Cha'el, Thierry


Thierry reports in for his regular training session with Cha'el. Cha'el doesn't expect to be knocked off his feet.


It is afternoon on the eighteenth day of the second month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr Standing Stones

OOC Date


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Standing Stones

It is perhaps a pity that the Standing Stones lie in quiet isolation, half-forgotten in the Weyr's easternmost corner. Or perhaps it is inevitable: the grandiose beauty of these red rocks is ill-suited to Igen's coarse grit, and maybe only their loneliness allows them to survive unmarred. Whatever the reason, it cannot be denied that the Standing Stones, a lonely jumble of ancient boulders, have a glory about them. The tumbled field of pillars and arches has been shaped by eons of wind and water into strange shapes, twisted and rutted. The going is treacherous: only the Weyr's half-feral herd of caprines navigates the terrain with any ease. To the northwest, the lakeshore glimmers; to the east, rough-carved steps lead towards another ancient pile of rocks - though the Star Stones are less haphazardly placed than their Standing cousins.

Winter's cool breeze blows strongly around the Standing Stones, chilling the air despite Rukbat being just past her zenith in this slightly-past-lunchtime hour. Thierry is already there and waiting for the day's training; he's in his PT outfit, leaning up against one of the red rocks with his brown firelizard draped over his forearm. It's an unusually gentle moment for the youth as he strokes affectionately over Rat's hide with gentle fingers and a fond smile - a smile that tugs at the healing cut on his lip, and that causes the bruised skin along his jaw, on his temple and under his eye to stretch a little. The streetrat-turned-guard is black and blue, for sure, but it doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest as he waits.

Its been a few days since Cha'el has been able to get away to meet the young guard recruit for training up at the Stones but he does so now, approaching at a jog and dressed in loose drawstring pants and a sleeveless vest. Drawing close his pace slows to a walk, those cuts and bruises peppered across Thierry's person quickly made note of. Immediately dark brows shove into a frown as the brownrider makes an assumption. "If you tell me you've been fighting in the streets I'm gonna put my foot so far up your arse I'll be able to tickle your tonsils with my toes."

And who /wouldn't/ assume as much with Thierry? The guard recruit smirks at Cha'el, lazily shrugging his shoulders. "This is Rat." He holds up his arm to show off his pet, while the brown firelizard lazily stretches his wings before launching off to settle atop one of the stones. That's when Thi offers an explanation, with another little shrug - though this one comes with a proud smile. "Had to take down a guy from my old gang. He's mebbe bigger than you, y'know?" Bigger in terms of breadth, as the teen holds his hands out to his sides to suggest a hefty girth. "Got him knocked out with my stick in the end, though." He mimes walloping someone over the head with his nightstick, then looks smugly back at Cha'el. "It was pretty cool."

Brows remain twisted together and Thierry set with a narrowed look. There is however a brief glance to the 'lizard when its introduced and while there might have been a comment made of the little creature, Cha'el continues that silent lip pursed stare. When the guard recruit does finally give a reply it simply serves to deepen the brownrider's suspicions. Hands plant to lean hips and he huffs a sharp breath of disapproval through his nose. "The point of my teaching you to fight properly is not so that you can go wailing on your boys to keep your status." He missed the part about 'old gang'. Clearly.

"Uh-huh." Thierry's brow raises over his eye, his smug smile growing just a bit more - until it pulls on his cut and hurts. Then he winces, and laughs at the same time, touching his finger to the injury and holding it up to see if there's any blood. None! "I got him beat good though, Weyrsecond. Cos of what you've taught me, yeah? And cos of some of the guard stuff, but, y'know. Mostly your teaching. Phib's not gonna go out and do that shit again." He slips his hands into his pockets, the right one fumbling about as he habitually seeks tokes that aren't there.

The more Thierry reveals so the brownrider starts to clue in. Perhaps it's the use of his title without snark or simply the lack of crappy attitude so often associated with the teen. Hands leave hips and arms fold about the Weyrsecond's broad chest, his head cocked to one side in contemplation. "What you do with this Phib afterwards?" He goes on to ask, smirking inwardly as the kid's searching hand comes up empty of his habit.

