One wonders: Does Feyran ever stop talking?

Monaco Bay Weyr- Candidate barracks

Huge in its own right, this series of interlinked caverns is the complex that houses both candidates and weyrlings. Fashioned out of a multitude of hollows, it serves as a central gathering area as well as classroom. A number of deep pockets have been laborously smoothed to provide comfortable dwellings for the young dragons and their riders away from the weather of the central area, and affording them some privacy but not much. Above, the cavern opens to the sky, holding out the worst of the island's weather but allowing an aerial exit and providing natural lighting to the area. Branching off from this cavern is an opening that leads to the exercise yard, and another carved passage that leads onto the hatching sands - though this entrance is typically closed tight to prevent mischief.


It's been about half a day since Feyran was searched, which means she's coming to the barracks in the evening. After heading back to the caravan and giving them the news, the trader girl had gathered up a few of her things and gone to the headwoman who's just dropped the girl off at the door of the barracks. Fey doesn't have a lot of things with her, just a couple of bags with something or another, the clothes on her back, and the bedding that she'll be using with one of the cots. The trader girl begins to glance around immediately, looking for an empty cot that looks relatively comfy.

He's supposed to have had the nursery rotation of chores, but, given Vantayne's total lack of experience with kids - especially tiny ones - he's shifted with another Candidate for stable duty…which suits the holder near-perfectly. Very few other candidates have inquired of the young man about the large amount of bruises he's sporting - especially his fresh black eye - and when they have, he's been dismissive or outright off-putting. Finally, the day is over, the runners left in good hands, and Tayne now enters the barracks after a long bath/soak…his hair still damp, clean clothes clinging a bit in places to his form. Wait-what? Hazel eyes squint slightly in the transition from outside to inside, and finally a certain someone draws into focus. Oh… oh crap. /Great/. His posture a bit stiff, face utterly neutral, Tayne moves towards his own cot, located as far away from the youngest Candidates as possible, though he opted for a place that's well ventilated, and away from the loudest foot traffic.

Feyran is looking around, so of /course/ she notices Vantayne when he passes by. For a moment it looks like he might escape because the trader just stands there and let him get to his cot. Unfortunately, Vantayne just isn't going to get off that easy. She moves over to one of the carved out alcoves close to where he is and plops her stuff down immediately…though she may move it later. For now though, Feyran is burden free and reading over to the other candidate. "Hey, Vantayre!" Whoops, she's got the name wrong! "Looks like they got you too, huh? Congrats and all that!" Did she make him angry and cause him to storm out the other day on the beach? Oh yeah, definitely. Does she seem bothered by the incident? Nope, not at all!

Oh please oh please oh please… Ahh hell. No such luck. When Feyran greets him - wrong name or not - and plops down on the cot beside him, Vantayne can't help but offer a small wince as he slowly tucks away his bathing things into his lockable press. He remains quiet for some long moments, trying to ignore Feyran's prattling, but he at least can honor her congratulations with a quiet, "Thank you." What, he's not offering the same back? Honestly, who's surprised?

Feyran catches that wince but…well, she seems more amused than disheartened. In fact, she lets out a quiet laugh and slides her hands back so that they're propping her up. "You're welcome. Did you have to beat some rider up to get it? Cause those bruises look pretty nasty. And ohhhh that black eye, ruins the handsome face you've got going on." Feyran: master of two pronged compliments…or is than an insult? Either way, everything that no one else is commenting on she's more than happy to.

The welcome from her was the best of what's coming out of the other candidate's mouth, apparently… and when Vantayne catches what Feyran has to say about his bruises and his face, the holder's face sets into a cast of chill stoniness. It looks as if, for a moment, he might utterly ignore her and continue staring in set fashion into his press, but finally honor demands that he set her right on one thing. His baritone quiet and stiff, the young man fixes those slightly-cooled hazel eyes on Fey as he responds, "I did violence to /nobody/." Grrrr.

The most annoying thing about Feyran isn't her words, it's the way she just doesn't seem to /care/ when people get mad at her. There's an amused grin when he looks at her with that unhappy expression, but she just continues on with own words. "Ohhh, defensive about violence are we? Get mad and accidentally pop someone a couple before?" She jabs her fists in the air with…well, the form is actually surprisingly good, as if she's been training for years. "So how /did/ you get all the bruises and black eye and all that if there wasn't a fight?"

"Don't you /ever/ shut up?" the candidate growls softly at Feyran when she continues to spout, Vantayne then clamming up as she continues to push, his face turned back down to pointedly glare at whatever's in his press. Beyond them, other candidates throw looks over at the arguing pair, some whispering, others even making miniscule bets as to what might happen. With Fey's motions comes Tayne's glancing up at her again, and his gaze tracks her air-boxing for some moments before returning to the clothes in his press…which he's straightening for the third time. Flatly, "That's none of your business."

