Deyeniye

[Craig]

Elia Darrow

Elia sat silently in the middle of the classroom, still aside from her fingers tapping rhythmically on a workbench. A tune had been stuck in her head since the morning, and now her body subconsciously drummed the music in her mind. Minutes passed like this before she finally stirred.

She adjusted her position on the chair to gaze around the room more easily. It was a cold space with only herself present. The stone walls were the familiar grey of the Tower, unadorned except for a solitary blackboard at the front with a doorway out beside it. Wooden desks with chairs filled the centre of the room, set in tidy rows. Elia sat at one of those desks near the back of the room. The space felt cavernous. She felt small.

The hand that had been drumming stopped. She balled it into a fist, then flattened it onto the desk. When did I become this? Some permeation of that question kept appearing in her thoughts as of late. Whenever she was alone - or as alone as a bondmate could be - the doubts began to surface. Was she this person that now inhabited her body? At times when Elia caught her reflection in a mirror, she found an unfamiliar face staring back at her. Her appearance hadn't changed of course; she was an Oathsworn sister of the Grey Tower.

Yet it was in her eyes that she failed to find the person she had been. The witheringly sharp gaze that had once belonged to an Amyrlin Seat was absent. Now there was a placidity. It was the same attitude that could be found in an old cat whose only concerns were when to eat and when to sleep.

She held her breath. She let the tightness grow in her breast as she suppressed her natural need to breathe. She held it longer. A slight panic caught hold. She breathed in a little more through her nostrils as the pressure within her built. Pressure grew within her as her body yearned for release. She held firm, letting alarm enter into her thoughts. This was a false jeopardy but she embraced the fear. She craved it. Speckles of white floated in her vision as more seconds passed.

She let go, coughing out the air in her lungs before desperately gasping in more. Oh! A thought of elation. I do live after all! As her body recovered from the self-inflicted ordeal, her mind briefly soared. There was a life within her that still existed. She wasn't a mannequin in the guise of a person. Elia knew there were no such things as ghosts - even if the Grey Tower was haunted by many - but she'd become one. Since when?

Deyeniye.

The answer came back unbidden and struck her like a lightning bolt. She stopped breathing, this time involuntarily. A cold chill prickled her skin. Her hand felt clammy. Elia had only enough wherewithal to suppress a whimper of fear, even if no-one would have heard it.

Deyeniye.

She clasped her hand over her mouth, irrationally fearful that she was speaking the word aloud. Her thoughts twisted away from the exaltation of a moment before to the memories of a lifetime ago. Back in a time when life was not a monotonous sequence of events. Back when each day was suffused with thrills and dangers, where wars were being fought and battles were being won. Back in an era when she knew that the words spilling forth from her lips not only didn't have to be true but were frequently fantasies. Carefully wrought constructs upon which many lives were dangled. A house of cards that only required the slightest knock to destroy.

Elia stood up, roughly pushing the chair back with the motion. She balled her fist again and drove it into the desk. I will not unsettle myself with foolish thoughts. Only an abject idiot would work themselves into such a lather. Casting a wary eye around the room, she confirmed that none of this had been witnessed. As if anything other than a Grey Man could have entered without her realising.

Satisfied, she made for the door. Beyond lay familiar walls tiled in indigo. As she made herself back towards her quarters, she caught a glance of herself in a mirror.

Her eyes weren't dull any longer. They were ablaze with a familiar intensity.

[Bella]

The halls may have been their familiar hues, but they were not empty.

As Elia Darrow would be making her way from the classroom back to her quarters, another person approached from the opposite direction, though clearly with no intention of seeking her out. The fact that they were both in this hallway at the same moment, passing in the middle of the day, was sheer happenstance.

Coming from the far end of the corridor was a man whose dress and bearing clearly marked him as an Asha'man, though it would be obvious in an instant--to Elia, at least--that he was not an Indigo. Would she recognize him from around the Grey Tower or not? That was hard to say, since while he had been of these stones for long, long years, he was frequently out in the world and not oft encountered.

Anaris Kane was average in size for men of the Tower, threading the line down the middle between the very common, very tall fellows and those of much shorter statures that weaved in between the others. His hair was long and his beard was full, both obsidian black but streaked faintly with the grey that belied his age.

The cut of his coat spoke to a good earning in his years here and the acknowledgement of his position in the world, while the hues of green that filled its fabric would tell most which Ajah he hailed from. Most seemed unable to resist wearing their colors like banners, since changing the color of their blood was typically impossible. At least while still inside the body.

