[ priya's regard for her new companions has been a regular oscillation between barely competent agents of chaos and extremely lucky fools with an unexpected depth of compassion. constantly surprising. she's still unsure if her faith is misplaced, if risking everything she's worked towards since the monastery burned was the right choice, but we're past the point of no return.
mistrust and ire for her is healthy, anticipated. if the roles were reversed, priya would've dumped a double agent like her off the first high cliff (or cult tower) available. the attempt at connection, max revealing part of her story like a peace offering, was suspicious at first, then puzzling, now filling up every distracted moment of her attention. she chews on it through the trek to Triboar, her near-death at the hands of Black Earth guards startling her away from it. Once it settles, and Max, again, insists on purchasing a room for her, despite the knowledge priya doesn't sleep, she's left to stew in what she's learned again.
priya was another person entirely the last time someone tried connecting with her. she's forgotten how that's meant to work.
the others retreat to their respective rooms - igi knocked into an intoxicated slumber, jeffy concluded with feeding his new monster it's name and the meat of suspicious origin, and atesh off to... do whatever atesh does at night. priya slips through the inn hall, finding max's room and announces her presence with creaky floorboards and a rusty door hinge. ]
You're awake. [ less a question, more a statement she'd like max conscious for a conversation. letting herself in, priya assumes max will let her know if she's busy or uninterested in socializing. she stands with arms crossed, leaned against a wall, getting comfortable; or her version of comfortable. ]
The cultists who tried sacrificing your mother. How'd you deal with them?
( Max is a smart young woman, but not necessarily a wise one at times. She's got this whole picture in her head of what she wants her life to be — the stories she's read, the epics her mother sings about, those brave heroic adventuring parties who save people and towns and each other. She wants that, and the most important part of the whole thing is the group dynamic. In the songs, these groups become like families. There's trust and bonding and all that shit, which means if they're officially adopting Priya — and it looks like they are — the trust and bonding and shit is a requirement.
She's one hundo percent confident it's going to happen. It's just gonna take some Careful Navigating and a little finesse.
Good news: she's an honorary bard.
As it so happens, Max is awake. Thank god for that, because she hasn't restocked on breakfast wine and this would be a terrible first thing in the morning dead-ass sober conversation. She's posted up on her bed though, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a journal in her lap that she'd been scribbling in — now put on pause to stare at her uninvited guest.
Great question, Priya.
The answer: )
Did they give you a key at the front desk or did you just like... punch the door open?
( Or, more likely, did Max just not lock the door because she grew up in a tavern and she's way too used to the environment? )
[ max did forget to lock the door. she must realize that, because what decent innkeeper would hand out the key to a rando, and wouldn't she have heard a punch? priya watches her, features statuesque.
[ a wry quirk sneaking at the corner of her lips, priya blinks slowly. does she seem like someone interested in the emotional processing of trauma? though maybe she should be.
patiently, she clarifies. ]
What did you do to the cultists?
[ how did she pay them back for the murder attempt, she means, if max managed to get revenge at all. ]
[ Smoke lingers heavy in the sky, ruins of Beliard still smoldering at their backs as Priya and Max keep watch over their camp, their companions snoozing close by. She examines ash and dirt wedged under her fingernails, mind fixated with the massive explosion that decimated the town, the fire priest and warriors they tangled with, the elementals. No sign of Hellenrae coming after them, but things are rapidly complicating regardless.
Thank you, is automatic, distracted. Max's determined sentiment pulls her back into the present to meet it with all her attention. Forgiveness for the incident with Aerisi's spear came quicker than she'd expected, or perhaps she's just used to the word being a curse under Hellenrae's tutelage. Max’s support, the whole party’s trust in her, ill-advised as it may be, stirs emotions Priya'd forgetten she had, catching dry in her throat. The looming threat of the Sacred Stone's wrath clings and haunts, something strangling off words before they can form. Emotion was an evil in the monastery, one to be crushed out with battle and punishment, suffocated in isolation. Atesh’s heartfelt kindnesses, Max’s flares of excitement or frustration, even Jeffy’s glee are more life than she’s felt in the last year or more. Astonishing how much of her was eaten away underground. ]
It took everything in me not to follow the stairs we found below the air temple.
