Things Better Left Unsaid [Nira'lia]

[Pash'nar]

Timestamp: Summer 34, 512 The ocean sparkled, blue-green and beautiful like it always was just after a storm. The sky was cloudless, save for a few that clung to the distant horizon, but that horizon was strange and distorted, like being stuck in a bubble or staring at something through a glass bottle. Disorienting at first, the effect seemed to fade as time wore on, which reminded Pash'nar of how a body gets used to cold water after jumping in and swimming in it for a little while. Only, he wasn't swimming. The navar was familiar, but empty. Sails snapped and rustled in the stiff wind. Ropes danced. Wood groaned. The sea sprayed over the deck as the large Svefra ship rocked heavily in the waves. He had been here before. Long ago. Lanterns and garlands decorated the deck, hinting at some special festivity. Everything had been hung and arranged with obvious care, bright and lovely. Only, no one seemed to be on board but himself. At least, as far as he could tell as he stood at the bow, feeling his stomach lurch as the navar cut through the waves, salty spray cold on his curiously unadorned, tanned Svefra skin. Well, mostly unadorned. Cerulean gaze was briefly distracted from the achingly familiar, odd surroundings by the memories of when he was hardly as marked as he was now, washed ashore all those decades ago with whatever ink his earthbound body had earned long before he was forced to occupy it under Syna's glare. A few blue-black bands decorated his biceps. The manta ray that swam elegantly across his back. It was simple then, until he marked his body with the passage of time, with reminders of— Petch. The navar seemed to lurch with his own realization, tossing him forward as if to threaten him with the blue-green sparkle of the sea far below. Petching memories. He'd been talking about them too much, opening old wounds, letting old blood flow. He'd shared his past, spilled his heart, watched his history tumble from his lips for the sake of someone else. He hadn't talked about her. About this place. About any of it for so long. Now, here it was, staring him in the face, taunting him with his mistakes ... he mocked himself in his own dreams ... relived the guilt so many times. Why again? Why now? Why after feeling so free for days ...? What piece was he missing to find himself here again? And again. Was he dreaming or just remembering? Did it matter? He turned back to face the expanse of the deck, half expecting to see faces from decades ago, the faces of the pod he once called family, staring at him. Waiting. But still, the ship was empty. He glanced down and the one mark that shouldn't be there glared back at him—his Lacun—no longer hidden by a hand-tooled garden of purposeful ink. No vest to hide behind, the tanned, bare skin of his chest would have laughed if it could, he was sure of it. White linen pants, bare feet, and the colorful scarfs some of the over-joyed youngsters of the pod he called home all that time ago felt compelled to decorate his person with danced in the breeze. He felt trapped in time, caught before and after, ready for his happy ceremony yet marred by the reminder of its brokenness. The dark-haired navigator sighed. Laughter and music broke his brief moment of potential self-pity, suddenly filling the crisp dreamscape air as if to remind him that even his thoughts did not belong to himself, not here, not now. He felt heavy, burdened, and it seemed like swimming against the tide to move away from the bow of the ship. He hesitated, wondering if following the sound was even worthwhile. There were faces he didn't want to see, couldn't bear to see. Even in his dreams. Still, his feet dragged for a moment against the deck before he seemed to compensate for how weighed down he really felt, slowly making his way to the edge of the raised bow, one hand trailing a lantern-decorated rope with calloused fingers as he struggled to look over the edge of the railing and see what was going on below on the main deck. For a moment, he closed his eyes, wishing very quickly to wake up. The music and laughter simply seemed louder, mocking him, but when he opened them again, he saw nothing on deck. Where were the sounds coming from then? Garlands rustled in the breeze and the sails snapped, tossing the navar to one side and jolting Pash'nar against the rail. With a grunt, he found his footing and cautiously descended onto the main deck, only half-heartedly pursuing the music and voices he could hear above the wind and the sea and the ship itself. Once he crossed the deck, reaching one hand toward the door that led to the stairs to belowdecks, the sounds grew louder still. Behind him. Had he been awake, he would have felt chilled by the eerie effect of the laughter and the familiar instruments, which seemed to be some mockery of a whisper in his ear. He paused, hands on the knob to the door, sighing briefly, before turning back in expectation of finally seeing something, anything ... someone, anyone ... on board with him. He was only slightly afraid of where this dream would go while he felt so alone, even if he remembered falling asleep hardly alone with his ship crowded by familiar faces.

