OPEN | see, the thing is,

[poleaxed]

WHO: jone poleaxed & YOU.
WHAT: It's time to play tennis, whether you want to or not.
WHEN: Mid-late Cloudreach.
WHERE: Gallows, training grounds.
NOTES: Currently G-rated tennis, will update if this changes.

If you're one to keep track of things, you may have noticed the Gallows were relatively Jone free for the past few weeks. Frequently seen at the training grounds with varying levels of volume, at six feet Jone is hard to miss, for all meanings of the word.

And now, she is back.

You might notice her early in the day, when she's (a) stringing a bit of waist-high netting across a corner of the training yard. There are some rackets on an unused crate, along with some balls.

"Oi, help me with this, would you." She waves you over.

Or you might be caught, when the game is rolling. Of course, it's not really a game with no opponents. (b) You hear a shout, possibly a warning, and a ball comes soaring toward you. Do you catch it? Throw it back?

Or are you hit? Oops.

(c) Of course, there are polite options, like when the six foot woman hands you a racket out of the blue, shoving it into your hands if you're not amenable. "C'mon, agility training."

(wildcard) Or perhaps it's something else entirely.

Comments

C

[altusimperius]

"What," is stammered as Benedict stops short, a folio under one arm and, now, a racket in the other hand. He looks at it uncertainly, then up at Jone, uncomprehending.

[poleaxed]

Jone takes a ball out of her pocket, bouncing it on her racket. "C'mon. It's a game with absolutely no punching, thought you'd take a liking to it."

[altusimperius]

"...all right."

As evidenced by his casting during the dragon fight, and his increasing skill levels in training, Benedict's coordination isn't the worst; that doesn't mean he's ready for this, but he's at least willing to try. He sets the folio down, propping it against the nearest pillar.

"What do I do?"

[poleaxed]

Jone tosses a ball to Benedict. "Here, see. Throw it up-" She throws her ball in the air- "and hit."

In a vicious downswing, her racket hits the ball and is sent flying toward the net, caught in its trappings. She'll worry about teaching him rules later; for the moment, she only wanted a good example and a ball that was easily retrievable.

[altusimperius]

Watching her closely, Benedict moves to mimic what Jone did-- and gives the ball a remarkably solid hit, surprising even himself. It immediately evades his grasp and bounces away, but not before he can smile about it.

b is for broken nose?

[muckspout]

Edgard is strolling through the training yard, heading somewhere else, distracted by a bird that's landed not far from him. It's unusually beautiful with bright blue feathers.

If there's a shout, he misses it and the ball hits him square on the nose. He puts his hand to his nose and turns around, snarling,

"Who threw that at me?!"

[poleaxed]

Jone's head pops over the training wall that separates them. "Didn't catch it, then?"

[muckspout]

Edgard rubs at his nose and then spits on the ground. He picks up the ball.

"I'll catch you!" He yells and throws it right at her face.

[poleaxed]

It hits her right in the face, which is when she starts laughing. Her nose feels a little sore, but she supposes his does, too. Wiping a bit of streaked mud off her face, she says, "bad day, aye?"

[muckspout]

"Day was fine until a ball came plummeting out of the sky." Edgard grumbles, but grins in spite of himself at Jone's response.

"What you do that for? You weren't trying to hit that bird were you? It's bea-" He turns to point. "Oh." He says sadly. "It's gone.

MCU style cameo in your Wii sport game | not here;

[archademode]

He cuts his path in midday light, passing twice (once as he moves towards inner corridors, once again on his return from them) by the sight of her knocking a poorly weathered ball back and forth with whoever stands near enough to snare, or is willing—

—but mostly the former.

He doesn’t stay. The faint glint of armor, a slow flutter of dark cloth. Something Jone might notice out of the corner of her eye if she isn’t so fixated on her practice.

Or maybe that’s just her imagination.

