(no subject)
Who: Aspen, Bailie.
When: Awhile ago. Whatever. Before Aspen's letter home! (RL: 21 August, 2006.)
Caucus Common Area
The common area between the two barracks has been made over into a sort of lounge area. Several sitting areas have been marked out by the use of cheerful rugs and circles of chairs and couches. Low tables are set in the center of each of these areas, and provide a place to set mugs of klah or reading material. A small hearth has been built at the east end of the room. There are never less than two pots of fresh klah simmering over the fire built within.
Aspen slumps in a chair in his usual boneless fashion, shoulders up around his ears with his arms hanging over the side of the chair. He appears to be staring quite intently at his own navel, shirt pulled up to bare his pale underbelly and its complete lack of any covering--hair, fat, or otherwise. Once in a while, he occasionally blinks.
It never ceases to amaze one young Fortian prize how other Blood can be so... odd, and as Bailie makes her way past Aspen with a cup of klah in hand, she can't help but crease her brows skeptically. If she had company, she'd comment - but alas, it is just her and her cup of klah, and a book tucked under her arm. Curiously, and slightly condescending, she asks, "What /are/ you doing?"
"Navel-gazing." Aspen replies simply, his voice coming out slightly odd and nasal sounding, due to the angle of his head. One finger idly pokes at his belly button (outie). "One of my teachers accused me of navel-gazing in his class. I did a bit of research, and it seems to be one of those utterly absorbing activities. Something that distracts you from everything else. So far, I've found it rather boring and entirely too easy to snap out of. So while I contemplate my navel, I'm also thinking about how the whole woolgathering thing works." A shift and Aspen is back to a slightly more normal sitting posture, though his belly is still exposed. "What are /you/ doing?" A tilted head and a owlishly curious look.
Bailie's not convinced that this navel-gazing is a worthwhile activity, judging by her still-incredulous look. Her brows creep high as Aspen explains his behaviour, and his return enquiry sees her eyes floating down to her klah in a moment of self-examination - "I'm about to enjoy a hot drink," she replies equally simply, and slides into a chair across from the seaholder. "If you're finished, you should put that away," she adds, tilting her head a little in an attempt to indicate his bare stomach. Her eyes, however, are properly fixed on his own.
Aspen pokes at his belly button one last time before he slips his shirt back down, tucking it back into his pants. "I see. And does that make you happy?" he asks intently, sitting up a little more and peering at her with furrowed brows. "Or does it make you simply content? Or do you equate those two with each other?" Oddly philosophical for this time of day. Then again, Aspen's usually always oddly something or other, and today is no exception. Finger tap rhythmically against the side of his chair.
Taking a brief sip, Bailie mimic's Aspen's intent look and furrowed brows over the top of her lifted mug. After a good pause, she notes that, "I hadn't really considered it, Aspen. I had a hankering for klah, there was a pot on the hearth - so I got some, and am now drinking it. Can I get back to you when I'm done?" She's got a mock-innocent smile now, her tone bordering amused and annoyed, her head cocked.
Aspen settles back with an expectant air. "Okay." A moment's pause while he continues staring at Bailie, little twitches apparent in his fingers and shifts of posture. "But do you think you're going to be happy? Do you do it with the expectation of obtaining happiness? Or is it to stave off incipient unhappiness?" he asks again, unable to keep silent or still. "I find that I don't really know what happiness is." is confessed, with a somewhat aggrieved tone of voice.
Bailie can't help but giggle, though to her credit she does manage to keep her laughter contained to a short, muffled burst. "I expect I'll be content, for now, until I feel another craving for klah." Amused, definitely, all edges of irritation have left her tone - perhaps something to do with Aspen's restlessness, which she watches almost empathetically. "I'm not sure what incipient is," she also confides. "The klah - it keeps me awake longer, fills my tummy. But it doesn't make me happy. Some people drink tea for pleasure, though?" She suggests helpfully.
"Incipient, about to happen." Aspen defines for Bailie, crossing his legs. "For pleasure, yes, but does pleasure equate to happiness? Besides, tea is kind of..." A strange face is made, followed by much inarticulate waving and culminating in a sort of half-stuck-out tongue. "Bleh. It's like...flavored water. That smells kind of nice. I've tried the stuff Neiran likes to drink. It's okay, I suppose, but it's just kind of...odd. I'm more used to klah. Or water." A man of austere tastes, Aspen is. Or perhaps simply missing the proper set of tastebuds entirely. "So for you, contentedness is tied up with klah, then?"
A wash of pink fills Bailie's cheeks as Aspen defines the word for her, but she says no more on the topic, preferring to roll with another - their common dislike of tea. "Oh, I agree. Tea isn't at all nice-tasting. Sefton enjoys it regularly, but I prefer klah as well. Or wine." A woman of her father's tastes, is perhaps Bailie, despite her best attempts not to be. "For me," she pauses for a quick ponder. "Contentedness is tied up with grati..." Um. "Er, with getting what it is one desires in any given moment. If that makes sense?"
