Lunge
Location: Road to the Weyr
Time: Sunrise on Day 9, Month 5, Turn 2
Players: Ashwin and Roa
Scene: Some training, some flirting, and a whole lot of awkward. Roa also learns a tidbit about the Captain and the Lieutenant's future plans.
OOC note: Mush, of course. And one steamy kiss.
Just on dawn, the weather is still so crisp that the mist is yet to clear. It will be some hours before Rukbat chases away the last of the clouds, and the mountainside outside the weyr is still shrouded in fog and half-light. It is almost silent, this clearing, and the man standing there is rendered hazy by the mist. His jacket lies where the path from the weyr broadens out to the space he's chosen, and he's down to his shirt sleeves, which are rolled up. A knife in each hand, he's facing down the mountain, quite still at first. He draws in a long breath, filling his lungs and pushing back his shoulders. Then he pushes it out and lunges forward in his first move. What comes next is not fast and furious, but slow and measured. More like a dance than a drill. Ashwin lunges, pulls back, steps, rolls, the dew from the grass soaking through his shoulder where he impacts on the ground. Over time he begins to increase his speed, his breath quickening. Only that even breath and the thump of his boots on the ground breaks the silence.
Early mornings are something of a habit for a certain Telgari weyrwoman, even on days that dawn practice drills have been postponed due to the injury of a particular green weyrling. But, is was not Roa's idea to take a a walk down the winding path outside the weyr. It was, in fact, Morley's. The man has, since they stepped into the tunnel, been silent, eyes twinkling, as he's walked onward. Roa only glances over at him now and again, curiosity evident on her face. The young guard stops about fifteen paces before the discarded jacket and only jerks his head towards the clearing. He remains there, arms crossing, still smirking. The goldrider studies the young and burly fellow before quietly moving downward, towards a figure with his back to her. Who he is becomes clear almost immediately, but what's he's doing catches her completely by surprise. Lips part as, maybe ten feet behind Ashwin, Roa very quietly lowers herself to the ground to sit. To watch.
Ashwin is lacking in whatever superhuman reflex would tell him there is someone behind him, he's proved that more than once. With his breath rough and his heart pounding in his ears, he presses on with his routine. The knives slice through the air, his weight shifts from foot to foot - every movement is rounded or circular, his momentum carried with him rather than expended on sharp, jagged movements. Over the course of five minutes what was initially a slow training dance becomes faster and faster. His grace is preserved, but the movement becomes furious - then abruptly something causes him to pull up. All movement ceases, and he swears. The sound is short, sharp, breaking the silence suddenly. With a shake of his head and a long sniff, he begins to back up towards Roa, transferring his knives to one hand so he can rub his palm against his side.
Knees are drawn up, chin resting so that her face from the nose down is hidden in her skirts, blue eyes huge and simply watching. Roa's arms wrap loosely around her knees and she seems to have no interest in interrupting. In breaking the stillness or his concentration as Ashwin practices. The swear, the sudden stop, causes hidden mouth to smile and visible eyes to crinkle, and as he begins to back up, Roa must push herself to her feet and do the same. Or get stepped on. The goal is to be silent, to remain unnoticed. But she is not a guard. Has never had training on how to rise without sound. She only has her size and her skills from slipping here and there unnoticed as she has done for much of her life.
If you asked him, Ashwin would probably claim that he'd never miss someone behind him. He'd be wrong, though. There are a collection of small sounds to mask her retreat; the clink of his blades as he switches them to the other hand so he can wipe his palm dry, the pounding of his heart, breathing that is hoarse, for all it's even. There's a momentary pause, and his head turns a fraction of an inch, but whatever he heard is either dismissed, or he elects not to investigate. He has had company before, and if he knows of a watcher at all, perhaps he suspects it is someone roughly half Roa's size and age. He stomps first one foot and then the other, settles his knives, breathes deeply, and begins again. This time there is no slow build up, but an immediate launch into his fastest pass yet.
A small, slow shake of Roa's head, lips falling open again. How does he...? Her hands clasp lightly in front of her and she remains upright, just in case something in that flurry of motion will have to send her leaping back again. She'll stay this way until he's finished if she can. Just watching him. So much of Roa's world has been observing. Has been holding back. But on this grey and misty morning, her stolen observations are only pleasurable.
A full quarter of an hour passes with no sound bar the thump of boots on the hard ground, breathing that grows rapidly more ragged, the occasional grunt as one shoulder hits the ground. There are times he could turn his head and confirm any suspicion that he has an observer, but he takes none of these opportunities. There are no more false moves, just an easy segue from one routine into another, and he moves through two more of these almost-dances before he finally halts. By now his breath is heavy indeed. He's quite some way in front of her, shoulders soaked through with dew, facing away when he speaks, words just loud enough to carry, and forced to fit in around deep breaths. "Did you bring me breakfast again?"
Ah. Caught. But Roa cannot be wholly surprised. Her head cants to the side at the question, however, and she answers, simply, "No. Should I have?" Brows have lifted and a tiny smirk clings to her lips. She has never brought him breakfast before, so the expression, perhaps, is in speculation of who Ashwin currently thinks, or thought, she is or was.
