an_evening_star | (no subject)

(no subject)

There's still only a certain amount of sunlight that Yvaine is willing to be exposed to at any given time - so when she steps out of the relative darkness of the kitchen it's only under the shade of a rather ridiculously wide-brimmed hat with an equally ridiculous feather sticking out of the top. She can't say that she is particularly fond of Tobias' sense of fashion. Or even if she's certain that the hat is actually Tobias' ... or a decidedly unamusing way to make her look like an idiot.

Either way it keeps the sun off of her face well enough that she doesn't care.

And from what she can tell from Tristran's current display of sword fighting prowess she could probably take him if he did decide to make fun of her - or her hat. A fact which prompts a wide grin over the clashing and clanging and thumping as she reclines on one of the barrels off to the side of the deck.

It's not like she's one to turn down free entertainment.

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Tristran straightens, pausing for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.

His arm is still sore from a few days ago when the captain taught him a new technique, which he had yet to master. But he's learning.

"Come on, boy," the captain says, jerking his sword at him. "Try it again."

Tristran takes a breath, and nods.

The ridiculous voice - the one that she usually, very pointedly, ignores has somehow managed to wrangle itself top billing in the theater of her mind. Providing her with useless soundbites on his how he moves or the way that his hair falls into his eyes and, really, she is feeling sorely tempted to ask someone - anyone - to smack some sense into her.

The other voice - the one she likes to think of as common sense is finding itself exceedingly uninspired. Every once and a while it will chime up dully with something about 'having better taste' or 'should be ashamed of yourself' and even she is growing hard pressed not to roll her eyes at such an obviously pathetic attempt.

It is fortunate, however, that neither voice has any particular problem with making fun of Tristran loudly and on a near-constant basis. (A fact in which she revels - and, really, one has to revel in something.) And so nothing in her really protests when - after Tristran has nearly been disarmed for the umpteenth time - she lets out a laugh and chimes in with a, "Lovely performance, Prince Charming."

Tristran turns in Yvaine's direction, glancing at her as he takes a breath, sword resting idly in one hand. It's getting a lot lighter now with use, he notices, and even though he isn't very good with it, the captain said he was getting better.

Anyway, he hadn't noticed the star there, sitting with her sun-hat, not until just now. And there's something strange about her, something that makes him feel very uncomfortable.

He turns quickly, pretending he hadn't heard her, and begins a series of strikes against the large trunk of wood Alberic called a 'training-pole'. It was meant to direct his aim a little better.

Well, fine then.

Her chin tilts grandly (ignoring him ignoring her?) and she grins brightly as the Captain makes his way over - all swagger and that loud, booming, storytelling voice - snatching the feather from her hat to the backdrop of incredulous and highly indignant yelping.

"Hey!" she squawks, and she isn't entirely certain if she's more upset over the loss of her feather or the blocking of her view.

It's harder to make fun of something you cannot see, after all.

The Captain Alberic smirks as he watches Yvaine for a moment, twirling the feather between his fingers.

"And what brings you out of the kitchens today, Lady Star?" he asks, almost as though the question is a grand gesture in itself.

Tristran, on the other hand, focuses on his task with a strong single-mindedness that can only mean one thing: he is avoiding looking, hearing and thinking about something.

"Tobias was actually hoping to make food today, I think."

She continues her high-and-mighty-lady impression - flipping the brim of her hat back with a flourish that befits a queen and pursing her lips, eyes narrowing to regard him from under lowered lashes.

"You mortals do have to eat on occasion," she replies haughtily, though the stripe of flour on one cheek does little to aid the overall visual. "Or so I've been told."

Another laugh and her voice lowers to a conspiratorial stage-whisper, still loud enough to carry.

"I do not think Master Thorn appreciates my helpful training commentary."

Alberic laughs a booming sort of laugh at the remark about food -- because as charming as Yvaine is, she had done nothing much for their appetites, with the food always either too salty, or not salty enough (though he was well aware of the way the young boy seemed to take it and pretend it tasted wonderful, nevertheless).

"I'm sure Tobias thanks you for your help anyway," he says, bowing his head before pausing to look over his shoulder. He gives her a strange sort of knowing look.

"The lad's been improving over the past week," he says, voice almost sly with some very subtle under-meaning. "You should watch him more often. You'll soon spot the changes too."

Yvaine pretty much knows that she's miserable at cooking - makes the fact that she doesn't have to eat anything rather convenient - and so he gets nothing more than a sheepish smile in return. Salt is a miserable spice, measurements are vastly overrated, and she's altogether too fascinated with fire - which is probably another motivation behind Tobias kicking her out donned in such a ridiculously colored (and plumed) hat.

Revenge, apparently, involves a great deal of feathers and floury hand prints on her back.

"Tobias is sick of listening to me," she says and flickers a hand at him dismissively, wrinkling her nose at the undertone. "There's rather nothing to watch - it's all rather pointless."

He can decide for himself what she means.

Then, almost contritely, "Though I can hardly watch if you are standing in front of me, now can I?"

With another laugh, Alberic obliges to move out of Yvaine's way, shifting instead to stand beside her so they can both observe the young boy struggling to hit the tip of his sword on the painted on target (which Oddness had quickly put together that morning).

"Shift your stance, boy!" he shouts and Tristran glances up momentarily, comprehending the lesson, and then with a nod, changing his tactic.