"Does he? People tell me the man has strange tastes. That's probably one of the things they're talking about." Aspen rubs his chin absently with the back one hand. "I'm not so sure about wine, either. It kind of burns, in a funny sort of way. Makes my eyes water." he volunteers, making a face of vague disgust. "And if I have too much of it, it makes me fall down. Which, by the way, I only enjoy when it's on purpose." Did anyone mention that Aspen is also an incredible lightweight when it comes to drinking, the few times that he actually does? "Hmm. So if you don't get what you want moment to moment, you're not happy? That sort of makes sense, I suppose. Old people don't ever seem to want much aside from their next meal, or for their children to call, or just to live another day. As long as they're alive, they get their wish, and if they don't, they're not around to complain about not being happy..." Maybe he has found the secret to happiness.
"He does," Bailie confirms, followed by a quick, "They do?" She doesn't press Aspen for details, though, sitting quietly as he rationalises away, sipping her klah. Contentedly, we might add, if her demure smile is anything to go by. In wine's defense, interrupting his theorising, "Try a good chilled white, and sip it slowly if you don't like the burn." And as for happiness? "Well, not exactly. I think happiness is probably a good deal more involved than contentedness. I could be wrong, though?"
"They do." Aspen confirms, keeping the sequence of short conjugations of the two-word phrase alive. "A chilled white, you say? I should give that a try. I've mostly been sticking to the reds. The color is nicer." Well, everyone needs a reason for picking a kind of wine to drink. He shifts in his chair again, this time choosing to slouch sideways and fling a leg over the side. "I have no idea if you're wrong or you're right. I don't know where to start, either. But I think you're probably on the right track." His head lolls over the side of the chair, looking up at the ceiling. "So what else gives you a feeling of contentment? I feel like, if we get a list, maybe we'll come closer to this idea of happiness."
With a well-known drunk for a father - or is it a well-known father for a drunk? - Bailie considers herself an authority on wine, apparently. "The taste is a lot lighter than reds, and chilling it makes it a little easier to swallow. Or so I've found." She watches, again amused by Aspen's antics; this time it's his lounging that seems to have her interested, so much so that she settles her mug aside to properly entertain an answer to his question. Her own posture changes, one ankle crossing over the other, and her feet sliding back a little. In counter-balance, her body leans forward, and she rests both arms on those of her chair. "That's a good idea." Without much though comes, "New shoes make me content, if they're exactly as I ordered them. And sunny summer days. Being at home on a sunny summer day, even. And getting a good mark on a paper I've handed in."
Aspen has interesting postures, many of which seem terribly terribly uncomfortable. The other foot bounces vaguely up and down on the floor, in time with the tapping of his fingers. "That's good, that's good. Climbing things, for me. And an efficient design for a machine. Hitting people, though I don't get to do it very often." He pauses, head turning towards Bailie briefly. "Home here, or home back at Fort?" he asks curiously. "Because we don't get very many sunny summer days here." And now back to his own list. "Swimming, too. And getting a good answer to questions." There's a moment's contemplative silence. "Okay. So now what?"
Bailie has been instructed in social etiquette since age three, hence her interesting postures are about as interesting as a stone floor. Although, if you're Aspen... "A nice dinner, and a comfortable bed. In my own room. Oh, at Fort - here isn't really home, is it?" She stops to consider the possibility, also pondering Aspen's list for a moment. "Weeeeeell," she starts again, leaning back into her chair. "Your list is a little different to mine. For example, I agree about climbing, and swimming, though I don't exactly like doing them all the time, and possibly not the way you do. And I've /never/ hit anyone." Surprised?
Funnily enough, Aspen was also instructed since about age three. He's a terrible listener most of the time, though. "Well, I'm not even sure where home is, anymore. I haven't been back to Half Circle since I got here." he admits, a moment's turn of regret across his features. "You like to climb and swim?" All of a sudden, Bailie's interestingness quota gets a boost, and Aspen's sudden attention. "You should try hitting someone, too. It's enormously satisfying when you get a good one in. Get your shoulder and your hips behind it, and the person just goes down." A moment's struggle to free himself from the chair, and he's on his feet. "Here, you can hit me. But I have to show you how to hit properly first."
"I visit home all the time, you should find someone to take you. There are a few helpful dragonriders here, despite the gossip." Bailie slinks a bit further back in her chair, and simply nods at Aspen's further interrogation. "In the right environment, at the right time, I've found both climbing and swimming enjoyable. Swimming at Boll is particularly nice, the water's much warmer there." Her hands grip the armrests, however, as the seaholder stands, and she seems to freeze. "Oh, ah, it's ok, really. I couldn't hit you after you've been such good company, anyway," she explains diplomatically.
