milliways_bar | (no subject)

Eventually Spoon (and his mate, behind him) approach. Spoon is rather tanner than he was this time two days ago, and looking quite relaxed, thank you.

There is a brief pause when he sees Nynaeve, he's still not entirely comfortable removing his shirt without warning people.

"Hallo, Lan."

Ace flops next to Nyneave, graceless and cheerful. There's definitely something to be said for the 'sit and watch the men with swords' idea.
"Hullo!"

Someone's happy, anyway.

Nynaeve doesn't quite smile, but as Ace approaches she sets her book entirely aside.

"Ace. And--Spoon, I believe it was."

Lan doesn't stop. Doesn't look over, except as the form requires turning.

Doesn't mean he doesn't see.

"Yes, ma'am." Spoon says with a nod (up, and then down). He's still for a moment, and then speaks bluntly, "I don't workout with a shirt on. I'm fuckin' scarred up, ma'am. Is that going to be a problem?"

...Manners aren't his strong point.

It'd better not be a problem, that's all she's saying.
"No problem here!" She reports, grinning at him. Yes, she knows exactly what he's been up to the last few days, and damn hasn't she enjoyed it?

Nynaeve works to keep the scowl from her face. Her efforts are mostly successful.

"I'm a Healer, Spoon, as I hope someone bothered to mention."

Lan, Ace--someone, she doesn't much care who.

"It will be fine."

The forms are fluid: prescribed sequences, yes, but it's easy to find stopping points, or to link one to another and continue for hours. They would be much less use if they only taught specific patterns of attack, instead of a flexible framework for motion.

Lan, for now, chooses to halt on an upswing, sword poised in lethal salute, and look towards the others.

He's not sweating.

He nods, and removes his shirt to hand to Ace.

The marks of what were done to him are no less shocking than ever. Lan may have an expression, however. There is a reverse-acid-burn of scar-free flesh. Where the blood of the Xenomorph splashed Spoon's chest is as empty of scars as his face. This means that most of the scars which arc around from his ribs, his shoulders, and up from the sides of his stomach are cut off abruptly.

If the scents are disturbed enough, he'll put it on and go home. He can work out at home.

He'll have to get it back from Ace first, who has slipped on his shirt. Hey, he gave it up, so she's keeping it. Besides. She, for one, really likes shirtless Spoon. She thinks there ought to be more shirtless Spoon.

The wolf-whistle is from Ace too. Ignore her.

Nynaeve had heard from Lan about the scars, she has seen more than a few battlefields, more than a few terrible wounds.

And still the sight of this gives her more than a moment's pause, breath drawn quick and sharp through her suddenly clenched teeth.

There are doubtless times that Nynaeve has been more furious, but at the moment she would be hard-pressed to think of them.

This is barbaric, this is--

She yanks her braid once, sharply, chin tilting up as she struggles to pull that fury under control.

The scars are not the only thing Lan mentioned to her, as it happens.

Lan's eyebrows rise fractionally, if that counts as an expression.

He saw the regrown jaw. He saw the changing shape of the torso when Spoon's ribs were freshly gone. So there's no shock in his face or his scent, only a thoughtful, controlled consideration.

Lan has learned something, too, of what emotions get a strong reaction from Spoon, and Lan has had a lifetime's training in setting emotion aside.

Most of them, actually, but he can handle the level that the two express. So he runs his fingers along Ace's jaw and begins stretching. If Nynaeve has questions she can ask and either Spoon will answer while stretching or Ace will answer for him.

Nynaeve might get slightly incoherent answers from Ace - Spoon stretching is a show all in itself. Still, she tries. It's the little things, right?

"Haven't seen you two about in a while. Everything a'right?" Please no more white bitches kthx. Ace has had enough of that game, if only because no one will let her bite the damn woman.

"I've been busy at the House," Nynaeve says, tearing her attention away from Spoon and those disquieting scars. "Getting the greenhouse ready, for the most part. Children are not the most efficient gardeners I've ever run across."

They do learn, though. That's something.

Lan inclines his head gravely.

The narration apologizes for the fact that he's even less inclined to make small talk when Nynaeve or Moiraine is around to do it for him.

(The one emotion Spoon will reliably pick up from Lan's scent -- and it's subtle, because Lan doesn't believe in facial expressions, but he isn't burning this emotion away in the constant meditation of the ko'di -- is warmth, every time he looks at his wife.)

That's a good emotion to scent. It causes Spoon to relax, slowly. Spoon has no problems with allowing himself expressions; and when his glance crosses Ace his face softens as much as Lan's scent does.

When he's finished stretching he falls into whatever posture Lan has given him for beginning the day's lesson.

Ace has opinions on kids. Especially kids and greenhouses. She gives said opinions on demand, starting with 'kid things get so muddy you could plant on them' to 'if I were a kid here, I'd blow up the greenhouse, it isn't as if anything good has come out of it'.

Ace generally has violent opinions. It's a thing.

But mostly she's watching Spoon stretch, and Spoon with a sword, and Spoon with no shirt. It's good watching.

Dreamboat McSexybeast definitely isn't hard on the eyes either.

"You've been keeping yourself--yourselves--busy as well, I take it?"

There are times, it seems, when Nynaeve grows mildly weary of silence.

Silence and the company of children.

Lan's forms are designed for his kind of sword, but most of them are easily adapted. And Spoon has his own progressions and études. Lan believes in learning anything useful.