Something in the eye, however, if one looked close enough could hint at an Asha'man who had been born and raised before the Cleansing and before the Breaking...but only if you looked very close.

Without any of these many details showing their way through his expression or tone, he inclined his head politely as he drew near to the woman, about to pass by. "Elia Sedai," he greeted politely. He had some tome and small bag held to his chest, though he made no move to shift it as he greeted the Indigo.

[Craig]

Elia Darrow

Elia's brow furrowed. If she hadn't just gone through the rigmarole of intentionally unsettling herself, she would have had the wherewithal to keep her expression placid. Instead she looked up at the Asha'man, if only barely; he had a couple of inches on her.

He was unfamiliar, but not completely unknown to her. She couldn't put a name to this face. Elia had to take in the green of his attire just to place his Ajah. Had he been a sister of the Battle Ajah, the plunging neckline would have been the giveaway before the hue.

If the grey in his hair wasn't so evident, his suit would have marked him as old. Attire such as his meant one of two things: success or age. Had he been an Asha'man of note or repute, Elia would have known his name. Instead he was old, which meant he was likely only visiting the Grey Tower. Gathering information from his eyes and ears, as well as from his brothers and sisters. Maybe picking up a few possessions.

The thoughts passed through the Indigo's mind in the time it took her to smooth the look of confusion from her face.

"Apologies brother," she said with a remedial smile, "I cannot recall your name." And who are you looking for in these halls, I wonder?

[Matty]

Maever Donovan "I do be very worried about the Forkroot situation." Maever worried about many things, so this went without saying, but this was particuarly troublesome to him.

The Forkroot inventory was experiencing, according to one of the reports that had been compiled by Karrahmel, variances outside the standard deviation of supply/demand. Admittedly Maever wasn't sure about all the numbers, but the information was presented in a nice report that had him wrinkle his forehead and run a hand through his hair, as grey as it was blonde, a few times as he saw lines and numbers doing what they did best (confuse him). He took a walk, Healed a Novice who thought something inedible was edible, took another walk, and stared broodingly at the supply cupboard where Forkroot was stored.

Nearby, Asha'man Mason gave him a pat on the shoulder. Maever flinched away reflexively and he held his hands up in a placating gesture. "These are interesting times, Maever. More strange cases in the Infirmary than ever before." Forkroot helped with some of the troubling Viadulo cases historically, and whenever they wanted to question some of their Black bretheren, but if Karrahmel thought more was going missing that was accounted for previously, then there had to be a good reason for it, surely?

"Come on," Mason smiled across at the First Weaver and motioned to the door. Mason was all about broad gestures, sweeping smiles, placating looks. Everything had to be a little bit more expressive than was necessarily required, as if Maever needed that reassurance. "Let's take a walk and talk about it some more. I have some theories you may be interested in."

---

This walk takes our plucky Yellows in the general vicinity of the classroom currently inhabited by the Indigo and the Green. Neither man realised this and had they, then things might have transpired quite differently. They stood in front of a large portrait of some historical figure or other in a too-blue dress, painted to look more important than she truly was. There they stood, Maever with his hands clasped together facing down the corridor towards the classroom. Mason, with his back to it, did not see anyone at the door. Neither of them realised they were in just the right spot to be seen by people in the classroom, without seeing them in return. Let's say there's a pillar involved somewhere.

They discussed the Forkroot supply issue on their walk, but the professional discussion died away as they stood there. There was a change in the air, a shift in Mason's tone that made Maever lean in a little and listen better. He had a smooth, assured way of talking, the tones of Arad Doman making the man sound like he could sell water to the Sea Folk.

"You may not be surprised to learn that you need to learn to relax a little," Mason assured the Illianer. "I've taken the liberty of doing some background research on this myself and I do have some ideas as to what could be happened to the Forkroot - if you like, we can discuss it tonight over a meal?"

"That do be sounding good," Maever replied.

"The Quivering Arrow is my Inn of choice," Mason went on, "it would be great to get to know you better."

Maever's smile warmed his response. "That do be sounding lovely," he said. "I will be seeing you there this evening after I do finish my Infirmary shift."

A flutter of small talk later and Maever left, humming happily to himself and thinking about how friendly and handsome Asha'man Mason was. He passed the classroom, not noticing the occupants as he went on his merry way. "Do be do be do."

When he was gone, Mason muttered "idiot," and quickly put a wrapped, coded note in the alcove behind the painting of the blue woman. Because that was just how the Black Ajah did things around here.