Logs:Throwing Knives
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| RL Date: 12 July, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Shani tries to teach N'rov knife-throwing, though they are distracted by matters of transfers, rumored and potential. |
| Where: Trader Wagon, Southern Continent |
| When: Mid-month 3, Turn 32 |
| Mentions: Jyani/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated and delayed due to vacations, etc; before Fort's barracks collapse. |
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| The first attempt, at the wagon, wasn't all that successful in the way of teaching, as Aishani wasn't so bad at showing N'rov -- sinking her little knives into a tree-knot deftly and gracefully -- but focus on anything beyond that was all too easily diffused. Now though, she has her business-face on, all sober and serious and this-is-going-to-happen-this-time. "Did you put the wagon nearby on purpose?" N'rov asks, strolling over towards the chosen tree in a manner more becoming to sharp formal wear than his current undershirt and cut-offs. "How long have you been planning it? Poor tree, it can't even run. I can hear it calling to me now. 'Shani, Shani, don't hurt me again! I don't care about the other one, he couldn't even hit your wagon! Why don't you try that grass over there, it grows back!'" At least, he keeps talking if she doesn't knife him first. Dryly, "I've been planning it forever. I enjoy torturing greenery." It'd be tough for Shani to knife N'rov given all her knives are still embedded into said maligned tree, so she just narrows her eyes sidelong, telling him lightly, "If you're going to be that way, I won't put up the target I made for you." That's probably not the case, as she's reaching into the pocket of her shorts approaching the tree, even as she's wrinkling her nose his way. "I painted that wagon myself. I won't have it all marked up already." "It can tell," N'rov informs her. "It is quaking in fear," thanks to the convenient breeze, but he does provide an imitation complete with quivery fingers for leaves while she walks up. The prospect of that target does seem to pique the bronzerider's interest, at least, unless it's just that she's reaching into her shorts. "If you insist. How old were you when you learned to throw knives? Younger than Jyani?" While he's at it, he starts pulling out her knives for her, if only to keep them in his clutches for a few moments longer instead of her own. Looking up to check on the tree quaking in fear, or trembling in the breeze, as the case may be, Aishani arches a fine brow his way, but doesn't question. She does smirk a little at the imitation, swiping one of her knives before he can for pinning purposes; she's unfolding a piece of paper. "A little older," she allows as she does. "I had to wait until one of my uncles came back from the mines, then had to convince him it was a good idea. That took a month or so." Once he's pulled out the last of the knives, she smooths the sheet over the trunk and pins it up with the one she has in hand: it's a large frowny face with 'E'dre' written underneath. "There." Amused. "It's his face you want me to aim at. I see." N'rov layers the remaining knives and then offers them to Aishani, hilts first; then, he shuts one eye so he can squint better at his target. "I like it anyway, and it's got to be easier to focus on than the alternative," which would lead to a lot of laughing if his descriptive gesture is any indication. "Whose face are you going to give little Jyani, or does she know these things already?" "Better than the wagon," Shani notes dryly, before she figures out what he's getting at, then gives him something of a disgusted look, nose wrinkled. Taking the knives, stepping back a good few paces, "You can aim at whatever else you want when you practice on your own time. And she knows a little. I'm not sure whose. Mine, probably." Her smile is a bit resigned as she turns to the target. "All right. I'd have you follow along behind me, but I'm not sure how productive that would end up being." She gives him a disgusted look, he gives her a smirk of a grin. "What can I say. Wing love." N'rov steps back as Aishani does, and agrees, his voice slipping gradually if not irrevocably into something more serious, "Not as much. Maybe after I watch you this way a few times. Lead on." It'd be more fun for Aishani, probably, having N'rov press himself against her back in some 'effort' at following her movements, but that doesn't really lend itself to instruction. So she tries her best to be a good instructor as she goes through the paces: step back, draw back; step forward with the forward motion; release the knife when the arm is fully extended; follow through. Slow a few times at first without throwing, then