The Grey Tower

Tower life had yet to really set in, had yet to really become a routine. Training grounds, bruises, laps. Lathes, barking orders, chores. Mess hall, sleep, rinse and repeat. It really was quite a repetitive process, but Rahim had never been quite good at following a routine. Even in Ebou Dar, when he was helping his father with his business or his siblings around their farm, he was more distracted than anything and dreamed of finding his own glory. Here in the Tower, at least, he'd be able to find that. Eventually. The tall, lanky young man with olive skin, gray-blue eyes, and messy black hair, found himself looking towards that future.

He'd been told that by coming to the Tower, he could become one of the legendary Warders to the Aes Sedai, those weapons of movement who would be able to fight without tiring, have more energy than other men, and, if he was lucky, kiss a girl or two. That thought made a grin pass across his olive toned features. It would be fun to see what he could get away with here, even if it wasn't a lot.

This morning, he had a lesson with a Ji'Val named Theodor, a block faced Andoran man who'd had his nose broken a time or two judging by the set of it. He had a quarterstaff in one hand, and a pair of short training daggers in the other. These daggers he tossed to Rahim as the new Drin trotted down the Green towards the older man. "I was told you're good with these," he said in a gruff, no nonsense tone. "Let's see how good you are and how quickly I can knock you on that butt of yours."

A quick flash of teeth twisted the scar on the right side of Rahim's face. "I'm good enough to have earned the scar on my face," he said conversationally. "But I'm sure I could always use more practice," he added hastily, seeing the stormclouds beginning to brew on the other man's face. You could take the man out of Ebou Dar, but you couldn't take Ebou Dar out of the man. Being cocky was in his blood, and it had kept him alive through many a duel.

A snort from the older man was his answer. A man of few words, then. Not more than a few breaths after Rahim had received the daggers, Theodor was rushing at him, quarterstaff sweeping towards his legs to try to get him off balance. Rahim nimbly jumped over this, spinning to try to duck under the blow of the other man, when the quarter staff came rapping down hard on Rahim's face, hitting him square in the nose.

Lights flashed before Rahim's vision, then darkness, then light again, along with a sickening crunch. Light burn the man, it was broken again. Again! It had been hard enough to get it to set straight the last time...Rah quickly tilted his head, feeling the blood already running down his face, placing his white linen covered forearm under his nostrils to stem the bleeding.

Theodor rolled his eyes and chuckled a little. "Not as good as you seem to think, Ebou Dari. Go to the Infirmary, and let the Yellows look at you. You have much work to do."

Obediently, Rahim nodded, running off in the direction of the Tower, not really looking at where he was going through the sparks in his vision. The sparks blinded him as to what was in front of him. A Light blessed, solid figure that stopped him dead in his tracks, sending him sprawling past onto the grass beyond them. Hurriedly, he got up, tilting his head back again. "Light burn me, I'm sorry about that. Blood and bloody ashes, I didn't mean to - that is to say....are you ok?" He was trying to see who he'd hit without tilting his head down, and still trying to see without blurriness. Light help him, he'd started out his first real lesson going headfirst into the fire.

Natlya wasn't used to being run over, really. This was perhaps why, even at her size, she wasn't run over. She was just run...into.

She had seen the very distracted-looking trainee wandering toward her, but she hadn't really expected a collision, so despite having very serviceable Gaidin reflexes, she didn't move. Maybe out of curiosity about what would happen...which she learned in short order. It meant young men walked face-first into her.

Perhaps there could be worse ways to start the day.

"I'm perfectly well," she replied easily. "You, on the other hand, cannot say the same. Tell me you're on your way to the infirmary."

Rahim looked up at the woman who stood before him. She looked like an angel. She was surrounded by a halo of light...or maybe that was the knock he took to the head. Stars glittered around her, casting her frame into a myriad of textures. Slowly, she began to solidify into a solid silhouette before him. She had bright red hair and was looking down at him most curiously. She was pretty, and her smile looked like it could upturn into a smile as quickly as a frown. He wouldn’t mind trying to steal a kiss or two, if it were under different circumstances. Those lips certainly looked kissable enough…

He held his hand under his nose again, pinching the bridge with the other and twisting it back into place with a crunch of cartilage and bone. “I….I was,” he said, his voice sounding slightly nasally and rough from the blood dripping down his face and holding his nose to staunch the bleeding. “But it’s just a broken nose. Surely the Yellows have more important things to do than deal with a broken nose...right? See, it’s stopped bleeding already!” He took his hand away experimentally to prove that it had, indeed, stopped bleeding, and was rewarded with a slow trickle instead of the torrent before.

“Blood and bloody ashes - I mean to say….I’m sorry, milady,” he grumbled softly to himself. “I should watch my language around a lady. I am really terribly sorry. But I think I’m okay now….Gods, I’ve gotten blood all over your shirt from my clumsiness. Can I buy you a new one? Can I repay it with a drink? Light help me, I’m making a mess of this.” He stood, shakily, the world reeling for a moment as he got his bearings. “I’m...Rahim Vaelyn, milady. A Drin.”

Natlya listened to the string of words that tumbled and stumbled out of the young man's mouth, her pale brows rising curiously as she waited to hear what the end result of it all would be. When he finally stopped and introduced himself, she smirked slightly. "Don't be a fool," she said. As so many men were... "A broken nose needs setting and the Yellows will assure that nothing has climbed toward your brain.

"I'll walk with you. I know the way all too well." She gestured for him to start walking and fell in step beside him. "You needn't buy me a shirt. I've bloodied my shirt plenty of times. It washes out." Nat glanced at him sidelong. "Pleasure to meet you, Drin Vaelyn. I'm Natlya Gaidin."

Rahim’s heart skipped a beat for a moment as she smirked at him. Light, she was pretty. He didn’t even have a chance to retort back before she beckoned him to follow, which he did awkwardly. He felt like a colt freshly born. His legs felt ungainly underneath him, and he felt like he was making a fool of himself in front of this Gaidin. “You look like you are far too skilled with the weapons you must use to go to the Yellows often, Natlya Gaidin,” he said smoothly, a roguish grin crossing his features. He suspected that the effect was somewhat diminished by the blood caking his face like a macabre mask, but it would have to do. He often had an effect on women that made their hearts’ stutter and ended up with them giving him a kiss at the end of the night, but then again he often didn’t have blood on his face and a broken nose.

“Natlya,” he murmured, rolling around the name on his tongue. “It’s a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” If he was already bloodied, he might as well continue. What was it that his father used to say? If you’ve already got one foot into the grave, might as well bury yourself entirely. “Maybe after we’ve taken care of my nose...you can give me a private lesson?” He realized how that sounded and cleared his throat. “I mean, a sword lesson. A weapons lesson. I want to learn.”

Isn't he a bold one, Nat thought to herself with no small amount of amusement. Most Drin weren't brazen enough to try flirting with her after learning she was a Gaidin. There was the occasional one, of course, and apparently, it was this young man's turn at playing the Dashing Rogue of the Grey Tower. There always had to be at least one, right?

"You clearly need lessons," she replied, her expression somewhere between flat and still smirking. Really, her lips lived in a semi-permanent state of corner tilt. You could take the girl out of the con-game, but it was pretty impossible to take all of the con-game out of the girl...and this expression had helped her get away with a lot. "I can help you learn how to duck, if that's what you mean." The smirk grew.