[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Tony Stark & Wysteria Poppell & Ellis
WHAT: Shop talk and self defense.
WHEN: Justinian (Nowish Catchall so I don't flood the comms)
WHERE: On the boat back from the jungle adventure; some might call this 'the Jungle Cruise'; Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A, will add if Wysteria throws Tony overboard or stabs the wrong training dummy.

TONY SPARK.

[Ordinarily, she has very little in the way of fondness for boats. Ships? She cannot even begin to fathom where the difference lies. But after days spent stumbling through the jungle, preceded by days being treated to the poor keeping of Venatori agents, she might find some charity in her heart for transport on a sufficiently wide board so long as it meant no further walking on her own two feet. Further, when relieved of the prospect of how they are getting where they are going and in what direction, exactly, where is, one finally has time to indulge in philosophical questions such as What must need doing upon our return?, or--

Well, there are lots of questions one might ask themselves under such circumstances. But that is by far the one which she prefers.

Hence her sudden appearance at his elbow (although to say it comes as a surprise would be to discredit Wysteria's propensity for charging about).]

Now then, Mr. Stark. Where were we?

MR. ELLIS.

I see no reason why we cannot simply do this in the back garden.

[She is referring, of course, to the dreary little courtyard with its planters and cracked old paving stones over which Ellis has been laboring to make slightly less overgrown and dreadfully unkempt alongside the house in Hightown. It is where their lessons have always taken place prior to this one.

True, there really isn't much room for wielding a bow and arrow in the garden and her neighbors already resent the new occupant of the mansion terribly; and true, that those tutoring sessions with swords or little knives or whatever you like had tended to devolve into her sitting on one of the planter walls, weeding the dirt and discussing books rather than doing much with sharp objects. But really, it hardly seems necessary to go to these lengths.

Meaning the Gallows practice yards, wherein Miss Wysteria Poppell looks rather out of place in her skirts. Nevermind that they are very recently late of adventuring through jungles, and there she wore very nearly the exact equivalent of what she has on today. There is something about being fresh faced, clean and well-pressed in breezy summer cottons and little leather boots with flowers stamped at the ankles which simply lends poorly to such an environment.]

Comments

[heorte]

Natural talent, [ Ellis repeats, expression fond. It's a more measured reaction, but the pleasure is here.

It's a good start overall. But she still needs to keep a knife in her boot. ]

That's what, two bullseyes? What if we make a bargain?

[heirring]

Two bargains in one day, Mr. Ellis. Will you be moving to Diplomacy after this?

[But go on, says the accommodating gesture of her hand. Further, she makes no move to fetch and nock another arrow; her shoulder is beginning to tire.]

[heorte]

[ A short huff of laughter. Him, in Diplomacy. Ha ha. ]

I'll trade you a dance for every bullseye.

[ Satinalia is a ways away. Plenty of time. ]

Or the equivalent. I'll let you decide if you want to trade for something else.

[ Though it's almost a waste of a bargain. What does he really refuse Wysteria? ]

[heirring]

'Or the equivalent!' What is the equivalent of two guaranteed dances?

[Nothing springs easily to mind, but for the sake of assessing the bargain seriously she pauses to take thorough account of it and of Ellis before her.

After a long moment of deliberation, she holds out her hand to shake on it— Then snatches it back again.]

Every bullseye, or just the ones I make today?

[heorte]

Every bullseye, [ Ellis promises, then concedes: ] And I defer to your expertise on what two dances could be worth. It's not a currency I'm familiar with.

[heirring]

Oh, I should think two dances would be worth very little in terms of the trade economy. Not to say that they are without their own intrinsic worth, simply that is a far more sentimental than monetary one. Ten dances however? Now there we begin to have something which might be brokered.

I will agree, Mr. Ellis, on the condition that when I arrive at ten dances - or twenty, or thirty, and so on - that you be willing to potentially trade them for something of equal or lesser value. Naturally you will have to agree to the trade. It what I suggest at that point isn't amenable to you, I will simply save the turns on the floor. But you see, if it turns out I am very good at this then it would be a shame to commit to the thing without necessary qualifications in place. There surely is an upper limit to the times two people can dance with each other, and I wouldn't want your feet to suffer due to how naturally adept I am.

[Her hand is offered again.]

Agreed?

stick bow on this thread y/n

[heorte]

Agreed.

[ With a handshake, and without consideration of what may be deemed equal or lesser value. It's easy to give Wysteria this. He can trust her intentions and if the pay off is she hones her skill with the bow, it's worth fighting the ghost in her house or devising a proper trap to protect the tea. ]

At this rate you'll have something to barter by the time the week is out.

[ Ha. ]

y :')

[heirring]

A week! Have you so little faith in me, Mr. Ellis? I expect to reopen negotiations in two days' time.

[With a scoff of good cheer, she fetches the last arrow remaining in the stand. Does it even really matter where it lands when at last it flies? Not at all. Not when they have both been so successful at getting what they want.

(But for the record: it goes high again.)]