dvarapala

[dvarapala]

"As if talking louder will suddenly flip a switch and then you remember the words or you suddenly remember how to work a vending machine."

Oh, yes, she's been there before.

"Unfortunately, people here do have the tendency to either talk over you or for you. I've had to deal with that a lot when I was in school. Honestly, they're mausoleums where you go to die a slow and agonising death day after day. I'm glad I graduated and never have to go back anymore. Ever."

But then he grins, she does too. "I'm more of a tea drinker, but I'm glad that their coffee is good." Her grin grows, then, as he points down the road, says 'this way' like he's the white bunny from Alice in Wonderland, beckoning her to follow him down, down, down. "And I'll never say no to chocolate cake, either."

Pavel nods, understanding in a way that he doubts anybody here ever could, not truly. They have experienced things like it, escaped to other worlds in films and video games—things he has to admit he's fallen in love with since being exposed to them—and in the pages of the books he has been greedily devouring since he arrived, but if this is anything like what he thinks it is, they could never know.

Not truly.

He wonders if this Jyotisha is anything like what he experienced when they tore open the rift, watched it dig covetous fingers into the inbetween, searching—

"I think so—there are some things they do here that I just can't—" Pavel makes an exaggerated circular motion with his hands, emphasising his confusion. "And then they just stare at you when you do not know how a vending machine works or you forget the words when ordering your coffee and yell at you when you try to explain yourself, as if talking louder will—!"

He doesn't mean to ramble, but finally, he has found somebody who understands, and after six months of adapting to a strange land with even stranger people, it feels good to say what is on his mind without the need to carefully filter his thoughts.

"It's one of those—" Hm. "Small shops. They are the only one. And their chocolate cake is the best I have found here." So far. He grins. "The coffee is very good too."

He points down the road. "This way."

[dvarapala]

"without it is," udyati says, watching as he removes his soul sword.

(that's probably not the proper term for it, but it's what she's been calling them ever since she first came into contact with these soul reapers.)

she watches, amused, as he brushes his hair away from his forehead, only for it to fall right back into place. everything's cyclical. even the fact that his strawberry blonde hair keeps falling in his face.

alright, he calls out, lead with your dominant side.

"i'm a switch, actually," she informs him cheerfully. "but sure, since you asked so nicely." there's a grin on her face, then. sharp like the flash of a knife. it's a quick thing. here, then gone. "i do believe in rewarding good behavior."

udyati breathes in and out, and falls into the horse pose.

feet apart, she gently leans forward just a bit. her right hand rests above her chest, causing her elbow to jut out in front of her, as if she’s about to jab it into his eye; her left hand rests underneath her chest, and that elbow is jutted out too.

then, she opens her right palm, and lets it arc through the air, like a snake, coiled and ready to strike. and strike she does. her stance shifts from her left feet to her right and her right palm strikes him like lightning.

she lets the momentum of the hit carry her forward, aiming to kick his legs out from underneath him.

" we should start without, " is announced, ichigo removing zangetsu from his back and hip, gently setting the two swords down in the grass beside them. he wasn't all that familiar with hand-to-hand combat, but he'd make it work.

couldn't be any different than blocking and swinging with zanpakuto, right? they'd find out, anyway. he's adjusting the sleeves of his shihakusho, reaching up to brush strawberry blonde hair away from his forehead, only for it to fall back into place.

one of the things ichigo had learned from urahara was that attacking first usually didn't leave much leeway to get away, once the attack was either blocked, or landed. he'd experienced that in his training sessions with him, and also the vigorous fights he had with lieutenants and squad captains of the gotei 13.

this was a little different. sparring was different. ichigo had no intentions of actually harming the woman before him, so he would refrain from eliciting too much strength.

neck rolls, a near silent pop pop in the motion, and he takes on a certain footing to withstand an incoming hit, so he doesn't go toppling over or something if her onslaught was stronger than expected. " alright. lead with your dominant side. " he called out, despite the distance between the two of them not being that drastic.

