Morning Training
Reyce has started joining the guards' early morning sessions that are open to the public. He stays back to help pack up, and is on the receiving end of what is, for Ashwin, quite a warm welcome. Admittedly, it can be hard to tell this.
The weyr is coming to life, as the morning training winds down. In the large cavern the guards use for training, riders, weyrfolk and members of the guard are peeling away from the trios they've formed for boxing, each containing two sparring partners and one referee. Leather straps are unwound from hands, and good-natured ribbing and post-game analysis are making most of the noise, as the participants drift out of the cavern. The Captain and several of his men are unstringing the punching bags from the ceiling, and hauling them over to a pile in the corner. Ashwin is still flushed, his usually pale complexion showing some colour, and he pauses in his work to rub a forearm over his face, before he resumes unpicking a badly tied knot.
Add to that motley group one Caucus student, who separates from his sparring group with little more than a few scant comments, leaving them to resume their usual jokes without him. Having already removed the straps that bound his hands, now he flexes them and squeezes his wrists to help get the normal sense back in them. While he does, his lets his eyes rove over the room, finding the nearby guards as they take down the punching bags. "Help with that?" he wonders at the Captain, who happens to be closest. He speaks loudly enough for his words to reach that man's ears and no further, gesturing with an overturned palm if Ashwin should hear and look back. He's new at this; he doesn't know. The referee in his last match, the redness in his face has cooled considerably, though it still flushes his cheeks along with a much more subtle yellow bruise tucked under the shadow of his stubbled face.
Ashwin looks up, pale eyes fixing expressionless on the student for a long moment, as though there's some unannounced weighing up going on. Then he nods, and tilts his head to direct the nod, once it's served for confirmation, towards the punching bag. "Hold this if you would, take the slack off the knot, it's jammed tight." His words are quiet, a contrast to the bellow that was raised a few minutes ago to dismiss the session.
Reyce waits out the examination patiently, untroubled either by the silence or the scan. What does affect him is the sudden quiet that invades the Captain's words; hearing it, his own eyes thin somewhere between suspicion and puzzlement, and he takes a beat of his own before he steps forward to take the punching bag as directed. He angles himself out of Ashwin's way as best he can, leaving the the knot to him.
The quiet continues, the Captain's words a background murmur against the laughter of those leaving, as he reaches up to begin unpicking the knot. "Done much sparring before?" His eyes are on his task, expression politely blank.
The only thing visible, and hence most notable, on an otherwise still frame is Reyce's nose, twitching with a tiny sniff as he considers that question. "Depends," he answers, "what you'd call sparring. Regulated like that, I haven't." His eyes flick up to the Captain's face, a shrug implied in the slim twist of his mouth, then drop to the bag again.
"Keep our elbows in a bit, your tells'll show less," Ashwin offers quietly, getting the knot free, and stepping back. He nods over his shoulder to the pile where the punching bags are stacking up, although he doesn't offer to actually take the bag himself.
A small grunt, then Reyce nods as he catches on to the purpose of the question. "Thanks," he offers for it, and given the fact that Ashwin essentially just transferred the weight of the punching bag into his grip, the timing almost makes it seem as though the holder boy were thanking the guard for giving him this burden. The holder boy in question doesn't seem to notice, and since he's already carrying the bag anyway, just heads off to the pile that Ashwin indicated.
Ashwin watches his head to watch his newest recruit make his way towards the pile, and then, hands curling unconsciously around the two knives at his belt, he turns his surveillence on those others remaining, mostly guards, who are finishing dismantling the training area. They progress well enough that he evidently doesn't feel the need to assist them, for instead he returns to his study of Reyce.
Reyce is no more interesting than those other guards: he goes where he was told, sets the punching bag neatly down with the rest, and rocks his shoulders back once the weight is gone. When he turns to find Ashwin's study, that rock of the shoulders converts itself into the lift of a shrug. "That it?" he calls over, again measuring his words so they're no louder than need be to reach the captain's ears.
"That's it," Ashwin confirms, after turning his head once more to run his pale gaze over those finishing the job. Back to Reyce, who merits another stretch of silent, expressionless examination. Quiet, closed, but not noticeably hostile. "Don't get too many from the Caucus," the guard observes, after his silent interlude. "Be seeing you from now on?"