Aspen shrugs. "I'm only marginally welcome there. It's all right, I'm getting used to it here. Despite the lack of places to swim." A momentary frown, and he shakes it off. "No, really, I insist. You should give it a try, at least once. It would be a very good idea to know how to do it, and know how it feels. That way, if you ever really do have to hit someone, you're not going to dither about in a panic about whether or not you can do it." he's earnest, almost eager for this, extending a hand to Bailie to help her up. "Come on. It'll be fun. For you, at least." Though he doesn't seem terribly apprehensive, either.
Obviously the belle of her own Hold, Bailie gives Aspen a pitying look. "That's a shame. You should visit Boll then, and swim there. It's plenty warm enough, all turn 'round." Her pity turns to skepticism again, and she's mid-disbelieving-glance as she puts one manicured hand in his, allowing him to help her up. "You /insist/ I hit you? Are you serious? What if someone sees, or I hurt you, or both? Really, Aspen, it's ok. I trust your word that it's enjoyable, I don't need to hit you."
Aspen ponders the thought of visiting Boll sometime. "How are the fish, there? Are they fresh and tasty?" One can see where his priorities lie. Bailie is pulled to her feet with ease, Aspen's thin frame concealing a great deal of strength. "I insist." His head bobs firmly as he pooh-pahs the rest of it. "You aren't going to hurt me too seriously with just one hit, and so what if someone sees you? I'll explain to them. Now here, you know how to get your shoulder and hips behind a swing, right? Don't telegraph too much, but if you come up from underneath, and twist your hips at the right time, you can get a lot of force behind it. Hit with the heel of your hand, it's the part of you that will hurt least from hitting." Aspen demonstrates, looking surprisingly graceful and coordinated as he throws a kind of roundhouse punch at the offending air.
"I presume so? Sefton mentioned something about fishing there a long time ago, but I don't remember. Only one way to find out, isn't there?" Bailie's hesitant after being pulled up, her lips quirking this way and that as she watches, listening as best she can - not all women are multitaskers! "Well, no, I don't know," she confesses quickly, blush rising again. "Telegraph? What's that? When's the right time to twist? And what's the heel of a fist?" All this, spoken in broken sentences as she tries to mimic Aspen's perfect punch - the results? A fist thrown at no particular angle toward no particular patch of air, hips twisting too far and her skirt swishing out rock-n-roll style, and a slight stumble in her dainty heeled shoes. Doh!
"Well, then, I must drop in to see at some point." Aspen responds gravely. "No, like this. It's like in dancing, you don't want to exaggerate the motion too much, or not enough. You know how in that one, you take three steps forward, and turn just your upper torso from one side to another with your hands in front of you? This is just like that, only faster and with your hands like this, instead." He's a patient teacher, at least, calm and focused completely on Bailie, in contrast to his normal fashion of ADHD hyperactivity. Brief nudges of his hands, quick and impersonal, are meant to try to correct Bailie's posture into something looking a little more natural. "Relax, and think of this as a dance, where you're supposed to hit your partner and make him fall over." he says, with utter seriousness.
"Like dancing..." Bailie repeats distractedly, trying to correct her stance with each nudge of Aspen's. Shifting her weight from her toes to her heels seems to help a little, but causes the girl to lean forward a little to keep balance, making her look a bit eager to punch. One hand by her side, and one clasped in a fairly loose fist at chest-height, elbow bent, she asks, "Is this better?"
"Much. Now simply just, pivot, and let your arm go along with it. Don't think so much about hitting with your hand, think about hitting with your elbow, and your shoulder, and your hand just happens to be in front of both of those." Aspen makes her perform the motion several times until he's relatively satisfied, and folds his arms. "Now for the motivation. Um." He catches his lower lip in his teeth as he thinks for a moment. "Let's see. What was it? Oh. You hit like a girl. Wait, you are a girl. Your momma hits harder than you--no, I suppose that doesn't help, either. Err..." Aspen seems momentarily baffled.
Having practiced the motion to Aspen's satisfaction, Bailie's confidence with this whole punching thing seems to be growing - in turn, her apprehensiveness deteriorating. Rare is it that the Fortian girl can devote her attention to something so wholly, and facing Aspen now is merely ceremony, for she's not at all concerned with his folded arms and motivational attempts. Oh, no, she's got all her concentration in her elbow, and her shoulder, just like she should! And one, step forward, two, extend the arm, three twist the hips... four, connect?
Aspen even leans into the punch obligingly, sticking his chin out slightly. He is, however, smart enough to not simply take it standing, but to begin to twist away from the punch at the very last second, rolling with the impact. Still, the amount of kinetic energy imparted is considerable. A meaty THUD and he's flying backwards off his feet to crash into a chair, knocking it over and taking it to the floor with him, lying rag-doll fashion with limbs splayed. Strands of hair fly free from his queue, covering his face as he lies motionless for a long few seconds before he twitches slightly. "Ow." The word seems somewhat of an understatement.