[ the ones earth cultists and monsters poured out of hours later, so, good thing she didn't. Even for all she’s learned from her former master and what was beaten into her in the monastery, total control eludes her. If the others hadn’t been there, Priya couldn’t say for certain if she’d still refrain from storming the Black Earth Temple from below, suicidal as it may have been. If the spear still had its hold on her, certainly. Again, there's Max and the others to thank for that. Debts piling up. ]
You must be eager to hunt these fire cultists down to the last, now that they've crawled out of hiding.
( Max can carry a grudge, she can wield it like a fucking sledgehammer for a few days, but that's it. Eventually, her stamina runs out and her noodle arms protest, and she drops that hammer faster than she picked it up.
They're a party. They're a family. This is what they do, this is what that's supposed to look like. You deal with your shit, you figure it out, and you move on stronger than how you went into it.
So yeah, Max forgives her.
After all, if she can forgive Jeffy's 24/7 bullshit, she can forgive anything.
She considers the supposition. Turns it over in her head as she plays with the decorative weaving binding her pan flute. )
No. I don't want to like... go on a life-long extermination quest, I just...
( She shrugs a shoulder. )
I just want to stop them. Whatever it is they're doing, whatever they're worshiping or trying to make happen, I wanna take away their reason for being what they are.
[ it's strange to feel something like family, and in a way off-putting. losing her master and forest monastery comrades to the earth cult's murderous pillaging hadn't been the first time priya found a family unit crumble around her, leaving her alone. third time's the charm? she's far to pessimistic for that.
though comfort and ease around this odd jumble of characters is slowly creeping in, despite herself. with max in particular, who remains a puzzle, with a seeming ease to flow from one emotion to another and adapt to those around her with all the effort it takes to change a hat. perhaps it's part of her profession. ]
It may be difficult to accomplish that without extermination.
[ not that priya has a crushing need to eradicate these people (though she's of the opinion the world would be better off without most of them), but the fire cultists are unique. ]
They're an... extreme people, even among the other cults.
[ the sacred stone monastery and air temples may have cruelty and violence as a way of life, but even they have some sense of self-preservation above loyalty to the cause.
( Max's expression is grim; she's not above contemplating exterminating them if that's what it takes to put an end to it, but that's a much larger and more consuming undertaking. )
It might come to that, but... I don't know. If you take away somebody's reason for being culty, it might kind of ruin the appeal, you know what I mean?
( Take out the head and the body will wither? Or, if they're feeling particularly suicidally ambitious, gathering up a fucking army and taking out whatever being it is they're worshiping in the first place. Killing it. Really rain on the parade. )
Mostly I just don't want to turn into one of those depressing vengeance wasted life types. They were always a real bummer when they drank at our inn.
[ Priya's eyes squint judgmentally at the description of drunk revenger bros lolligagging around a tavern somewhere. pathetic, and gross. ]
If they had time to drink, they clearly weren't committed enough.
[ it occurs, after a moment, that wasn't the important content she was meant to take from that sentiment. right. priya coughs, rolls a shoulder, and tries again. ]
I understand. It's a wise choice. [ both the strategy, and the intention to avoid being wrapped up entirely in vengeance. unfortunately, couldn't be priya. but we don't have time to unpack that right now. ] The loss of purpose alone can cripple one so consumed by it.
[ Irritation for this woman (what’s her face, priya didn’t deem the name worth space in her memory) and her doting lover boils something in Priya. Max is a stalwart companion, courageous warrior, caring soul, and clearly an adequate bedfellow if the sundry of affairs and regular flirtation is anything to judge by. She’d seemed so very hopeful on the way to the Mute Lute, giddy and nervous. There’s few things Priya’s seen Max allow sincere vulnerability for.