"If I feel like it, yes. But I don't really feel like it." Feyran grins a bit and slides her hands back again. There's a quiet smirk and a glance back to the people making bets, following which she tips and invisible hat at them. This one? She really is shameless. "Oho, none of my business huh? Can't say you're wrong there, but I'll just make up my own story for it then. You were wrestling a wild jungle cat when the guards came to help and you accidentally got pummeled by them in the process, poor guy!" Pure ridiculousness. "I feel like you don't have any siblings." Random much?

"It's a wonder you have any friends, with that mouth…" Vantayne mutters darkly. Looks who's talking. "Do what you like; you will, anyhow…" the man notes flatly. /He/ knows the truth of it…and it really blows. Feyran's final comment finds something in Tayne reacting in knee-jerk fashion, however: something conflicted, unhappy, even deeply angry flashing within his eyes for a moment before he re-dons his emotionless mask, and closes, locks his press. Quietly, as he stands, "I know you're fishing for information about me."

"My family's the only friends I need, and I've got an entire caravan full of that." Feyran grins brightly. It's true. The reason she doesn't seem to care what other people think of her or how she acts around others is because her caravan is the only thing she holds close. "Ooooo, I hit a sore spot did I? I'm just asking because you aren't good at dealing with me, which makes it seem like you didn't have any annoying siblings to deal with. What am I gonna do with information about you? Sell it?" She smirks and raises an eyebrow. But…there may actually be a hint of concern. Just a TINY bit that is soon gone.

"Then what are you doing here?" Vantayne ripostes smoothly back to Fey, his flat gaze holding hers steadily. As for her second point, "I'm dealing with you well enough right now, aren't I?" Is that his own version of a two-pronged jibe? Unknown, for the holder simply turns his back on her, and starts to undo his shirt buttons as he sits down on his cot.

"Cause it sounds like it'd be fun. I like trying new things." Feyran grins and holds his gaze just as steadily. "You haven't tried to take a swing at me, so I guess so. Though I best warn you that if you /do/ wanna do that, you won't get very far." People have tried it in the past, and it didn't work! It seems that Feyran /does/ have enough decency to look up at the ceiling when he starts changing, but she isn't going anywhere.

All Vantayne does to Feyran's words is look at her for some perhaps uncomfortable moments before he simply turns away, settles into his bedtime routine. Soon enough, he's down to a pair of shorts, which are left on as he undoes the sheets and thin blanket, and then tucks himself in quickly after dimming the glows nearby. Improved technology might utilize electricity to light potential banks of lights overhead, but there's nothing like a little, natural glow light to provide just that perfect bit of personal illumination. /If/ Feyran happens to glance at him before he slips into bed, she'll get an eyefull of some vicious bruising about his paler torso, hips.

Feyran /does/ bring her gaze down just before he slips into bed, and for once…for once the trader actually looks serious. There's a hard frown on her face and…is that a flash of anger in her eyes? It's not that she counts Vantayne as a special friend of any sorts, he's an acquaintance at best but she knows those marks don't come from someone who can defend themselves well, or at all really. Part of being a guard for the caravan is dealing with things like that, as rare as it is. "Hey…you need some ice or anything? For the eye?" Or so she says. But really Fey would bring enough for more than just the eye.

There's some squelched sounds of discomfort from Vantayne as he settles in, hints of grunts here and faint gasps there as his injuries pain him, but in no other way does he let on, the young man turning his covered back towards Feyran. For a long moment after her offer, the heavily-breathing holder remains taciturn, then finally murmuring, "No thanks. Used some, already." Before his bath, where heat was then utilized to ease the clench of pained muscles after cold numbed them. He sounds faintly surprised at her offer, though still cautious.

"If you don't feel like getting up for some more…just let me know. Or numb weed." Feyran says the words easily enough, like she's going to get a glass of water or something. Maybe it's to keep him from getting an inferiority complex about the whole. Surprising as it may be, there is a reason that she was accepted into the caravans guards…she doesn't like this sort of thing happening, whether she knows the person or not. "You know, I could teach you a few things to keep more black eyes away if you need. Defensive stuff, nothing bad."

Again, a longer pause for her offer, though Tayne finally bobs his head, murmuring "Thanks…" before he gives a small sigh. As for Fey's offer… "I… was taught self-defense by my uncle." Pause…hesitation. "He was a guard before he retired."

See, right now? Right now Feyran would /usually/ say something about how he obviously didn't learn properly from his uncle. But that's a statement that would be for a mysterious black eye from something stupid…which this is not. "Yeah? I'm a guard for my caravan." She hinted at that the last time, but this is the first time the trader is actually saying it seriously. "If you want someone to practice the stuff he taught you with, I can probably take it." Because now she has two lines of thinking. He either is out of practice, or he didn't try using the techniques.

At some point in their strange, stunted little conversation, Vantayne turns with some soft grunts of pain so he can face the ceiling, the now-indirect lighting playing light and shadow across his bruised features, making of him a bit of a gargoyle, at times. A small bob of his freshly-shaved chin presages a quiet, "I figured…" though he finally does turn his head a little to regard Feyran indirectly, at her offer. So faintly as to barely be heard, the holder whispers - in case of other bed-going candidates overhearing - "You know it's against the rules."

