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

If there's any adult who's going to understand, it would be her, but he's got no way of knowing that, does he? As it stands, she waits patiently for him to determine his answer--or, rather, to answer whatever question he's asking himself silently as he considers both her and his response. Her own is perfectly conversational, eyes focused downward on her work, on making sure the stitches are small and neat. The patch will be more durable that way.

"Not a type of weapon many people choose to specialize in. That a preference based on the technology of your world, or just a personal choice?"

"Well, I hate guns for one thing. I have tried out a number of weapons, but given the fact that I had to face monsters and when I started training I was small and the leverage was useful, it seemed reasonable."

Not that it's all he knows. His sword work is passable at best, his hand to hand functional to serve most situations with less trained people. But really, the weapons were useful for monsters. Great for scales and cutting off limbs.

"Guns can be useful, but too many people get reliant on them. Lazy, I suppose," she answers, although she looks up at the rest of his answer, green eyes assessing. He's dancing around his words pretty well. Must be more than a few people who've judged him based on his history already. "Makes sense, if you started young. Aside from projectiles, polearms are probably the next best thing to keep whatever you're fighting at a distance, assuming you can move fast enough and know how to balance it." She hadn't gotten a choice in her own weapons training; hand to hand combat starting at eight, escrima at nine, knives and firearms at ten.

"I always preferred closer combat with smaller weapons. Easier to maneuver."

"I mean, I've learned knives for basic protection, some passing hand to hand. But for closer ranges..."

The twitch of a wrist and a long piece of wood, not so different from an escrima stick. "Tanbo. Pretty effective itself."

Not too different, and yet they're not at all alike. But, for once, she's just taking the whole thing in stride. Which makes Nida relax just a tiny bit. Because he's learned those most likely to accept it at face value are those who have been through something similar enough to get it. HE doesn't, of course, argue about the whole fast enough and balance to make it through things. Clearly he knows a bit of those to have survived to his age.

There's a definite gleam of interest in her eyes as she sees the tanbo in his hand, and she lifts one of her own in request. "Do you mind?" She'd love to check out the balance and weight; as much as she appreciates the Observer gift of the two weighted batons strapped to her thighs, they aren't quite what she's used to. If she can get something a little closer to familiar, she definitely would appreciate it.

"I do fine with knives, but back home I've got a pair of collapsible batons for hand-to-hand. I've got these for the moment, but they're far from ideal." It wouldn't be fair to ask for one of his weapons without offering one of her own in turn, and she pulls one of the carved wooden batons from its holster, offering it to him grip-first. The metal core gives it a little more heft than one might expect, but it's still a fairly light instrument.

At least she had the batons gifted by the Observers. Nida had to make these by hand. He flips the weapon easily in his hand before holding it out to her. Clearly it's made to a specification, to his specifications. To his needs. As long as his forearm, perfect for hiding under clothes, and clearly strapped in place. And of course he takes hers as well to inspect.

The weight gets an appreciative look from him, and he smiles, spinning it through his hands happily. Very lovely. Still not what he's prefer, because he prefers metal, but he works with what he has.

"Nice," he says appreciatively, twitching the other arm so that his second tanbo settles into his hand, and up close it's easier to compare them. Interesting. Just wishes he could get himself a metal core. Or just metal. "I bet you're real good with these. Got to respect someone who is good with the low-tech solutions."

It's definitely a bonus, though she's honestly not sure what it says that this was in that third box she'd received. The first had been full of books; the second a full warmup outfit from her ballerina days, and the third, these two batons and the leather holsters strapped to her thighs. All in all, she'd have preferred her asps, with or without the electric current, but looks like whoever's keeping them here prefers to keep the weapons as archaic as the setting.

