[Private] Knotted Tangles (1 Viewer)

Abbi

Not!Syrien Shaman
Whitelister




It was a day like any other, but this time, the syrien shaman drifted to the waves. A part of her very being could almost feel its call to her in her drunken stupor. Her mother was far from her side and there was this nagging in her head that reminded her of Rheaie. She could almost hear her voice saying "Reina, what are you doing like this? Drinking again?" in a disappointed tone that would make Bran sound like the reasonable party to tell her to quit drinking and focus on the sea. Her spirit tended to leave her be while she was in this state, likely knowing that telling her to stop would do little good. Reina was a stubborn alcoholic at that, even when she was hurting and frustrated with herself. Sometimes, she wanted help and someone to guide her forward and other times, she snapped back with venom in her words of wanting to do it herself and not wanting another's charity. She was very independent and survivalist-oriented, having grown to depend on herself and to aim for merely surviving another day.

"Is this really the way you want to live? Dependent on a bottle that will one day be your downfall?" Whether it was her spirit or Reina becoming dilusional from the liquor she'd had just before entering the sea by Maluele was beyond her. She hated what she was becoming, but when she thought about listening to the various people trying to help her, something deep within her told her she couldn't do it. This wasn't how she wanted to live, but liquor had become a crutch for her in these times of hardship with the impending doom that had yet to come show its face to her. She knew it was there and part of her very being feared it, feared leaving the bounds of life too soon and not be able to return to finish what she'd set out to do. "I can't do it. This is the reason I'm still fighting this losing battle. I don't know my fate, but I'm bracing for the worst should it be my fate." Something about this struggle reminded her that she was fighting for dear life, fighting for something she hoped was obtainable. The shaman Huskarl felt helpless as she sat at the bottom of the bay and meditated as Bran had told her to. This was one of the toughest tangles in her life, as her addiction inevitably made the rest of her problems easier to shoulder. "What would she think if she saw you here, falling prey to the very thing that's eating you alive? Do you honestly think she'd be happy with you for letting it? You're practically dead while you breathe." And Reina brushed it off as quickly as she could, denying that it could ever be true. It could be true, no, it wouldn't. She was addicted to the devil's water, but to her, it wasn't a problem. It was a solution to the tangled mess of knots she had for problems. Nobody understood what was going on with her like this. She'd struggle even further with this addiction of hers before she'd listen to reason. Nothing short of Rheaie herself would make her see it until after the final pillar battle in the center of the world, if she were to live to see that day, that is.

"I'm sorry, Mama. But I can't quit until Oskar is safe. This promise means so much more than this condition I suffer with."
 
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Abbi

Not!Syrien Shaman
Whitelister


"Didn't I tell you so? She wouldn't like it and now, you'll see it." The ominous female voice spoke out next time Reina returned to Maluele from Highmeadow. She practically rolled her teal eyes this time around as she was lectured about her bad habits. Her mother, Rheaie, was back around again, and she could hardly believe it. It felt too convenient to her so she sat down in disbelief upon the surface of the water just far enough from the shore to get some quiet. Someone had heard her prayers to just find her mom again and tell her about what all had occurred in the time she missed. "She just came back. How would she know I have a list of problems, including my coping method?" the syrien was annoyed by the thought that the voice could be right and refused to acknowledge it with victory. It was like anyone else trying to poke holes in her logic and she was hard to crack through. She preferred to stick to her ways over another's. "What about those boys? You seem fond of them. Don't you think they'd want you to put down the bottle as well? Afterall, Bran's already told you to stop." The syrien squinted as she shut her eyes and tried to ignore the words she heard. It was just the liquor, she told herself repeatedly, and liquor is just a drink. What did a bunch of alcohol know about living day-to-day life? And when she kept silent, it only spoke louder within her mind to garner her attention anyway. "They care about you, you know. They wouldn't follow you or tell you to stop if they didn't. They wouldn't do anything for you if they didn't care." And Reina finally growled her words back softly, as to not get attention from any who might be upon the land a ways away. "I've had a rough day, so back off. I tried to kiss a girl I love and she declined it, and then suddenly my mother is back while I was moping over it. If I want to drink today, I'm going to drink. Go away, will you?" And she then shifted to sit in a meditative stance and pulled out a bottle to drink a bit of whiskey she kept to numb herself a little. There she sat and meditated the remainder of the afternoon clear into the evening, sat upon the very water she lived in and swam through daily. She didn't hear another peep from whatever voice she'd been hearing when she spent time, trying to get closer to her senses with the water. She needed to mimic it, to let the obstacles come and go like the waves. She needed to be the protection she saw the water as, and only time would tell if she ever found what she needed to do it. But for now, she'd be trying and struggling with it.
 

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