faderift | OPEN | see, the thing is,

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

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."

"...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?"

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.

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.

"Natural, you are." She grins, picking up her ball. "Now, try'n hit mine."

She sends him a very gentle volley, compared to her last.

Perhaps the success of the first one has distracted him, or he's simply psyched out by there being a ball sent at him this time. Though he manages to tap the ball against the edge of the racket, it's nowhere near a successful hit.

Still, he goes after the ball to pick it up. "Should I send it back?" This isn't the worst.

She nods. "Game is, try'n hit it outta my range. Get one over on me."

She's all teeth in a wide grin, trying to be encouraging rather than frightening.

Although there's still room for this to chance, Benedict is more or less past the point of fearing Jone. He's seen her soft underbelly, or at least what she was willing to show of it, and there's no going back from there.

So he smiles back, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he tries to do exactly as she says, giving the ball a good whack her way.

Jone's played this game before, which is the major source of her advantage. She serves the ball right back, but... more gently than he did. "Nice one, keep at it!"

Is this actually working? She's afraid to get her hopes up.

Bene's reflexes are good, and he manages to crack the ball against the racket, but unfortunately with his current level of intensity, the aim is lacking. He winces as the ball flies into the net, but manages to catch it in his hand as it bounces back toward him.

"It's. Harder than it looks," he admits.

She studies him carefully, and comes up with a half-edged smile cut into her face. "That don't sound like complaining."

At that, he looks a little self-conscious-- does he complain that much? "Should it?"

He definitely complains that much. However, Jone expects that volume from the well-born. At the moment, if she's anything, she's pleased.

"Trying to think of better ways to train," she says, and that's half true. Maybe more than half, but it feels like far less. "You've got to build stamina somehow."

"Do you think Gabranth would like it?"

They both know he wouldn't, and the thought makes Benedict grin as he serves the ball back.

"I'd like to see him play."

Jone's mouth twitches as the idea. "He'd hate it."

There's no reason to rush him, he already knows how to endure.

"You know how heavy that armor is? Leaves marks on him."

Realizing she's said too much, she serves another ball quickly, a test.

That gives Benedict pause, and though his hand swings out to hit the ball back, he instantly looks concerned.

"Really?"

Seriously, she says, "don't think he'd 'preciate me gabbing about it."

Then she snorts at the accidental pun.

Bene is quiet for a moment, mulling it over.

"...he must be really strong," is his ultimate conclusion. To wear armor so heavy it marks him, and to wield two swords besides?

....hot.

"You didn't get that impression before?" She bounces a ball on one racket, absent-minded. "Maybe I'll have you wear some armor, see how it treats you."

It's an empty threat, made in jest. What need of armor has a mage?

"Oh. I mean. Yeah."

He's never had to think that hard about it, and feels a little foolish as a result, but his eyes are focused on the ball Jone's bouncing as he waits for her to serve it.

"But I mean, full plate. That's a lot."

Jone opts not to mention she also frequently wears full plate, because it will just sound like whining and, more importantly, she is entirely sure Benedict doesn't give a shit.

She serves the ball.

"It is! But don't go fussing over him, luv."

"Why not?" Asked with a knowing grin, he knocks the ball back, "he seems like the type who loves people meddling in his personal affairs."

"Yeah, yeah," Jone scoffs. "Shocking he didn't take to it."

Because, of course, she nagged. Jone returns the ball, slow and steady, trying to build Ben's confidence and his skill. "D'you like this any?"

"I do," he answers easily, swinging and missing, but quickly hopping over to pick up the ball again.

"It's... I sort of like that it's not related to combat."

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