Natasha balances the tanbo in her hand, turning it over, giving it a quick flip with a deft motion of her wrist, the practiced hand of one who knows how to use what's there before nodding her approval of his own handwork. "I'd better be," she answers easily, a smile playing over her lips. "Spent too many years practicing to not be any good. How good are you?" Not disbelieving; more assessing, wondering if he'd be willing to go a round or two. She hasn't had anyone to really push her with these yet, and it could be nice to get some practice in.

"Good enough to see how you move and be afraid," Nida admits. It's quiet respect for her, and he isn't afraid to admit it. Is that good enough? "Maybe, when my ankle is better, you can kick my ass and we'll see how I measure up."

Because frankly, she looks good and she's older than him. Which means experience should put her ahead of him, no matter how hard he worked growing up. But he does seem excited at the idea. Because someone who can understand the basics of these weapons is nice.

She looks at him for a long moment at those words, but the look in her eyes isn't pitying or skeptical or offended or any one of the dozen different kind of looks any other adult might give someone younger who'd say those words out loud to them. Instead, it's just...thoughtful. Considering. She doesn't bother telling him he's wrong, or that he doesn't need to be afraid. They're just words. She knows better than most how easy words are, how little they mean.

"Sounds like a plan," she answers instead, and there's the faint touch of a smile on her lips. "I don't get many people willing to go a few rounds, at least not many with a similar skill set. I've been teaching Peggy, a little, but there are some things you can only really teach when your student's young enough to not have anything to unlearn." He seems like the sort to know that well, if she's read the room correctly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Nida says thoughtfully when Nat puts the idea forward. "I tend to train kids myself. Prefer to start with them at ten, but there's only so much you can do when someone realizes a weapon class doesn't suit them and transfers in."

Younger is better for making warriors. It's not quite the same truth as how you make a good archer, which is to start with their grandfather, but she's not wrong about there only really being some things you can learn young. Some reflexes need time to settle in. And distrust is less damaging when you learn it young, because you don't second guess yourself about it.

So it's not just him, but an ongoing function in his world. Of course, he could be talking about classes for the sake of learning an art. But given what he'd said to her--good enough to be afraid--somehow she doubts that's the case. "The program I was in was a little more rigorous," she says, turning the tanbo over her fingers once before offering it back to him, taking her own baton back in turn when it's offered. "We didn't get much of a choice as far as weapons training went."

The followup question is just as casual and offhanded, as though she has no investment in the answer. As though they're talking about the weather. "How old were you when you started?"

No doubt. The woman moves like danger, like few people Nida's ever seen, and he's considered a master of his chosen weapons. He respects her without even needing to question it. Why should he?

Still, the casualness of the next question actually catches him off guard. Should he really tell her the answer? For a while Nida considers her, thoughtful and perhaps a touch worried. Things aren't going so bad here. He doesn't know if he wants to change that.

"I was eight when Garden took me in. You start some basic hand to hand stuff then. Weapons training starts at ten if you're there when you're that age. I started with swords and realized it wasn't really for me. Got into polearms at twelve. Tanbo at fifteen. Certified as an instructor in the former after the war, so I was about eighteen then."

She's patient enough to wait him out, sitting there cross-legged by the edge of the mat, hands still slowly moving as they finish the last few stitches on that patch and tie off the ends of the thread. Should be enough time for him to reach whatever conclusion he's going to reach.

In the end, he decides to tell her, and she does him the decency of watching the entire time, hands folded in her lap as he recites ages, specialties, combat, certifications. Garden, he says. Maybe there's something cross-cultural about places that make children into weapons. Call it something innocuous, make it a home, a family. Bring them up knowing only loyalty, obedience, orders. "Sounds like a well-rounded education," she answers, and there's a faint dry humor in the words, something he might catch as familiar. "Weapons training, ballroom dancing--I'm assuming a basic educational curriculum, too, plus a few classes you wouldn't find on your average lists." She shrugs, a gesture that says enough.

"I was six when I first went to the Red Room." It's a part of her she hasn't shared with anyone else. He's a stranger, yes; and sharing with those is still dangerous. But he's still looking at her like he's not sure if she's going to eat him or not, and so.