quicker, without as much force as she might throw with at full speed. It might not be as hot as the ninja-style throwing, but she's teaching here. So N'rov tries to be a good student, watching at first and then copying his teacher's movements, focusing on one element at a time before adding the next. "Do you practice much with your other hand?" He adds, "I think my grip isn't quite right. It keeps slipping because I'm used to holding a knife the other way," though this isn't the same at all as his beltknife with its wide, reinforced grip and cleverly-shaped pommel. "I have a little," Shani admits, "But I'm not very good at it." She says it like it's a failing, not being able to throw knives with both hands and change her accent and her name all at once, as if she hasn't managed enough in her life so far. "That's why I wrapped the handles. But I don't think I showed you very well." She slides her knives into the holster, exposed at her hip now, to approach and arrange his finger and thumbs properly along the short, thin handle. As she does, looking down, "People have been asking if I'll transfer to Fort now. So it's finally gone the other way." "Do you practice?" N'rov immediately asks. He duly admires the holster, noting, "That can't be mistaken for anything else, can it," before arranging his fingers more or less the way she wants them. He's not good at being passive, unsurprisingly, attempting to predict what she'll change and not always getting it right. For Fort, though, "Will you?" It's not quite a bystander's question, too careful at being casual for that; given last time, though, it's also not one that assumes he'll be in the know. "Of course. I wouldn't be much good at it anymore if I didn't." Flashing a grin, Shani notes, "That's why it's usually concealed, yes?" After a bit of 'no, move your thumb there', they both manage to get it right, thumb and two fingers holding the handle, her hand around his. Glancing up through her lashes, trying to gauge his expression -- and maybe trying not to look a bit hurt for the question -- "I would ask you." It's quiet, with faint reproach she knows she has little right to, and it takes a moment for her to finish, "I doubt it would happen anyway." He laughs. "I mean, the one you're not very good at. The one that," and N'rov might put his arm around her if there weren't those knives, "you say you aren't very good at. Of course, I like to think your standards are higher than the average girl's." He doesn't move to throw the knife, not with her hand about his larger one, but instead settles for holding it right. He doesn't ask at which point she'd ask him. "Hattie likes you. You never know. Do you think you'd like her as your boss, though?" His expression's not so easy to read, though it gets to be more tender as he leans to kiss her hair, which doesn't help his knife grip any. "We'd see more of each other." "I practice, in case there's a time I need to use my off hand. I can show you, but I do like to keep your image of me as perfect as possible." Aishani smirks a touch, enough that it's obvious she's only partially joking. Her hand slipping from his, she bends to brush her lips against his fingers, even with the knife between them. His kiss closes her eyes, making it easier for her to clarify, "I'd talk to you." Apparently, it would be a discussion, unlike other major changes in her life, so there's that. To her credit; "I don't know that I'd like anyone as my boss, to be honest." As she takes a step back, so as not to get distracted yet again, she's careful. "Would you like that? Seeing that much of each other?" Of having a boss, "No, I don't expect you would," but N'rov says it with a low, affectionate laugh. He could step back as she does, physically or conversationally. Staying where he is, "I think I would. Though you'd have me seeing you practice, you understand. You'd see me... whatever it is that I do." There's an abortive movement where, though ordinarily not one to fidget, he starts to shift from one foot to the other. "The thing is, Shani, I want you to see the best of me too. I want you to see the best of me right now." It's a laugh that makes her smile, even as she admits, "I don't know what will happen if anyone pushes the issue." When. But that's not really as important so much as the rest of the conversation; though her fingers have dropped from his knife-hand, they creep back up around his wrist, gentle. "Whatever it is that you do," Shani echoes, a grin playing about her lips, but she doesn't find something clever to poke at him with, just sobers by degrees as she looks up to regard him with dark, serious eyes. Lightly, almost ruefully, "The thing is, N'rov, I think I already do." There's a beat. "You've seen some of me that's... not all that pretty. Figuratively. Of