You Think You Can Fight? (Open)

[reqqy]

They weren't teaching self-defense at all in the candidate lessons. Mutasim was intelligent enough to understand that, since the Weyrleaders didn't offer any form of instruction, he couldn't do anything officially. But there was nothing wrong with practicing openly in front of the candidate barracks, now was there? With luck, a few others who were worried about becoming lax on their skills in this dangerous clime would think that maybe this looked like a good idea. Then they might attract some people who wanted to learn. Maybe it was a longshot, but it was certainly worth a try, and Mutasim was just about fed-up with the self-imposed isolation.

He'd just come in from a jog through the jungle, his olive-toned skin glistening underneath the open Southern sky. Small, the boy looked like a natural predator, the whitened scars around wrists and neck standing out in stark contrast to the rest of his skin. He lunged into a roll, coming up in a series of kicks that evinced the practiced ease of routine. Whirling, the boy continued a memorized pattern of moves. Somewhere in there a sharp metallic gleam accompanied the movements. His hands moved too fast for the exact shapes to be discerned until he came to a halt, his chest rising and falling in a light pant.

One was little more than a small dagger, hardly as long as the length of the hand that held it. The other, a dirk, which for Mutasim was almost a short sword. It rested tucked against the inside of his forearm as he paused.

Jabari, who had protested loudly upon finding himself flailing around at the outset of Muta's little training excercise, now lay quietly on a nearby rock outcropping, pointedly ignoring his boy toy. The brown firelizard had grown in size over the past months, but, much to Muta's distress, he still insisted upon draping himself around the candidate's shoulders at every conceivable opportunity. Not that the creature was heavy. Far from it. There were just very good reasons that nothing that unwieldly usually found a perch there; it was quite aggravating at times.

Straightening, Mutasim made his way to a waterskin that lay near the discarded tan overcoat that the boy seemed - quite against all common sense in the southern heat - to favor. He took a drag, before pouring some on top of his head, enjoying the feel of the cool liquid as it ran down his neck. The height of the day was his favorite time to involve himself in such practices, if only because the necessary bathing that would come afterward was so much better.

Setting down the water, he prepared to continue.

[darcy]

Lienos, unlike Mutasim was hardly so self-motivated. Whilst the other boy was out running, he was most certainly asleep. He had woken for for the morning meal, but a full stomach always tired him, so instead of attending to his chores, he had returned to his room and gone back to sleep. There was always time for those sort of things. Then again, there was probably always time for sleeping too. Ah well. With a yawn, the boy climbed out of bed, noting with half open eyes that it was past midday. A perfect time to wake up, though perhaps even a little early to Lienos's liking, sleep being one of his favorite past-times.

Despite his willingness to simply sleep all day, Lienos supposed he should at least get some form of exercise; the candidatemaster seemed unable to stress enough the importance of a dragonrider's fitness, and if Lienos were to stand the slightest chance of impressing he assumed he ought to step up his game a bit. He started off with every intention of going for a run to the river, but his ambitions were soon thwarted as he seemed to trip over his own feet simply getting dressed. He also reckoned he could make it about halfway to the river before he suffered a heart attack. Ah well. Perhaps a brisk walk.

Throwing on a shirt, he left his room barefoot, despite the heat. The idea of a brisk walk became more and more unappealing, and he soon found himself at more of a strolling pace. Well. At least he wasn't asleep, at any rate, and that was certainly a step up. He soon found himself outside the barracks, squinting out into the sunshine. The heat was so unappealing. Perhaps he could resume his exercise later in the evening... Peering around the corner of the barracks, however, he noticed another candidate. He had seen the boy around, though had made no attempt to strike up conversation, as to Lienos he appeared the sort who would slice off your finger if such an attempt was made. And sure enough, here he was playing with knives. As Lienos watched the boy fluidly carry through his movements, and a slight frown crossed his face.

As Mutasim bent down to grab the waterskin, Lienos moved closer, curious to say in the very least. However, he didn't speak, unsure if it would be a wise move to surprise the boy in any way. Then again, he seemed so aware of his surroundings that he probably saw Lienos several minutes ago.

[reqqy]

Lienos's assumption regarding the smaller candidate was both true and untrue. As normal, Muta had been aware that someone was moving not far from him. But enough had drifted by so far that he didn't pay the presence much mind. Mutasim had a finely tuned sense for danger, and he tended to trust it to the point that it became a crutch. Not even a single twinge indicated he might need to pay attention to this new spectator.

The waterskin now half-buried in the dirt to keep it from rolling off somewhere, he calmly set about unstrapping the bandolier of throwing knives that always seemed to find its way across his chest. How it was even possible that no one suspected him to be behind that Benden dragonhealer - that poisoner's - death was beyond him. He didn't want the extra weight right now, though, and as he deposited it on the ground, he became aware that what he thought was just a passerby had actually moved in closer. Still in a crouch, he glanced up, a brow raising as he looked the other candidate over appraisingly.

