[Open] "Bored."

[seesobserves]

WHO: Sherlock Holmes and Open
WHAT: Working off some steam by way of target practice
WHEN: Early Firstfall
WHERE: Skyhold training grounds
NOTES: Either prose or brackets welcome!

The first arrow seems to land wildly off-course, on the very edge of the target, but the archer who fired it keeps an impassive face while he raises the next one. To anyone who happens to be watching, it's clear this time that he actually is taking aim.

The second arrow hits the entire other edge of the target. Sherlock draws the third, notches it, takes aim.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The arrows fly in more rapid succession as he goes on. While the lines aren't perfect, it soon becomes apparent that instead of aiming for the bulls-eye, he's firing a pattern into the target: specifically, a smiling face.

Comments

[seesobserves]

Sherlock hasn't exactly been making a count of the Dalish among the Inquisition's ranks. They're present enough to be noticed as a group, but he hasn't bothered to sort through them as individuals.

Still, he's immediately put in mind of the various doodles and misspellings and entreaties of friendship and food that had followed that one irritated elf's posting. Just how given are the Dalish to producing fools?

He arches an eyebrow. Then notches an arrow. Less than ten left in his quiver by now; he might as well finish it out and move along before the elf decides to make a whole family of target-people.

Thunk. This one lands just inside the bright dot of the bulls-eye.

[slipshot]

He didn't flinch as the arrow whizzed by him, but did arch an eyebrow, before sighing.

"Ah," Gavin said sadly, his face falling as his hopes were dashed. He turned to the target already with a face on it and petted it. "Alas, I seem to have found the rare breed of human without a sense of humour. Looks like you'll be lonely for a while." He walked back over to where Sherlock was standing.

"Alright, alright," He said, pulling three arrows from his quiver and sliding them between the fingers in his right hand, arranged almost like a hand. "If you're going to play it that way." He notched the first of the three, pulled his bow up and fired - the second one barely a split second after, since he could slide it into place with a flick of his fingers, and then the third.

He'd hit the smiley-faced target so that instead of eyes, it now had a vee'd brow shape, making it look like an evil grin. "See what you've done? He looks like he's going to kill us, now."

[seesobserves]

The eyebrow that was previously arched notched up slightly at the display of skill. All right, so the idiot had some utility. That, at least, explained what he was doing here in the first place, despite all those burns and scuff-marks on his person.

"Well, you did just shoot him three times in the face." On some level, he disliked the idea of giving this premise any credence, but it irked him that the elf wasn't even keeping things consistent with his little game. He wasn't the one who made the face look angry, after all.

[slipshot]

Gavin turned to grin at him, immediately pleased that he seemed to have broken through whatever had been holding Sherlock back from actually playing the game. The fact that the game had absolutely no consistency, rules, or sense, was somewhat beyond the point.

"Shooting people does seem to have that effect, doesn't it?" He asked cheerfully. "See? I told you it would. But now that he's angry I might as well put him down, before he tries to get me in my sleep."

His tongue slipped out between his lips as he concentrated - firing another arrow to land just off the target, narrowly missing one that was already there, and scraping its fletching.