[dvarapala]

She's still watching him, watching as he staggers back up into a teenaged slump. Watching as he mulls it over.

"Not at all," Udyati says. "No strings attached means no strings attached. You're not a puppet and I am no puppet master. Your choices are yours and I will respect whichever ones you make in regards to this."

That's especially important to her.

Being able to make your own choices and sitting with the outcome, whatever it is.

"Did you know that Kalaripayattu, or Kalari, has been around since the eleventh century in the common era but that it goes back even further than that? To the fifth century? It's one of the oldest martial arts in the world. I think that's pretty cool." A nod, and then: "Do you know what else is cool? You've seen Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Legend of Korra, yes? Or you know of it, right?"

Gods, she hoped he'd seen it. Or at least heard of it through the grapevine.

"The chi-blocking in the Legend of Korra, and everything that Ty-Lee does in the original show? That's all inspired by Kalari." She's smiling now. "It's actually up and coming in pop-culture, which is also neat."

Normally, this is the part where she stresses it's for self defense against armed or unarmed adversaries, not for unjust beat-downs. But Anthony's a bright kid; she's sure he can put two and two together.

"'Meyy kanavanam,' is what Guru Ajamila always told me. It means: 'to make the body an eye,' which is what I can do for you." Then, Udyati digs into her pockets and extracts her phone. With a few taps and swipes, she's digging up a video. "Just the physical stuff, though. Verumkai. Not the weapons. 'Cause if I hand you an urumi, I'm pretty sure your mom would call my mom and then both of us would be in trouble."

He's...not used to being seen. Well, in that way. He's Sam's annoying brother or a nuisance or an asshole--he's used to that. Plays into it a lot of times because it's better than dealing with the alternative. His brows scrunch in confusion as he starts to drop his hands from his face, feeling ten kinds of stupid just...crouching on the ground like a major dweeb in front of a girl from school.

He can practically hear Johnny now, and it pisses him off because nobody should care about what a burnout says. But they do...and it's fucking weird. He vaguely remembers her from English class (he thinks). His mind has been all kinds of fucked up this year, so he can't quite place her name.

Until he does.

And he feels stupid about it because she's been nothing but kind and he didn't even know her name.

He scratches the back of his neck, staggering back up into a teenaged slump. Her offer is tempting, but he literally only got into this karate bullshit so his dad would give him a second glance every two weeks. He doesn't care enough to do extra work. Not that it would matter. But...this is the first conversation he's had in a while that didn't have the words 'Cobra Kai' or 'Miyagi-Do' and yeah, they're still talking about martial arts (he thinks??) but there's a difference.

Plus...she called him clever. He can feel his cheeks heat up. ❛ When you say 'no strings attached', do you actually mean it? Like...if I hate it first strike, you aren't going to try and, like, convince me that it's really cool shit and I should try again? ❜

[dvarapala]

MAITREYI RAMAKRISHNAN on INSTAGRAM

[dvarapala]

MAITREYI RAMAKRISHNAN on INSTAGRAM

[dvarapala]

MAITREYI RAMAKRISHNAN on INSTAGRAM

[dvarapala]

He stumbles, falls and scrambles up in a protective crouch in the span of half a heartbeat before she can even think of reaching out to help him up. He reminds her, she thinks, of a frightened animal. Just a bit. Hurts her heart.

(It also makes her want to give his parents a piece of her mind.)

"Because I know what it's like. It sucks when people speak over you. It sucks even more when you speak and they don't listen. Last time it happened to me, it made me feel very small. Lark helped me with that, though. So now I'm passing that forward by helping you. Everyone needs help every once in a while. Nothing wrong with that. Also, that's a good crouch. It's a pretty solid cat pose you've got going on there. Now, this may be because I'm biased as heck but I do so feel that kalaripayattu would be a better fit. If only because it'd be easier to gamify - you know, you get a point for each strike to a pressure point - and you're clever; you'd pick it up, I'm sure, if you want to. That's the most important part. If you want to know, I'll teach you. If not, that's fine, too. No strings attached."