"Oh, goodness!" Bailie's super-shocked at Aspen's reaction, both hands moving at lightning speed to cover her mouth and nose in horror. Dark brown eyes are wide, and she checks left and right to make sure there're no guards thundering towards her to restrain her - for that's what happens to people who throw punches, isn't it? "Jays, Aspen! I'm sorry! Are you ok? I'm sorry! So sorry!" Ever the lady, she rushes the few steps over to his side, dropping to one knee to better inspect him.
Aspen rolls over onto his back, letting the hair fall back from his face a little. "I think I may be too good a teacher." he mumbles, moving his jaw around from side to side a bit and rubbing the rapidly growing contusion on his chin. "No blood, though." he informs her, with a manically cheerful sort of edge to it. "So was that fun for you? Funny, it's oddly comfortable here on the floor..." is mumbled somewhat under his breath, as he stares up at the ceiling. To reiterate and recap: "Ow."
Must be women's instinct - Bailie taps at Aspen's hand to stop him rubbing at his injury so she can get a look, even though she doens't know the first thing about how to treat it. "Jays, jays, /jays/. I'm sorry!" The strongest curse she's comfortable with, apparently, is, "Jays." Spreading her skirt to get a little more comfort on that one knee that supports her weight, she starts to shake her head. Adrenaline is obviously still surging, as she's unable to answer with anything more than, "Jays, I'm sorry!"
Aspen obligingly tilts his chin in her direction, though he's back to rubbing it soon afterwards. "What are you sorry for? I'm not badly hurt. The chair and the ground broke my fall." He sits up, shaking his head woozily. "You picked that up quickly. I thought you might be able to." There's definitely a strongly approving note in Aspen's voice, as he turns to eye Bailie once more, very thoughtfully. "Did you enjoy that sort of thing? Tell me honestly. Because if you did, there's a lot more than I can show you. I used to be a guardsman, you know. And I've been looking for a sparring partner." he adds reflectively. "Don't worry, I have padded gloves. And I would take it easy on you until I trained you to a good level."
"Oh, I don't know," Bailie finally manages to reply, her cheeks red and hot, but her adrenaline levels slowly dropping. Her breathing has become a little laboured, but measured and slow. "Even if I did enjoy it, sparring is hardly something for a Lady, is it?" She adds slowly, contemplating. All her apprehensiveness seems to return at once, and her tone deepens, volume dropping. "What would Sefton say? Or my parents? Or anyone, for that matter?" Breathe in, breathe out. "Maybe it's not such a good idea."
"Well. Not sparring the way the guards do it. Call it basic self-defense training." Aspen is a master of sophistry and redefining terms. "A Lady should know how to handle herself in any situation, right? Well, some situations call for hitting someone else, or defending yourself from being hit. What if some ruffians decide to kidnap you?" Hands wave in the air and Aspen does a convincing leer Bailie-wards. Presumably, this is the gesticular version of kidnapping. "It's also a great way to keep in shape. Promotes balance and dexterity and coordination. And I could teach you in secret. We could get up early in the morning, only a few times a week. I know a secluded spot. No one would know." Because clearly the two of them going off in secret to disappear for a few hours and coming back all sweaty and red-faced is a very very good idea.
Bailie pulls away quickly from Aspen's leer, almost setting herself off-balance. She lifts a hand, primarily to stop herself tipping over, and secondarily to shoo him away - he does a good impression of ruffians! "I don't kno-ow," she stalls, drawing out her vowels. "I suppose if no-one knew, it could be ok. Kind of..." a pause, as though she's loathe to say it - "Fun." More blush, and another measured breath. "I'd need some time though, to order new shoes." She peers around again, very obviously all too aware of their current public setting. Her volume drops yet again, to barely a whisper. "Sparring in heels just wouldn't work, see. And... I think /trousers/ might be in order, but I have none."
"Well. Fun, I suppose, isn't lady-like." Aspen eyes Bailie as she pulls away, looking rather curious. "Well, of course. We'd take our time, take as much as you need." he says gravely, working his jaw around again. "You'd probably want boots of some kind. And trousers would be a very good idea. We could put kicks in, too." His brows are furrowed as he works through the idea, getting rather enthused. "You could borrow some of my old trousers, if you want. Or order some of your own. Loose-fitting ones are best."
Still hushed, Bailie nods and answers. "I'll get back to you when my shoes and pants come from the weavers, and we can arrange it all." She's actually a little excited, it seems, a smile gracing her still-pink face. She stands, and offers a hand to Aspen politely. "Sound good to you?"
Aspen nods, taking the offered hand in his and clambering smoothly to his feet. "That sounds like a plan to me. It should be fun having someone to teach and practice with." A slight smile is given to Bailie, as happy an expression as ever really appears on Aspen's face. "We'll go through the hooks, jabs, maybe even some kicking... targets...hmm, targets..." And now he's peering vaguely past Bailie as he starts plotting out things to do.
Bailie takes this - the vague peering past her - as a good cue to leave. She knows none of those terms, so really has no other response than a fairly enthusiastic nod. "Well, good, then. Thank-you for your company, and... I hope you're not... in too much pain." Pause. "And I'll see you 'round." Klah forgotten, she's off toward the bowl.