He's still got some energy left in him, and he proves it when he starts, whirling around to end up on the balls of his feet, knives subtly shifting in his grip. His gaze finds her in moments, and as quickly as that tension arrived, it drains away. "I thought you were..." Even as he speaks he's quirking a smile in return for her smirk, head tilted to one side. Slightly sheepish. "Some of the children come down sometimes. Where's Morley?" He knows, of course, who is meant to have charge of her.
Roa's smile only widens a little as he twirls, even with those knives lifted and perhaps a little ready to do what knives do. No flinching, no cringing backwards. Just waiting for him to see her...and then he does. "He's up the pass," the weyrwoman says by way of Morley. One hand lifts to loosely gesture in the direction she mentions. "By your jacket." She clasps her hands in front of her, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels. "That was..." she shakes her head slowly, her gaze sliding away, down to her toes. "You're beautiful." The words are an awed whisper.
Ashwin's gaze flickers past her automatically to the way she gestures, failing to find Morley in the mist. "He shouldn't let you out of his sight," he murmurs, visibly and deliberately slowing his breathing. His pale skin is ruddy from exercise, but that does nothing to hide the flush that follows in the wake of her words, and his own gaze drops for a moment as well. Fine pair they make. He clears his throat, one knife absently twirled in his fingers. "Just what I do. Nothing in it, if you've the time and the inclination."
The girl's head tips to the side. "Nothing could have happened to me here," she says softly. Because Ashwin is here, and Morley just above, and Roa trusts that completely. His last words, and oh, that blush, have Roa's gaze tripping upwards. But, rather than argue the point, she only asks, "Isn't there?" One hand is moving to roll up her opposite sleeve. The other will follow soon after. "Teach me, then."
"Well, it's..." Ashwin's caught off guard (no pun intended) by that request, his own gaze snapping up as she begins to roll up her sleeves. "It's taken a while to get this..." He catches himself, quirking another smile as he looks her over. "Really? Or you want another self defense lesson?" His gaze is sliding past her to where Morley must be.
The second sleeve goes the way of the first, rolled up to Roa's elbow, and then she bends down to gather up her skirt, hitching it to the side and tying the bottom into a quick knot so boots and a thin line of bare leg is exposed. Long skirts don't quite seem the thing for this sort of activity. Her own gaze lifts and squarely meets Ashwin's. "Teach me. This." Up goes a single, dark eyebrow. "I'll defend myself later."
Predictably, his eyes drop as her legs are exposed, although he's quick to drag his gaze back up to meet hers. "Morley." Ashwin raises his voice to hail the man he knows must be waiting back in the mist. "I'll bring the weyrwoman back to breakfast. You eat, wait in the living cavern where it's warm." His shout is loud in the morning silence, and the volume drops when he addresses Roa. "You're in charge, weyrwoman. Get yourself over here." Both his knives are slid away safely, and he turns his back on her to assume the position he first stood in when she arrived. Feet parallel, in line with his shoulders, head up. "I'll show you the first lesson I learned, see if you want your second."
From above, in the mists comes back a bellowed, "Yessir!" There is the faint sound of footsteps that grow more quiet as Morley departs for the warm indoors and food. Growing lad, after all. Roa turns her head in that direction, listening (and missing the leg perusal), before she steps up beside Ashwin and takes in his posture. Wordlessly, she mimics the position, lining up feet and shoulders. Lifting her head. "Haven't offered me anything yet that I don't want more of," is the Telgari's so-soft murmur.
If Ashwin speaks more to her than any other person, Roa is certain better at silencing him than any other. There's a choking noise that abruptly shifts to quite a bit of throat-clearing as he dusts his hands off against his thighs. "Young Morley's getting cheeky," he observes as he inspects her sidelong, reaching out to adjust one of her shoulders slightly. It might simply be an excuse, for his fingers trail over to caress her neck for a moment before he straightens up himself. "Got you to myself, and this is what I'm doing with you. S'right, what they say about me." With that rueful murmur, he draws in a deep breath, speaking on the exhalation. "Watch. I'm going to step forward and lunge. The thing is not to sink into it too fast, because you want the momentum to be there when you lift up again. You don't want to be moving down so fast that you can't stop." He demonstrates, turning his head as he rises. "Go."
She bites her inner cheek as he chokes, fighting away her own smile that she can so disarm him. "Morley's always been cheeky. Now he's just comfortable enough to show it off." Roa allows the tiny adjust to her shoulder, if indeed that's what it was, but her head turns, brows raised, at a particular comment Ashwin notes. "And what is it they say about you?" But then he's instructing and she quiets, watching the motion intently. After the single demonstration, her eyes continue to flick from where the Lieutenant stood to where he lunged and back again. Over and over. At the word 'Go', she does, lunging forward in impressive mimicry of Ashwin's motion. Even the way her fingers are held is the same. Lunge. Rise. She turns to look at him, see how she did.
"Mmmm." That's Ashwin's response to Morley's new-found bravery. Not entirely impressed, to judge by his tone. He side-steps the question of what they say about him entirely, choosing instead to watch her as she prepared and then follows his example. Both pale brows go up slightly, and there's a slow nod. "Good. Do it again." His interest has been piqued; small changes in his posture announce it, and he straightens up entirely so he can begin a slow circuit around her. "Repeat it."
"Again," Roa repeats softly. "Right." She returns to the original position and repeats the motion again. And again. And again. The setup time between each lunge shortens, her body falling a little more easily into the starting stance. Each lunge is almost identical to the last and she stares ahead, eyes distant, not really seeming to see the space in front of her so much as something in her own thoughts. She begins to breath by inhaling through her nose and out her mouth, rather than letting the small exertion dictate her breathing pattern.
