(Untitled)

[an_evening_star]

There's still only a certain amount of sunlight that Yvaine is willing to be exposed to at any given time - so when she steps out of the relative darkness of the kitchen it's only under the shade of a rather ridiculously wide-brimmed hat with an equally ridiculous feather sticking out of the top. She can't say that she is particularly fond of

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[tristranthorn]

Tristran straightens, pausing for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.

His arm is still sore from a few days ago when the captain taught him a new technique, which he had yet to master. But he's learning.

"Come on, boy," the captain says, jerking his sword at him. "Try it again."

Tristran takes a breath, and nods.

[an_evening_star]

The ridiculous voice - the one that she usually, very pointedly, ignores has somehow managed to wrangle itself top billing in the theater of her mind. Providing her with useless soundbites on his how he moves or the way that his hair falls into his eyes and, really, she is feeling sorely tempted to ask someone - anyone - to smack some sense into her.

The other voice - the one she likes to think of as common sense is finding itself exceedingly uninspired. Every once and a while it will chime up dully with something about 'having better taste' or 'should be ashamed of yourself' and even she is growing hard pressed not to roll her eyes at such an obviously pathetic attempt.

It is fortunate, however, that neither voice has any particular problem with making fun of Tristran loudly and on a near-constant basis. (A fact in which she revels - and, really, one has to revel in something.) And so nothing in her really protests when - after Tristran has nearly been disarmed for the umpteenth time - she lets out a laugh and chimes in with a, "

[tristranthorn]

Tristran turns in Yvaine's direction, glancing at her as he takes a breath, sword resting idly in one hand. It's getting a lot lighter now with use, he notices, and even though he isn't very good with it, the captain said he was getting better.

Anyway, he hadn't noticed the star there, sitting with her sun-hat, not until just now. And there's something strange about her, something that makes him feel very uncomfortable.

He turns quickly, pretending he hadn't heard her, and begins a series of strikes against the large trunk of wood Alberic called a 'training-pole'. It was meant to direct his aim a little better.

[an_evening_star]

Well, fine then.

Her chin tilts grandly (ignoring him ignoring her?) and she grins brightly as the Captain makes his way over - all swagger and that loud, booming, storytelling voice - snatching the feather from her hat to the backdrop of incredulous and highly indignant yelping.

"Hey!" she squawks, and she isn't entirely certain if she's more upset over the loss of her feather or the blocking of her view.

It's harder to make fun of something you cannot see, after all.