Anthony stumbles back, falling on his ass with a solid 'thump'. Still, he scrambles up in a protective crouch, hands coming up. Whether or not to defend himself or scurry away, he's not sure. When the strike doesn't come, he straightens up like a skittish colt, eyebrows high under his messy fringe.

❛ Why...why are you helping me? ❜ Where's the 'I-told-you-so'?

[dvarapala]

@khozmoh / continued from here

he pulls her into a hug, and she goes willingly. feels him shake against her. she knows desperation. maybe not his, exactly, but she knows it all too well. knows how important it is to have someone - anyone - in your corner.

she'll always be in cosmo's corner.

because he's right. too many things don't add up.

"i believe you," udyati murmurs softly. "i believe you and we're gonna fix this, okay?" she doesn't know how yet, but if there's anything she knows how to do, it's how to see things through and bring someone home.

(how else do you think she made it back to cosmo in the first place?)

"you know," she says, and her voice is muffled a bit by the fabric of his clothes, so she raises her head, holding onto him for as long as he holds onto her. "there's this---there are threads connecting people, yeah? you're connected to your dad, to scott. to lydia, malia, kira. me. except there's a thread that connects you to someone else too. faded. frayed. muted. hard to hone in on. but not torn."

[dvarapala]

MAITREYI RAMAKRISHNAN on TIKTOK

[dvarapala]

Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Emily the Corpse Bride for Halloween.

[dvarapala]

😏

udyati is dressed as raven today. rachel roth, actually, as she should have appeared in live action and other properties. she's told anyone who will listen that rachel's appearance was actually based on persis khambatta's. so it's about time she sets the record straight, right?

(she can only hope that whenever the teen titans roll up in james gunn's extended universe, it's not yet another white girl. or someone whose skin got turned gray like jinx in the animated shows. that would be tragic.)

"what?" she asks, leveling sarah with a particularly raven-esque stare. "why are you looking at me like that @milleroptimism?"

[dvarapala]

i know kindness exists because i am kind

[dvarapala]

My home exists within me , and I take it with me wherever I go. I am my own safe space.

[dvarapala]

"Yep," Udyati says. "Jyotisha. Looks like this place. Feels like it too. But it's different. Hungrier." Larger, too, but that's neither here nor there. It's different there. One couldn't be faulted for thinking time flowed differently there.

"I feel that," she breathes out a sigh, "I told someone else yesterday - sometimes it feels like I'm the only one with my eyes wide open or it feels like I'm the only one with my eyes shut."

A shrug and then she lowers her voice: "I thought it was a me thing, but maybe it's an alien thing."

She clears her throat, then, lighting up at the idea of good drinks and baked goods. "That'd be lovely, actually. I---yeah, I'll take you up on that."

Twenty-two years.

Pavel nearly balks at the numberーit seems she has spent a good portion of her life here on Earthーthat puts his paltry six-point-three months to shame. For all his attempts at blending in, this planet still feels as alien and foreign as he does, held together by ever-changing threads that seem determined to keep him from truly figuring out the muster that is humanity no matter how fully he throws himself into trying.

Sometimes, he's unsure if the weird looks he gets are because he is difficult to understandーthis language of theirs is clumsy and uncomfortable at the best of times and horribly limitedーor if they somehow see past his appearance, find the truth written in his too-bright eyes.

But for a rare moment, Pavel finds himself relaxing rather than tensing up, willing to let himself share what, under other circumstances, would likely get him killed or worse.

"Nowhere near that long. Six months. Almost. But it feels like I only got here yesterday."

Curious now, Pavel's eyes seem to shine.

"Jyotisha?" The warning of a long tale does nothing to offset his desire to hear it. "Then fortunately I know a cafe that makes good drinks as well as baked goodsーif we stock up now, I'd be willing to listen. And I will trade a story for a story."