When: Awhile ago. Whatever. Before Aspen's letter home! (RL: 21 August, 2006.)
Caucus Common Area
The common area between the two barracks has been made over into a sort of lounge area. Several sitting areas have been marked out by the use of cheerful rugs and circles of chairs and couches. Low tables are set in the center of each of these areas, and provide a place to set mugs of klah or reading material. A small hearth has been built at the east end of the room. There are never less than two pots of fresh klah simmering over the fire built within.
Aspen slumps in a chair in his usual boneless fashion, shoulders up around his ears with his arms hanging over the side of the chair. He appears to be staring quite intently at his own navel, shirt pulled up to bare his pale underbelly and its complete lack of any covering--hair, fat, or otherwise. Once in a while, he occasionally blinks.
It never ceases to amaze one young Fortian prize how other Blood can be so... odd, and as Bailie makes her way past Aspen with a cup of klah in hand, she can't help but crease her brows skeptically. If she had company, she'd comment - but alas, it is just her and her cup of klah, and a book tucked under her arm. Curiously, and slightly condescending, she asks, "What /are/ you doing?"
"Navel-gazing." Aspen replies simply, his voice coming out slightly odd and nasal sounding, due to the angle of his head. One finger idly pokes at his belly button (outie). "One of my teachers accused me of navel-gazing in his class. I did a bit of research, and it seems to be one of those utterly absorbing activities. Something that distracts you from everything else. So far, I've found it rather boring and entirely too easy to snap out of. So while I contemplate my navel, I'm also thinking about how the whole woolgathering thing works." A shift and Aspen is back to a slightly more normal sitting posture, though his belly is still exposed. "What are /you/ doing?" A tilted head and a owlishly curious look.
Bailie's not convinced that this navel-gazing is a worthwhile activity, judging by her still-incredulous look. Her brows creep high as Aspen explains his behaviour, and his return enquiry sees her eyes floating down to her klah in a moment of self-examination - "I'm about to enjoy a hot drink," she replies equally simply, and slides into a chair across from the seaholder. "If you're finished, you should put that away," she adds, tilting her head a little in an attempt to indicate his bare stomach. Her eyes, however, are properly fixed on his own.
Aspen pokes at his belly button one last time before he slips his shirt back down, tucking it back into his pants. "I see. And does that make you happy?" he asks intently, sitting up a little more and peering at her with furrowed brows. "Or does it make you simply content? Or do you equate those two with each other?" Oddly philosophical for this time of day. Then again, Aspen's usually always oddly something or other, and today is no exception. Finger tap rhythmically against the side of his chair.
Taking a brief sip, Bailie mimic's Aspen's intent look and furrowed brows over the top of her lifted mug. After a good pause, she notes that, "I hadn't really considered it, Aspen. I had a hankering for klah, there was a pot on the hearth - so I got some, and am now drinking it. Can I get back to you when I'm done?" She's got a mock-innocent smile now, her tone bordering amused and annoyed, her head cocked.
Aspen settles back with an expectant air. "Okay." A moment's pause while he continues staring at Bailie, little twitches apparent in his fingers and shifts of posture. "But do you think you're going to be happy? Do you do it with the expectation of obtaining happiness? Or is it to stave off incipient unhappiness?" he asks again, unable to keep silent or still. "I find that I don't really know what happiness is." is confessed, with a somewhat aggrieved tone of voice.
Bailie can't help but giggle, though to her credit she does manage to keep her laughter contained to a short, muffled burst. "I expect I'll be content, for now, until I feel another craving for klah." Amused, definitely, all edges of irritation have left her tone - perhaps something to do with Aspen's restlessness, which she watches almost empathetically. "I'm not sure what incipient is," she also confides. "The klah - it keeps me awake longer, fills my tummy. But it doesn't make me happy. Some people drink tea for pleasure, though?" She suggests helpfully.
"Incipient, about to happen." Aspen defines for Bailie, crossing his legs. "For pleasure, yes, but does pleasure equate to happiness? Besides, tea is kind of..." A strange face is made, followed by much inarticulate waving and culminating in a sort of half-stuck-out tongue. "Bleh. It's like...flavored water. That smells kind of nice. I've tried the stuff Neiran likes to drink. It's okay, I suppose, but it's just kind of...odd. I'm more used to klah. Or water." A man of austere tastes, Aspen is. Or perhaps simply missing the proper set of tastebuds entirely. "So for you, contentedness is tied up with klah, then?"
A wash of pink fills Bailie's cheeks as Aspen defines the word for her, but she says no more on the topic, preferring to roll with another - their common dislike of tea. "Oh, I agree. Tea isn't at all nice-tasting. Sefton enjoys it regularly, but I prefer klah as well. Or wine." A woman of her father's tastes, is perhaps Bailie, despite her best attempts not to be. "For me," she pauses for a quick ponder. "Contentedness is tied up with grati..." Um. "Er, with getting what it is one desires in any given moment. If that makes sense?"