[Nira'lia]

There was an expanse of darkness. Nira'lia had only seen this place before -- when she had met the Goddess Rak'keli. However, this fact escaped her now as she swam through the emptiness. In a normal situation, Nira'lia would have thought... what was she doing here? What was this sea of darkness? However, at the moment, her mind was at ease as she swam through it like it was her home. She felt comfortable in this sea, as if she could delve here for hours. Soon enough, the darkness was leaving. Her feet touched the ground and her surroundings changed. It was a ship, one she had never seen before. Echoes of laughter and merriment were around her, but she could see nothing. At one moment, she thought she saw a flash of colors to one side. She turned her head and saw a couple of Svefra women dancing and singing, the happiness evident in their eyes. "Uhm, hi..." said Nira'lia. They didn't hear her, and they were gone in a second. A wisp of ethereal smoke was left in their wake. Then she heard another voice. It was young and sweet, and Nira'lia couldn't recognize it. Curiously, she turned around to see a young woman tending to something which she couldn't see. The woman's frame was blocking her view. And when the woman turned around, Nira'lia saw a face which she didn't know. Inside her, a strange feeling welled... as if this woman was more significant than she thought. Usually, the people in her dreams were those she knew. Was she actually in someone else's dream? Wait, dream? Was she dreaming? The woman disappeared, along with the previous people. Nira'lia scratched the back of her head in puzzlement and decided to explore the ship. There was another person... he had her back to her, and he seemed to be headed for the cabin below deck. "Hi," Nira'lia called out, even if she knew that like the others, he was probably going to be gone in a wisp of soke as well. At least this one looked familiar, she thought. He looked like a certain sailor that she had met before, one she had accused of being lonely. As soon as she called out to the sailor, their surroundings suddenly came to life. If before the air had been the one laughing and singing, now people materialized all around them. It was a night of festivities on a Svefra ship.

[Pash'nar]

The navar rose and fell with a swell and Pash’nar set his hand on the cabin door; if he heard Nira’lia’s greeting above the sudden burst of noise that exploded around him as the entire ship seemed to festively awaken without any warning, he said nothing at first. The sounds of music sprung to life behind his bare, inked back, filling the salty air with familiar noises and voices and song—all too petching familiar—and he pulled his hand away from the door to belowdecks with a flinch. He’d lived so much of his life, and past life, over and over again in his dreams. He never found the experience remotely pleasant and dearly wished to wake up before the one face he didn’t want to see wrenched up feelings he didn’t want to feel, even subconsciously. Turning with the expectation of watching memories flit past him in this vibrant dream, he found himself facing an unexpected presence instead, “Nira’lia?” His curiously unadorned hand quickly moved to cover the single, uninked mark on his tanned chest, the dark swirl under his collar bone, attempting to pass it off as a motion of surprise. It was strange to feel so self-conscious considering this was just a dream. His dream. What the petch was the Konti doing here ...? This wasn’t one of those dreams by the way things were going, laughter drifting from over the pale woman’s slight shoulders. He shifted his cerulean gaze past her, glimpses of the faces of his past dancing by over the deck behind the two of them—the happy start of a ceremony that was at least in part in his own honor. These were his secrets, his stains, his memories drudged up and twisted into some unnecessary dream. Why would he be putting Nira’lia into the whole thing? This wasn’t anything she needed to know about, and he certainly would never feel compelled to share this openly with the Konti without some serious drinking or difficult convincing— “Well, ain’t this kinda’ curious. Wasn’t expectin’ t’have you as a guest ‘ere t’day ...” He offered an uncomfortable smile, sliding his hand away from the glaring mark on his untattooed chest to fidget with the fancied-up decorations that were tied up in his dark hair. Sea glass and colorful ribbons caught sunlight and the breeze, and he felt eighty years of time wash over him as the one particular dream phantom that he so desperately wanted to avoid seeing drifted by in the crowd of happy Svefra, smile faltering as he struggled to look back at Nira’lia instead. Opening his mouth to say something else, he felt his stomach lurch as someone snatched his hand and tugged him unwillingly along in the chain of dancers that were rhythmically making their way across the sprawling deck of the navar. Staggering to fall into step with the smiling, laughing members of the pod he once called family, his free arm flailed to grab for Nira’s. If he was going to get dragged any further into the unfolding events of this petching unwanted dream, he might as well bring the Konti with him.