"Dragged his ass to the brig, banged him up… left him there." And Thierry is /proud/. "I poked him awake this morning, through the bars. Bastard fell off his cot and nearly shat himself." He laughs, then shrugs. "Deserves it, anyway. I dunno what he was trying to do to Veresch, but he's probably lucky I got him before Worm did. He was right up there with a knife, right?" Straight fingers are pressed to his own neck to demonstrate. "And then he was gonna turn and sorta try and /squash/ Rei, which would've got him off of Veresch, sure, but then Worm would've been squished, so I came in and I /pounded/ him. But he's big, right? Like I said. And he sorta got me down, and we were all -" he throws punches in the air - "and then he got me pinned, so I sorta wiggled out my nightstick and BAM. Knocked him the fuck out. Bastard."

That first sentence is all it takes to drop the final puzzle piece into place and allay suspicions, displayed in the broad grin that peels across bearded features. "You popped your guarding cherry then, eh?" Cha'el is about as chuffed as a father might be of a son achieving his first touchdown. "Way to go, kid," he adds, arms unfolding so as to clap Thierry on the shoulder and then the rest of what he says catches up and the brownrider stiffens. "He was trying to do what to who-now?" Blue eyes have narrowed dangerously, their color flattening to slate, his baritone dropped to a low growl of sound.

"Veresch? Little shit?" Which isn't as insulting as it could be; Thierry might have a /hint/ of warmth behind the otherwise derogatory nickname. "Phib was doing something. Dunno what, really, cos it sorta… I dunno. I guess I just forgot in the rush, y'know? But Reilan was on Phib's /back/. He's like a little crawler or something. Clingy and shit. But he was gonna get Phib - he's pretty but he's not /useless/, right? And his knife was up at his neck, which is when I walked in, and then Veresch was alright after and everything. Worm too. Phib had to see a Healer, though. Concussion or something. I shoulda got the girl or something after though, right? 'cept it was Veresch, so… eh." He shrugs, smirking. "I'm gonna teach the rest of the boys they can't fuck around like that. Not any more." Thi holds up his fist, seeking to bump it off Cha'el's.

Aaaand that scowling frown is back in place again except that this time, its not aimed at Thierry. Progress!! Information is assimilated then filed away, it clear to see that Cha'el probably intends tracking the young messenger girl down. "You did good, kid," he states with deep approval, bumping his fist against the teen's. "Real good." And then he's grabbing a hold of Thierry's chin is he doesn't duck and turning his head this way and that, admiring his cuts and bruises. "And how'd it feel, eh? To be the one on the right side of it all?"

Thierry /does/ flinch a little when he's grabbed at, eyes fixed warily on Cha'el as he submits to having his injuries checked out. "I did fucking /awesome/." He smirks, digging his hands into his pockets. "It felt good cos I was protecting Worm, y'know? And Veresch, too. And cos it was /Phib/, and you've gotta /see/ how big he is. But," and now his smile fades a little, his tone losing a smidge of its excitement, "it's gonna fuck things up around the bazaar. See, the guys? They're not gonna be happy. And I sorta haven't spoken to Reilan since Veresch went and, like, /sucked his face off/ on the beach there," he jerks his head towards the lakeside, "so I'm kinda worried for him. But what the fuck, man. What's she snogging /him/ for when /I/ saved her ass? That's bullshit."

Amused by Thierry's well deserved excitement over his first bust, Cha'el grins indulgently at his verbose reply and comments. "Now you know how we feel," the brownrider states of those that protect from the air. "There's nothing better than knowing you make a difference." When the young guard goes on to paint the downside to his victory, Cha'el offers him an understanding smile, "Its never easy when you first start to make a stand against those you used to run with." He agrees in a manner that suggests he's been there himself. But then there's a chuckle for Thierry's last along with an empathetic cluck of tongue. "The hero doesn't always get the girl." Wink.