[dvarapala]

“The audience is only safe when the story isn’t about them.”

vigilo, audio, opperior / @ak4rin

"that's the thing, isn't it? they're never safe. not really. not quite. the story is always about them, even when it's not. they're always watching, listening. or, rather, they're supposed to. few things are as transcendent as stories are. tragically ironic, i think, that the audience doesn't always learn. so you're right. in a way, it does grand them a layer of safety, i suppose, though not one that's everlasting. or real. technically, you can't, or shouldn't, be harmed by what you don't know about. but that doesn't always fly. i got the scar on - over - my left eyebrow to prove it."

"far be it for me to question a good conversationalist - the last person i talked to about the concept of sunyata versus the fire sermon looked at me like i had three heads - but why is it that you're here, miss... nitta, was it? not to quote the little mermaid too extensively but i am, ah, not exactly part of your world."

[dvarapala]

“Don’t turn on the light.”

vigilo, audio, opperior / @ventureheart

"it's okay - i won't. i just brought you some food. i'll go put it in the fridge, all right? get some rest. diwali is in two days and amma told me to tell you that you're invited over for dinner."

[dvarapala]

Aw, he looks so cute when he's gobsmacked. Like a tiny, overwhelmed kitten.

As she gives him a tour of the house, she wonders if his brain is close to melting out of his ears already. All the colors, all the smells. The warmth. All the... everything, really. It must be an assault on the senses, if nothing else.

He stammers something about helping while they're in the kitchen and Udyati's mom nods her head again. "That would be great, thank you. Especially considering that one---" She inclines her head at her daughter. "---did the bare minimum in regards to prep work."

"I did not!" Udyati laughs as she pours Five a glass of chai - black tea, milk, water, cardamom, ginger, black pepper, nutmeg and so much more - and brings it to the living room for it, cradling it gently until she sets it down on the dinner table, a rectangular thing located at the back of the living room, near the window. There are already three seats at the table, too, like they'd been waiting for him long before they issued the invite. "That guy from the puja store down town - the one that's selling the flowers - gave me some from last week's batch so I had to go back and get new ones for our mandir. It's not my fault that his shop is very out of the way."

"Sure, like it isn't your fault that you conveniently went to the bookstore afterwards, either?"

Luckily for Five, the drink comes in a regular glass rather than a boot shaped Christmas mug. (Yes, they've got a few of those. Udyati's mom is fond of going to Christmas Markets, but that's neither here nor there.)

Ankita doesn't even take the bait. Instead, she chooses to remind her daughter of her ability as she stacks three empty plates and hands them over to Five while Udyati comes back for the forks, knives and spoons.

"I can't just step through a door in front of civilians, Amma."

"Except all those times that you did," Ankita says dryly, though there's a twinkle in her eyes as she speaks.

"I did that in front of my friends," Udyati says with a faux long suffering sigh. "That's different! They know!" She shoots a look at Five that clearly says: see what I have to deal with all the time?

@dvarapala l continued from x

Five has barely even stepped through the door, and he's already completely and totally overwhelmed. He prepared himself pretty thoroughly, or so he'd thought, for a great number of unpleasant receptions when he finally accepted one of Gaira's incessant invitations last week — it could very well be an ambush after all, his sworn nemesis and a couple of her fellow superheroes lying in wait for him, ready to attack the instant he came inside, but that sort of underhanded trickery simply doesn't correspond with Gaira's usual behavior, so he'd dismissed the theory almost as quickly as he'd postulated it, and moved onto likelier hypotheses.

Perhaps she had just wanted to see if he would actually fall for it, see if he would actually allow himself to believe the tentative bit of... trust friendship whatever they'd established during their alliance against the Puppet Master would still hold up now that they no longer shared a common enemy. Perhaps she had just wanted to exact a bit of vengeance now that he was finally willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she would laugh in his face when she saw him on her front porch, because god, Five, who would ever willingly spend time with you? did you seriously think we were actually friends, or something? believe me, I'm not that desperate! and then she'd slam the door on him, go back to her quiet, villain-free night with her mother, and forget all about him.

