OPEN | so be easy and free,

[poleaxed]

WHO: Jone and thou
WHAT: jock stuff.
WHEN: Post Orzammar.
WHERE: The training yard & Tennis Court.
NOTES: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

a. FOR TRAINING.

If you need a sparring partner, Jone is at the main training yard during most daylight hours. She may have promised to work over some new techniques with you. She may have promised to assess your skills. She may have never spoken to you before, and you're just here to train.

For once, she isn't cajoling from the sidelines, trying to get new combatants. That doesn't make herself easy to miss, though. The self-described six-foot bitch, ginger hair shining in the sun, is always up for a go.

"Hullo, then. Let's get to it."

b. FOR TENNIS.

Or maybe you're here for another sort of skill. The Tennis Court is completed and ready, and Jone looks to be happily in her element. Shirt-sleeves peeled back to reveal solid muscle, she bounces a tennis ball against her racket, ready and waiting.

Maybe you were promised a match. Maybe you want a rematch. Maybe you're just curious. If you stare a second to long, Jone will wave you over. "Oi! We doing this or not, mate? If I stand out around much longer I'll start peeling."

c. FOR EVERYHING ELSE.

There's wildcard.

(I'm up for anything. If you're not sure, feel free to hmu.)

Comments

[poleaxed]

Jone doesn't falter, but she does click her tongue and smile. She manages to avoid the sweep, moving her leg over the staff, but it's the thought that counts.

"Good! Keep an eye out for when the enemy's left himself open."

[altusimperius]

Benedict's smile mirrors Jone's, even as he misses. He returns to a more neutral stance, legs slightly bent, waiting for a moment of opportunity.

[poleaxed]

Jone takes the same opening stance, but this time her leg isn't obviously hanging out. Instead of letting Benedict take the first move, she strikes: a quick knock his staff ought to be able to block, but with real (if not all) weight behind it.

[altusimperius]

He was waiting for it, but it still surprises him, and Benedict jumps back with a little gasp-- but still clacks his staff against the sword with a look of genuine, if brief, distress.

He keeps his guard up, however, taking a step back and shifting his gaze from Jone's sword to her face, anxious but ready.

[poleaxed]

Jone keeps her expression clear, and takes up the room that Benedict gives in retreat. Another attempt at hitting him with her wooden sword, sweeping it over and aiming for his side.

[altusimperius]

He's too quick, too ready to move-- it actually works against him, and although Benedict avoids the blow to his side, he loses his footing in his haste. Flailing the stick out for balance, he quite unintentionally takes a whack at Jone's shins.

[poleaxed]

On instinct, Jone shoves her pole down, one flat end hitting the ground before her feet. A solid block of what would, hypothetically, have sliced her feet otherwise.

This move has an automatic answer, though-- Jone twists her pole down and under Benedict's, trying to lift it and let her stick travel up to smack his hands.

(In a real fight, she'd let it travel up, then stop short of the hands, and surge forward, aiming at soft underbelly.)

[altusimperius]

In this she succeeds, flinging the pole out of his grip entirely as he gives a hiss of pain, immediately clutching his hands to his chest with a wince. The wooden staff clatters to the ground a few feet away, and Benedict looks at it ruefully, as if it's the staff's fault things went the way they did.

"Sorry," he grumbles sheepishly, moving towards the fallen weapon, "...let me try again."

[poleaxed]

"No apologies. You lasted longer'n I reckoned you would."

She takes an opening stance again. "You've gotta learn to keep your guard up, and attack without opening yourself. And- magic's still off the table, innit?"

[altusimperius]

"Is it?"

He shakes out his hands as he bends to pick up the staff, casting an owlish look Jone's way; this will be the first time he's ever been asked to use magic outside of an actual combat setting, assuming that's what Jone is doing.

"I'm not on magebane anymore, if that's what you mean." He settles into his own stance, positioning his hands and feet with the precision of a dancer memorizing steps.

[poleaxed]

"If you're allowed to use magic, bloody use it. This is training for the real thing; handicaps help me, not you."

Jone twists the pole in her hand, smacking it against cobblestone with a clatter. "And I don't need the help."

[altusimperius]

His mouth goes a bit dry, but Benedict nods. And he swivels the staff, this time not to strike her with it, but to use it as a focus for an Arcane Lance, which erupts from the head of it (such that it is), his hands around the grip beginning to thrum with energy from the Fade.
He assumes she'll dodge or deflect it, and uses the time it takes for the staff to complete its arc to throw out his hand and cast a Misdirection Hex at her.

He's never been much of a fighter, but not using magic is like tying his hands behind his back at the best of times.

[poleaxed]

That's the thing about (some) mages, it's all magic, no stance, no defense. Jone dodges, and brings her pole up to give Ben a proper knock to the ribs.

[altusimperius]

Foolishly, he wasn't expecting it-- magic can grant the upper hand, but only sometimes. The impact merits a loud cough as Benedict doubles forward, dropping the staff again and clutching his middle. Nailed it.

[poleaxed]

"See?" Jone says, unworried by Benedict's flopping around. She didn't hit him hard enough to break anything. "We gotta combine that shit. Don't get distracted by your own magic."

[altusimperius]

"Ow," he wheezes, straightening slowly, hesitantly. "...what should I do, then? Wait for you to attack and then cast?"
A bit of a whine has crept into his queries, but he does, at least, by the way he resets his stance, seem as though he's taking it seriously.