"Yeah, and it's only Veresch. She's like, /young/." Thierry's nose wrinkles, and he shrugs, sniffing and rubbing his hand under his nose before those fingers of his go in search of his missing tokes once more. Habit! "You've been doing thread stuff, right? There was some near the Hold?" His giddy mood subsides a little, brows lower over his dark eyes. "That's kinda bigger than taking down a fuckface like Phib. What's it like?"

There's a disapproving twitch of brows for Thierry's pretence at a flippant comment about the messenger girl. "Mind your mouth, kid. Young or older, she's still a female and should be treated with respect." Old-school Nowtimer, present. But then questions are being turned on him and Cha'el's expression becomes carefully bland. "There's no big or small when you're protecting others, Thierry," so he does remember his name, "it all comes out the same in the wash, aye?" The last though, that finds the rider fitting the guard recruit with an intent look. Silence stretches out to the point that it may seem he's not going to answer. But then: "Hot, fast, exhausting, terrifying…" A pause and then a faint curve of lips. "Satisfying."

"Awesome." From the look on his face, Thierry's no doubt got a mind full of all sorts of heroics. "I wanna do the ground stuff. When it falls here. That shit's not getting in here, right? Not in the Weyr." He shakes his head, grinding his fist into his palm. "Fuck thread. Does it, like, make a sound or anything? When it's all getting… burnt up? I'm gonna get agenothree or whatever and burn the /shit/ out of it, if I see it." His brow furrows, lips pursing angrily. "Can't believe you'd be scared of it, though, Weyrsecond. Don't you feel safe with your dragon and, like, the whole shardin' /Weyr/ with you?"

"You wanna train with a groundcrew?" Cha'el asks looking impressed and then his gaze drops to the tip of his running shoes. "Thread falls wherever it wants to. I've read historical accountings of it falling over Weyrs." So many questions and the Weyrsecond does his best to answer them. "Sometimes it sizzles like when you throw water at a hot pot? Most times you can't hear it over the rush of wind at the speeds we fly at." That last though finds the older man's features tightening and lips pursing about a frown. "Anyone who isn't scared of it, is a liability. It's the fear that keeps you on top of your game. We all saw wingmates die or be severely scored over Keroon. Men and women that we drill with, eat with and socialize with. Gone, screaming in agony." No, he's not going to paint a pretty harper picture for Thierry believing the cold hard truth to be of more benefit.

Thierry's hands dig into his pockets, and he rocks back on his heels to lean against the stone behind him. "We heard the dragons." Keening, after Keroon. Then, after a few moments of silence on his end, he asks: "Are even the /women/ riders good up there?" His hand comes out of his pocket so he can scrub at his upper arm, squinting at Cha'el. "Don't you want to keep them down here or something, where they'll be safe? Women shouldn't get into dangerous shit, it's not right."

Sikorth, who has been lazily circling up above, his large shadow sweeping over the ground intermittently, sends a long rumbling growl when those that had been lost are spoken of. Clearly he's listening in. "Aye," is Cha'el's low reply for that before he falls to silence. Broken when he glances up at Thierry for his observation about the female riders. A wry smile tugs into place. "Don't let Erissa hear you say that." A pause and then a nod for he agrees on the matter of women in dangerous jobs, "Its harder on them physically. Tossing and catching the firestone sacks but they work just as hard as any of us and some of them, like Trek," his former wingleader, "have a really good grasp on formations. It's taken some getting used to but I figure the dragons know best. They wouldn't choose a woman if they didn't think she was up to it, aye?"

"I dunno. I know fuck all about dragons, 'cept they're big. Some screwball greenrider freaked the fuck out at me the other day after he asked me to wash blood of his, and that's the only time I've got /that/ near one." Thierry shrugs. "She smelt kinda like Rat. 'cept when I said that, /he/ flipped the fuck out /again/ and was gonna come at me until I explained I meant /Rat/, not /a/ rat. That other greenrider's alright, though." Because there's only two in the whole Weyr. Right. "/You're/ alright." He raises his fists to play-box at Cha'el.

