Adarr was equally talkative, but not about himself. When asked, he always claimed he hadn’t been anything special, just another Fenabian warrior, and that he had no idea why the Wraith had let him live when the rest of his people had been slaughtered or enslaved. What he lacked in self-confidence however he made up for in good nature, and he was happy to talk about his people, his family, old legends, boyhood exploits, and anything else that came to mind. After only a day Ronon was doubly glad he hadn’t been asked to bunk with the tall, pale man — he’d never have gotten a second’s sleep.
Turen was friendly and willing to talk, but though she held up her end of any conversation she rarely said anything about herself or her people. Frayne was even more close-lipped — of all the V’rdai he was the one who made it clear he still didn’t trust Ronon or completely accept him, though he was starting to relax that mistrust a bit. Ronon didn’t blame him. Given what they had all been through as Runners, they should be cautious. And if Frayne’s caution bordered on paranoia, well, better to be safe than to be tricked by anyone.
Banje rarely spoke at all, though it didn’t seem to be anything against Ronon — he was just as quiet with the others. Most of his responses were a few words, and only when asked a direct question. The rest of the time he simply sat back, watched, and listened.
Nekai only joined them occasionally. When he did, the Retemite was a little more relaxed than he had been when it had just been him and Ronon. Which made sense. That had been out in the wild, with the threat of Wraith attacks at any moment — and with a half-trained Satedan barely containing his desire to hurl himself at even the chance of facing a Wraith. Here he was back in his element, in the base he had obviously built, surrounded by people he had trained. Even so, Nekai never relaxed completely. There was always an air of distance around him, as if he were holding himself slightly aloof. A lot of military commanders behaved that way, refusing to let themselves become one with their men in order to better maintain their authority. Ronon hadn’t been one of them — for him it was about earning his unit’s trust and respect rather than reminding them he was a higher rank, and he’d been happy to laugh and drink and joke with them between missions and even during quiet moments on them. But each commander was different, and Nekai clearly felt he needed to remain in command, even during times of quiet.
When they weren’t talking, the V’rdai were doing chores, though there were few enough of those. Or they were sleeping. Or playing cards. Or exercising. Or Ronon’s favorite — they were fighting. Each other. Only for practice, of course. But it was better than nothing. And sparring gave him a much better idea of each of his new teammate’s capabilities, as well as more insight into their personality.
It was only his second day when he had his first sparring match. And there had never been any question as to who would be his first opponent.
“Time to show me what you’ve got, big man,” Setien said the first time as they stepped into the chalked-off circle the V’rdai used for combat exercises. “Let’s see if you’re half as good as you think you are.”
“Let’s see if you are,” Ronon taunted her, making a show of stretching and flexing. As he’d suspected she might, the warrior-woman chose the moment his arms were behind his back to hurl herself upon him, both hands coming down fast and straight-edged on either side of his neck.
Ronon had been expecting something like that, however, and he snapped his own arms forward even as he flung himself backward — her hands stopped short of his new position, missing him entirely, while his own palms slammed into her sides and pounded the air from her lungs in a single explosive breath.
He twisted to the side then, keeping his feet as she hurtled toward the ground. Her body didn’t hit the rough floor, however — instead her hands pushed down and she vaulted forward, twisting in mid-air to land on her feet a few paces away from him.
“Not bad,” Setien admitted, gasping to restore air to her lungs. “Good feint.”
“Thanks.” Ronon waited, knowing patience wasn’t her strong suit and determined to make her come to him. It took less than a second before her fist snaked out, punching hard toward his face. He knocked the blow aside, responding with one of his own, even as his other hand blocked a straight-fingered thrust toward his gut with her second hand.
They traded blows for a few seconds before disengaging and stepping back. Neither of them had been able to land a solid blow, though they’d each had their fists glance off flesh a few times.
“You’re good,” Setien acknowledged. “Better than any of them.” Her nod took in the other V’rdai, who were all crowded around the ring, watching closely. Her eyes never left Ronon, however.
“You’re no slouch yourself,” Ronon told her. In truth, he hadn’t faced an opponent like her since his unarmed instructor, back in training. That man had been short and slight but lightning-fast, able to strike like a serpent while you were still blinking. Setien was almost as fast, and considerably stronger. Fortunately, she lacked his old instructor’s tactical sense. She was too aggressive to wait for the perfect opening.
As if to prove his point, she suddenly spun in, launching a vicious side kick that could have shattered at least one rib. If it had connected. But Ronon had seen her pivot on the one foot and, knowing what that meant, he stepped forward himself, moving into her arc so that the back of her knee struck his side instead of her foot. Then he wrapped one arm around her leg, trapping it there, and pounded her across the jaw with the other hand.
Setien stumbled from the impact, but it wasn’t enough to stun her. He felt her body coil in his grip. Then she kicked up with her free leg, scissoring both legs together as she spun parallel to the ground, before lashing out to clip Ronon in the jaw with her unencumbered foot. He staggered and stepped back, releasing her leg, and she completed the move by slamming both knees into his chest, knocking him to the ground. The second her feet touched the ground again she was launching herself forward, flipping over and landing hard on his stomach to drive the air from his body just as he’d done to her before.
Only this time he was pinned beneath her, and she was squeezing with her thighs and knees enough to make his ribs cry out in protest.
“Yield,” she crowed down at him, one hand moving to his throat, the other cocking back for a knockout punch. “Yield or it’s lights out.”
Ronon managed to wheeze out a laugh. “What, already?” he gasped. “It’s still early yet.” He ignored her hands and instead slammed both fists forward — directly into her impressive chest. Setien’s eyes flew open at the impact on such a sensitive area, and she cried out involuntarily, both hands going instinctively to protect her chest from further assault. She recovered almost instantly, but it was too late — Ronon had used her distraction to drive his hands between himself and her legs. Now he hooked a hand around each thigh and had heaved upward. Setien went flying off him, and he rolled to the side and then to his feet. He took advantage of the time it took her to recover to catch his breath again.
“How dare you!” she spat at him once she was on her own feet again. She stalked toward him like a great angry cat, her eyes flashing — if she’d had a tail it would have been lashing left to right in a frenzy. “I will not be manhandled!”
He shrugged. “All’s fair in a fight,” he pointed out. Then he had to stop talking — all of his attention was on fending off her latest barrage of kicks, punches, slaps, and jabs. A few got through, and Ronon was even more bruised and winded when he managed to push her away again a minute later. She’d been aggressive before, but now she was actually enraged, and if her blows were a bit more wild and a bit more loose, they had even more power behind them. Each one that connected felt like he’d been kicked by a mule.