Logs:Training Secrets
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2015 |
| Who: N'rov, Ka'ge |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two bronzeriders work out very early morning |
| Where: Training Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Training Room, Fort Weyr >---------------------------------------------< Roughly rectangular in shape, this spacious room is often littered with exercise equipment which people have failed to return to the large storage units in its north-east corner. Next to these wooden storage units, a notice board is hung on the wall beneath a glowbasket, various notes and reminders and messages pinned or stuck to it, some dating back months. Tall wooden screens sit at various points throughout the room, some folded and stacked against the walls, available for those who would rather exercise in some privacy. For this particular cavern, brightness is the key word, for there look to be more glows than anything else, maintaining the high level of light and visibility needed for sports and activities that require precision. Late night gives way to early morning, with Rukbat still not risen outside. This brings the hours where the Weyr is still blissfully quiet. Kitchenstaff has started to rouse, perhaps, the hearths that had been simmering all night being stoked with fuller flame to set pots a'brew with stews, teas and klah, and breads being set out to rise. But the tunnels lack the majority of the hustle and bustle that is sure to come within a few hours yet. Ka'ge is not one of the ones still in bed, and this is a common thing, already laced up in gloves and confronted with one of the punching bags as if he's been here awhile. The way sleep is absent from his face, chiseled in focus that is hard-pressed to be found there on the daily basis leaves to question if he's been to sleep at all, which is not surprising. He's absent of his typical baggy grey attire, instead in a black sleeveless tunic- the sleeve holes frayed as if what had been there was ripped off and was never really meant to be that way. Arms bare, muscular and damp with sweat, the scars on him are more obvious, the hints of ink peeking out from behind his right shoulder, too. Breaths come rapidly, in time with each strike on the bag, loud in the otherwise quiet of the space. The door opens, not loudly nor secretively but just there; N'rov enters, yawning, his jaw dark and his his hair long enough to curl. The wingsecond glances Ka'ge's way, but doesn't slow in getting off the flight jacket (short sleeves, no sweat, no ink) or taking a long, preliminary glug from his waterskin. The blue-green eyes of the young bronzerider shift away from the bag to view the other, though not missing yet in the pattern he's taken on. But the reptitive 'thuks' do slow briefly, pick back up, and then end with a final-sounded squared cross. Ka'ge steps back, turning his back to N'rov to stoop over a pile of items- a towel, a collapsed waterskin that looks emptied of its contents. His black hair, probably odd to see considering he's always wearing a helmet or a hood, drips with sweat and is mopped first with his forearm. "Early riser or is it that late already?" Is an unamused question tossed his way, currently lacking in the salute but perhaps it's only because he's got his face and thusly his words shortly muffled by the towel. "Early enough." N'rov spends a moment or two to look him over, hair and sweat and all, before dropping off his gear and heading to stretch out. "Had enough?" Ka'ge drops the towel that appears as though it's been used more than once already over the course of however long the young man has been here back into his pile. "It's always and never enough." He notes with faint amusement and an edge of a uncomfortable grin, more for his own benefit than N'rov's. "Don't usually have company at my times." "Nobody else likes the ass crack of dawn?" comes with a dry, definitely amused chuckle. N'rov's got one heel kicked up, working on his hamstrings. "Understand it, though. When a man's out early," when Ka'ge is out early? "might as well get at it." His look at the younger bronzerider is sidelong only by virtue of their angle, straight out rather than surreptitious. "Fortunately, it's a select few." Comes with a slightly more interested narrowing of his eyes as Ka'ge considers N'rov a little longer. "As nice as an audience is," He starts, granting a sarcastic edge to his slow, deliberate words, "Sometimes you just don't want to show off everything you've got." He puts no effort in making that sound to be the real reason for being up at such a rediculous hour. And after a pause of a thoughtful lift and then setting back down of the empty waterskin, "Couldn't sleep?" "Is that it." N'rov ducks his head for the next set of moves, but not fast enough to hide his grin... nor must it be intended to be. "Yeah, off to visit my family. My brother's latest is walking, and they want to show him off. I think I'm supposed to teach him a choice word or two while I'm there." He works his muscles smoothly, the ease of habit and knowing what's going to get the job done right. "'Not wanting to show off' sounds a whole better than 'don't want to be seen in public.'" Ka'ge stands up straighter, rolling a shoulder and crossing an arm across his chest to stretch it and the associated back muscles. It buys a moment of time before he offers a sort of response, "Better pick a good one." He says on the choice words, "Suppose that's worth getting up early for." Seems to be a 'congratulations' in more roundabout words. He switches arms to stretch as he watches N'rov's patterns, a sort of 'hmph' of a curious laugh coming at his observation, "I show off in enough things, but a secret night life would be awfully... entertaining, wouldn't it." Does he? questions the hooked lift of N'rov's brow, questioning the one who'd seemed so indifferent as a shadowing weyrling. "It could," the bronzerider