Surprise etches brows upward. "A greenrider asked you to wash blood off his dragon?" No sooner has he asked for qualification and Cha'el is chuckling. "Mate, any rider that thinks you're calling their dragon is a rat is gonna come after your hide. The relationship between dragon and rider is" How does one explain such a thing. "Well, it's sort of like someone calling your ma a whore or another guy kissing on your girl. Same reaction to insulting a dragon." There's a short laugh at the declaration made and the brownrider lazily lifts a hand and makes pretence at cuffing Thierry alongside the head. "You're only saying that so I'll go easy on you today."

"He /did/ call my mother a whore." Thierry's nose wrinkles in distaste. "If he'd been /not/ a rider, I would've punched his stupid /face/ in." The cuffing attempt is ducked, and Thi brings his hand up to soft-punch Cha'el's away. "Whatcha gonna do with me today, anyway? Since I'm a /hero/ and all, you oughta go easy. Right?" Another play-punch is made at the Weyrsecond, this one aiming for his chin. "D'you reckon I could get you down?"

Lips tuck together within the frame of his beard with Cha'el doing his level best not to appear amused at Thierry's indignation. "Point is you didn't," is stated with approval. "Couple of sevens back, you might have done something dumb like that, aye?" There's another silently implied pat on the back for the teen. A grin peels into place as his raised hands are batted away. "Go easy on you, eh? And let you get cocky? Not a chance, kid." The brownrider returns, sweeping a foot out to try and snag the recruit's ankle. "You can try but I swear to Faranth if you try wrapping your thighs around my head, I'm gonna bite your junk."

"Coupla sevens ago yeah. I didn't have that Oldie goldie bi— /her/. You know who. Didn't have /her/ threatening to ship me off to the fuckin' Isles." Which isn't /quite/ true to the actual timeframe, but Thierry can exaggerate. He keeps his fists up, peering over the top of them up at Cha'el. The stuck-out foot does catch his ankle, though he's close enough to the stone behind him to use it to steady himself. The leg-wrap comment makes him laugh though - and yet he doesn't drop his guard. "I /knew/ you were that way," he snorts, trying to get in a sneaky sideways swing at Cha'el's cheek. "You were gonna fucking /kiss/ me in the bazaar, weren'tcha? 'til that dumb fucking whore came by."

"Weyrwoman Tuli." Cha'el supplies the name with a pointed look at the recruit. "No matter what you might think of her, she's still a weyrwoman, aye?" Says he recently dressed down for having stated his opinion on female guards. He's paying it forward, okay? There's a grunt of amusement when Thierry uses the rock to steady himself and feinting to the right, the brownrider sweeps a light tap to his kidney area with a left. Ducking from that incoming swing, Cha'el bobs lightly on his feet and utters a snort. "Disappointed I didn't?' Dark brows waggle back and forth, teasing with no confirmation lent in either direction.

The tap gets an oof from Thierry - a hidden bruise there, maybe? Or maybe it's a ploy as he comes back with a quick hook to Cha'el's chest, followed by a knee to his thigh. "/Weyrwoman/." He blows a raspberry. "Weyrwomanweyrwomanweyrwoman. Dragons must be /crazy/." He rolls his eyes, jabbing at the brownrider's belly. "Betcha you were more disappointed. You missed out on /me/." Because clearly, he's the bee's knees! He steps in with a lunge, aiming the hell of his hand at his opponent's chin… and stopping so he can turn it into a cheeky little pat-slap - it's somewhere between the two! - to the Weyrsecond's cheek, clicking his tongue in his own as a sound effect.

Cha'el isn't able to block the knock to his chest but does take a quick step to avoid the knee to his thigh, amusement glinting in blue eyes at the teen's chant. "Say it one more time and she'll magically appear and have her gold sit on you." An expressive roll of eyes is Thierry's reward. "Kid, you couldn't handle me." The pat-a-cake to his face draws a growl from the brownrider who makes a quick grab for the recruit's wrist.