"He's a clumsy lad," Alberic says to Yvaine, crossing his arms, "but he's learning. He's plenty brave. And he has a good heart."

The star leans back once more, watching comfortably - leg sprawled out in front of her (finally out of its cast) and arms crossing lazily behind her head, fingers lacing behind the fabric of the hat.

"I know," she replies solemnly before flicking one set of fingers in a brief, teasing wave when Tristran glances up and returning to lounging amusedly. It's almost fun to confuse him - and it's not as though it takes very much. Usually just not being snippish does the trick.

"Footwork, Tristran," she calls - grinning suddenly as she hears the door creak open. "Perhaps Tobias should teach you how to dance first."

There's an indulgent smirk on the man's lips before the door finishes opening.

"What am I doing now?"

He nods briefly to the Captain and reaches out to snatch another of Yvaine's feathers, snorting mildly, "Other than sparing us another night of food poisoning, that is."

Her lips curl mildly, glaring up indignantly and snapping her hand out a bit too late to reclaim the second feather. The poor hat manages to look even more bedraggled this way.

"Must you be an ass, Tobias?" she inquires sweetly, though she's immediately betrayed by the rather telling frown. "And to think I was going to praise your teaching skills."

Tobias grins amusedly in reply, his slightly crooked teeth in full view now, before he turns to the captain.

"A word, captain?" he says, and the captain nods.

"Excuse us for a moment, milady," the captain bows, going so far as to make it yet another one of his grand gestures, sweeping hand and bent back and all.

"When I return, I expect you to have mastered that jab," the captain calls out to Tristran, chuckling. "You'll be tested."

The two men begin to walk down the starboard towards the stern, leaving Yvaine quite alone with Tristran.

"Right," Tristran says breathlessly, wiping his red face of perspiration.

He pauses for a moment, watching the captain disappear, before he turns back to the training pole. He stares.

Who knew that using a sword would be this difficult? It was certainly not difficult for the heroes of the storybooks he's read. All the captains and princes and kings. Of course, he was none of those things. Merely a simple village boy from a small town called Wall, located in a remote part of England, safe from any and all danger.

"Why of course you may sir," she replies with an equally grand flourish of fingers before adding, to Tobias: "Not you. I blame you."

The sweet smile widens as they turn to leave - abuse is, after all, just another way of expressing affection.

And speaking of abuse ...

"If you stare hard enough it just may start hitting you back."

Tristran blinks, coming out of his reverie to spare a glance at the star. He shrugs a little.

"I was just taking a breath," he explains.

"Could certainly use one," she comments dryly, not entirely fond of all of this sparing of glances and ignoring her when she's speaking. (Not that the second one is new in any way - just that she's not fond of it.)

"From the way you are huffing one would think that it was hitting you back."

Tristran deflates a little at that -- something about manly pride and something and such. He's been trying hard, and learning a lot and the soreness in every muscle of his body can attest to that.

But in any case...

"What have you been up to?" he asks instead, vouching for a subject change.

"Watching you."

The reply is nothing short of factual - she had been after all, and there's little reason not to prod mercilessly at the skittishness he seems to have picked up this morning in any way she can - eyes shaded under the wide brim of the hat and face schooled into a pointedly solemn expression.

He very nearly loses the grip on his sword at that, but manages to save himself from any further embarrassment by remembering that he has a task at hand and practice is important.

"I -- I, er -- meant...before this," he starts, fighting to keep the sudden stammer out of his voice. It is alarming and strange, and his heart is starting to thump loudly in his chest, very much unwanted.

Quickly, he averts his eyes to the blue skies beyond them.

Desired reaction achieved - the star does little to discourage the wide, amused grin that makes its way across her lips, or to muffle the snickering.

"Getting kicked out of the kitchen," she replies after a few moments of monitoring his fidgeting, allowing for some mild sense of mercy.

There are floury hand prints still pressed onto her shoulders from where Tobias had lifted her off of the table and ushered her to the door. (To be honest, she probably deserved it - as she shouldn't have switched his spices.)

"Tobias did not appreciate the redecorating."

Tristran glances back towards the star, his heartbeat slowly returning back to normal.

That was odd, he thinks. Maybe he ought to sit down...maybe he's been over-exerting himself. A little break wouldn't hurt. Right.

He walks towards her and settles himself on one of the grain bags.

"The captain says I'm getting better," he starts, studying the blade for a moment.

"He doesn't lie."

Another smile - smaller, perhaps, but more genuine - and it's the closest she feels like getting to complimentary at the moment.

It's all about what one chooses to read into it anyhow.

"I rest," she adds, overly sincere, one hand splaying over her chest, where her heart is. "Secure in the fact that my honor will be well-defended."

...And there goes that odd feeling again. He really should see a doctor about that...once he gets back to Wall, perhaps, as there is likely no medical sorts here on the Perdita.

He clears his throat. "Of course," he says, and smiles too. "You can rest assured that I will do my best to protect you from here on out."

A severe lack of medical sorts, really. Well, unless one counts Meggot - and she's about as likely to laugh as to try and fix him.

"Haven't done too terrible of a job," she allows, ignoring the rise of color that threatens the paleness of her skin that even the sun doesn't bother challenging. "As I remain rather decidedly not dead."