The face seemed familiar enough. After three other Hatchings, however, they all seemed to run together. Mutasim was more or less damaged goods. He knew it. Everyone around him knew it. Yet they all played the game, and part of the game was ushering him onto the Sands so he could be left Standing another time for everyone's amusement. Mutasim dealt with it because it was better than being sent back to Bitra and - if he were lucky - the gallows.

"You just planning on standing there?" he asked the boy, his voice quiet. The thing looked soft. Sort of kid you'd expect dead in a tenday on the streets that were Muta's home. This was exactly the sort of kid that probably most needed exposure to the kind of training Mutasim put himself through daily.

Allowing a slow smile to transform his face - it was, unfortunately, quite a bit colder than he'd intended, as it didn't at all reach the intense glitter behind his eyes - the young man straightened, clasping this newcomer's wrist in a rare show of openness. If anyone who knew him fairly well should ask, he probably would have claimed that he was trying to get these others to learn a thing or two so he wouldn't have to protect their respective arses should it come down to it. The ghost of Z'hin shook his head and smiled mockingly. Shards, but Muta missed that man.

"The name's Mutasim." Better not to assume that the other candidate knew him, though he tended to be noticed by those new to the barracks. "Want to give it a try?" He nodded toward the blades at his feet.

[darcy]

Lienos watched Mutasim cautiously as he revealed yet more... sharp, pointy things. They didn't look particularly friendly, but then the other candidate hardly looked ready to attack. Of course, Lienos was probably a poor judge of such a thing, and as he lay the knives on the ground he admittedly felt a little more at peace.

He took the moment of silence to study the other boy; he had a sort of intensity Lienos could never even hope for. Although it seemed to serve Muta well, it also seemed somewhat of a burden, and he could hardly see the boy sleeping well into the afternoon as he did. He rather thought that although the other might be perhaps safer from the perils of the world, it certainly would be bothersome always looking for danger. That said, he had no knowledge of Mutasim's life, and therefore figured it was probably not best to judge, as whilst knives were seldom needed as protection in the Harper Hall, the other could have been raised in quite different circumstances. And by the scars the boy bore, he assumed that the latter was true.

When Mutasim spoke to him, he seemed almost surprised. He knew the boy had seen him, that much was obvious, but he had half expected a death glare or simply a cold shoulder. Although the reply was hardly warm, little more could be expected; after all he was watching the candidate, which he considered to be somewhat rude. However, with a flustered grin, he replied; "Ah, um... sorry! I just..." he paused, looking rather annoyed with himself for his lack of grace, before continuing, "I just don't see many candidates practicing with knives." He finished with apologetic grin and lopsided smile. He accepted the other clasping his wrist, but attempted to hide his surprised look; he had honestly not expected such an open gesture from the other candidate.

The whole mood changed, however, when Mutasim offered Lienos a go of his blades. The candidate blinked, and scratched the back of his head in a half confused, half bashful way. Sharp and pointy things were dangerous, he had established. But when sharp pointy things were in the hands of Lienos, the boy who could barely use a knife to cut up tubers on the best of days without almost slicing a finger off, the outcome was certainly not destined to be a good one. "You... probably don't want to see my lack of coordination. It can be pretty ugly."

[reqqy]

The boy found this one - almost charming in a clumsy way. Hard to truly dislike him. It would be difficult to see any true form of emotion from Mutasim generally, and he certainly didn't give off the impression of caring for anyone else, yet somehow there was a small - and gradually growing - list of people who took a keen interest in him, even if those on that list had a tendency of disappearing...or winding up dead. A'viar. Z'hin. Narna. All those were gone, in one way or another. But T'nmor and Gina were still around here somewhere, sure enough.

With the older boy's comment, Mutasim allowed his face to show a touch of surprise, the expression more for dramatic effect than ought else. "No?" he asked, as if the very thought was so ridiculous he'd never even considered it. Perhaps it was something of a fib. Truly, though, Muta didn't come out and say that such a thing seemed impossible, allowing his tone to convey his 'surprise' at a problem he was very much aware of. He considered saying more than that, but waited to gauge the whole of this candidate's reaction first.

His shoulder lifted in a mild shrug, the cold smile turning rather dark. "Whatever would come of it, I've seen worse - even here in Selenitas." He met the young man's gaze directly, almost searchingly. "If you look really close at the floorboards in the common room of our barracks, you might still see some of the blood from the attack I fended off with two who are now dragonriders. Some candidates were kidnapped awhile back. It's rather surprising to me that no one seems to be preparing for what might happen in the future."

Mutasim carefully made no mention of the weyrling massacre that had also involved U'un and Z'hin, or that the brownrider had died some four months previous.

Shrugging again, he turned, adding over his shoulder, "Of course, you don't need a knife to take care of yourself. Faranth knows steel was hard enough to come by back in Bitra. Most of us just relied on our hands and feet." There, the hook was baited. This one was obviously curious. Now, Mutasim would simply go back to what he'd been doing before, and hope that the curiosity would translate into something he could work with. It was unfortunate that no one else with a solid background in self-defense had come along yet. A good spar was excellent for generating interest. Oh well. You had to work with what you had.