Watching the joy drain for her face when what’s-her-balls senselessly flaunts her girlfriend sparks a simmering, defensive flare in her. A passing drunk bumps her back, and Priya turns from the conversation, long enough to tower over the bum and yank the bottle from his hands. Then, of course, down its contents. She has a plan. And like most plans made by this crew, it’s a bad one. ]
What a precious couple.
[ priya flashes a thin, saccharine smile that doesn’t meet her sharp eyes, narrowed at Cara and her new girlfriend like they’re the next goblin in line to punch a fist through. Her arms wind around Max’s waist from where she stands behind her, dipping her chin to rest on the rogue’s shoulder, at a tilt, leaned against her cheek. She’s draped herself lazily across Max’s back, in the way a leopard lounges in a tree - a twitch away from pouncing down to maul something. ]
You know, Max once fucked the indoctrination out of a cultist. Saved her from ritual sacrifice. [ not exactly how the thing at the tower went, and probably not as sexy as Priya thinks it is. She’s doing her best. The monk lifts a hand, cloth perpetually wrapped over the knuckles (ignore the fraying and dark red-brown stains just slightly noticeable through the earth tone dyed fabric), and trails fingers lovingly through Max’s hair, tucking a few stray strands back into the sweep of her braid, or behind her ear, brushing the side of her neck fondly. ]
As a monk, I swore myself to abstinence, but watching her charm weak kneed enemies and allies into her bed, witnessing her battlefield prowess - [ her eyes slips closed, a reminiscent smile that’s much less fake, ] I simply couldn’t help myself.
[ that’s a lie, there was never an oath of abstinence. Perhaps unspoken in the stone monastery, but nothing beyond violence and pain were allowed there anyway. Cara and her wife-girl-whatever-friend look a more alarmed than they do ashamed or smug or envious, but you know what, Priya will happily accept anxious discomfort and fear in place of… whatever she set out to earn. Good. Mission accomplished. ]
Come, lover, let’s dance. [ straightening up all six foot plus of herself, the arm at Max’s waist tugs her along. If she shoulder-checks Cara a little while dragging Max to a clear spot to dance, well, it’s a crowded tavern and she’s a monk, shoulders like a brick shithouse are to be expected. Once a decent distance from earshot, she turns, looping arms around Max’s waist and fixing her with the same blank expression she wore after yesterday's fight when she said “there’s goblin guts in your hair”. ] I don’t know how to do this, I was banking on you figuring it out.
( So, things were already weird. Coming here, seeing Cara again for the first time in years, meeting her new girlfriend? Totally already weird.
But they only go turbo-downhill from there the moment Priya comes to wind an arm around her waist. She almost goes into some kind of defense mode, the fight center of her brain almost engages, because for some reason her instincts tell her it's a sign that they're about to enter combat. That's probably not PTSD or anything.
Two seconds later, no punching or screaming starts, and only then does she start to realize what's going on here.
Oh, shit. Is this one of those things? Did Priya initiate a Fake Couple scheme?! Is this actually happening? Holy shit. What the fuck. What. Why? What.
Of course she's gonna roll with it, of course she is, she's just not as quick to adapt as she'd been with like. Maybe a little more head's up, or a little less dinner wine.
Fucked the indoctrination out of a cultist.
Well, that's-
I mean, sort of. Not exactly how that happened, but kind of? She plasters on her best smile, though whether it's the weirdness of the situation or the memory of Savra, something makes that smile look distinctly pained. A stranger might not pick up on it, but Cara still knows her well enough even after all these years that she shoots Max a confused look.
Max, of course, doubles down instead of deescalating. Because of who she is as a person. )
Of course, dear, I know how much you love dancing.
( And off they go, with Max boggling over the mere concept of Priya dancing. She's a great fighter, but this is a whole different thing. Max would honestly be less surprised if Priya's arms, like, snapped off in the first six seconds of her attempting to look anything remotely close to free spirited.
Fortunately, Max grew up in a tavern. Max does know how to dance, and so she guides one of Priya's hands to her shoulder and threads fingers through the other, leading her a little deeper into the dancing crowd out of Cara's direct sight line. Just in case she can still read lips like she could when they were teenagers.