Ashwin's expression is shifting, eyes narrowing as he watches, head tilting to one side as he seeks a new angle. "You've done this before." The words are murmured, nearly too quietly to be heard at all. He raises his voice slightly, clearing his throat before he speaks again. "Somebody's showed you how to train, more than I ever did."
Roa stands up again, catching her breath. Stilling it. "No," she says simply. "I watched." As if that should explain it. "And regulating breathing, relearning how to move, all must be done as a weyrling. The concepts aren't new to me, but I've never learned..." her head shakes and she peers up at Ashwin. "Should I do it again? What comes next?"
"Didn't know they took such good care of weyrlings," Ashwin approves, coming to a halt in his slow circuits and wrapping his hands around his the hilts of his knives. His fingers flex, settling more comfortably, automatically. "That was all I did, first seven. Just lunge. My teacher was trying to put me off." His breathing has settled completely, although he's still sporting a little colour after his exertions. "I like my pupil better, but I don't think she'll appreciate what I want to show her next."
Roa's arms cross over her chest. "They'd better take good care of weyrlings," the girl mutters. And this is a mite personal. Tialith's going to lay eggs, one day. Her blood and their bondmates are going to be flying in the skies. "You have to think in the air, you have to respond instantly. Or you'll die. Every time you go between, there's a risk. Every time you don't. Every time the wind changes..." her mouth closes and she clears her throat. All of that would be true for fighting dragons, yes. But queens? "Sorry. All right. Practice a lot of lunging." a small smile quirks the corner of her mouth as Ashwin drops his warning. She says nothing more. She only nods once, watches, waits.
"Of course," Ashwin agrees, his smile dropping away. "I didn't mean - I just hadn't thought about reflexes. Just see them all out there on the dragons." His fingers unwrap from around one hilt to wave vaguely towards the sky. The grave suggestion of apology in his tone lightens with her smile, if only a little, and he nods. "I just built it from step one through to step forty-seven, each one in turn. Practiced each one individually, then sequences, then the lot. Then faster. For ten turns."
One hand lifts, waving away the apology. "Don't worry about it. I know." And then Roa listens and nods slowly. "all right. So you learn each move by itself, mix them together, create unique sequences. I appreciate that. Why wouldn't I? It makes the whole thing wonderfully versatile." A slow blink. "*Ten* turns?"
Ashwin pauses, tilting his head as his lips move for a moment. "Eleven, actually. Joined when I was fifteen." A nod confirms that, and he brings one forearm up to mop his forehead where sweat has nearly completely dried off now. "Train every morning, or evening if I'm on nights. Good way to start a day, clears your head out. Now, you set on your next move?"
She whistles, soft and low. That's a long time to someone who's not even twice as old as the number of turns he's studied this. Roa looks over the Lieutenant, the way he rakes his arm over his forehead. "I'd like to, but if you're tired we can save it for another morning. Or evening. Or somesuch. I imagine you're hungry, anyhow."
Ashwin shakes his head, taking a step back so that he can run an assessing gaze over her. "Usually I'm out here the full hour on my own," he replies, breaking his usual stillness to rotate his shoulders slowly, roll his head in a circle. "I can show you the next one, if you like. What I can't do is look at you a lot longer without touching you." His crooked smile returns, lips quirking. "Come here."
"Ah," Roa murmurs. "A weakness." But at the invitation, she moves towards him, rolled sleeves, tied skirt, mussed hair and all, keeping her gaze on Ashwin's face. Watching him watch her. She cannot quite keep away that coy little smile as she finds herself directly in front of him, looking up. "Show me, then," she bids softly. Show her what, however, remains unspecified.
His gaze drops sheepishly for a moment, but it's soon back on her face. Watching her, not bothering to hide it. "Course a weakness. As though you didn't know it." Her hair's mussed a good deal worse a few moments later as his fingers tangle through it, curving around the back of her head so he can pull her in to kiss her. He smells, as he usually does, of sweat, the scent of his discarded leather jacket clinging to his skin. He's restrained, his other hand remaining on the knife at his belt rather than pulling her in against him, but he takes his time over this first kiss of the morning.
"Nice to hear it anyhow," Roa murmurs as she's drawn in. Maybe she didn't realize she said anything, gave away that little weakness of her own. But then his lips are against hers and she's lost in him. Tasting salt and the faint aroma of leather and him. His own distinctive flavor. He is slow, and she follows his pace, her exploration slow and lingering. Her hands come to his shoulders without her noticing.
It's some time before they separate, and his hand stays tangled through her hair, thumb creeping around to trace the shape of her jaw. "Don't think I can train anymore," he murmurs, pale eyes on hers. "Concentration's gone." He swallows, as quiet now as he was loud when cursing a mistake in his routine twenty minutes earlier. He makes a false start at continuing, then shakes his head, finally shifting his gaze away to look down the hill. "Captain and I talked some time back about getting the call to go home."
The tiny smile returns to her lips when the kiss ends. Broadens a little at Ashwin's comment after. But then, as he goes on, the smile drifts away, a leaf carried off by a slight breeze, and Roa ducks down to disengage his hand from her hair, to steal back a bit of space between them. Leaving. Her arms cross suddenly over her chest, hands curling around her elbows as she looks out into the clearing. "Things aren't exactly stable here," she says after a moment. "Will it be soon, do you think?"
