still, though, she can pretty well guess. She's seen the colour of Rinoa's band, too.)

"If it makes you feel any better," she offers, "it's not on all the time. Like any ability, you can like... control when it turns on. When you want it to happen. The first couple times I ever triggered it, it was a total accident and I had no idea it could even be done. Then I started getting a better sense of it, and how to switch it with effort. Practice makes perfect."

It still wasn't entirely reliable, but she wasn't going to tell him that, of course, having seen how much the idea upset him.

"That doesn't mean the pain has to be there, that is has to be taken," Nida counters.

She would, for him, he fears. The pain and agony that came with the knowledge of all he'd repressed. All the pain he'd been hiding from all his life. For his own good. Would still be good for no one to have to handle that pain.

"Like it did with me for green. Still, doesn't mean I feel like that burden should be on people. It's a strain, to take the pain of others. And just because pain goes away doesn't mean the source of it is gone. Take away the pain from my ankle and I'll just make the injury worse."

"Agreed, actually." Her agreement came quickly enough; evidenced, too, by a quick glance down at his ankle. "Of course you still need to deal with the root cause of it. But for what it is worth, it's not permanent? It's not like it's erasing every single bad sensation, forever. But, just for a little while, you help them carry it. So they're not alone. You lift a little bit of the weight." She's thinking of Thor, now; remembering how his shoulders loosened, the relief that had cleared his brow, a weight he hadn't even fully realised he'd been carrying. That bittersweet sensation knifing through her afterwards: feeling that echo of his pain rippling right through her, even as she was warmed by the sensation of helping. Having helped.

"I like the ankle metaphor. But I also think of it more like... a temporary painkiller? You need those, too. You can't rely on them permanently, but you also can't heal if you're too blinded by the pain to function. You can treat both the symptom and the cause. Do both.

"I won't lie, it can feel really shitty. But it's what you do for friends. And if it's a burden taken on willingly, and shared..." Brigitte shrugs a shoulder.

Of course, though, she's one to talk. That gleam of grey at her wrist means she's at a rather high risk of overburdening herself, too. She automatically justifies how it works because that's how her mind ticks; somehow, the Observers knew that when they clamped this particular wristband on her.

How much is that true when the cause of your pain is the father of the person taking the pain? No, it's not fair and he shakes his head. "I think I'm not a fan of that particular sort of trick here. Especially when the ones who can take it are the ones who already carrying pain."

Which is why he's definitely going to avoid contact with Rinoa. Physically. He's already avoiding the emotional connection with her pretty heavily.

"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.)

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."

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.

"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.

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.

"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."

"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."

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

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