"Does he? People tell me the man has strange tastes. That's probably one of the things they're talking about." Aspen rubs his chin absently with the back one hand. "I'm not so sure about wine, either. It kind of burns, in a funny sort of way. Makes my eyes water." he volunteers, making a face of vague disgust. "And if I have too much of it, it makes me fall down. Which, by the way, I only enjoy when it's on purpose." Did anyone mention that Aspen is also an incredible lightweight when it comes to drinking, the few times that he actually does? "Hmm. So if you don't get what you want moment to moment, you're not happy? That sort of makes sense, I suppose. Old people don't ever seem to want much aside from their next meal, or for their children to call, or just to live another day. As long as they're alive, they get their wish, and if they don't, they're not around to complain about not being happy..." Maybe he has found the secret to happiness.
"He does," Bailie confirms, followed by a quick, "They do?" She doesn't press Aspen for details, though, sitting quietly as he rationalises away, sipping her klah. Contentedly, we might add, if her demure smile is anything to go by. In wine's defense, interrupting his theorising, "Try a good chilled white, and sip it slowly if you don't like the burn." And as for happiness? "Well, not exactly. I think happiness is probably a good deal more involved than contentedness. I could be wrong, though?"
"They do." Aspen confirms, keeping the sequence of short conjugations of the two-word phrase alive. "A chilled white, you say? I should give that a try. I've mostly been sticking to the reds. The color is nicer." Well, everyone needs a reason for picking a kind of wine to drink. He shifts in his chair again, this time choosing to slouch sideways and fling a leg over the side. "I have no idea if you're wrong or you're right. I don't know where to start, either. But I think you're probably on the right track." His head lolls over the side of the chair, looking up at the ceiling. "So what else gives you a feeling of contentment? I feel like, if we get a list, maybe we'll come closer to this idea of happiness."
With a well-known drunk for a father - or is it a well-known father for a drunk? - Bailie considers herself an authority on wine, apparently. "The taste is a lot lighter than reds, and chilling it makes it a little easier to swallow. Or so I've found." She watches, again amused by Aspen's antics; this time it's his lounging that seems to have her interested, so much so that she settles her mug aside to properly entertain an answer to his question. Her own posture changes, one ankle crossing over the other, and her feet sliding back a little. In counter-balance, her body leans forward, and she rests both arms on those of her chair. "That's a good idea." Without much though comes, "New shoes make me content, if they're exactly as I ordered them. And sunny summer days. Being at home on a sunny summer day, even. And getting a good mark on a paper I've handed in."
Aspen has interesting postures, many of which seem terribly terribly uncomfortable. The other foot bounces vaguely up and down on the floor, in time with the tapping of his fingers. "That's good, that's good. Climbing things, for me. And an efficient design for a machine. Hitting people, though I don't get to do it very often." He pauses, head turning towards Bailie briefly. "Home here, or home back at Fort?" he asks curiously. "Because we don't get very many sunny summer days here." And now back to his own list. "Swimming, too. And getting a good answer to questions." There's a moment's contemplative silence. "Okay. So now what?"
Bailie has been instructed in social etiquette since age three, hence her interesting postures are about as interesting as a stone floor. Although, if you're Aspen... "A nice dinner, and a comfortable bed. In my own room. Oh, at Fort - here isn't really home, is it?" She stops to consider the possibility, also pondering Aspen's list for a moment. "Weeeeeell," she starts again, leaning back into her chair. "Your list is a little different to mine. For example, I agree about climbing, and swimming, though I don't exactly like doing them all the time, and possibly not the way you do. And I've /never/ hit anyone." Surprised?
Funnily enough, Aspen was also instructed since about age three. He's a terrible listener most of the time, though. "Well, I'm not even sure where home is, anymore. I haven't been back to Half Circle since I got here." he admits, a moment's turn of regret across his features. "You like to climb and swim?" All of a sudden, Bailie's interestingness quota gets a boost, and Aspen's sudden attention. "You should try hitting someone, too. It's enormously satisfying when you get a good one in. Get your shoulder and your hips behind it, and the person just goes down." A moment's struggle to free himself from the chair, and he's on his feet. "Here, you can hit me. But I have to show you how to hit properly first."
"I visit home all the time, you should find someone to take you. There are a few helpful dragonriders here, despite the gossip." Bailie slinks a bit further back in her chair, and simply nods at Aspen's further interrogation. "In the right environment, at the right time, I've found both climbing and swimming enjoyable. Swimming at Boll is particularly nice, the water's much warmer there." Her hands grip the armrests, however, as the seaholder stands, and she seems to freeze. "Oh, ah, it's ok, really. I couldn't hit you after you've been such good company, anyway," she explains diplomatically.