Feyran crosses one leg over the other, also letting her gaze slide to the ceiling now. She doesn't seem tired though, mostly just thoughtful. She'll only glance down when he speaks, and while the first comment is met with a smile…the second is met with raised eyebrows. "What's against the rules? It isn't as if we'll be fighting, just sparring…I'm sure that's allowed!" A pause. "And even if it isn't, the worst they'll do is stick me on latrine duty. I'll tell them I coerced you into it, which isn't too hard to believe really." Because she really /does/ think that he needs to brush up on his technique if this is what happens when he's out of practice, and Fey doesn't mind work.

Tayne seems about to wearily protest about the spirit of the rules, but for once, he shuts his mouth, ruminates in silence for a time, then simply nods. At her words of coercion, however, something rears its head inside the man, makes him frown for some seconds before shaking his head. More murmuring… "Where? When?"

"Hmmm not tomorrow, or the next day…it'll do more harm than good. How about in a sevenday? Maybe that black eye will fade to yellow by then." That and the other bruises, but Feyran steadfastly refuses to say anything about them. "You'll probably feel more up to it then and get more out of it. Seems like they give us a bit of free time in the evenings, and sometimes after meals. I'll find a way to work it in."

He looks somewhat relieved that she's not pressing for sparring while he's still in pain, Tayne offering the driest bit of a smirk at Feyran's words of his eye. A few judicious nods later, "Wherever we can find privacy." Sigh. "We must be careful not to accidentally harm one another." Or they'll be tossed out of candidacy. Finally those hazel eyes - looking older than they should, right now - flick over to Fey, observe her while Tayne inquires, "Is your training formal?"

"I don't think they'll really care unless we're /trying/ to hurt each other. We can always say that it's a form of training, dodging things and stuff. Which it /is/." Feyran smirks back at Vantayne and throws him a wink, "You worry a lot about rules." Not an accusation or anything, just a comment. "Somewhere down the line of guards we have, someone had formal training somewhere and then passed it on to us…so I guess sort of and sort of not. Depends on how you look at it really…it's enough to keep us safe though, which is what counts in the end, no?" She'll meet his gaze and grin a little bit, her own eyes holding actual sincerity.

All Vantayne does is shrug, though the motion is partially aborted, as it increases his pain, in this position. As for rules, "There's little honor in breaking rules." Beat. "Good ones." Again, there's a dry little curve of humor at one side of his mouth. Hazel eyes drift from Fey up to the ceiling again as she speaks, the holder grunting his soft understanding. "Perhaps one of your caravan might get formally trained again, some day. You know, to make certain the rest are up to date on the latest techniques." As his own eyes are focused above, he misses that sincerity in her gaze, but - after a time of silence - Tayne quietly asks, "Why?"

"Some rules are a bit too stringent and over the top. No fighting they say…but what if it is in self defense? There are always exceptions in my opinion. Besides, living is no fun if you don't break a rule here or there." Feyran grins a bit and lets her gaze move back to the ceiling. "A few of us guards usually hang out with the ones at Weyrs or holds where we stop, trade a few techniques. Not everything though, so it might be a good idea to get formal training again." Why? The question earns a wrinkled brow. "Why keeping my caravan safe is important? Or why do I do the job? I love them, it's simple."

He only listens, Vantayne's breathing becoming more even as his muscles try to relax, his gaze still trained on Feyran while she speaks. Eventually he murmurs quite seriously, "Why are you treating me decently after…?" After those days before, on the beach… After their barbs not more than some minutes ago.

"After what? I made fun of you little and shot a couple of teases in your direction? I was just joking, relax. It's what I do." Feyran grins a bit and uncrosses her legs before recrossing them the other way around. "That, and I don't think people should just sit around and take black eyes. I've got my own morals, you know. Sure I'm annoying, I'll admit it…but I'm not evil or anything." A pause. "Probably." That part is at least a joke.

There's that small frown again, making the sides of Tayne's mouth draw down some in response to Feyran's words of their beach interaction days before. This time, however, his eyes are somewhere else, unfocused and looking beyond her for some moments before jerking back to the trader, again. Quietly, though with intensity, "Neither do I…" is replied to her words of taking black eyes. Almost fatalisitically, "No; you're a pain in the ass." Again, the young man slowly rolls over, his back once more facing her, but not before he grunts, "G'deve, Fayren." He not only looks ready to sleep, but sounds it, as well.

"Good, let's make sure it doesn't happen again." The black eye thing. Vantayne earns a bark of laughter for the comment about being a pain in the ass, and Feyran can't help but nod in agreement, "That I am sir, that I am." And she doesn't seem to care one bit. She stretches then, gathering up her things and getting to her feet. "Sleep well." Or as well as possible with all those bruises. There's a little shake of her head then as well as a tiny wave before Fey's heading off to find a cot a bit farther away!


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