faderift | Get up, get up, get out and get done

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Get up, get up, get out and get done

WHO: Maxwell and Open
WHAT: General day-to-day activities
WHEN: Before the Orlais shenanigans kick off
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: Nothing at the moment.

Gardens:

Before the day official began, Maxwell took some time out for himself (and Gavin, when the elf so chose) in the quiet of the morning garden. A cup of tea in hand, he would walk slowly along the paths, stopping sometimes by the chess board set in the pavilion to see if anyone were up for an early game. He'd pause to watch the ray of the sun climb over the walls, and he'd stop to check his new mailbox, looking to see if anyone had left something his attention.

Flipping through whatever notes he found, he read them as he finished his tea, and then silently ordered them into a pile to-do.

Skyhold in General (just let me know where you want to be):

The days of getting lost in the great castle were well behind him now, as his new duties kept him on the move. Down into the kitchens and wine cellar, taking stock and checking in with the staff, into the guest wings to wrangle and herd visiting dignitaries, anywhere he was needed and sometimes even those where he technically wasn't.

Even if he weren't necessarily the man who should be dealing with whatever the problem might be, he'd help if he could.

Archery Range:

When time allowed, he stole away to the archery range, both to keep his own skills up and to continue to offer them to others. New arrows, fletching, bows, customization, he was happy to help for a reasonable price. And if you just wanted to some tips? Those were free.

Tavern:

As sun began to sink and the day began to crawl toward its end, Maxwell went off-duty (as much as he could) and unwound the stresses and strains of the day in the tavern with a hot meal, and sometimes a hotter drink on the especially rough days.

This was one such day.

Rumors were swirling that the Inquisition was turning its eyes to the War of the Lions and Orlais. It seemed only a matter of time that they'd be directed into the Empire and Maxwell was... hesitant. He had family in Orlais. On his mother's side.

It was one thing when they were thousands of miles away, regulated to stern, unpleasant letters. The though of perhaps being caught face-to-face.... He knew what he wanted, and wouldn't allow them to change it. But that didn't mean he was looking forward to that ugly day.

He ate and drank and sketched in his journal to try to put aside for the time being, mouth pulling into a thin frown as he struggled to forget.

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Maxwell had promised him archery lessons, and Kirk wasn't one to pass it up when something of an expert offered them. So he had come to find him one morning when he wasn't required to work, hoping Maxwell would be available, and low and behold he was. Kirk loved it when things worked out like that.

"Am I doing this right?" he asked his teacher, finger tips brushing the corner of his lips as he spoke, pulling the string of his bow back, arm already straining with the effort.

While Maxwell was certainly happy to help any who asked for it, there was something he truly enjoyed about teaching a true beginner. The look in their eyes, the light coming alive, if they took to it; the simple pleasure of finding something one enjoyed crossing their faces.

It was nice to find fellows, as well as knowing he helped bring them together.

He stood to the side, arms folded, watching Kirk silently as the man took his stance. His head tipped slightly, eyes moving over him... then he shifted and reached out.

"Watch your arm," he said, touching Kirk's elbow gently, coaxing him to bend it just slightly. "You don't want to be stiff. Otherwise when you release, the only thing you'll be hitting is yourself with the string."

Kirk had decided he needed to learn more about the ways to defend himself here. He had his own methods, learned from the Fleet, and Sam's staff, but he couldn't rely on solely those forever. It would be in his better interest to get better with knives, and learn something like the bow. Especially for hunting.

He took the direction Maxwell gave him, adjusting accordingly. "Wouldn't want that," he breathed out a soft laugh. "This close to me cheek - that means the fletching brushes your skin every time, doesn't it? Does that help with the sight lines?"

Maxwell touched his wrist, angling his arm down by a fraction.

"It's about consistency," he explained. "You want to bring it back to the same spot each time." He stepped back and mimed the movement, using his opposite side so Kirk could see. "It's the heel of my palm, for me. Just against the corner of my mouth."

He dropped the stance and looked back Kirk.

"Without it, your sights will be set different each time you draw and like lightning, you'll never strike twice."

He let the other move him, doing his best to keep his elbow where Maxwell had positioned it. He had thought he was in shape, but god, holding this thing back was taxing. He would need to work in some more resistance exercises from now besides the running. Clearly Khan's augmented blood had only done so much for him. It had been easy at first, but holding the position was becoming taxing.

Blue yes watched as Maxwell performed a draw, pursing his lips a fraction as he took it in.

"Is that the best place, or is it different for everyone?" he asked him, adjusting his pull the fraction necessary to touch his heel to the corner of his mouth. The part about sights made sense, especially without HUDs to help aim. "How long did it take you to figure out where your spot was?"

"There's some difference," Maxwell smiled lightly. "Different heights, different arm lengths. It should be comfortable for you. What feels natural. If it's something you're going to have to force, you're going to be thinking about it too much."

There was a beat, his eyes running over Kirk's stance again, nothing the slight waver in his arm.

"You also don't want to hold too long-- go ahead and relax, and then draw again. And as soon as you feel ready, as soon as you've made your aim, release."

He saw the logic behind that. In battle you didn't have time to think about the draw, or even on the hunt. You would need to be able to draw and aim in a matter of seconds, and having your "spot" ingrained into your muscles would be the difference between putting food on the table and going hungry. Or, perhaps, your life.

A sigh left him as he relaxed his arm, slowly rotating it to loosen the muscle but keep it warm before he drew away. "You think I'm ready to start firing a real arrow?" he asked with some wry amusement.

"You have to take the first shot sometime," Maxwell pointed out, mouth quirked in a gentle smile. "Even if you only get three feet, at least it'll be out of the way and we'll know where to start."

He settled back on his heels, arms folding as he waited.