"More than a few, including magic. But on my world it's... needed. People like us are needed. Sure, we hire out as mercenaries, but a part of that is taking out monsters. Our world has a lot of them," he admits. Of course his specialization wasn't in that sort of thing, not like Seifer. He was intel, he was... well, in a lot of ways he was trained like Natasha. Just not as deeply, just not as self-destructive.

He considers her briefly. That's not a good age to get into things. Like Seifer was. Seifer didn't even have a taste of the outside world. Nida had, though. Briefly.

"Were you an orphan too?"

"I'm sure they're lucky to have you. Whatever services you do provide," she answers. "My world, we're just beginning to learn that normal baseline humans aren't the only things you have to worry about. There was an alien invasion in a major city about eight years ago, and the city is just now recovering. We're still going through some growing pains with how we handle things. It's been...complicated." A delicate way to phrase it, honestly.

Her answer to his question is equally careful, a nonchalant reply that should speak volumes. "That wasn't a requirement for Red Room candidacy. But my parents are dead now." The question also encourages others. "Were you?"

Aliens. Well, in a way that makes sense to him. After all, monsters are from the moon. But that isn't quite the same thing he thinks. And they've done a lot to clean up Esthar since then.

"I think my question answered yours. Yeah, I was. War orphan. Sort of. My parents were killed for being rebels, trying to free my home town. They were also deserters from the occupying army because they couldn't stand how their country attacked my home."

She seems the sort who could handle that information with no problem.

"Sounds like they were admirable people. Trying to follow what they believed in." He's right. She might relate fairly closely to his parents, honestly. After all, why else did she join SHIELD if not to find some way to make up for the things she'd done, the system she'd supported? And what about after the fall of SHIELD, what had she done then? There wasn't anything else to be done, in her eyes.

"It's not always easy, to follow what you believe in, in the middle of a war. Especially when you're trained to be a soldier, and to follow a cause without question." Which begs the question-- "Is that why you're still doing this? To help people?"

Yeah, he gets that whole soldier and training thing. Because Nida gets it. He was a soldier after all. Just a different sort.

"To help people," he confirms. "Danny wasn't wrong, about how this needed. People here should be able to defend themselves. If only. A lot of people don't want to, and I respect that. But those that can and will? They should stay sharp. Because..."

Because something was coming. He can expect it, right?

"Something here stinks."

Natasha nods slowly. He's not wrong about that. There's clearly ulterior motives here, especially with the way they've been lately. That long trip home had made that clear enough. Unfolding her legs, she stands, putting away both her batons and the spool of thread and needle. Standing this close, it's clear she's considerably shorter than Nida, by nearly a full head, but no less intimidating for it.

"Then I guess we should be ready for it. As soon as it shows up." She tilts her head, gestures with her chin to the rest of the room. "This is a good start. If you need help, an extra body to train, let me know. I know someone who'd be happy to help me demonstrate some of the basics, he likes being thrown around." Sorry, Jason. Looks like you're getting recruited.

"Thanks," Nida smiles at her. "You're already a lot of help. I'll definitely keep you in mind."

He considers the mat briefly and then nods to himself as he offers his hand out to her. Shaking a hand isn't too bad, and he is pleased to do so. Then he returns himself off to the process of making more wooden training weapons. Lots of work to do right now, and he's eager for it.

Nat doesn't even look strangely at the offered hand, taking it in a grip that's politely firm. It feels like an agreement. It's good to have something to look forward to, honestly, and to know that there'll be another friendly face around here keeping things going. "Any time. And let me know if you need anything else, too. I've got a line on a few decent resources, here."

With a small flash of a smile and a wave, she'll let him get back to his work while she goes to return the supplies to their place. Still plenty to do around here, and she's not about to waste time.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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seems a good wrap point <3

good to me! <3