[Nira'lia]

She was swept away by a strong hold and made to go along with the chain of dancers. Another person grabbed her other hand, and she was somehow pleased to see that no visions flooded her mind. Her Konti gift didn’t work in the world – these people weren’t really. Were they? The strangers regarded her with familiarity, as if she were one of them. They laughed and sang and danced, and she couldn’t help but join in. With a twinkle in her eyes, she looked at Pash’nar with much curiosity. Nira’lia wanted to ask him where they were. She wanted to ask about these people. He was the only one she could recognize, though she thought there were several people in the crowd who had faces she could name. Strangely, the dream was being populated by people from her own world as well, though they merged with Pash’nar’s shadows well enough. ‘Who are these people, Pash?’ She wanted to ask that, but somehow she couldn’t find her voice. Her lips wouldn’t move like she wanted them to. It was as if the dream was telling her to simply watch. She had no power over her own actions, and her body moved with their own accord. “What’s her name, Pash?” asked the Konti. She blinked, puzzled. Whose name? She didn’t even understand her own question. Her voice had echoed throughout the ship, clear and resounding. Even if her voice had been imposing, nobody around them seemed to hear her. The question had been directed at Pash’nar, and Nira’lia hoped he had heard her. Nira’lia realized that she was probably asking about the woman who seemed to be the center of attention. A woman she didn’t know. The chain of dancing finally stopped, and people dispersed, though the festivities didn’t stop. The Konti felt lost, she still couldn’t tell who these people were, or where she was. Confused, she looked at Pash’nar and saw the strange mark on his chest. It was a mark she hadn’t seen before, or maybe she had never noticed it. Pointing a finger at it, she said simply, “What’s that?”

[Pash'nar]

For just a few moments, Pash’nar allowed the dream to be just that—a remembering. It was, for just those few moments, pleasant, so long as he kept the rest of history from unfolding in his sleep-distorted memories. Looking away from Nira’lia, glancing at the faces that blurred by in the festive dancing, he realized not all of those on deck celebrating this day he once held in high regard in the star charts of his life were entirely familiar. Did the Konti know them? Was this some weird blending of dreams? He heard her first question, and it snapped him from his brief breath of enjoyment. Tide pool gaze shifted away from the colorful crowds with reluctance, but he said nothing. His remembered steps faltered and instead of lingering on her pale, scaled face, he looked away again, unwilling to acknowledge that he knew the answer. Even in a dream, there were some things he still refused to speak of. Instead, the tattooed sailor let the dancing continue, unable to entirely find the rhythm he knew again. He had but a heartbeat of relief as the distantly familiar faces of those who had dragged the two of them along in the first place scattered with more laughter and song, turning again to look at the Konti. Only, she wasn’t looking at his face. Following her eyes, then her finger, the false Svefra scowled. In his heart-felt objection to her question, all the noise seemed to dim around the two of them and motion slowed as he contorted his thoughts to decide how best to answer her. If this was a real dream, what did it matter? “It’s a Lacun.” Or, better put in his mind, the scar left by a broken Chevas. In this particular mixed swirl of visions, Pash’nar was hardly as inked as the present reality. Whether that was a product of his own distorted thoughts for Nira’lia’s sudden benefit or whether it was a historical truth that he chose not to mark his flesh until sometime after his event was unclear. He didn’t volunteer the answer either, but it was obvious some of his markings in the present were purposefully placed as to camouflage the mark he could never otherwise hide or be rid of. Just under his collar bone, the black, stormy swirl of a non-ink mark would also be easily hidden under his vest, though since he was without tattoos as an ethaefal under Leth’s gaze, the Konti was left to wonder at the Lacun’s appearance at night. The dark-haired navigator seemed reluctant to volunteer much else, guilt heavily weighing in his tone once he brought himself to finally answer her question, dragging the word Lacun through the depths of decades of ache. “Jus’ ‘bout eighty’r’so years ago, I took some heartfelt vows ‘ere on this Svefra ship. I s’pose you’d call’t a weddin’ if you wanted to. It’s mine.” He anticipated the string of questions that would most likely pour forth from Nira’lia’s lips, stepping closer to the smaller woman so her questioning finger touched the mark on his bare chest. His voice was quiet, though the entire celebration was still muted around them—unceasing but barely audible. His flash of a smile was hardly taunting. Instead, for just a flicker of a chime, it was almost wistful. But not quite. “An’, no, Nira, I ain’t gonna tell you her name.” He looked down at the mark again, unwilling to keep eye contact, hardly hidden by the Konti’s touch. “Ain’t sure why I invited you t’be ‘ere this go’round.” Pash looked past the blonde to scan the slow-moving crowd, to catch a glimpse of the one face he both did and didn’t want to see, “Unless I ain’t th’one dreamin’...” He was uncomfortable with that thought, not entirely educated about the extent of Konti abilities. The mark she touched was his fault. She didn't need to know that. Not here. Not ever. He briefly wondered if he could change the subject of this currently unfavorable dream into something more enjoyable ... but found himself questioning how much power he had over these visions and over the delicately scaled woman he'd purposefully stepped closer to. Finally, he looked back to Nira’lia, swaying with the sea, unable to hide the decades of guilt he carried like an anchor in his heart from his face.