Thierry is grabbed! "She tried having her dragon /eat/ me. Still here, though." He wriggles his wrist in Cha'el's grasp, not pulling too hard to get away… because he uses that hold to pivot in towards the brownrider, his back to the older man's chest and his elbow digging into his side; it's /there/, pressed to him, but not intended to hurt. "You got no clue what I can and can't do, Weyrsecond." Such as his next move - which is to mock-stomp on Cha'el's foot, followed by an attempt to dance away from him. If he can get his wrist free, of course.

A throaty laugh is exhaled. "Mate, there's not enough on you to eat." Smug the curl of lips when Thierry makes weak attempt to wriggle his wrist, "An old granny would put more effort into… Hnnngh!" That's for the elbow to his side, a hidden bruise from a firestone sack that had gone astray during Fall. "Careful kid, you might find yourself having to put your marks where your mouth is at." - "OW! Sonnoffabitch!" The brownrider yelps and instantly releases Thierry to hop on one foot. "C'mere you little shit," pain roughens his tone but amused approval lightens it as Cha'el takes off after him.

Thierry's got turns of dirty streetfighting behind him. Shame on Cha'el for not expecting a dirty move like that! The streetrat darts out of reach, goading his opponent on with a cocky grin and a beckoning finger. "Heeere, boy." He even whistles as if calling a canine, before ducking behind the nearest standing stone, ready to pounce and throw a belly-punch when the brownrider gets close enough.

Shame on Cha'el indeed for having his mind not fully on the sparring session, otherwise he may well have anticipated such a move. But he'll not catch the brownrider again. A crunch of pebbles and sand underfoot herald his approach. Or does it? For while the sound might be coming from that direction - a handful of loose dirt thrown out - the Weyrsecond stealthily moves in from the other side and if he can get close enough, will tap Thierry on the shoulder seconds before he wraps a thickly muscled arm about the teen's throat.

And /that's/ not an easy hold to squirm out of! Thierry's hands go up to curl tightly around Cha'el's forearm as he stands still, trying to /think/ his way out rather than flail away like he would've done at the beginning of these sessions. The Weyrsecond will likely feel his frustrated, heavy breath on his arm as it escapes the teen's flared nostrils - and he may even feel it /stop/ when Thi's figured out his move. Moving quickly he shifts his weight, jabbing his hips back into the brownrider, angled just enough to one side to try and set the bigger man off-balance, while pulling on his arm and leaning forward in an attempt to /flip/ him over his shoulder.

There's a low husk of laughter that spills right at Thierry's ear. "Oldest trick in the book, kid." Cha'el tells him of the thrown gravel ploy, in the sort of purring tone that one might mistake for seductive. It is however, far from it and meant to serve as distraction so that the brownrider can wrap his lower leg around the teen's. Unfortunately, that occurs at just the same time as the guard recruit thrusts backward and then jerks forward. With his leg tangled about Thierry's, the Weyrsecond is indeed thrown off-balance. But, it doesn't go quite the way it may have been planned by either party. Trying to hold onto the teen so as to remain on his feet but with his momentum swung forward, there's a pause of motion and then gravity takes hold with a hefty THWUMP. Down Cha'el goes like a hunk of timbre, his upper half landing on something soft and rather more squishy than the unforgiving ground while his legs are tangled with what he can only presume, are Thierry's.

Ooomph. That was an /unexpected/ meeting with the ground. And an unexpected Cha'el on top of him, too. Thierry's faceplant has him spreadeagled beneath Cha'el, the brownrider's weight pinning him in place. Sure, he may be wily and wiry and not entirely incapable, but he's also a little winded and hey, the dude's /heavy/ on top of him. Once he catches his breath he starts to wriggle, fighting to get turned over onto his back. "You're fucking /heavy/, man…" The whine comes with an elbow-jab into whatever bit of the rider he can reach. Take that!