Was he trying to rebuild the den of children that he'd once led on the streets of a faraway holding? Perhaps, in a way. Mutasim simply didn't want to see Benden - or Fort or High Reaches - have any more success than they deserved. These people were his, now, to a point. And he'd never had any particular fondness for northern weyrs. Two especially torturous turns had generated an abiding hatred for Benden dragonriders in particular.

Descending into a crouch, the boy slowed down his movements slightly, displaying a casual grace as he went into another memorized set of movements that featured kicks - low and high spin kicks, jumping side kicks, even a couple of well-placed evasions that looked like falls until a casual twist of the torso or thrust from his arms had him back on his feet and moving in another direction. Mutasim tried not to pay too much attention to what his visitor was doing during that time.

[darcy]

Mutasim was obviously excellent at reading emotions, as Lienos really only needed a reason to accept his offer. Then again, Lienos was hardly a master at the art of hiding his emotions, so one would probably not have to be very talented in the first place to see what he was thinking. All the same, Muta's comments made the candidate look up with interest. Blood in the candidate barracks? He was really blindingly oblivious to anything... real, and therefore had not heard of such an attack, nor seen any blood. Still, the boy didn't seem the type to lie, so Lienos simply stared at the other boy. He certainly looked the type to be in the midst of a battle, at any rate. Though generally idealistic, Lienos knew he would be useless at a time such as Muta described.

He was almost ready to agree to the other candidate's request, and the comment about Bitra simply intrigued him more. Sure, Lienos was from the North, and the Hall had had its share of problems, but still, they hardly resorted to knife fights and violence. Just how and where had this kid grown up? He allowed himself to narrow his bright eyes, if only for a second. Not to intimidate, for Lienos knew that compared to the other candidate he was about as intimidating as a weed. He was simply attempting to break the cycle wherein he seemed to be amazingly impressed with every one of Mutasim's words. Truthfully he found the candidate to be a thousand times more intriguing than anyone he had met before, but it could hardly be good for his reputation. Somewhat bitterly, he realized the other had probably analyzed his character within a few seconds, and would certainly not fall for such a weak performance. Pfft.

He gazed intently as the other began moving again, so graceful and calculated. He honestly wanted to be able to do such things, but he had spent a large proportion of his life being told just how uncoordinated and untalented he was at anything that involved physical movement and as such felt very unsure and untrusting of his ability to not fall flat on his face. So he stayed silent for a moment, before commenting; "You grew up in Bitra?" It was an obvious comment, but he saw no other way to begin conversation again. He wanted to know more about Mutasim.

[reqqy]

The boy did not walk away. Had Mutasim been anyone else, a pleased smile might have shifted across his lips, a ripple of contentment in an otherwise still face. Mutasim was not anyone else. He made it seem both as if he was fully aware of the candidate, and entirely unconcerned by him. It was a game, and a game that the orphans of Bitra learned quickly, or perished. Never show weakness. Never show lack of vigilance. Never show emotion - not pleasure, not anger, not pain. If someone didn't know how important something was to you, they would be less likely to use it against you. Something or someone. Even Mutasim, however, could not hide every emotion and love perfectly. Perhaps especially Mutasim. If he were ever to return to Bitra, Lordholder Lyam would die, or Muta would. That was simply the way of life. Lyam understood this, too, to send people after the boy when the candidate was protected by the Weyr.

The question that followed should have been expected. It was not. For the first time since the newcomer came upon Mutasim, the veteran candidate - or unworthy candidate, depending upon how you looked at it - performed a movement that was less than graceful. He pivoted toward the other, dark eyes flashing with something wholly dangerous. That steely gaze wasn't lessened any by the slight stumble at the sudden turn. His hands had gone to his chest, where the bandolier had been, however Mutasim, after staring at the other for a good few seconds, noticeably relaxed. His first response could only be considered a rather grim laugh.

"We choose our questions more carefully, in Bitra," he commented, with a small shake of his head. The menace had completely melted from him. That this boy could say the name of Mutasim's old home in that tone of voice betrayed an ignorance that the smaller candidate coveted. No, this one wouldn't be delivering any information back to Lyam. "Yes. You must be from one of the holds that falls under Fort's protection, if you don't know what goes on at Bitra." Yes, he must. Muta still remembered the fear and awe in T'nmor's gaze when he first heard the name.

Because he needed this one, or felt he did, for whatever reason, the small, olive-skinned lad chose to be open. "I had family there, of a sort. We chose each other. No one can live alone on the streets." His eyes took on a distant look. Subconsciously, he rubbed at his neck, rubbed at the scar that encircled it. Then he realized what he was doing. "That's where I got these. Now there's no one." Mutasim shrugged, but the movement said nothing of nonchalance; it was heavy with meaning. "It's hard for those who aren't Bitran to truly understand. But every day that you woke up was a gift, and you fought for the life you'd been gifted with every minute of the day."

A grim smile touched his lips. "Which is more than anyone else knows about me, who hasn't yet even given his name."