[Nira'lia]

OOCSorry for the wait, the thread got lost in the replies. D: “A wedding!” clapped the Konti with amazement. That actually made sense to her. All this merriment, it wasn’t just another party… it was a wedding! The merging of two souls, or at least, that’s how she always saw it as. Eighty years ago, though? That didn’t make sense. The fact that Nira’lia knew he had been with Sariana also didn’t make sense to her. Was the woman who he had wed… dead? What happened? The Lacun mark signified the separation at least, but why? Apparently, there was more to Pash’nar’s loneliness than she thought. “Why won’t you tell me her name!?” complained Nira’lia, her expression contorted into a childish frustration. She was already here—perhaps she could ask one of the other people? “And how can this be my dream? These are your memories!” Apparently, the Konti was much more direct when she was in the dimension of dreams. It was as if her lips were moving on their own accord. Wherein she usually wouldn’t have uttered such things, they now came out naturally, without her permission. Yes, without a doubt, this wasn’t reality. She could also see the pain in Pash’nar’s face. Quizzically, she looked up him. She thought, what was his problem? This was evidently a joyous moment, and he had the chance to relive it, even if it wasn’t real. The fact that he didn’t see this as a blessing confused her simple and juvenile mind. “Oh, Pash, get a grip!” she giggled, pulling him by the arm and forcibly leading him back towards the crowd. “Show me your memories! Oh, hello, mister! I have a question for you!” Nira’lia had been addressing a stranger. He spun around to face her. “What’s the name of the bride?” asked the Konti outright, and she listened as he gave her the answerYou can’t escape, you have no control, you have to say! *hypnotizes*.

[Pash'nar]