She recaptures his attention by withdrawing, and his mouth opens slightly in a silent protest, although his hand comes down to match the action of the other in resting on his knife hilt. "Come on now, don't wrap yourself up like that," he murmurs, more coaxing than disappointed. "Haven't heard what I have to say yet, and you're already backing up."
She swallows sharply, jaw tightening. Roa doesn't know, but it's clear she's assumed. And unlike other situations, she hasn't been able to practice this one in front of a mirror. Been able to perfect an easy smile and a dismissive laugh. This one's caught her off guard. She hates it. But while she doesn't move forward again, she doesn't back up anymore. She inhales a slow breath through her nose and carefully turns her gaze back onto Ashwin. "All right," she says. Calm. So calm. "Then say it, please."
"Come on now," he repeats in a murmur, fingers twisting the hilts of knives that won't budge, pushed safely home already. "You're right enough, things aren't stable here. Worse every day, although can't say I want folks buying me extra time here with their health." He's graver with those words, so quiet he's almost inaudible. He lifts his voice a little. "This, from the girl who told me to quiet down when I tried to talk about sometime beyond the next seven."
Oh. Dear. Been called on it. Roa's eyes close slowly and the little mental dance begins and ends in a single heartbeat. Take what you feel, tuck it away, lock it. When her eyes open again, the tension in her features is gone and her hands release their grip on her elbows. She takes the two steps needed to regain their previously closeness. "You're right, of course. And I would prefer things to be quiet here. We all would. Please go on."
Ashwin doesn't buy this sudden sorting out of her tension, and he doesn't conceal this fact. He tilts his head to one side to watch as she approaches, fingers opening and reclosing around the two hilts they hold. "We talked a little about my maybe doing something else." The words are calm, noncommittal at best. He's still watching her, as though trying to divine where that upset of a moment ago has gone. She is dealing, after all, with a man not inexperienced at keeping it all on the inside.
Wherever it's gone, it seems unwilling to reappear or give any clue as to its whereabouts. Roa's eyebrows lift a tad in quiet curiosity at this new news. NOT leaving. Which, of course, presents all sorts of new and interesting problems. "What sort of something else, then?"
Ashwin watches her in silence, in no hurry to answer this next question. Again, his shoulders rotate slowly, weight shifting from foot to foot. He hasn't warmed down, and his muscles must be stiffening in protest by now. "I like serving under the Captain," is what he offers after several seconds. "Talked about my keeping on with that. I talked, anyway. He more listened."
A small laugh is Ashwin's reward for that last. "You talked and Jensen was quiet. Now that's something I'd like to see. So then, I presume, the Captain also is planning on doing something else?" Roa takes a step back again, although this time it's to lift a hand and gesture towards Ashwin and his rolling shoulders and neck. "I'm breaking you," she murmurs. "Making you stop cold. Can you see to your limbs and talk to me at the same time?"
"Captain knows when he's wise to keep his ears open," Ashwin replies mildly. Presumably this is one of the reasons the lieutenant is electing to follow the man. "Not for me to say what the Captain'll do." As though her permission was required, he unwraps his hands from around the two hilts they've been gripping, doubling over with unusual flexibility to wrap his hands around his ankles, grunting as the stretch registers.
It's interesting, listening to someone address Jensen as the Captain and really mean it. Way down to those toes Ashwin is currently bent over. Roa's head tips a bit to the side, her brows drawing downward into a small but thoughtful scowl. "All right," she begins carefully. "Then if you can't tell me anything...I don't understand what you were trying to tell me." Why this whole little mess got started at all.
Ashwin holds his stretch in silence, waiting a full half a minute before he straightens, lifting one foot so that he can wrap his hand around his ankle, balancing in a stretch. All this done, he speaks. "Suppose it was my roundabout way of asking whether you minded one way or the other. But now I remember I'm not to ask. What do you think Morley's having for breakfast?" There's no tease in the question - instead it's polite, conversational. Perhaps he has the answer he wanted, now.
Roa's eyes narrow only the slightest bit before her features smooth again. Caught twice. Time to be more careful. Her fingers twitch against her sides, but she only bends down herself. Not to stretch, but to unknot her skirt and let it resume its normal shape. Sleeves are next as first right, then left, is unrolled and smoothed. "Waffles," she says simply. "And eggs. And sausage. With syrup over everything." Her nose wrinkles at the thought of such excessive and cloying sweetness.
Ashwin switches feet, arranging himself in a new stretch before he replies. "Reckon there'll be any of that left?" Again he's polite, conversational - if he's not as warm as he has been, not offering her that private smile that she alone wins, then neither is he as reserved as he has been in the past. Subdued, only. His foot thumps back on the ground, and he nods up the path. "Come on. I'll take you in to him. I'll stretch after." It's a concession, of sorts. There's not another move to try and reignite what was promised in that earlier kiss.
"I don't imagine even Morley can clean out the entire kitchen on his own. So there's still hope." Arms cross again, lightly, but it's chilly out. At the offer of being escorted to the young Morley, Roa nods and begins making her way back towards the Weyr. She doesn't expect him to walk beside her, not when he's taken a proverbial step back from that closeness they tease one another with. She's just expecting his familiar footfalls to be heard a few paces behind her. "Don't forget your jacket," she calls over her shoulder.