Pleasantly: )
So. Hi. Hey. Hello. Um. What the fuck is happening?
[ yes she has initiated a fake couple scheme, and yes, she is very bad at it. there's a reason her deception rolls are garbage. but standing there and watching max sink into sorrow was getting under her skin and making her nerves squirm. it bothered her in an indescribable but deeply uncomfortable way. priya's never been one to closely examine her feelings (or anyone else's).
she's a woman of action. it was irritating, so she did something. irritation gone, problem solved.
except the last irritation is replaced with a new irritation: dancing. were it a kata or some kind of blade dance, priya would be fluid and graceful. but this is music with nonsensical and purposeless stepping about, and she doesn't know the rules, and she clearly didn't think this plan through. most people involved in this activity are drunk enough but managed to stumble along in sync anyway. maybe the key is more booze. where's a bum to steal a pint from when you need it?
eyes glued to her feet, she's scowling down at them and grunts a response to Max's very legitimate question. ]
I don't like your friend.
[ as if that's explanation enough. as if that answers the question at all.
more accurately would be: i don't like how seeing your friend makes you act smaller. i don't like your excitement becoming disappointment. i don't like you being sad.
so here, deal with your socially inept friend demanding your attention and making an ass of herself instead. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for max / featherfails
mistrust and ire for her is healthy, anticipated. if the roles were reversed, priya would've dumped a double agent like her off the first high cliff (or cult tower) available. the attempt at connection, max revealing part of her story like a peace offering, was suspicious at first, then puzzling, now filling up every distracted moment of her attention. she chews on it through the trek to Triboar, her near-death at the hands of Black Earth guards startling her away from it. Once it settles, and Max, again, insists on purchasing a room for her, despite the knowledge priya doesn't sleep, she's left to stew in what she's learned again.
priya was another person entirely the last time someone tried connecting with her. she's forgotten how that's meant to work.
the others retreat to their respective rooms - igi knocked into an intoxicated slumber, jeffy concluded with feeding his new monster it's name and the meat of suspicious origin, and atesh off to... do whatever atesh does at night. priya slips through the inn hall, finding max's room and announces her presence with creaky floorboards and a rusty door hinge. ]
You're awake. [ less a question, more a statement she'd like max conscious for a conversation. letting herself in, priya assumes max will let her know if she's busy or uninterested in socializing. she stands with arms crossed, leaned against a wall, getting comfortable; or her version of comfortable. ]
The cultists who tried sacrificing your mother. How'd you deal with them?
no subject
She's one hundo percent confident it's going to happen. It's just gonna take some Careful Navigating and a little finesse.
Good news: she's an honorary bard.
As it so happens, Max is awake. Thank god for that, because she hasn't restocked on breakfast wine and this would be a terrible first thing in the morning dead-ass sober conversation. She's posted up on her bed though, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a journal in her lap that she'd been scribbling in — now put on pause to stare at her uninvited guest.
Great question, Priya.
The answer: )
Did they give you a key at the front desk or did you just like... punch the door open?
( Or, more likely, did Max just not lock the door because she grew up in a tavern and she's way too used to the environment? )
no subject
we'll pretend to preserve max's dignity. ]
More of a dropkick.
[ sneak attack, naturally. ]
no subject
( She says agreeably, immediately dropping the thread on that whole line of questioning — sudden Monk appearance is way more interesting.
She sits up, closing her notebook around the pencil stuffed between the pages. )
When you say how did I deal with it, do you mean, like... emotionally? Or do you mean literally, what did I do about it?
no subject
patiently, she clarifies. ]
What did you do to the cultists?
[ how did she pay them back for the murder attempt, she means, if max managed to get revenge at all. ]
on watch outside beliard
Thank you, is automatic, distracted. Max's determined sentiment pulls her back into the present to meet it with all her attention. Forgiveness for the incident with Aerisi's spear came quicker than she'd expected, or perhaps she's just used to the word being a curse under Hellenrae's tutelage. Max’s support, the whole party’s trust in her, ill-advised as it may be, stirs emotions Priya'd forgetten she had, catching dry in her throat. The looming threat of the Sacred Stone's wrath clings and haunts, something strangling off words before they can form. Emotion was an evil in the monastery, one to be crushed out with battle and punishment, suffocated in isolation. Atesh’s heartfelt kindnesses, Max’s flares of excitement or frustration, even Jeffy’s glee are more life than she’s felt in the last year or more. Astonishing how much of her was eaten away underground. ]
It took everything in me not to follow the stairs we found below the air temple.