"She's the Lia's daught—hey!" The happy young Svefra began with a grin, all-be-it a slightly confused one. Instead of finishing his words, however, the navar lurched beneath them instead, rumbling and shifting with Pash'nar's rising frustration. Somehow, this was still his mind. He had already made it up what he was willing, or not willing, to share. One day, perhaps. But not today. This was not an ordinary dream. Had this been entirely his, however, he already had half a mind of what he'd be up to with Nira'lia and it certainly would not have involved his petching wedding. It probably wouldn't have involved clothes, either, but that was something he could, for the moment, keep to himself. The whole sea seemed to rock and sway with the slumbering sailor's internal conflict, a thought-made tempest that all-but darkened the skies as it tilted the ship. Only Pash himself seemed capable of keeping his footing, being the very epicenter of the wild motions. The stranger the Konti had addressed objected to sliding across the deck in the tossing of the waves, and the dark-haired navigator managed to catch the pale woman and keep her from tumbling overboard in the angry motions of the ship. "Y'want to see?" He hissed, struggling to separate his hurt and frustration over his past to gain some control over their shared situation, now thoroughly confused as to whether or not they were entirely dreaming. Everything felt wrong, and yet it all kept happening anyway. The woman's uncharacteristic directness was met with a much more raw Pash'nar. There was nowhere to hide, really, in the freeform world of dreams. "I can show't all t'you." Calloused hands held scaled shoulders in a grip full of more fear than warmth, "But only 'cuz I'd rather let y'see than have you petchin' take what'cha think y'want from me." Cerulean gaze strayed downward to glance at the glaring, unhidden Lacun. The twisted scar of a reminder that felt heavier than any anchor made by mortal hands. While Nira'lia's previous counsel had felt so naive and all-too-cheery for the ethaefal, he'd come to understand some of the intricacies of her outward hopefulness during their time together at sea. On a good day, it was helpful. On a foul one, it was torture. He could find some comfort in her perspective, but he was ultimately unsure if that comfort was simply some consequence of his particular weakness for the sea-born etherial loveliness of her species or if it was grounded in a more genuine appreciation of her perspective. Faced with an unfiltered form of this blunt cheerfulness in the haven of his unconsciousness was painful at best, overpowering the distracting thoughts Konti in general were capable of producing in the tattooed sailor's thoughts. He ran his hands down her arms from her shoulders, loosening his grip, snatching her webbed fingers with gentleness as an afterthought. He held them up in the space between them and resisted the urge to shift the inevitable course of their shared thoughts one more time from the unpleasant to the pleasant. Dreaming made him even less inhibited than conscious reality, and that surely was tenuous at best. "Petch you an' your smiles," he breathed, perhaps closer to the pale woman than would be deemed proper had they not been dreaming, "Jus' this once." He released the sea-worthy finery of her delicate fingers with a sigh, the sea calming with him. He smirked and ran a hand over his ageless face, as if willing himself for the request. Just as his fingers left his chin, the whole scene shifted without a warning, bringing a return to the music but not the dancing. No, the Konti found herself opposite Pash'nar on the swaying bow of the navar, dressed in the same colorful finery of the woman she so desperately wanted to know the name of. Hair in braids with feathers and sea glass, the false Svefra had intentionally inserted the pale woman in the stead of his wife. She would more than just see. She would know it all. His only hope was this dream would fade upon waking. His never did, but he could hope the same wasn't true of everyone. "It ain't all sea foam an' sun sparkles, lass."

OOC*closes eyes to be immune to Konti hypnotism* N-no. You can't make me. Nyah. Nyah. Anyway, feel free to react. I didn't want this post to be a hundred miles long, so, you know, whatever comes to mind. Then, well, if you don't entirely change the subject (as much as Pash'nar is obviously hoping someone will), we'll go on a whirlwind tour of all the drama in my next post.

[Nira'lia]

An expression of pain washed across Nira’lia’s face. He was upset, and he was making assumptions about her power to look in the past. She was well aware that most people didn’t like their memories being watched, but it still hurt her anyhow. “Well, that’s unfair…” whispered the Konti in reply. “I haven’t looked at your past ever since you made it evident you didn’t want me to.” The grip on her shoulder was also painful. They were in a dream, it wasn’t supposed to hurt, but the mind worked in mysterious ways. At that moment, Nira’lia truly believed that it hurt. She was also annoyed that she still didn’t know the bride’s name! The sailor was going to tell her, but that had been a failure. The dream had been manipulated against her will. Perhaps Pash’nar’s subconscious was so guarded that it wouldn’t even allow Nira’lia to discover the name of his past love? Nira’lia couldn’t help but giggle like a silly teenager when the ethaefal switched from hostile actions to what she interpreted as misguided affection. She looked at their intertwined hands with the naivety that only a simple girl like her could muster. Then the scene changed. “Hm…?” the Konti blinked as she looked down. Her clothes had changed. She was well aware of that. Even her hair felt heavy with accessories. Nira’lia couldn’t see her reflection, but she knew that she had taken the place of the woman whose name she wanted to know. ‘…well, this is awkward.’ Puzzled and curious, the Konti looked across the deck of the ship and at Pash’nar. OOCo_o Intereeesting. I don’t know how to react to this at all, though it’s getting exciting. Feel free to control Nira, btw.

[Pash'nar]

OOCSorry, this turned out insanely long, and I ended this post with obvious mischief. You are welcome to club Pash back to what limited reality is possible in his subconsciousness with the closest baked good or cooked fish or pillow ... or do whatever else you'd like. ALSO YOU ARE WELCOME SO THERE. DO NOT SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM TO READ YOUR REWARD. Endure. I agonized for days over this post, so you simply must read it through before enjoying the ... the ... the ... NAME.