Or perhaps she gave him the wrong address. Perhaps she just wanted to ensure he understands that the nebulous, nameless Whatever they established during their alliance was a product of forced proximity, and it would never survive concrete reality. Or perhaps she was being genuine when she invited him, but she's changed her mind since the last time he saw her, and she'll send him away with one of her sheepish, apologetic smiles.

Any of those outcomes would be perfectly fine, of course. Five isn't particularly fussed about them. He does not desire Gaira's acceptance in any form or fashion. He does not desire anyone's acceptance in any form or fashion. He's above such trivial things.

Still, he has a very specific procedure in mind for each and every one of her potential reactions, so it's... surprising and unexpected and a little bit terrifying when he doesn't have to use them.

Because Gaira (or, Udyati, technically, since she's not in costume right now, but using her civilian name is a very slippery slope to being friendly, and he is above such trivial things, remember, so he refuses to do anything that could ever possibly be construed in that manner) positively beams at him the moment she lays eyes on him, her whole face lighting up like a Christmas tree, and immediately unleashes a barrage of information that he can't even begin to keep up with. There's something about vegetarians in there, for sure, and also something about Diwali (which he knows is a Hindu holiday, but that's about where his knowledge taps out) and then she tosses out a bunch of names he only sort of vaguely recognizes, and he's trying to match them to the faces of all those annoying little friends of hers, and then she's telling him to leave his shoes in the hallway. Five's skin prickles at the very thought, itching with discomfort — the convenient thing about teleportation is that he can just leave a situation whenever he feels like it, but the inconvenient thing about teleportation is that he has to keep all his essentials on his person at all times for a quick escape and, personally, he would very much consider his shoes to be one of those essentials. How is he supposed to get out when this whole thing inevitably turns sour if he doesn't have his shoes?

This was a mistake, Five realizes, blind panic and burning shame twisting up around each other like twin serpents in his stomach. This was a terrible, horrible, foolish mistake, one that he should have known better than to make — one that he did know better than to make, if he's being perfectly honest with himself. This was an absolutely imbecilic mistake, and he needs to go back to the lair right now, while the evening is still semi-salvageable.

But.

He doesn't.

Five pulls in a deep breath, leaves his shoes in the hallway, and follows Gaira deeper into the house.

Now that he's finally taking a proper look around (mostly to try and distract himself, so he doesn't go completely off his chump and blink away before he even reaches the kitchen) he's struck by what a nice house his nemesis lives in. his lair is something of a palace in comparison to the boys' home, but this is something else entirely. it's wonderfully warm, especially in contrast to the cold autumn wind blowing outside, with electric lamps throwing golden pools of light everywhere. The floorboards remain steady under his feet, and the windowpanes are intact. He wonders idly if this roof leaks something awful when it rains, or if the inside gets as dreadfully cold as the outside in the winter, like his lair.

But, to tell the truth, the luxury isn't what really catches his eye, as fantastic and unbelievable as it is. It's the touches of life all around the place — the throw pillows and afghans on the sofa, the decorations on the walls, the framed photographs on every available surface, pictures of a much younger Gaira grinning at him from all possible angles.

And then he's in the kitchen, caught in the eye of another storm of color and light and noise, and his breath trapped somewhere in the back of his throat as he tries to figure out what he's meant to do in this moment, and how Gaira's mother could possibly smile at the boy who's left her daughter with more bruises than he can even count.

(Gaira did the same thing, he realizes, when she opened the door and saw him on her porch. No one has ever looked at him like that. No one has ever been happy to see him.

This can't be real.)

"...Okay?" Five says, finally, when his sticky-slow brain eventually registers her offer of chai, like he has any clue what chai is. It's not like he'll turn his nose up at it, whatever they serve him — any food is good food, after all. You take what you can get and you count yourself lucky every night you don't go to bed hungry. He winces at the sound of his own voice in his ears, so small and pathetic in a way Number Five never is, and quickly tries to get back some modicum of control. He needs to do something, he needs to distract himself from the absolute clusterfuck going on in his head right now. "I-I can... help? With the table?" Is that allowed?