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]

"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).