There were just things better left unsaid, and it made Pash'nar uncomfortable to repeat the names of those he knew were dead … especially when it was someone he never really took the chance to say proper farewell to … especially since that someone had been his wife. Nira'lia's look of disappointment didn't go unnoticed, though he wasn't necessarily attempting to hurt her feelings so much as protect his own, to guard the wounds that never seemed to heal, even in his unconsciousness. He opened his mouth to object, to cover his accusation with a clumsy apology wrapped around an admission that his understanding of the Konti in general lended itself to the more anatomical than magical, only to find himself caught up in the scene change of his slumbering mind— And then she was gone? —or so the ethaefal thought. Scanning the crowd, he saw no sign of the delicate blonde woman who'd just been pouting offendedly in front of him. No, instead, as if to add insult to the continuing injury of this dream (this dream that seemed to return too often), he only saw the lovely Svefra he'd once called his wife. Well, that vision wasn't unpleasant, though, honestly, neither had the Konti been difficult to look at. Whether he slipped further into sleep or the strange, uncontrollable dream had a goal of its own, Pash'nar allowed himself to be caught up in the moment, completely unaware that Nira'lia was still present at all, clothed in the guise of the very woman whose name she was so eager to learn. These particular parts of his memories were, he had to admit, some of the most pleasant ones of his long life. There were few events, if any, that compared this side of the Ukalas. The gathered pod of other sea-faring people had stopped their dancing and happily gathered into a rough semi-circle on the deck of the navar between the two masts, facing the bow. An older woman, worn by the sea but still beautiful, who was obviously the Lia, stood next to the dark-haired navigator and the currently-not-a-Konti, dressed just as festively as everyone else. Her smile was perhaps the broadest and warmest of all, if only because it was her daughter's own vows she was officiating in their own way. Only a handful of untamed children broke the expectant quiet that hung in the air between the ruffling of sails and crash of the waves. In the haze of dreaming, it was easy to be swept up in all that followed, unable to separate reality from memory. The look of sincere, unfiltered, untarnished joy on Pash'nar's ageless face was just as absorbing as the finery fluttering in the wind. His quiet, hesitant tone of adoration as he took the hands of the woman in front of him—completely unaware of who she really as—and spoke words of heartfelt promise and love without hesitation was a part of the ethaefal's true self no one had seen or heard in several decades. Not recognizing the woman who shared his dream as anyone but the woman he'd loved and lost put Nira'lia in the position to experience what could only be felt as something ridiculously close to what could only be described as unaltered realism despite the fact that they were, instead, sharing in this run-away dream. He allowed himself the indulgence without hesitation, repeating vows said so long ago with tears in his cerulean eyes, squeezing the woman's hands with a hint of nervous excitement as he spoke his well-practiced prose … … in Fratava. Apparently, not everything translated in dreams. Or, at least, the man's subconscious was just as petching annoying as he was when awake. Even if Nira couldn't understand a word of what he said, regardless of how much she strained to filter a precious name or a hint of a meaning, the only discernible part of his rhythmic words were the honest depth of his heart behind them. Regardless of whether or not she knew a snippet of the language, there was no need to translate the real feelings involved in the exchange of such vows. Truly, this moment she found herself in with the tattooed sailor was a moment before anything for him had been terribly broken. He was different, lighter, less burdened, less bitter, less lost. Not without struggles, given he was still aware of just how far from home with his god as he was, but somehow willing to set all of those things aside to invest so much of himself in someone else. This woman must have been someone, indeed. Once finished with his own words, he struggled to resist the urge to wipe the evidence of emotional moisture from his face, intently listening for his words echoed by the lovely Svefra before him. The Konti heard a voice that was not her own repeat similar sounds, returning the loving cadence of the ceremony to the ethaefal in front of her. It was strange to hear more words she didn't understand, to feel them resonate in her own chest as if she was the one speaking them even when it was obvious she was not. Disorienting and yet captivating. The Lia said nothing the whole time, standing there as witness only, still smiling with a radiating warmth. Once Nira'lia found herself finished with words, there erupted from the crowd a variety of celebratory noises making obvious their approval, from shouts to catcalls to whistles to clapping. If Cheva herself was present, no one noticed, and yet it seemed almost a natural consequence of finished vows for a mark reminiscent of the swirl of a wave to appear on the neck of the dark-haired navigator standing before her. She was only left to assume a complimentary mark was revealed on her own, though her neck already felt warm and tingly, caught up in the whole experience. Music started up again from somewhere, but it was just as difficult to hear as it was sudden, given the ringing of her own pulse in her ears as familiar, sea-worn hands slipped from holding hers to frame her face instead. Still absorbed by the remembering of events in his own dream, Pash'nar kissed the woman he'd just said his emotional vows to, lingering with a hint of mischievousness as he let fingers briefly toy with stray strands of hair. Then, just as unexpectedly, he pulled away with a laugh, hands traveling down her neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms—with a much different, much more physical sort of touch than in his moment of previous anger—to snatch up her hands and drag her toward the crowd. It was obvious now he'd let his memories have sway and was lost under the waves of his dream. There was dancing again. And laughter. And stray touches. Time blurred briefly in the celebration—a swirl of faces and words and smiles. If Nira'lia managed to hear her name in it all, it was hard to tell when. Everything seemed to go by so fast until the sun hung low on the horizon and there was food. So much food. The bounty of the Suvan spread out with painstaking, beautiful care to feed the hungry Svefa who'd spent the afternoon enjoying the festivities. Finally, time seemed to return to something normal and comprehensible again. The Konti found herself seated on a comfortable assortment of pillows artfully arranged on deck near the doors leading to the spacious hull-turned-living quarters for all who lived on the giant navar. The tattooed sailor was, of course, beside her on one side, rather content in the moment. The Lia was on the other and an assortment of pod-mates and sea-worthy visitors sprawled out around them with a few of the younger folk porting drinks of questionable alcohol levels and offering to fetch whatever was requested. Dizzy, still confused by the way dreaming had both blurred normal time and let her pretend to be someone she obviously was not, it took a few moments to recover. Unaware of just how much he'd let himself drown in his own remembered past, Pash'nar turned and offered a sly, lopsided sort of smile, finally speaking again in the Common she actually understood, "Y'know we can, uh, well, disappear at any time, right? Ain't like folks' waitin' on's for anythin' else." His tone was obvious enough if his expression was not, tide pool gaze full of a more private sort of invitation, "Got better places t'go, don't we, Aylenna?" Oh? What? Whee! Was that a name? Really? And ... wait ... what was the dreaming ethaefal implying? That was definitely a friendly hand on her thigh. Gods, just how petching lost in his own mind had the dark-haired navigator let himself travel, anyway?

