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

[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.

[poleaxed]

Jone shrugs. "Whoever has the most outs by the time one of us exhausts themselves enough to call it off."

She's not interested in fitting in-depth rules in this; it's new enough as is.

[heorte]

Simplicity is not a bad approach by any means. Ellis expects that nobles would have legislated the game past the bounds of enjoyment, is happy enough to leave it be with just one golden rule.

"Prizes?" he questions, turning from her to secure the ties.

Expectation: bragging rights

[poleaxed]

Jone rolls her eyes. "Those are for the tourney. Which may not happen, but if it does, I expect to see you there."

What's a little bossing about between aquaintences?

[heorte]

"So I can round out the loser's bracket?" is said pleasantly enough, accompanied with a passing grin.

Ellis is good for a lot of things, but speed-based competition? That's not one of those things.

[poleaxed]

Jone is distracted, momentarily, by the sharpness of that smile, before remembering her general distaste for good and kind men. Still, it's a nice smile.

"This? At a tourney? Maker, no, I'd hope you'd be in the melee, if you weren't tilting."

[heorte]

"It'd be unfair to the rest of your entrants if I were in the melee."

Equal parts self-assured truth and flippant joke. He gives one last testing tug to the ties before turning from them, palm running along the top of the netting.

"Do you really intend to put a tourney together?" is a more serious question, genuine interest behind it.

[poleaxed]

"Oooh. Confident, are you. When are we matching knuckles." She holds up a fist like a promise.

Her confidence crashes a bit on the rocks of planning for the future. "It might happen."

[heorte]

It might happen. Ellis doesn't press beyond that. His grip flexes on the netting, head tilting as he makes a minor show of sizing her up.

"I'd say after tennis, but then you'd have an advantage."

As if Jone wouldn't have the advantage, just generally.

[poleaxed]

In an act of utter maturity, she throws a ball at his head.

[heorte]

He doesn't quite catch it. There's a moment of fumbling, bouncing the ball from hand to hand before he finally pins it against his chest.

In an equal mature fashion, Ellis holds it up to her with a pleased expression. The earlier fumbling all part of the plan, obviously.

[poleaxed]

Jone claps politely. "Now throw it back, you knob, and we can have a proper game."

[heorte]

"Promise to take it easy on me?" Ellis asks, with the full expectation of receiving a no in return.

He juggles the ball between his hands briefly before lobbing it back to Jone. Easy underhand, not meant to be difficult to catch.

[poleaxed]

"In your dreams, griffon man."

But she's grinning wide, utterly delighted both by the game, and the joke of it. How fantastic, to be taken in on one's own terms. She'll have to return the favor, one day.

Returning the serve with a small spike in difficulty, but nothing too punishing (she hopes).