course." Of course. N'rov's own sober nod acknowledges both its importance and its relative lack of importance, right before he moves that wrist just enough to sheathe the knife unthrown. It won't cut either of them, that way. "It would have to be figuratively," he says. "Which isn't conceding figuratively, either, so don't get any ideas." His own gray eyes are warmer for meeting hers. "Let's say you do, I won't argue with you there. I just wish that I could tell you that I'm certain, Shani, that I'm positive, and be telling the truth. What I can tell you," he continues if not immediately, not and have it be as serious as it should. "That the wagon you brought here, this wagon you even painted for us with your own hands, that's been really something. Really something, coming here, to you." There's a little purse of her lips for sheathing the knife -- so much for productivity -- but there's something productive about the conversation, for all that it's thwarting the lesson. Long fingers merely stroke the fine hair on his wrist, an aspect of maleness she's always been particularly fond of, then sliding to entwine with his. "I won't," Shani promises, though she's dubious. Closing the distance she'd put between them, her chin tilts up to ask, "Certain, positive that I do see the best of you? Or that you'd want to see that much of me?" There's no accusation there, she just wants to understand. With a flicker of a look toward the wagon, corners of her mouth quirking for her own hands, "I like that. I like having a place for us, a place that you can come to me, that I can come to you. But one day, I think I want to come home to you. Not now, maybe. But someday." Her fingers tighten around his, her gaze softening to near-apology. "It's not something I thought I'd want." "Not certain how it would work, me being that underfoot around you, anyone being around that much for me." N'rov's hand by no means evades hers. Though his gaze tracks how the lift of her chin brings up her lips like that, he soon looks back to her eyes. "If it's an off night, if I'm grouchy, I can go mess around in my weyr and it doesn't mean anything. You don't have to deal with it, I don't have to stop being grouchy so I don't bother you. It's not like my parents' hold, with a bunch of rooms and the grounds to knock about in, even your weyr just isn't that big. You know what I mean? That doesn't mean not someday. It just means I don't know." "I'm not certain either." That's as soft as Shani's gaze, and the way he watches her mouth softens it too. It takes time to listen, a moment to consider her words, the rustle of the breeze in the trees filling the silence before, "I know what you mean. I like my space. Maybe being in the same place would be enough. Maybe being grouchy, staying out of each other's way, wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, at the same time." Letting joined hands drop between them, swinging them once, twice, "It doesn't need to get figured out now. But, N'rov. You don't have to be... not-grouchy for me, your best for me all the time. You know I haven't been for you." The last is wry; she can't claim anything different. N'rov doesn't interrupt Shani, and he doesn't even interrupt the breeze until after she's done, except for once. With a chuckle, "No, not the worst thing in the world." It's his intent rather than than inertia that adds a third swing. "You say that now. Don't get me wrong, Shani, it's not like I'm having to work around you. I could say you're a great distraction from all those other things, except saying you're a distraction makes it sound like you're less important than what you are. Even grumbling about things with you winds up making them a whole lot better, too. Like that face." He nods toward their erstwhile target. "So what I'm saying is that you've been good for me, good to me. You're great. So look at me and tell me you know that, and we can throw some knives." There's a little line that forms between fine brows as they come together, as he speaks -- until at the end, where Shani just blinks, then looks away rather than at him like he'd asked, shaking her head. "I'm great. Just what every little girl dreams of hearing. I am glad you said that; I'm not always sure what I am to you otherwise." Pursing her lips, considering the target with a distant gaze, "That's what I was getting at, that if there's some part of us we're not letting the other see... what's to say there isn't something there that won't make it better." Another shake of her head, and she'll try to loose her hand from his, check her blades, get to business. Because he'd obviously want her moody and knife-throwing. Despite regular practice, N'rov isn't qualified to write a manual on the niceties of Shani's brows, as evinced by how he'd kept digging