Time: Sunrise on Day 9, Month 5, Turn 2
Players: Ashwin and Roa
Scene: Some training, some flirting, and a whole lot of awkward. Roa also learns a tidbit about the Captain and the Lieutenant's future plans.
OOC note: Mush, of course. And one steamy kiss.
Just on dawn, the weather is still so crisp that the mist is yet to clear. It will be some hours before Rukbat chases away the last of the clouds, and the mountainside outside the weyr is still shrouded in fog and half-light. It is almost silent, this clearing, and the man standing there is rendered hazy by the mist. His jacket lies where the path from the weyr broadens out to the space he's chosen, and he's down to his shirt sleeves, which are rolled up. A knife in each hand, he's facing down the mountain, quite still at first. He draws in a long breath, filling his lungs and pushing back his shoulders. Then he pushes it out and lunges forward in his first move. What comes next is not fast and furious, but slow and measured. More like a dance than a drill. Ashwin lunges, pulls back, steps, rolls, the dew from the grass soaking through his shoulder where he impacts on the ground. Over time he begins to increase his speed, his breath quickening. Only that even breath and the thump of his boots on the ground breaks the silence.
Early mornings are something of a habit for a certain Telgari weyrwoman, even on days that dawn practice drills have been postponed due to the injury of a particular green weyrling. But, is was not Roa's idea to take a a walk down the winding path outside the weyr. It was, in fact, Morley's. The man has, since they stepped into the tunnel, been silent, eyes twinkling, as he's walked onward. Roa only glances over at him now and again, curiosity evident on her face. The young guard stops about fifteen paces before the discarded jacket and only jerks his head towards the clearing. He remains there, arms crossing, still smirking. The goldrider studies the young and burly fellow before quietly moving downward, towards a figure with his back to her. Who he is becomes clear almost immediately, but what's he's doing catches her completely by surprise. Lips part as, maybe ten feet behind Ashwin, Roa very quietly lowers herself to the ground to sit. To watch.
Ashwin is lacking in whatever superhuman reflex would tell him there is someone behind him, he's proved that more than once. With his breath rough and his heart pounding in his ears, he presses on with his routine. The knives slice through the air, his weight shifts from foot to foot - every movement is rounded or circular, his momentum carried with him rather than expended on sharp, jagged movements. Over the course of five minutes what was initially a slow training dance becomes faster and faster. His grace is preserved, but the movement becomes furious - then abruptly something causes him to pull up. All movement ceases, and he swears. The sound is short, sharp, breaking the silence suddenly. With a shake of his head and a long sniff, he begins to back up towards Roa, transferring his knives to one hand so he can rub his palm against his side.
Knees are drawn up, chin resting so that her face from the nose down is hidden in her skirts, blue eyes huge and simply watching. Roa's arms wrap loosely around her knees and she seems to have no interest in interrupting. In breaking the stillness or his concentration as Ashwin practices. The swear, the sudden stop, causes hidden mouth to smile and visible eyes to crinkle, and as he begins to back up, Roa must push herself to her feet and do the same. Or get stepped on. The goal is to be silent, to remain unnoticed. But she is not a guard. Has never had training on how to rise without sound. She only has her size and her skills from slipping here and there unnoticed as she has done for much of her life.
If you asked him, Ashwin would probably claim that he'd never miss someone behind him. He'd be wrong, though. There are a collection of small sounds to mask her retreat; the clink of his blades as he switches them to the other hand so he can wipe his palm dry, the pounding of his heart, breathing that is hoarse, for all it's even. There's a momentary pause, and his head turns a fraction of an inch, but whatever he heard is either dismissed, or he elects not to investigate. He has had company before, and if he knows of a watcher at all, perhaps he suspects it is someone roughly half Roa's size and age. He stomps first one foot and then the other, settles his knives, breathes deeply, and begins again. This time there is no slow build up, but an immediate launch into his fastest pass yet.
A small, slow shake of Roa's head, lips falling open again. How does he...? Her hands clasp lightly in front of her and she remains upright, just in case something in that flurry of motion will have to send her leaping back again. She'll stay this way until he's finished if she can. Just watching him. So much of Roa's world has been observing. Has been holding back. But on this grey and misty morning, her stolen observations are only pleasurable.
A full quarter of an hour passes with no sound bar the thump of boots on the hard ground, breathing that grows rapidly more ragged, the occasional grunt as one shoulder hits the ground. There are times he could turn his head and confirm any suspicion that he has an observer, but he takes none of these opportunities. There are no more false moves, just an easy segue from one routine into another, and he moves through two more of these almost-dances before he finally halts. By now his breath is heavy indeed. He's quite some way in front of her, shoulders soaked through with dew, facing away when he speaks, words just loud enough to carry, and forced to fit in around deep breaths. "Did you bring me breakfast again?"
Ah. Caught. But Roa cannot be wholly surprised. Her head cants to the side at the question, however, and she answers, simply, "No. Should I have?" Brows have lifted and a tiny smirk clings to her lips. She has never brought him breakfast before, so the expression, perhaps, is in speculation of who Ashwin currently thinks, or thought, she is or was.
He's still got some energy left in him, and he proves it when he starts, whirling around to end up on the balls of his feet, knives subtly shifting in his grip. His gaze finds her in moments, and as quickly as that tension arrived, it drains away. "I thought you were..." Even as he speaks he's quirking a smile in return for her smirk, head tilted to one side. Slightly sheepish. "Some of the children come down sometimes. Where's Morley?" He knows, of course, who is meant to have charge of her.