Aspen shrugs. "I'm only marginally welcome there. It's all right, I'm getting used to it here. Despite the lack of places to swim." A momentary frown, and he shakes it off. "No, really, I insist. You should give it a try, at least once. It would be a very good idea to know how to do it, and know how it feels. That way, if you ever really do have to hit someone, you're not going to dither about in a panic about whether or not you can do it." he's earnest, almost eager for this, extending a hand to Bailie to help her up. "Come on. It'll be fun. For you, at least." Though he doesn't seem terribly apprehensive, either.
Obviously the belle of her own Hold, Bailie gives Aspen a pitying look. "That's a shame. You should visit Boll then, and swim there. It's plenty warm enough, all turn 'round." Her pity turns to skepticism again, and she's mid-disbelieving-glance as she puts one manicured hand in his, allowing him to help her up. "You /insist/ I hit you? Are you serious? What if someone sees, or I hurt you, or both? Really, Aspen, it's ok. I trust your word that it's enjoyable, I don't need to hit you."
Aspen ponders the thought of visiting Boll sometime. "How are the fish, there? Are they fresh and tasty?" One can see where his priorities lie. Bailie is pulled to her feet with ease, Aspen's thin frame concealing a great deal of strength. "I insist." His head bobs firmly as he pooh-pahs the rest of it. "You aren't going to hurt me too seriously with just one hit, and so what if someone sees you? I'll explain to them. Now here, you know how to get your shoulder and hips behind a swing, right? Don't telegraph too much, but if you come up from underneath, and twist your hips at the right time, you can get a lot of force behind it. Hit with the heel of your hand, it's the part of you that will hurt least from hitting." Aspen demonstrates, looking surprisingly graceful and coordinated as he throws a kind of roundhouse punch at the offending air.
"I presume so? Sefton mentioned something about fishing there a long time ago, but I don't remember. Only one way to find out, isn't there?" Bailie's hesitant after being pulled up, her lips quirking this way and that as she watches, listening as best she can - not all women are multitaskers! "Well, no, I don't know," she confesses quickly, blush rising again. "Telegraph? What's that? When's the right time to twist? And what's the heel of a fist?" All this, spoken in broken sentences as she tries to mimic Aspen's perfect punch - the results? A fist thrown at no particular angle toward no particular patch of air, hips twisting too far and her skirt swishing out rock-n-roll style, and a slight stumble in her dainty heeled shoes. Doh!
"Well, then, I must drop in to see at some point." Aspen responds gravely. "No, like this. It's like in dancing, you don't want to exaggerate the motion too much, or not enough. You know how in that one, you take three steps forward, and turn just your upper torso from one side to another with your hands in front of you? This is just like that, only faster and with your hands like this, instead." He's a patient teacher, at least, calm and focused completely on Bailie, in contrast to his normal fashion of ADHD hyperactivity. Brief nudges of his hands, quick and impersonal, are meant to try to correct Bailie's posture into something looking a little more natural. "Relax, and think of this as a dance, where you're supposed to hit your partner and make him fall over." he says, with utter seriousness.
"Like dancing..." Bailie repeats distractedly, trying to correct her stance with each nudge of Aspen's. Shifting her weight from her toes to her heels seems to help a little, but causes the girl to lean forward a little to keep balance, making her look a bit eager to punch. One hand by her side, and one clasped in a fairly loose fist at chest-height, elbow bent, she asks, "Is this better?"
"Much. Now simply just, pivot, and let your arm go along with it. Don't think so much about hitting with your hand, think about hitting with your elbow, and your shoulder, and your hand just happens to be in front of both of those." Aspen makes her perform the motion several times until he's relatively satisfied, and folds his arms. "Now for the motivation. Um." He catches his lower lip in his teeth as he thinks for a moment. "Let's see. What was it? Oh. You hit like a girl. Wait, you are a girl. Your momma hits harder than you--no, I suppose that doesn't help, either. Err..." Aspen seems momentarily baffled.
Having practiced the motion to Aspen's satisfaction, Bailie's confidence with this whole punching thing seems to be growing - in turn, her apprehensiveness deteriorating. Rare is it that the Fortian girl can devote her attention to something so wholly, and facing Aspen now is merely ceremony, for she's not at all concerned with his folded arms and motivational attempts. Oh, no, she's got all her concentration in her elbow, and her shoulder, just like she should! And one, step forward, two, extend the arm, three twist the hips... four, connect?
Aspen even leans into the punch obligingly, sticking his chin out slightly. He is, however, smart enough to not simply take it standing, but to begin to twist away from the punch at the very last second, rolling with the impact. Still, the amount of kinetic energy imparted is considerable. A meaty THUD and he's flying backwards off his feet to crash into a chair, knocking it over and taking it to the floor with him, lying rag-doll fashion with limbs splayed. Strands of hair fly free from his queue, covering his face as he lies motionless for a long few seconds before he twitches slightly. "Ow." The word seems somewhat of an understatement.
"Oh, goodness!" Bailie's super-shocked at Aspen's reaction, both hands moving at lightning speed to cover her mouth and nose in horror. Dark brown eyes are wide, and she checks left and right to make sure there're no guards thundering towards her to restrain her - for that's what happens to people who throw punches, isn't it? "Jays, Aspen! I'm sorry! Are you ok? I'm sorry! So sorry!" Ever the lady, she rushes the few steps over to his side, dropping to one knee to better inspect him.