himself in deeper; probably he should think about a remedial course. "Yeah, I'd like that, but then there's the part where I just put my foot in it again." The bronzerider's voice is rough with frustration, and rather than let her go, he slides his own case of knives into his pocket so he can try to catch both of her hands with both of his. There's likely subtleties there even in just the movement of brows that might require a manual; maybe that's just part of being a girl, though Aishani is a girl with a few more trap-door surprises than some. Even if she too has a soft sigh, a sound of her own frustration, she doesn't make him let go, lets him catch her other hand too, looking down at her long fingers curled in his larger ones as her hair spills over her shoulders. "Nothing you've done or said has changed the way I feel about you." She has to swallow before she can manage, "I don't know that much could. And I know how you feel, but sometimes..." There's a soft, short laugh. "You're not very good at saying it. I'm not very good at saying it." His hands tighten about hers, a silent good. "No, we're not. Open up your hands, Shani." N'rov encourages her to do it with his own, opening her palms to the sky like a bowl that he can draw in, bracing them on one of his as on a pedestal. If she lets him, if she seems to like it (because he's paying even closer attention this time) he draws the letters of those words with one finger as a stylus, large enough to take up both her hands, one letter at a time. They're oriented, of course, from her perspective. She lets him and she seems to like it, though her glance up to him is through the veil of her lashes, dark curls framing her face as she watches. It doesn't take Shani long to figure it out, lips curving slowly upward, eyes following his finger as he writes. In her direction, even. Her gaze comes up soon enough, and she lifts the hand he'd written with to her chest, over the steady rhythm of her heart, with both of hers clasped over it. "I know," she says again, after a few beats. "That's not likely to change either." Her smile beginning to widen even as it shades rueful, "I shouldn't be so concerned with this now. Not even twenty-two." But she holds his hand there a moment longer even so. "Good." N'rov's emphatic there, keeping his hand with Shani's just as long as she chooses, though his other hand reaches across to smooth her hair. If it's not the frizz-inducing part of Southern, that's probably no coincidence. "You should wait until you're at least twenty-three," he says, less rueful than utterly calm and agreeable, though his eyes are warm. "And a half." "Maybe..." Aishani considers, his hand to her heart feeling the vibration of that last word before she eases them between them again, the one of his still in both of hers. "Maybe it's everything I've lost, all the people... something about being able to see you, touch you, know you're there and not..." Gone. Her dark eyes are still on his warm grey gaze, but it doesn't seem easy. Though, "I might hold you to that. Twenty-three and six-ish months, and I'll show up one day and start in about moving without so much as an explanation." N'rov adds his other hand to the mix, four for an even number, and presses their hands together like that would help the rest of them. "I suppose that's one thing about fostering," he says, "I got to leave. Or I suppose you could say I got tossed out, but that's what boys my age did," at least the boys of his rank and above. "Are you going to bring your plants? I don't know if they'll survive that well, but you know, there's more where they came from." It could be the press of hands, or that shift from 'if' to 'are you', but it's enough for Shani's shoulders to ease down infinitesimally, to shake her head and smile with a warmth that's rare for anyone but him. "I did leave, but different circumstances, I suppose." There's a flicker of a look down at their hands, then she frees hers to wrap her arms around him suddenly, as impulsively as she does anything. Resting her head against his chest, "We'll see if they make it that far to start. I'm sorry I keep getting in the way of actually teaching you anything." "Really different," N'rov agrees, but he's already looking down at his girl, and a beat later he's enclosing her in his arms in return. "If only it was because I already know everything," another beat, "instead of almost everything." He grins at Shani. "We can try again later, or now. Lady's choice." Shani looks up at him, chin tilting way up since she's barely loosened her hold on him. "Almost everything," she echoes, dark eyes bright, but she doesn't contradict him this time. "I'll just have to fill in the blanks, then." She mirrors his grin wickedly, but the slow drift of her hand down his back and