[ the ones earth cultists and monsters poured out of hours later, so, good thing she didn't. Even for all she’s learned from her former master and what was beaten into her in the monastery, total control eludes her. If the others hadn’t been there, Priya couldn’t say for certain if she’d still refrain from storming the Black Earth Temple from below, suicidal as it may have been. If the spear still had its hold on her, certainly. Again, there's Max and the others to thank for that. Debts piling up. ]
You must be eager to hunt these fire cultists down to the last, now that they've crawled out of hiding.
no subject
They're a party. They're a family. This is what they do, this is what that's supposed to look like. You deal with your shit, you figure it out, and you move on stronger than how you went into it.
So yeah, Max forgives her.
After all, if she can forgive Jeffy's 24/7 bullshit, she can forgive anything.
She considers the supposition. Turns it over in her head as she plays with the decorative weaving binding her pan flute. )
No. I don't want to like... go on a life-long extermination quest, I just...
( She shrugs a shoulder. )
I just want to stop them. Whatever it is they're doing, whatever they're worshiping or trying to make happen, I wanna take away their reason for being what they are.
no subject
though comfort and ease around this odd jumble of characters is slowly creeping in, despite herself. with max in particular, who remains a puzzle, with a seeming ease to flow from one emotion to another and adapt to those around her with all the effort it takes to change a hat. perhaps it's part of her profession. ]
It may be difficult to accomplish that without extermination.
[ not that priya has a crushing need to eradicate these people (though she's of the opinion the world would be better off without most of them), but the fire cultists are unique. ]
They're an... extreme people, even among the other cults.
[ the sacred stone monastery and air temples may have cruelty and violence as a way of life, but even they have some sense of self-preservation above loyalty to the cause.
no subject
It might come to that, but... I don't know. If you take away somebody's reason for being culty, it might kind of ruin the appeal, you know what I mean?
( Take out the head and the body will wither? Or, if they're feeling particularly suicidally ambitious, gathering up a fucking army and taking out whatever being it is they're worshiping in the first place. Killing it. Really rain on the parade. )
Mostly I just don't want to turn into one of those depressing vengeance wasted life types. They were always a real bummer when they drank at our inn.
no subject
If they had time to drink, they clearly weren't committed enough.
[ it occurs, after a moment, that wasn't the important content she was meant to take from that sentiment. right. priya coughs, rolls a shoulder, and tries again. ]
I understand. It's a wise choice. [ both the strategy, and the intention to avoid being wrapped up entirely in vengeance. unfortunately, couldn't be priya. but we don't have time to unpack that right now. ] The loss of purpose alone can cripple one so consumed by it.
weird life choices at the mute lute
Watching the joy drain for her face when what’s-her-balls senselessly flaunts her girlfriend sparks a simmering, defensive flare in her. A passing drunk bumps her back, and Priya turns from the conversation, long enough to tower over the bum and yank the bottle from his hands. Then, of course, down its contents. She has a plan. And like most plans made by this crew, it’s a bad one. ]
What a precious couple.
[ priya flashes a thin, saccharine smile that doesn’t meet her sharp eyes, narrowed at Cara and her new girlfriend like they’re the next goblin in line to punch a fist through. Her arms wind around Max’s waist from where she stands behind her, dipping her chin to rest on the rogue’s shoulder, at a tilt, leaned against her cheek. She’s draped herself lazily across Max’s back, in the way a leopard lounges in a tree - a twitch away from pouncing down to maul something. ]
You know, Max once fucked the indoctrination out of a cultist. Saved her from ritual sacrifice. [ not exactly how the thing at the tower went, and probably not as sexy as Priya thinks it is. She’s doing her best. The monk lifts a hand, cloth perpetually wrapped over the knuckles (ignore the fraying and dark red-brown stains just slightly noticeable through the earth tone dyed fabric), and trails fingers lovingly through Max’s hair, tucking a few stray strands back into the sweep of her braid, or behind her ear, brushing the side of her neck fondly. ]
As a monk, I swore myself to abstinence, but watching her charm weak kneed enemies and allies into her bed, witnessing her battlefield prowess - [ her eyes slips closed, a reminiscent smile that’s much less fake, ] I simply couldn’t help myself.