Roa's smile only widens a little as he twirls, even with those knives lifted and perhaps a little ready to do what knives do. No flinching, no cringing backwards. Just waiting for him to see her...and then he does. "He's up the pass," the weyrwoman says by way of Morley. One hand lifts to loosely gesture in the direction she mentions. "By your jacket." She clasps her hands in front of her, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels. "That was..." she shakes her head slowly, her gaze sliding away, down to her toes. "You're beautiful." The words are an awed whisper.
Ashwin's gaze flickers past her automatically to the way she gestures, failing to find Morley in the mist. "He shouldn't let you out of his sight," he murmurs, visibly and deliberately slowing his breathing. His pale skin is ruddy from exercise, but that does nothing to hide the flush that follows in the wake of her words, and his own gaze drops for a moment as well. Fine pair they make. He clears his throat, one knife absently twirled in his fingers. "Just what I do. Nothing in it, if you've the time and the inclination."
The girl's head tips to the side. "Nothing could have happened to me here," she says softly. Because Ashwin is here, and Morley just above, and Roa trusts that completely. His last words, and oh, that blush, have Roa's gaze tripping upwards. But, rather than argue the point, she only asks, "Isn't there?" One hand is moving to roll up her opposite sleeve. The other will follow soon after. "Teach me, then."
"Well, it's..." Ashwin's caught off guard (no pun intended) by that request, his own gaze snapping up as she begins to roll up her sleeves. "It's taken a while to get this..." He catches himself, quirking another smile as he looks her over. "Really? Or you want another self defense lesson?" His gaze is sliding past her to where Morley must be.
The second sleeve goes the way of the first, rolled up to Roa's elbow, and then she bends down to gather up her skirt, hitching it to the side and tying the bottom into a quick knot so boots and a thin line of bare leg is exposed. Long skirts don't quite seem the thing for this sort of activity. Her own gaze lifts and squarely meets Ashwin's. "Teach me. This." Up goes a single, dark eyebrow. "I'll defend myself later."
Predictably, his eyes drop as her legs are exposed, although he's quick to drag his gaze back up to meet hers. "Morley." Ashwin raises his voice to hail the man he knows must be waiting back in the mist. "I'll bring the weyrwoman back to breakfast. You eat, wait in the living cavern where it's warm." His shout is loud in the morning silence, and the volume drops when he addresses Roa. "You're in charge, weyrwoman. Get yourself over here." Both his knives are slid away safely, and he turns his back on her to assume the position he first stood in when she arrived. Feet parallel, in line with his shoulders, head up. "I'll show you the first lesson I learned, see if you want your second."
From above, in the mists comes back a bellowed, "Yessir!" There is the faint sound of footsteps that grow more quiet as Morley departs for the warm indoors and food. Growing lad, after all. Roa turns her head in that direction, listening (and missing the leg perusal), before she steps up beside Ashwin and takes in his posture. Wordlessly, she mimics the position, lining up feet and shoulders. Lifting her head. "Haven't offered me anything yet that I don't want more of," is the Telgari's so-soft murmur.
If Ashwin speaks more to her than any other person, Roa is certain better at silencing him than any other. There's a choking noise that abruptly shifts to quite a bit of throat-clearing as he dusts his hands off against his thighs. "Young Morley's getting cheeky," he observes as he inspects her sidelong, reaching out to adjust one of her shoulders slightly. It might simply be an excuse, for his fingers trail over to caress her neck for a moment before he straightens up himself. "Got you to myself, and this is what I'm doing with you. S'right, what they say about me." With that rueful murmur, he draws in a deep breath, speaking on the exhalation. "Watch. I'm going to step forward and lunge. The thing is not to sink into it too fast, because you want the momentum to be there when you lift up again. You don't want to be moving down so fast that you can't stop." He demonstrates, turning his head as he rises. "Go."
She bites her inner cheek as he chokes, fighting away her own smile that she can so disarm him. "Morley's always been cheeky. Now he's just comfortable enough to show it off." Roa allows the tiny adjust to her shoulder, if indeed that's what it was, but her head turns, brows raised, at a particular comment Ashwin notes. "And what is it they say about you?" But then he's instructing and she quiets, watching the motion intently. After the single demonstration, her eyes continue to flick from where the Lieutenant stood to where he lunged and back again. Over and over. At the word 'Go', she does, lunging forward in impressive mimicry of Ashwin's motion. Even the way her fingers are held is the same. Lunge. Rise. She turns to look at him, see how she did.
"Mmmm." That's Ashwin's response to Morley's new-found bravery. Not entirely impressed, to judge by his tone. He side-steps the question of what they say about him entirely, choosing instead to watch her as she prepared and then follows his example. Both pale brows go up slightly, and there's a slow nod. "Good. Do it again." His interest has been piqued; small changes in his posture announce it, and he straightens up entirely so he can begin a slow circuit around her. "Repeat it."
"Again," Roa repeats softly. "Right." She returns to the original position and repeats the motion again. And again. And again. The setup time between each lunge shortens, her body falling a little more easily into the starting stance. Each lunge is almost identical to the last and she stares ahead, eyes distant, not really seeming to see the space in front of her so much as something in her own thoughts. She begins to breath by inhaling through her nose and out her mouth, rather than letting the small exertion dictate her breathing pattern.