allows now, rolling the idea in that southern drawl. "Half has to be the point, the way I figure." He slows for a drink, then starts to jog in place, taking it easy at first but quick to ramp it up. Ka'ge allows the questioning looking to go 'unseen', turning his shoulder to N'rov to square with the bag instead. Whether it be because of the conversation or he really wasn't done, well... The strikes he throws, individual and basic in pattern, are steadily rhythmic. It almost hides the smirk that's taken the place of his grin, partially covered by the roll of shoulder or guard that's kept there. "You have much experience in that, then? Or too many harper stories when you were little." "No experience at all," the wingsecond says, a happy and transparent untruth; jogging in one place is boring, though, so N'rov sets to rounding the room, vaulting others' left-behind gear. "I can only ever admire the brilliance of others." On the second pass, he starts picking things up now and again, the better to dump them in a pile by the storage units: part weight, part maneuverability, part getting them out of his way. Ka'ge's brow raises but he doesn't depart from that same bag, going on with that band pattern he's chosen for repetition's sake alone. "I love stories." He says too flately to be anything but sarcastic, but he's amused and therefore entertained enough by whatever the wingsecond is not-sharing. He'd wait for the older bronzerider's lap to circle back to him, not maintaining to increase an effort to speak over distance, "Friends in good places?" He urges that without pressure, "Head in the clouds?" "Indeed. I've only gotten my nose broken the once, and that was a misunderstanding... or 'misunderstanding,'" one orthe other. N'rov's tone was light, his expression vaguely reminiscent (and there's visual proof that he hadn't the sense to insist the healers leave him crooked) but his gaze grows shuttered. But shortly after it's gone, and he doesn't seem to mind speaking over distance, keeping the same easy cadence through round after round. "What about you, are you in a good place?" "There's a lot of convenient 'misunderstandings'." Ka'ge catches the bag as it swings back at him after a particularly harder set. "Did you deserve it?" Is the better question, but N'rov's question seems to erase the entertained look he'd picked up. It's replaced with a flat expression, and a lopsided shrug of teenager's or young-twenty-something's 'whatever'. "Good place- like the wing? The Weyr? Lot of people seem interested in that for some reason. I'm just wherever." The latter descends into an almost muttering that may be harder to hear from the farther corners of the work out cavern. "Not that time," N'rov remarks, moving toward a second bag; he works with its rope, reaffixing it lower, and his glance at Ka'ge is a brief one. "Wherever," he agrees easily enough. "I didn't realize there was a line." Of questioners. "Line enough. And what do you think? You've been around long enough." Surely Ka'ge isn't calling him old. "Do you think it matters?" This time, his pause on his bag seems more final. All the very boring paces he'd been putting himself through during the chat seemed to do little but be convenient. He uses his teeth to start unlacing his right glove. He starts to unlace his glove; N'rov gives his bag a trial swing and, on its return, pivots to smack it not with a fist but a deliberate blow with his foot. If Ka'ge were calling him old, maybe he's too old to notice. He's keeping his balance with each successive strike: not hard enough to send the sack flinging wildly, but to control its path. "It doesn't have to, for a while. Your life's your life." His grin is sudden. "They could at least buy you a drink." Ka'ge tucks one glove under an arm as he unlaces the other, his gaze lingering on N'rov for the length of time it takes to do so. "There are not enough drinks." He agrees frankly, but then the very unamused expression flickers with the edge of grin, a chuckle under his breath as he drops his stare on the older bronzerider to look to his pile of things. "If all the paths lead in the same direction, doesn't matter which you pick." It's a correction, this statement. An offer that he has some goal in mind. "Never," is agreement in turn. N'rov's developed a rhythm with those blows, clearly enjoys it, now and again interspersing a hand-strike after all; the sweat he's raising is a good sweat. "If you don't care how fast you get there," is his rueful supposition. "Or maybe it's just faster without attention, or" He gestures vaguely, "'Help'." Ka'ge responds carefully but intentionally, listening to but not watching him. "Could be," N'rov surmises to the bag, the bag he's kicking and yet keeps swinging back for more. "Too many cooks, and all that." Gray eyes glance Ka'ge's way, speculative; his words keep cadence here too, slower. "And there's something to be said for just doing. Not having to explain." Ka'ge chuckles again, this time more full but still just as breathy, just as arrogantly compressed. "Exactly." He lifts a hand to touch an ungloved finger to his nose- N'rov being right on it. He digs into a pocket to pull out other gloves, splotchy dark grey-black ones, which he dawns quickly enough as if bare hands are supposed to be a very temporary thing. The sounds of noises in the tunnels beyond are growing- time goes by, as it is, and the greater part of the Weyr is waking. "Good luck with the visit and all." Is his intention of leaving, and leaving the conversation at just that. The older bronzerider doesn't burst into flames at that passing glimpse, but who knows what more prolonged exposure might have done; N'rov calls over, "Thanks. It'll be fine," with the ease of a man who doesn't know what it means that that body's washed up onto his homeland's shore, who doesn't yet know what's coming. He's got a workout to complete. |
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