[Nira'lia]

OOCI GOT THE NAME. SCORE. Also, as cool as it would be, I can’t let Nira experience the whole night. HAHA.

Nira’lia had been kissed before, but never like that. Never with such emotion that Pash’nar had reserved for his new wife. Granted that the Konti was wearing another woman’s face at the moment, she had still felt it as if she were the other person. And her movements—her words… they weren’t hers at all. It was as if she was simply there, moving and watching without her own accord. Aylenna. That was the name she had been searching for. As soon as she heard the name, something within her stirred. It felt something akin to jealousy… and it was silly because she had wanted to learn the name of the woman all this time. Hearing the name just made it all the more evident that the woman wasn’t her. The unhappy feeling didn’t reflect on her face—rather, it didn’t reflect on Alyenna’s face. Instead, her face smiled, and the girl actually giggled and hugged Pash’nar’s arm. The hand on her thigh was a clear indication of what the Ethaefal meant. The girl leaned in and whispered something in Pash’nar’s ear. She was agreeing with his last statement, her own voice laden with heavy implications. ‘…Oh dear, I need to wake up NOW,’ the Konti screamed in her head. No part of her wanted to see this. She didn’t want to experience such a moment in someone else’s persona. … but then the two of them excused themselves, or they might have snuck off – Nira’lia wasn’t really paying much attention, she was just fighting to wake up. She just followed Pash’nar, her body reenacting memories that weren’t actually hers. Soon they were in a cabin. It was as decorated as all the other places on the ship. And she was laughing and giggling, and touching Pash’nar’s arm like a bride would on their first night together. Maybe it was because she was fighting too hard… while she didn’t wake up at that point, on another ship somewhere on the sea, she did break free of the other woman’s constraint. Her hair turned back to its pale color, the mark on her neck disappeared, her clothes returned to what it was, and her face was hers again. And she could move on her own accord! “Oh, Pash…” giggled Nira’lia. A heavy blush was on her cheeks and she evidently stirred away from him. She didn’t want to be in the room where the Ethaefal and his wife spent their first night. “I suppose I learned a lot about you today.” ‘…and it explains a lot about you, really.’