If he must endure silent, expressionless examinations, Reyce will at least do it comfortably, so he sets his hands in his pockets and leans his weight onto one leg while he waits. That he's so quickly identified as being from the Caucus earns the corner of a laugh from him, his lip tugged up while he drops his eyes down with a soft puff of air. Lifting his eyes back to Ashwin, he shrugs. again "Most days, yeah. Some days I've got class."
Ashwin nods, accepting this news without comment or reaction. He shifts his own weight, though, so he can walk over, closing the distance between them. "Looking for something in particular from it?" he asks, polite. Moderately more interested, if a small increment in animation can be considered to signal such.
While Ashwin closes the distance, Reyce tracks the other man with his eyes, making no effort on his own part to meet him half way. When the guard captain gets there, however, he tugs his chin up to meet his gaze evenly. "Just fitness," he says, though there's rangy muscle already visible on his arms. "Don't get much of it at a desk, or enough just walking around."
"True, that," Ashwin acknowledges with a small nod, his eyes flickering briefly, sizing up perhaps the prospects of Reyce's current and future fitness. "Not as much call for it, in your line of work." This observation is made as he begins to turn for the door, though - non-verbal, as so many of the Captain's cues are - there's an implicit invitation in the slowness with which he turns, and the manner in which his gaze remains momentarily on Reyce as he does so.
Reyce takes the cue, though it takes him a half-second to process. Since Ashwin's turn is slow, the lost moment may not even register, for he falls into stride easily alongside the Captain. "No," he admits, lifting his hands out of his pockets now that he's moving. "No call for it, but thought I would, anyway." His eyes track sideways to watch the other man, taking directional cues from his step and the focus of his eyes since he's not lagging behind to just follow.
A nod acknowledges that reasoning, or lack thereof, and Ashwin picks a path that follows in the footsteps of those who have chosen to eat before washing away the sweat of their morning's exertions, and beat the crowd to the living cavern. "There's no rank in the mornings," he observes, still reserved, polite. "No man'll pull punches."
Once the path to the living cavern seems clearly marked out, Reyce lets his eyes track away, lifting to watch the tunnels they're passing through. "No rank in a fight," he responds. Picking up, more and more, on Ashwin's polite attitude, a certain care has entered his answers, the words now carefully spaced if not, perhaps, as carefully chosen. "Don't expect them to. Don't care."
"I'm sure," Ashwin replies, adjusting the knives at his belt. "We tell the students anyhow, when they come. So there's no complaining, later on." He tilts his head sideways, eyeing his companion for a moment. The corners of his eyes crinkle, an accompaniment to the suggestion of a smile in the way his mouth moves. "Someone's already forgot to pull his punch, though."
Reyce twists his jaw when Ashwin references the light bruise on it, cracking his jaw open and giving it a stretch. "Not forgot," he answers, reaching a hand up as his mouth creaks closed. "Don't have to pull them, yeah?" His eyes flick up to the guard for confirmation, but a small tilt of the head suggests he knows the answer, so his gaze goes back to the tunnels. "Something else, anyway. Just old."
"Don't have to pull them here," Ashwin replies, again with that faint hint of a smile showing. "In training. Which is where we prefer punches are thrown." He has no more than that to say, however, sucking in a long breath through his nose, and releasing it through his mouth as they walk.
"Yeah," Reyce agrees, but despite Ashwin's smile, his care is coming back. They walk a few steps as Ashwin drags in and lets out that breath, but when it subsides, Reyce speaks again. "Not doing it to start fights places," he tells the Captain. "Maybe do less of that, have a place where I can." His tone has slipped, by this time, into something stiffly respectful and against the grain of his loose word choice.
"Good," Ashwin replies simply, lightly, with a nod. His slow steps come to a halt, as they reach the edge of the tunnel that peels off to the Weyrwoman's weyr, and he offers the Bendenite his hand. "It's Ashwin," he murmurs. "Any time I'm not working."
Reyce flicks a short glance at the tunnel they've stopped by, but his eyes are steady on Ashwin's to receive that handshake. "Reyce," he says simply, unelaborated. He gives a small, sinus-clearing sniff as his hand withdraws, waiting a beat before he gives a nod that he clearly assumes will pass as his farewell.
Ashwin matches his nod, and apparently, that's that. The Captain's left hand curls around one of the knives at his belt, as he makes to turn away. "Until tomorrow," he murmurs, not waiting to see the Benden man depart, but turning away entirely, and making his way up the gentle slope to the North weyr.