[ that’s a lie, there was never an oath of abstinence. Perhaps unspoken in the stone monastery, but nothing beyond violence and pain were allowed there anyway. Cara and her wife-girl-whatever-friend look a more alarmed than they do ashamed or smug or envious, but you know what, Priya will happily accept anxious discomfort and fear in place of… whatever she set out to earn. Good. Mission accomplished. ]
Come, lover, let’s dance. [ straightening up all six foot plus of herself, the arm at Max’s waist tugs her along. If she shoulder-checks Cara a little while dragging Max to a clear spot to dance, well, it’s a crowded tavern and she’s a monk, shoulders like a brick shithouse are to be expected. Once a decent distance from earshot, she turns, looping arms around Max’s waist and fixing her with the same blank expression she wore after yesterday's fight when she said “there’s goblin guts in your hair”. ] I don’t know how to do this, I was banking on you figuring it out.
no subject
But they only go turbo-downhill from there the moment Priya comes to wind an arm around her waist. She almost goes into some kind of defense mode, the fight center of her brain almost engages, because for some reason her instincts tell her it's a sign that they're about to enter combat. That's probably not PTSD or anything.
Two seconds later, no punching or screaming starts, and only then does she start to realize what's going on here.
Oh, shit. Is this one of those things? Did Priya initiate a Fake Couple scheme?! Is this actually happening? Holy shit. What the fuck. What. Why? What.
Of course she's gonna roll with it, of course she is, she's just not as quick to adapt as she'd been with like. Maybe a little more head's up, or a little less dinner wine.
Fucked the indoctrination out of a cultist.
Well, that's-
I mean, sort of. Not exactly how that happened, but kind of? She plasters on her best smile, though whether it's the weirdness of the situation or the memory of Savra, something makes that smile look distinctly pained. A stranger might not pick up on it, but Cara still knows her well enough even after all these years that she shoots Max a confused look.
Max, of course, doubles down instead of deescalating. Because of who she is as a person. )
Of course, dear, I know how much you love dancing.
( And off they go, with Max boggling over the mere concept of Priya dancing. She's a great fighter, but this is a whole different thing. Max would honestly be less surprised if Priya's arms, like, snapped off in the first six seconds of her attempting to look anything remotely close to free spirited.
Fortunately, Max grew up in a tavern. Max does know how to dance, and so she guides one of Priya's hands to her shoulder and threads fingers through the other, leading her a little deeper into the dancing crowd out of Cara's direct sight line. Just in case she can still read lips like she could when they were teenagers.
Pleasantly: )
So. Hi. Hey. Hello. Um. What the fuck is happening?
no subject
she's a woman of action. it was irritating, so she did something. irritation gone, problem solved.
except the last irritation is replaced with a new irritation: dancing. were it a kata or some kind of blade dance, priya would be fluid and graceful. but this is music with nonsensical and purposeless stepping about, and she doesn't know the rules, and she clearly didn't think this plan through. most people involved in this activity are drunk enough but managed to stumble along in sync anyway. maybe the key is more booze. where's a bum to steal a pint from when you need it?
eyes glued to her feet, she's scowling down at them and grunts a response to Max's very legitimate question. ]
I don't like your friend.
[ as if that's explanation enough. as if that answers the question at all.
more accurately would be: i don't like how seeing your friend makes you act smaller. i don't like your excitement becoming disappointment. i don't like you being sad.
so here, deal with your socially inept friend demanding your attention and making an ass of herself instead. ]