"Third étude," he says, deep and impassive, because a familiar form is a better warm-up than one that still requires thought. He trades off between the two, most lessons. "Three-quarter speed, start to finish." He's moving into the partner's position even as he speaks.

"Go."

Coda lunga e stretta. Right foot forward, hand in quarte, other arm extended. Spoon falls into it with both ease and pleasure. He doesn't smile, no, but an indefinable something leaves.

"We've been... busy. We went on holiday, recently, just us an' the dogs. He got tent-settin' up duties, an' I did the whole fire thing." See? They are a good team.

Also?

Yum swordsmen. Ace was right - there's a reason Hollywood has made so many swordfighting movies.

Nynaeve is also watching, lips moving as she mutters encouragement to Lan.

One hand is twisted tight into her braid, not yanking, not yet. Just there.

"You sleep outdoors for--fun?"

Much as Nynaeve loves woodcraft, much as she's spent many a day traveling over land (and it is much better than traveling by sea or by river)--some things will never seem less than odd.

Three-quarter speed for Spoon is faster than Lan's full speed. It's a fact; no sense in being galled. Lan has no ego tied to being the best around. What matters is that he's good enough to do what he needs to do.

So it's three-quarter speed by Lan's standards, which is still not slow.

Cinghiara porta di ferro. Coda lunga ed alta. He's still learning the words, but his muscles know the moves already, with the adaptations for katana and no buckler. Coda lunga e distesa.

Guardia alta, he loves this. He loves this. No more, and no less, than he loves his family. Porta di ferro stretta, when you know that something is why you can be safe with your family? You love it. Even when trying to keep those other, stranger, lessons in mind. Guardia di testa, and Lan is not slow.

It's better than good. It's comforting. Spoon notes, but does not let his expression change, every time that Lan could have killed him as they pass through the pattern.

...There are more than a few.

Ace tears her eyes away from the (sexy hot) swordsmen, and just grins at Nynaeve. This is what they call the 'shit eating grin'.

"Correction: For lots of fun." She notes.

She's been living in the Wells household too long.

"Hmmph."

Nynaeve is not blushing.

She also suspects Ace has not spent many days outside with a flock of sheep.

Or a flock of shepherds.

Men are so bloody awful at taking care of themselves.

Guardia di intrare. All the strange words and familiar forms; none of them are much different from attacks and defenses he knows by other names. Becha possa, and becha cesa.

They salute -- that, too, is part of Spoon's forms -- and Lan nods once.

"Same, full speed." His, again. "Go."

After this they'll move on to one of the forms Lan has been teaching.

Irony is that Spoon is somewhat better at Lan's full speed than he is at Lan's three quarters.

Effectively this means that he "dies" a minute into the pattern rather than forty-five seconds. He's alright with this, really. Spoon pours his whole self into keeping the pattern perfect, into being perfect. That's what matters, not the speed. A fast poser dies, raw speed can only take you so far and no farther.

Is Ace purring?

Ace is purring.

What?

There are sharp shiny things, hot men (one of which being her mate, the other being McSexybeast), and good company, all in one spot. Anyone would purr at that combination.

Nynaeve leans forward just slightly, hand still tightly clutching her braid.

It's either that or fidget very restlessly, and there are appearances to be maintained.

Spoon is better at this speed. Lan notices.

He doesn't break inside Lan's guard, not quite -- but there are a few times he comes close. Which is more than most people can manage, even in a set pattern.

They finish again in salute, and Lan nods once.

"The Silk forms, if you remember the sequence," he says, stepping back. "Parting the Silk through Courtier Taps His Fan."

Spoon nods in return and swings at Lan's upper body, at the three-quarter speed they have been working at.

It should be noticed that Spoon does not pull his blows, although he's not swinging at full strength either. He always aims for a spot on the other side of the older man.

That's just what you do, when your teacher is this good.

Ace cannot quite contain a small snort of laughter. Honestly. Parting the Silk and Courtier Taps His Fan? Are they trying to aim for a high 'potential sexual euphemism' quotient?

Nynaeve's gone a little tense, watching the two of them.

They're moving quickly, and she's no swordswoman.

It looks real enough, even as she knows they're only practicing.

But children can get hurt playing tag, and so--

She's tense.

Lan would just stare flatly at Ace if she suggested that.

...For a change.

This form is for Spoon's practice, while he's learning the new patterns, more than Lan's; he moves his sword into the positions for blocking and retaliation, at speed and in proper form, but neither of them is using full strength. The swords clash, steel against steel.

"Keep your elbow high there." Falling Leaf meets Spoon's Watered Silk. Striking The Spark meets Silk In The Wind. "Better."

Spoon doesn't have the time to verbally acknowledge Lan's corrections. He just makes mental notes to do it better next time. River of Light is countered by Rain in High Wind. Threading the Needle by Swallow Takes Flight.

They're new, and that's good. Something new that is something old, and this whole thing is just good.

Chances are that even if the women both took off their shirts and started dancing around like that, Spoon wouldn't notice for a good minute. After which Lan's sword would take off his neck.

And Ace likes Spoon's neck in one piece, so there will be no topless dancing tonight.

...

At least not during practice.

She nudges Nynaeve, who rather looks like she's sitting on tacks.
"Would y'stop lookin' like y'waitin' for a bomb t'go off? They're both good. I'm sure they can manage t'not gut each other."