[poleaxed]

She thinks she sees him a few times. She doesn't throw a ball in his direction, doesn't push him to play-- he's more than proven he doesn't need the practice.

She doesn't notice every serve, when his armor glints out of the corner of her eye, is gentler, her voice less demanding, more welcoming, kinder.

a

[heorte]

"Aye," is the first answer, on the heels of a sword clattering onto the rack. The training dummy Ellis had been savaging breathes a sigh of relief.

Whether or not he had observed Jone's appearance and preparations surely doesn't matter. (She's hard to miss, even without the netting.) Ellis does stall a few feet away to take it in, try to divine her objective before he's asked something in particular.

"The wrong place to set up for fishing, isn't it?"

Ha ha. A funny joke.

[poleaxed]

Jone cringes, but as more a performance than anything. "Stop being so Fereldan and use your imagination."

She throws him the other end of the netting, and goes back to tying her end up.

"A sport popular with nobles, but anyone can play it. Might train a bloke or two for quickness."

[heorte]

A brief, amused look, eyebrows raised at her. Unspoken: Nobles, derogatory. It's a more telling expression of Ellis' attitudes than he might have shown to anyone else.

"How does it work?" is what's actually said, with full knowledge that he's certainly someone who'd both benefit and struggle with any instruction on speed.

[poleaxed]

The look she gives him in return is an unthinking, I know, I know.

"I serve the ball-" She throws it in the air, gives the thing a thump with her racket- "and you serve it back. Can't hit the ground."

Said as the ball she served bounces around Ellis' feet.

[heorte]

One hand holding the ties at the end of the netting, Ellis bends to claim the ball before it rolls past him. Bouncing it twice almost unthinkingly, he lobs it back towards her with a nod.

"What decides the winner?" might be an optimistic question, considering Riftwatch's make up. The winner may well end up being whoever is left standing.

b

[heirring]

For the record, she was moving in this direction on purpose. Not to join the game, exactly--merely to get a closer look at it. Certainly not to delay her time in the archery yard, which she has solemnly sword to certain Fereldan Wardens to keep up with but is in fact dreadfully boring compared even with the fairly mundane appearance of a rogue net.

So she is not caught completely off guard when the ball comes sailing in her direction. Startled? Yes. Blind to it? No. Clever enough to skitter out of the way? Now that's asking a little much.

Instead, squawking, Wysteria swings the bow in her hand blindly at the ball. And in an extreme case of stupid luck: pop! There it flies, batted straight back off the flat of the bow's upper limb.

[poleaxed]

Jone's reflexes are fast, owing more to practice than wit. Clearly, she caught the woman slightly off guard, which makes the return salvo even more impressive. Jone, more curious than thoughtful, serves the ball back.

"Don't let up, now!"

[heirring]

"Oh, that's hardly fair!" Wysteria honks back at her, juggling bow and full quiver as the ball comes whizzing back.

She bats at it, but much like any other use she might have for the bow, her aim is comically irregular. Whiff. The ball sails past, strikes the paving stones, and rolls off into obscurity at the margins of the quote unquote court.

[poleaxed]

Jone is grinning like she won something, which weakens the credence of her mock frustration: "Look! See! Now you owe me a rematch."

b

[truthtied]

Diana's arm shoots up out of instinct when movement flashes in the corner of her eye. She blinks when a ball bounces off her bracelet. Again when she catches the ball and catches sight of Jone.

"This is a strange set up for target practice," she calls, tossing the ball back towards Jone.

[poleaxed]

Jone catches the ball with practiced ease. "They not have games where you're from, luv?"

[truthtied]

Ah. Well now that she says that, Diana can see.

"I'm sure I've heard of such things," she says, approaching the net, "This looks like... tennis?" She's aware of the sport in her world, though equally surprised to see it here.

[poleaxed]

Jone's heard it called that. She nods. "Just a game. Might teach some of these pricks to be a bit more fleet footed."

She shoots Diana a look. "Present company excluded."