Whither thou goest ...

Gulp.

Tristran takes a breath, nodding. Right. This is it.

Lesson one. He begins by spreading his feet apart only slightly, giving him enough room to move and maintain a sense of balance.

Lesson two. Tristran gets into a defensive position, sword raised before him. He pauses for a moment, unsure of who is supposed to go first in this fight, so he waits.

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Yvaine wonders, briefly, if it would be terribly unseemly for her to yell out something obnoxiously encouraging. You know, just to see if he would trip over himself - but a warning glance from the Captain makes her raise her hands in mock-surrender.

(And wonder when the man had become psychic - because that just wasn't fair. She had planned on something obnoxiously encouraging, after all.)

She does quirk a grin when the man continues with a drawn out, "Well?"

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Right. So it's his move. Okay, he can do this. Have faith in yourself, Thorn. You can do this.

He takes another breath, and quickly begins to charge at the captain, sword ready at his side at the opportune moment to strike at the other man's left shoulder.

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The move to parry is quick and easy - one clean, swift pattern of motion before the metal clashes and his arm turns to riposte, swinging low at the boy's midsection.

There's a smile on Alberic's face, though - a certain fire to his eyes.

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The star leans forward interestedly - pulling her knees upward and crossing her arms across them, chin resting on the backs of her hands and hair pooling messily over her shoulders.

The feather makes another attempt to block her view, but she tugs it out of the way impatiently. She wants to watch.

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Tristran steps back for a moment, digesting the previous move and how he should proceed.

It is clear that the captain's skill far surpasses his own very limited skill, but he's willing to try anyway.

Another step and Tristran swings his blade from below this time, sword glancing down, barely grazing the wooden deck (he wouldn't want to leave a mark, after all) aimed for the captain's leg before suddenly swinging it upwards in an attempt to trick him.

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"In a real battle no one is going to wait around for you, boy," he comments in the moments Tristran steps back, though he stands his ground and waits anyway. This isn't a real battle, after all.

This move is far more impressive than the last impulsive dash and he lets out a booming laugh as the blades catch once more, turning swiftly.

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The star lets out a laugh of her own as the Captain's reverberates clear across the deck. Her own is smothered quietly behind her fingers, shoulders shaking with it and unbalancing the barrel - sending her (and the barrel) to the ground with a rolling clatter and a pinwheeling yelp.

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Tristran is momentarily distracted by this, and his first impulse is to drop his sword and check on her, but she seems to be okay, and Alberic is currently looking in the other direction, allowing him easy access for a lunge.

Which, of course, Tristran takes advantage of. In one seemingly flawless move, he circles his blade from the shoulder (as the previous target) to the captain's neck, sharp tip pointed upwards.

One minor move without thought, and Tristran will actually be able to nick the other man.

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That may be so, but the older man doesn't seem to be particularly phased, rumbling out another deep laugh with a grin and a dry, "Touché."

He steps once - quickly to the side to finish the turn - and his arm then twists up, matching the threat to the side of the neck before dropping and being quickly resheathed.

"Though," he adds, tilting his head and moving to tug the star back up to her feet. "In a real battle, you won't have one of these."

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"And just why not?" she inquires loftily, floppy-brimmed crown still sitting proudly atop her head.

Yvaine allows herself to be hauled upright, holding out her hands in an automatic kind of expectation and grinning widely and without the slightest hint of remorse.

A smirk, "You should have set rules."

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The captain laughs again.

Tristran relaxes a bit, sword now at his side, to join the two of them. "Did I do all right, though?" he asks. "All things considered, I mean."

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"Which one of us are you asking?"

Her head tilts curiously and Alberic merely bows to her in another grand, sweeping motion - leaving her to wrinkle her nose and look thoughtful.

"It is not as though I am a fount of sword fighting knowledge," she begins, voice low and drawling until a nudge from the Captain makes her glance upward contritely before she continues, a bit awkwardly. (She just doesn't do nice.) "But I was impressed."

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Tristran cannot help but beam at that, but he looks to Alberic for confirmation.

However, the captain is hardly helpful. Alberic merely keeps a vague smile upon his face, one that could mean everything and nothing at the same time.

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An obnoxious smile is what it is - a smile that knows things. She's entirely unfond of the sudden increase of that smile since stepping foot on the good ship Perdita.

Dryly, and with a frowning glance upward, "That means 'yes,' Tristran."

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"Thank you," he responds rather automatically, his smile widening anyway at that.

However, he is completely clueless to the meaning behind Alberic's vague knowing smile.

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"But don't let that get to your head, lad," the captain warns, pointing a finger at him, and leaning forward slightly as though to disclose some great secret.

"You'll have to keep practicing. And remember to keep moving."

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The star is still ~~pouting~~ frowning to herself - a rather sudden change from her previous, rather loudly obvious cheer - but she figures she's rather entitled to it after such a prolonged amount of happiness anyhow.

Cranky is comfortable.

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"And you," the captain says, turning sharply to look in the star's direction, "smile a little more, hmm? You're far more beautiful when you smile."

With a rather mischievous grin, he sheaths his sword and nods to the couple before making his way towards the main hatch.

Suddenly, he turns once more.

"Dinner, as usual, at six bells. Don't be late. I hear Tobias has cooked up something extra special for tonight." Another grin, and he disappears.

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He leaves her blinking a set of wide, blue eyes and looking altogether unbalanced and embarrassed - and red-faced - she doesn't know if anyone hass ever called her that before.

She wrinkles her nose, chin ducking and glare none too impressive.

"Obnoxious," she concludes.

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Tristran laughs quietly -- more to himself than anything, really -- before clearing his throat.

"Well, he is right," he says, sheathing his own sword (which makes him swell with pride, for only heroic types and royalty tend to have swords in the first place).

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Yvaine flushes brighter still, though the glare does become a touch more intimidating - he shouldn't be allowed to say things like that. It's bad enough when other people do.

"Yes," she replies quickly, chin tilted grandly and purposefully obtuse. "Dinner is soon - and will be entirely edible today. You will not have to pretend that you are enjoying yourself."

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Tristran shrugs, a light smile still in place.

"Perhaps we ought to freshen up before dinner, hmm?" he suggests. "I need to change, and--" He looks at her and grins, pointing to her face. "--there is still flour on your cheek."

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"Probably ought t-- oh?" she pauses, brushing the hair out of her face, blinking downward as if to check and only succeeding in glimpsing the tip of her nose.

"I swear, that man is not allowed to touch me anymore. Just makes a mess."

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