"I promise I won't laugh. I had to do this once, too. I remember."

The thump in his chest, the heat in his palms, the weight of the other students eyes and his instructor's judgment.... Even competing in the Tourney had been easier than that stretch of heartbeats.

"Laugh and you owe me a drink," he said as he picked up an arrow, knocking it as he had been taught.

He paused for a second, drawing a breath before raising the bow and pulling the string back. His arm felt the strain, and while he did have to adjust to the "spot" he wanted for his draw, he wasn't that far off, which was kind of proud of. Another breath, and - release!

The arrow, thankfully, went further than three feet, but it definitely went far wide of the mark he had been aiming for. So - not bad?

Not a laugh, but a pleased whoop, Maxwell's face splitting in a grin.

"Not bad. Not bad at all for a first time." Lifting a hand, signaling Kirk to hold a moment, he walked down the range to search for the arrow. "You've got distance, that's good. Aiming is much easier."

The whoop makes him grin, bolstered by the other's delight despite his terrible aim.

He released his hold on the bow, stretching out his arm again so the muscles didn't cool. "Really? The distance seems the easier part, considering I got nowhere near the target. Definitely not like anything I've fired before, that's for sure."

"A lack of distance is a lack of strength," Maxwell replied, slightly muffled as he circled around, stubbing his boots through the grass. "That would mean a regiment of exercises to increase strength to your arms, shoulders, torso..." He trailed off with a wave of his hand. "We'll still work on it, but we don't have to start from scratch."

He paused, scuffed his feet again, and then bent to pull Kirk's arrow free from the dirt. He inspected it for a moment before turning back and gesturing with it.

"Aiming is really just a series of small adjustments while we figure out what's at fault, you or the bow."

"Thank goodness for that," he chuckled. "Though I figured I had lost some of my muscle here. I haven't found a good way to work in weight resistance training other than pushups and pull ups." Well, he had a few other ways, but there was a distinct lack of weights at least, or places to work with them. He had at least kept up his cardio, though.

"Chances are it's me," he said with a wry smile. "Archery definitely takes a lot more than I thought. I mean, not that I thought it was easy, of course, but there's just a lot more to it, is what I mean."

Don't go sticking your foot in your mouth with your teacher, Kirk, that's never a good idea.

Maxwell arched an eyebrow, waiting, quietly amused and unable to resist letting let Kirk flounder for a moment or two. Then he smiled and shook his head, and waved it away with a simple gesture.

"It looks like it should be, doesn't it? Stand, point, pull..." He held the arrow back out to Kirk and rolled his shoulders. "There's one of life's many lessons in that."

"I should have known there would be more to it. It's like everything else - those who practice hard and work at it make it look easy," he shook his head with a huffed laugh beneath his breath, bringing the bow up again and pulling back - sans arrow, of course, he wasn't a fool and he could imagine a number of people would not be happy with him accidentally sticking Maxwell (least of all Maxwell himself).

"But then, if it were easy, everyone would do it, wouldn't they?"

"At least you're taking your surprise graciously. That says a lot."

He smiled, and gave Kirk a moment to continue testing himself, then he spoke again.

"This time, when you're ready, I want you to do the exact same thing you just did. Aim as closely to your previous target as you can. Then again. I want to see your grouping."

"My other option is to whine about it, but that won't make me better at it."

He gave a simple shrug. He worked for what he had in life, though sometimes his methods could be deemed questionable. But he didn't shy from hard work.

"Will it count if they're all like ten feet off from each other?" he asked him, waiting for Nathaniel to clear the shooting range before picking up a new arrow and pulling back then releasing - quicker then the first time, thinking a rhythm might help.

He was a little better than ten feet apart, tending to lean towards the left, and managing to get the last on the mid-outer rim of the target.

Maxwell watched silently, letting Kirk move through the paces until the last arrow was fired. Then he was quiet for a moment more as he considered the next move.

"Better,"'he nodded. "I'd like it if they were a closer together, but I think we can safely say you're bit far to the left. How does your arm feel? Sore?"

If he was already tired, there was reason to continue, his arm would only deteriorate and he'd only loose confidence. There wasn't any rush here.

"I would like it if they were closer too," he laughed, though he had been trying, honestly. At least they had all been going the same direction, which was something.

He rolled his firing shoulder, grunting. "It could probably use a break," he agreed after a moment, feeling the burn of overtaxed musculature. He could lie and say he was fine, but that was his ego talking and he would pay for it later if he let it run away with him. "Probably going to need a soak in the baths tonight to say the least."

"Best not to push it," Maxwell agreed. "The targets aren't going anywhere, you can come back. If you want, of course."

Not to get ahead of himself. Just because Kirk had done decently - for a first attempt - didn't mean he'd enjoyed it.

"Yes, I would like that. I mean, if you still don't mind teaching me," he grinned a touch lopsidedly at him.

"It's certainly different from anything I've tried, and I need some way to get my own food out in the wild, right?"

Gathering up the supplies he'd lent to Kirk for the lesson, Maxwell shot a smile over his shoulder.

"I'm sure that could be arraigned." He slipped a quiver over his head. "If you're serious about it, we'll start talking about what you'll need."

"I'm serious," he assured him. "I think this is a necessary thing for me." In a lot of ways for a lot of reasons.

"So write me out a list and a time for our next lesson. I'll be sure to work on my arm strength in the meantime."

Maxwell's smile widened and he nodded.

"I will then. Give me, and your arm, a couple days and we'll give it another go."

"Great. I'm staying with Sam, so you can drop off the supply list there if I don't see you anytime soon, and we can work out our next session time," he beamed brightly. "Or at the school, since I'm teaching here too."

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Get up, get up, get out and get done

Archery

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