Ashwin's expression is shifting, eyes narrowing as he watches, head tilting to one side as he seeks a new angle. "You've done this before." The words are murmured, nearly too quietly to be heard at all. He raises his voice slightly, clearing his throat before he speaks again. "Somebody's showed you how to train, more than I ever did."
Roa stands up again, catching her breath. Stilling it. "No," she says simply. "I watched." As if that should explain it. "And regulating breathing, relearning how to move, all must be done as a weyrling. The concepts aren't new to me, but I've never learned..." her head shakes and she peers up at Ashwin. "Should I do it again? What comes next?"
"Didn't know they took such good care of weyrlings," Ashwin approves, coming to a halt in his slow circuits and wrapping his hands around his the hilts of his knives. His fingers flex, settling more comfortably, automatically. "That was all I did, first seven. Just lunge. My teacher was trying to put me off." His breathing has settled completely, although he's still sporting a little colour after his exertions. "I like my pupil better, but I don't think she'll appreciate what I want to show her next."
Roa's arms cross over her chest. "They'd better take good care of weyrlings," the girl mutters. And this is a mite personal. Tialith's going to lay eggs, one day. Her blood and their bondmates are going to be flying in the skies. "You have to think in the air, you have to respond instantly. Or you'll die. Every time you go between, there's a risk. Every time you don't. Every time the wind changes..." her mouth closes and she clears her throat. All of that would be true for fighting dragons, yes. But queens? "Sorry. All right. Practice a lot of lunging." a small smile quirks the corner of her mouth as Ashwin drops his warning. She says nothing more. She only nods once, watches, waits.
"Of course," Ashwin agrees, his smile dropping away. "I didn't mean - I just hadn't thought about reflexes. Just see them all out there on the dragons." His fingers unwrap from around one hilt to wave vaguely towards the sky. The grave suggestion of apology in his tone lightens with her smile, if only a little, and he nods. "I just built it from step one through to step forty-seven, each one in turn. Practiced each one individually, then sequences, then the lot. Then faster. For ten turns."
One hand lifts, waving away the apology. "Don't worry about it. I know." And then Roa listens and nods slowly. "all right. So you learn each move by itself, mix them together, create unique sequences. I appreciate that. Why wouldn't I? It makes the whole thing wonderfully versatile." A slow blink. "*Ten* turns?"
Ashwin pauses, tilting his head as his lips move for a moment. "Eleven, actually. Joined when I was fifteen." A nod confirms that, and he brings one forearm up to mop his forehead where sweat has nearly completely dried off now. "Train every morning, or evening if I'm on nights. Good way to start a day, clears your head out. Now, you set on your next move?"
She whistles, soft and low. That's a long time to someone who's not even twice as old as the number of turns he's studied this. Roa looks over the Lieutenant, the way he rakes his arm over his forehead. "I'd like to, but if you're tired we can save it for another morning. Or evening. Or somesuch. I imagine you're hungry, anyhow."
Ashwin shakes his head, taking a step back so that he can run an assessing gaze over her. "Usually I'm out here the full hour on my own," he replies, breaking his usual stillness to rotate his shoulders slowly, roll his head in a circle. "I can show you the next one, if you like. What I can't do is look at you a lot longer without touching you." His crooked smile returns, lips quirking. "Come here."
"Ah," Roa murmurs. "A weakness." But at the invitation, she moves towards him, rolled sleeves, tied skirt, mussed hair and all, keeping her gaze on Ashwin's face. Watching him watch her. She cannot quite keep away that coy little smile as she finds herself directly in front of him, looking up. "Show me, then," she bids softly. Show her what, however, remains unspecified.
His gaze drops sheepishly for a moment, but it's soon back on her face. Watching her, not bothering to hide it. "Course a weakness. As though you didn't know it." Her hair's mussed a good deal worse a few moments later as his fingers tangle through it, curving around the back of her head so he can pull her in to kiss her. He smells, as he usually does, of sweat, the scent of his discarded leather jacket clinging to his skin. He's restrained, his other hand remaining on the knife at his belt rather than pulling her in against him, but he takes his time over this first kiss of the morning.
"Nice to hear it anyhow," Roa murmurs as she's drawn in. Maybe she didn't realize she said anything, gave away that little weakness of her own. But then his lips are against hers and she's lost in him. Tasting salt and the faint aroma of leather and him. His own distinctive flavor. He is slow, and she follows his pace, her exploration slow and lingering. Her hands come to his shoulders without her noticing.
It's some time before they separate, and his hand stays tangled through her hair, thumb creeping around to trace the shape of her jaw. "Don't think I can train anymore," he murmurs, pale eyes on hers. "Concentration's gone." He swallows, as quiet now as he was loud when cursing a mistake in his routine twenty minutes earlier. He makes a false start at continuing, then shakes his head, finally shifting his gaze away to look down the hill. "Captain and I talked some time back about getting the call to go home."
The tiny smile returns to her lips when the kiss ends. Broadens a little at Ashwin's comment after. But then, as he goes on, the smile drifts away, a leaf carried off by a slight breeze, and Roa ducks down to disengage his hand from her hair, to steal back a bit of space between them. Leaving. Her arms cross suddenly over her chest, hands curling around her elbows as she looks out into the clearing. "Things aren't exactly stable here," she says after a moment. "Will it be soon, do you think?"