Aspen rolls over onto his back, letting the hair fall back from his face a little. "I think I may be too good a teacher." he mumbles, moving his jaw around from side to side a bit and rubbing the rapidly growing contusion on his chin. "No blood, though." he informs her, with a manically cheerful sort of edge to it. "So was that fun for you? Funny, it's oddly comfortable here on the floor..." is mumbled somewhat under his breath, as he stares up at the ceiling. To reiterate and recap: "Ow."
Must be women's instinct - Bailie taps at Aspen's hand to stop him rubbing at his injury so she can get a look, even though she doens't know the first thing about how to treat it. "Jays, jays, /jays/. I'm sorry!" The strongest curse she's comfortable with, apparently, is, "Jays." Spreading her skirt to get a little more comfort on that one knee that supports her weight, she starts to shake her head. Adrenaline is obviously still surging, as she's unable to answer with anything more than, "Jays, I'm sorry!"
Aspen obligingly tilts his chin in her direction, though he's back to rubbing it soon afterwards. "What are you sorry for? I'm not badly hurt. The chair and the ground broke my fall." He sits up, shaking his head woozily. "You picked that up quickly. I thought you might be able to." There's definitely a strongly approving note in Aspen's voice, as he turns to eye Bailie once more, very thoughtfully. "Did you enjoy that sort of thing? Tell me honestly. Because if you did, there's a lot more than I can show you. I used to be a guardsman, you know. And I've been looking for a sparring partner." he adds reflectively. "Don't worry, I have padded gloves. And I would take it easy on you until I trained you to a good level."
"Oh, I don't know," Bailie finally manages to reply, her cheeks red and hot, but her adrenaline levels slowly dropping. Her breathing has become a little laboured, but measured and slow. "Even if I did enjoy it, sparring is hardly something for a Lady, is it?" She adds slowly, contemplating. All her apprehensiveness seems to return at once, and her tone deepens, volume dropping. "What would Sefton say? Or my parents? Or anyone, for that matter?" Breathe in, breathe out. "Maybe it's not such a good idea."
"Well. Not sparring the way the guards do it. Call it basic self-defense training." Aspen is a master of sophistry and redefining terms. "A Lady should know how to handle herself in any situation, right? Well, some situations call for hitting someone else, or defending yourself from being hit. What if some ruffians decide to kidnap you?" Hands wave in the air and Aspen does a convincing leer Bailie-wards. Presumably, this is the gesticular version of kidnapping. "It's also a great way to keep in shape. Promotes balance and dexterity and coordination. And I could teach you in secret. We could get up early in the morning, only a few times a week. I know a secluded spot. No one would know." Because clearly the two of them going off in secret to disappear for a few hours and coming back all sweaty and red-faced is a very very good idea.
Bailie pulls away quickly from Aspen's leer, almost setting herself off-balance. She lifts a hand, primarily to stop herself tipping over, and secondarily to shoo him away - he does a good impression of ruffians! "I don't kno-ow," she stalls, drawing out her vowels. "I suppose if no-one knew, it could be ok. Kind of..." a pause, as though she's loathe to say it - "Fun." More blush, and another measured breath. "I'd need some time though, to order new shoes." She peers around again, very obviously all too aware of their current public setting. Her volume drops yet again, to barely a whisper. "Sparring in heels just wouldn't work, see. And... I think /trousers/ might be in order, but I have none."
"Well. Fun, I suppose, isn't lady-like." Aspen eyes Bailie as she pulls away, looking rather curious. "Well, of course. We'd take our time, take as much as you need." he says gravely, working his jaw around again. "You'd probably want boots of some kind. And trousers would be a very good idea. We could put kicks in, too." His brows are furrowed as he works through the idea, getting rather enthused. "You could borrow some of my old trousers, if you want. Or order some of your own. Loose-fitting ones are best."
Still hushed, Bailie nods and answers. "I'll get back to you when my shoes and pants come from the weavers, and we can arrange it all." She's actually a little excited, it seems, a smile gracing her still-pink face. She stands, and offers a hand to Aspen politely. "Sound good to you?"
Aspen nods, taking the offered hand in his and clambering smoothly to his feet. "That sounds like a plan to me. It should be fun having someone to teach and practice with." A slight smile is given to Bailie, as happy an expression as ever really appears on Aspen's face. "We'll go through the hooks, jabs, maybe even some kicking... targets...hmm, targets..." And now he's peering vaguely past Bailie as he starts plotting out things to do.
Bailie takes this - the vague peering past her - as a good cue to leave. She knows none of those terms, so really has no other response than a fairly enthusiastic nod. "Well, good, then. Thank-you for your company, and... I hope you're not... in too much pain." Pause. "And I'll see you 'round." Klah forgotten, she's off toward the bowl.