into his pocket is actually for his knives. "I spent all that time on your target. Let's see how closely you were watching." "One blank at a time, woman," N'rov tells her with a smirk. "A man's attention span is only so long. Especially if," he flicks a look in the direction of his pocket, "you steal his blades. But I'll see what I can do. We start up close, right? Build up a little confidence?" "Just taking them out for you," Aishani points out, unwinding herself enough to offer the blades up on her palm, with a skeptical look. "You need confidence? Far enough that you're actually throwing them, at least." Going up on her toes, she leans in for a kiss to his cheek, to whisper the words he'd traced on her skin in his ear, even though there's only trees and dragons to hear. After that, she can allow, "Closer than when I showed you, yes." "So not just leaning over and pressing them into the wood." N'rov accepts his knives back, but only while noting, "This isn't a fair trade, you understand," considering that he had to relinquish her even temporarily to do it. He still hasn't replied to her whisper directly, but now he gives his girl a second, longer look before reaching to reclaim her wrist, the better to tug her towards the tree. Except he's not aiming for the target, but rather towards one side of the trunk, visible from the clearing but as yet unmarred by the knives and arrows of outrageous fortune. "Come on. There's something I have to do first." "No, that's hardly fair to the tree," As if the tree could move or get away from his knives either way. And for giving her up for those blades, Shani just grins and promises, "You can trade me back later." Literally. N'rov's longer look is just an opportunity to return it, to regard him with dark eyes both brightened and gentled for him, none of the usual harshness in her expression. When he takes her by the wrist, she follows, obviously curious, but she knows there's no sense in asking outright. "All right..." Her wrist twists, sliding her hand into his. N'rov tightens his hand about hers, and not only so she knows he knows what she's done. With some wickedness, "You have to understand that this isn't fair to the tree either." Once at the tree, he looks up its trunk as though its foliage were an acquaintance's skirt, and finally lets go of her so he can swap out his throwing knives for his belt knife and lean one-handed against the wrinkled bark. It starts out as a shallow cut, nearly as high as he can reach and moving down towards him, joined by two more to become N. Once he's finished half the curving cuts beneath that, he glances down from the tree to Shani. "Do you want to be 'A' or 'S'? I like 'S', but it's your name. So if you have ambition to become an Isha or a Hani... better speak up now." Aishani doesn't have much of a response for once, too interested in how N'rov might be defiling the tree, given the wickedness and the way he's eyeing those leaves. Watching the blade at the bark, she folds her arms first, but as the initial he's carving becomes apparent, one hand creeps up to cover her chest. Touched, she agrees simply, "I like 'S'." It's her name, but it's the name he calls her. As he finishes, she comes up behind him to rest a hand at his back in silent appreciation; perhaps just to stay close besides. At first the knife looks to inscribe a backwards 'S' instead, right before N'rov slides a wink at her and switches hands. This time the steel actually bites into the bark and in the right way, too. At the end, he adds the second half of the heart, cleans off his knife blade and leans back into her hand once he has it sheathed. "I'll have to sharpen that," he says with unconcern before turning to grin at her. "You'll forgive me for not mutilating the poor tree where we'd then throw knives into it? I thought that might set the wrong precedent." He leans into her hand, Shani rests her head against his shoulder. Unable to stop herself from smiling, "You will. Or I can. The least I can do." It's not much, and all done for a good cause. "Not a thing to forgive. I think you're right at that, even if there's probably some sort of poetic reason that might make it okay. I'd rather it on the less wounded side of the tree." After lifting her chin to kiss his arm lightly, she gives a little tug to draw him that way. "Speaking of which... ?" If he's still interested, she'll still work on it. If her mood is that much better now, it ought to improve her teaching at least. "I think I can handle that much," N'rov tells Shani, and agreeably lets himself be drawn, even if it is toward throwing knives rather than alternatives. There are, after all, still skills of his that can be improved. Plenty of time for all those other skills later. |
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