She recaptures his attention by withdrawing, and his mouth opens slightly in a silent protest, although his hand comes down to match the action of the other in resting on his knife hilt. "Come on now, don't wrap yourself up like that," he murmurs, more coaxing than disappointed. "Haven't heard what I have to say yet, and you're already backing up."
She swallows sharply, jaw tightening. Roa doesn't know, but it's clear she's assumed. And unlike other situations, she hasn't been able to practice this one in front of a mirror. Been able to perfect an easy smile and a dismissive laugh. This one's caught her off guard. She hates it. But while she doesn't move forward again, she doesn't back up anymore. She inhales a slow breath through her nose and carefully turns her gaze back onto Ashwin. "All right," she says. Calm. So calm. "Then say it, please."
"Come on now," he repeats in a murmur, fingers twisting the hilts of knives that won't budge, pushed safely home already. "You're right enough, things aren't stable here. Worse every day, although can't say I want folks buying me extra time here with their health." He's graver with those words, so quiet he's almost inaudible. He lifts his voice a little. "This, from the girl who told me to quiet down when I tried to talk about sometime beyond the next seven."
Oh. Dear. Been called on it. Roa's eyes close slowly and the little mental dance begins and ends in a single heartbeat. Take what you feel, tuck it away, lock it. When her eyes open again, the tension in her features is gone and her hands release their grip on her elbows. She takes the two steps needed to regain their previously closeness. "You're right, of course. And I would prefer things to be quiet here. We all would. Please go on."
Ashwin doesn't buy this sudden sorting out of her tension, and he doesn't conceal this fact. He tilts his head to one side to watch as she approaches, fingers opening and reclosing around the two hilts they hold. "We talked a little about my maybe doing something else." The words are calm, noncommittal at best. He's still watching her, as though trying to divine where that upset of a moment ago has gone. She is dealing, after all, with a man not inexperienced at keeping it all on the inside.
Wherever it's gone, it seems unwilling to reappear or give any clue as to its whereabouts. Roa's eyebrows lift a tad in quiet curiosity at this new news. NOT leaving. Which, of course, presents all sorts of new and interesting problems. "What sort of something else, then?"
Ashwin watches her in silence, in no hurry to answer this next question. Again, his shoulders rotate slowly, weight shifting from foot to foot. He hasn't warmed down, and his muscles must be stiffening in protest by now. "I like serving under the Captain," is what he offers after several seconds. "Talked about my keeping on with that. I talked, anyway. He more listened."
A small laugh is Ashwin's reward for that last. "You talked and Jensen was quiet. Now that's something I'd like to see. So then, I presume, the Captain also is planning on doing something else?" Roa takes a step back again, although this time it's to lift a hand and gesture towards Ashwin and his rolling shoulders and neck. "I'm breaking you," she murmurs. "Making you stop cold. Can you see to your limbs and talk to me at the same time?"
"Captain knows when he's wise to keep his ears open," Ashwin replies mildly. Presumably this is one of the reasons the lieutenant is electing to follow the man. "Not for me to say what the Captain'll do." As though her permission was required, he unwraps his hands from around the two hilts they've been gripping, doubling over with unusual flexibility to wrap his hands around his ankles, grunting as the stretch registers.
It's interesting, listening to someone address Jensen as the Captain and really mean it. Way down to those toes Ashwin is currently bent over. Roa's head tips a bit to the side, her brows drawing downward into a small but thoughtful scowl. "All right," she begins carefully. "Then if you can't tell me anything...I don't understand what you were trying to tell me." Why this whole little mess got started at all.
Ashwin holds his stretch in silence, waiting a full half a minute before he straightens, lifting one foot so that he can wrap his hand around his ankle, balancing in a stretch. All this done, he speaks. "Suppose it was my roundabout way of asking whether you minded one way or the other. But now I remember I'm not to ask. What do you think Morley's having for breakfast?" There's no tease in the question - instead it's polite, conversational. Perhaps he has the answer he wanted, now.
Roa's eyes narrow only the slightest bit before her features smooth again. Caught twice. Time to be more careful. Her fingers twitch against her sides, but she only bends down herself. Not to stretch, but to unknot her skirt and let it resume its normal shape. Sleeves are next as first right, then left, is unrolled and smoothed. "Waffles," she says simply. "And eggs. And sausage. With syrup over everything." Her nose wrinkles at the thought of such excessive and cloying sweetness.
Ashwin switches feet, arranging himself in a new stretch before he replies. "Reckon there'll be any of that left?" Again he's polite, conversational - if he's not as warm as he has been, not offering her that private smile that she alone wins, then neither is he as reserved as he has been in the past. Subdued, only. His foot thumps back on the ground, and he nods up the path. "Come on. I'll take you in to him. I'll stretch after." It's a concession, of sorts. There's not another move to try and reignite what was promised in that earlier kiss.
"I don't imagine even Morley can clean out the entire kitchen on his own. So there's still hope." Arms cross again, lightly, but it's chilly out. At the offer of being escorted to the young Morley, Roa nods and begins making her way back towards the Weyr. She doesn't expect him to walk beside her, not when he's taken a proverbial step back from that closeness they tease one another with. She's just expecting his familiar footfalls to be heard a few paces behind her. "Don't forget your jacket," she calls over her shoulder.