The weyr is coming to life, as the morning training winds down. In the large cavern the guards use for training, riders, weyrfolk and members of the guard are peeling away from the trios they've formed for boxing, each containing two sparring partners and one referee. Leather straps are unwound from hands, and good-natured ribbing and post-game analysis are making most of the noise, as the participants drift out of the cavern. The Captain and several of his men are unstringing the punching bags from the ceiling, and hauling them over to a pile in the corner. Ashwin is still flushed, his usually pale complexion showing some colour, and he pauses in his work to rub a forearm over his face, before he resumes unpicking a badly tied knot.
Add to that motley group one Caucus student, who separates from his sparring group with little more than a few scant comments, leaving them to resume their usual jokes without him. Having already removed the straps that bound his hands, now he flexes them and squeezes his wrists to help get the normal sense back in them. While he does, his lets his eyes rove over the room, finding the nearby guards as they take down the punching bags. "Help with that?" he wonders at the Captain, who happens to be closest. He speaks loudly enough for his words to reach that man's ears and no further, gesturing with an overturned palm if Ashwin should hear and look back. He's new at this; he doesn't know. The referee in his last match, the redness in his face has cooled considerably, though it still flushes his cheeks along with a much more subtle yellow bruise tucked under the shadow of his stubbled face.
Ashwin looks up, pale eyes fixing expressionless on the student for a long moment, as though there's some unannounced weighing up going on. Then he nods, and tilts his head to direct the nod, once it's served for confirmation, towards the punching bag. "Hold this if you would, take the slack off the knot, it's jammed tight." His words are quiet, a contrast to the bellow that was raised a few minutes ago to dismiss the session.
Reyce waits out the examination patiently, untroubled either by the silence or the scan. What does affect him is the sudden quiet that invades the Captain's words; hearing it, his own eyes thin somewhere between suspicion and puzzlement, and he takes a beat of his own before he steps forward to take the punching bag as directed. He angles himself out of Ashwin's way as best he can, leaving the the knot to him.
The quiet continues, the Captain's words a background murmur against the laughter of those leaving, as he reaches up to begin unpicking the knot. "Done much sparring before?" His eyes are on his task, expression politely blank.
The only thing visible, and hence most notable, on an otherwise still frame is Reyce's nose, twitching with a tiny sniff as he considers that question. "Depends," he answers, "what you'd call sparring. Regulated like that, I haven't." His eyes flick up to the Captain's face, a shrug implied in the slim twist of his mouth, then drop to the bag again.
"Keep our elbows in a bit, your tells'll show less," Ashwin offers quietly, getting the knot free, and stepping back. He nods over his shoulder to the pile where the punching bags are stacking up, although he doesn't offer to actually take the bag himself.
A small grunt, then Reyce nods as he catches on to the purpose of the question. "Thanks," he offers for it, and given the fact that Ashwin essentially just transferred the weight of the punching bag into his grip, the timing almost makes it seem as though the holder boy were thanking the guard for giving him this burden. The holder boy in question doesn't seem to notice, and since he's already carrying the bag anyway, just heads off to the pile that Ashwin indicated.
Ashwin watches his head to watch his newest recruit make his way towards the pile, and then, hands curling unconsciously around the two knives at his belt, he turns his surveillence on those others remaining, mostly guards, who are finishing dismantling the training area. They progress well enough that he evidently doesn't feel the need to assist them, for instead he returns to his study of Reyce.
Reyce is no more interesting than those other guards: he goes where he was told, sets the punching bag neatly down with the rest, and rocks his shoulders back once the weight is gone. When he turns to find Ashwin's study, that rock of the shoulders converts itself into the lift of a shrug. "That it?" he calls over, again measuring his words so they're no louder than need be to reach the captain's ears.
"That's it," Ashwin confirms, after turning his head once more to run his pale gaze over those finishing the job. Back to Reyce, who merits another stretch of silent, expressionless examination. Quiet, closed, but not noticeably hostile. "Don't get too many from the Caucus," the guard observes, after his silent interlude. "Be seeing you from now on?"