If only someone would walk in on THIS scene. It would, uh. No doubt be … misconstrued.

Legendary is entirely innocent.

"Vempigonzumwunyeronzize," comes in a muffled grumble from where Cha'el has his face smooshed into Thierry's chest. And not in a fun way either! That jab to ribs has the desired effect and the brownrider shoves himself up and rolls away. "And you're fucking bony, kid!! Do you ever eat?" Is asked with a scowl as Cha'el rolls up into a sitting position and reaches over to attempt to swat the teen upside the head. "Good move. Bad execution." Says he that unwittingly jimmied the whole affair to start with.

Thierry is /swatted/. "Ow!" Like it /really/ hurt. He pushes up into a sitting position, looking at where the fall's battered his shorts-clad legs and picking at the skin that's been scuffed into peeling away. "Mrph. Gotcha down, though." Not how he'd planned, but he still /did/ it. "Didn't I betcha I could?" Then he gets up to his feet, dusting himself off. "I'm not fucking /bony/." He lifts up his dusty vest to prove it. Ribs visible, just, beneath his scarred skin; but not enough so to fall under the /bony/ category. Not when there's also muscle definition! The boy's headed down Six-Pack Alley, even if he's not /quite/ there yet. He proudly slaps the muscle with the flat of his palm, before going to dig into his pocket… no tokes! Dammit. "You got any smokes, Weyrsecond?"

Aaand that's why you wear long pants for sparring, Thierry - No one can see the owies. A grunt marks grudging respect. "You got lucky." Words are in counter thereof. Pushing up to his feet a brow cocks upward when the teen yanks his shirt up. No, he's certainly not bony, his physique showing definite signs of promise but Cha'el's not about to say as much and instead keeps to the pattern of giving the kid a hard time. "Fine. Scrawny, then." Dusting at his butt and knees, there's a snort. "That shit'll fuck with your lungs, kid. You wanna train, you stop with the smoking."

Scrawny? Bah. Thierry shows what he thinks of /that/ by sticking up a very special finger for the Weyrsecond. He then turns his head to spit, rubbing the back of his hand over his lips and shrugging. "You do it. I saw you." His hand's then rubbed under his nose as he snorts - then through his hair, possibly spreading snot and spit though his slightly sweaty locks. Then he looks up, squinting at Rukbat's position in the sky. "Aw, fuck. I'm gonna be late for duty cos you wanted a cuddle." He double-clicks his tongue in his cheek while winking at Cha'el. "Can I give 'em you as an excuse? For reporting late?"

Said special finger will find a pair of mates attached to the Weyrsecond's hands along with a smirk. "Used to but don't smoke anymore. First one in eleven turns that was." Cha'el easily admits on having lit up recently and then eyes that questionably lubricated hand of Thierry's that the teen sends skimming through his hair. Perhaps a chat about hygiene and what should be used to gel one's hair rather than bodily fluids back should be in order next time round. Dry amusement sifts in next, "Aye, you can use me for an excuse. So long as you tell them all we were cuddling and tell them aaaaall about how I had you pinned on the ground." Smirk.

"And how you were /lovin'/ it, yeah? 'Cos everyone wants a bit of the /hero/." Thierry laughs as he makes a lewd hip-thrust, which he follows up with by firing off a half-decent salute to the brownrider. He's /learning/ things. "Same time tomorrow, then? … sir?" The title is tacked on at the end - not /disrespectfully/, but /forgetfully/. "Mebbe less of the wannafuckya positioning, though. Dust gets in your /lungs/ when you're down there."

Where before such a comment and gesture might have been met by tight-lipped annoyance, now Cha'el simply laughs and shakes his head, ticking off a salute in return. "G'wan, get outta here you cheeky whelp."

"Clear skies, Weyrsecond." Thierry whistles for Rat, who launches off from his perch atop the sun-warmed stones to flutter on over to him. With his little pet following in the air behind him, Thierry sets off towards the bazaar at a jog.

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