If he must endure silent, expressionless examinations, Reyce will at least do it comfortably, so he sets his hands in his pockets and leans his weight onto one leg while he waits. That he's so quickly identified as being from the Caucus earns the corner of a laugh from him, his lip tugged up while he drops his eyes down with a soft puff of air. Lifting his eyes back to Ashwin, he shrugs. again "Most days, yeah. Some days I've got class."
Ashwin nods, accepting this news without comment or reaction. He shifts his own weight, though, so he can walk over, closing the distance between them. "Looking for something in particular from it?" he asks, polite. Moderately more interested, if a small increment in animation can be considered to signal such.
While Ashwin closes the distance, Reyce tracks the other man with his eyes, making no effort on his own part to meet him half way. When the guard captain gets there, however, he tugs his chin up to meet his gaze evenly. "Just fitness," he says, though there's rangy muscle already visible on his arms. "Don't get much of it at a desk, or enough just walking around."
"True, that," Ashwin acknowledges with a small nod, his eyes flickering briefly, sizing up perhaps the prospects of Reyce's current and future fitness. "Not as much call for it, in your line of work." This observation is made as he begins to turn for the door, though - non-verbal, as so many of the Captain's cues are - there's an implicit invitation in the slowness with which he turns, and the manner in which his gaze remains momentarily on Reyce as he does so.
Reyce takes the cue, though it takes him a half-second to process. Since Ashwin's turn is slow, the lost moment may not even register, for he falls into stride easily alongside the Captain. "No," he admits, lifting his hands out of his pockets now that he's moving. "No call for it, but thought I would, anyway." His eyes track sideways to watch the other man, taking directional cues from his step and the focus of his eyes since he's not lagging behind to just follow.
A nod acknowledges that reasoning, or lack thereof, and Ashwin picks a path that follows in the footsteps of those who have chosen to eat before washing away the sweat of their morning's exertions, and beat the crowd to the living cavern. "There's no rank in the mornings," he observes, still reserved, polite. "No man'll pull punches."
Once the path to the living cavern seems clearly marked out, Reyce lets his eyes track away, lifting to watch the tunnels they're passing through. "No rank in a fight," he responds. Picking up, more and more, on Ashwin's polite attitude, a certain care has entered his answers, the words now carefully spaced if not, perhaps, as carefully chosen. "Don't expect them to. Don't care."
"I'm sure," Ashwin replies, adjusting the knives at his belt. "We tell the students anyhow, when they come. So there's no complaining, later on." He tilts his head sideways, eyeing his companion for a moment. The corners of his eyes crinkle, an accompaniment to the suggestion of a smile in the way his mouth moves. "Someone's already forgot to pull his punch, though."
Reyce twists his jaw when Ashwin references the light bruise on it, cracking his jaw open and giving it a stretch. "Not forgot," he answers, reaching a hand up as his mouth creaks closed. "Don't have to pull them, yeah?" His eyes flick up to the guard for confirmation, but a small tilt of the head suggests he knows the answer, so his gaze goes back to the tunnels. "Something else, anyway. Just old."
"Don't have to pull them here," Ashwin replies, again with that faint hint of a smile showing. "In training. Which is where we prefer punches are thrown." He has no more than that to say, however, sucking in a long breath through his nose, and releasing it through his mouth as they walk.
"Yeah," Reyce agrees, but despite Ashwin's smile, his care is coming back. They walk a few steps as Ashwin drags in and lets out that breath, but when it subsides, Reyce speaks again. "Not doing it to start fights places," he tells the Captain. "Maybe do less of that, have a place where I can." His tone has slipped, by this time, into something stiffly respectful and against the grain of his loose word choice.
"Good," Ashwin replies simply, lightly, with a nod. His slow steps come to a halt, as they reach the edge of the tunnel that peels off to the Weyrwoman's weyr, and he offers the Bendenite his hand. "It's Ashwin," he murmurs. "Any time I'm not working."
Reyce flicks a short glance at the tunnel they've stopped by, but his eyes are steady on Ashwin's to receive that handshake. "Reyce," he says simply, unelaborated. He gives a small, sinus-clearing sniff as his hand withdraws, waiting a beat before he gives a nod that he clearly assumes will pass as his farewell.
Ashwin matches his nod, and apparently, that's that. The Captain's left hand curls around one of the knives at his belt, as he makes to turn away. "Until tomorrow," he murmurs, not waiting to see the Benden man depart, but turning away entirely, and making his way up the gentle slope to the North weyr.