Open The Other Two (Out of Three) (Sloane)

[Konrad Venger]

15th Bell - 55th Day of Winter, 516AV - Pridesun Pavilion

After a while, it became not just a routine; it became unnoticeable. His mind slid into the pattern of the bells and his body followed it, trained along with his eyes and his brain. The first few days were toughest, but that was expected: something new always is. Chores had to be juggled, tasks moved around, bells snatched here and there whenever he had time... but eventually, the Pridesun pavilion seemed to absorb Konrad's timetable just like the man himself did.

THUNK

They barely reacted now, at the sight of a tall, scarred man in breeches and tunic. The sleeves were cut off, arms once lean now swelling with muscle on display. Not that Konrad cared much for admirers, of course. He was more focused with reclaiming his knife from the post it was stuck into, walking back a dozen steps and-

CLANG

"Bollocks."

It wasn't as easy as it looked. For every time the blade whirled through the air and struck true into the wood, sometimes slamming an inch or two deep, there would be three times when it would strike handle first. Or glance off. Or miss it completely. All it took was releasing a tick too late or too soon, his aim being off, his eyes not focusing... and those were just the factors he could identify.

Practice, he thought as he bent and retrieved the blade from grass. You know it's boring, you know it takes time... but it works. So keep at it, or find a new profession.

He couldn't stop a snort as that thought went through his mind. Was it his profession anymore? What had he done for nearly a season's worth of time? Because it surely wasn't blade-work. In fact, as he lined up his next shot, throwing knife held by the blade, arm raising and lowering as he found his rhythm, Konrad realized this was probably the longest he'd gone as a... well, civilian in years.

He pushed the thought from his mind. Better things to concern it with. There was no breeze against his bare arms. No wind to blow the knife off course. He raised his knife from over and behind his head... to straight in front of him... just where he'd let go... and then-

-whipped it forward and let it fly-

THUNK

Not nearly as fast as an arrow, but Konrad somewhere preferred that. He could actually see the weapon flying over and over through the air, handle and blade whirling silently into its target. It did so a handful of times before it came to a sudden stop... blade first... and nicely buried.

The mercenary-turned-trapper smirked to himself in victory (though a casual observer would probably assume that was his mutilated, default expression). Always more to be learned. A straight arm seemed to do best for him. Letting go when it was fully extended towards his target. He walked over to the pole now marked dozens of times with holes, gouges, scrapes and scars from near misses... and the knife sticking out of it.

He felt around the blade, pulled it out slowly. Deep enough to pierce the squishy bits, long as they weren't wearing armor and their damned bones didn't get in the way. Heart, lungs, guts... throat, eyes... although the last ones he needn't think of at that point. Far too small, needing much more accuracy.

Well, that's why we're here.

A familiar walk through grass now stamped flat by his constant commute to the pole and back. Only fifteen feet or so away, but he'd made his own little trail, like a rabbit or a deer. Konrad straightened his shoulders and flipped the blade up, catching it lightly by the pointy bit. Not the very pointy bit, though. He'd learned with blood just how sharp that bloody thing was.

"One... Two... Three..."

An alien tongue, an alien weapon. Both things he was learning. Get within a few feet of Konrad, kopis in his hand or not, and you were in for trouble. He knew enough ways to slaughter a man with his bare hands, after all. But a dozen feet away, or a hundred? He had no recourse, and he didn't like that. He was in a city surrounded by thousands of people he didn't understand, and he didn't like that either.

"Four... Five... Trout..."

He frowned. No. That didn't sound right. Ah, well, petch it. Arm up and back. Gauge the target. Squint one-eyed for a moment. Line it up, slowly... then pull blade and arm both back and then forward and straight-

THUNK

[Sloane]

hi smirb

Sloan had spent the better part of her day crafting dozens upon dozens of arrows, each more tedious and maddeningly boring than the last, until Cobb - her new employer - had been satisfied that the walahk could do at least that simple job to his standard of quality. It had been beyond frustrating; Sloane had been making arrows since she was a child, and to have some strange horseman doubt her skill in fletching was frankly insulting. The only perk to the unseasonably hot winters day was that she'd earned an early leave; apparently he'd had such little faith in her that he'd expected the arrows to take up much more of her time.

And so it was with a furrowed brow and pursed lips that Sloane made her way slowly back to the Pavilion, more than pleased to draw out the walk as long as was possible, if only to avoid the Firelash members mistrustful stares and the rapid signs they shot between each other whenever she was within earshot. The younger children and Whayhana were the pavilions only saving grace as far as she was concerned, but she pushed them out of her mind, determined to stew in her bad mood for as long as she felt necessary.

Such a job was made easier as her ears picked up the familiar 'thunk' of a weapon hitting wood, and she came upon a small space, a tall man at it's center. She certainly recognized him, and her expression soured at the sight. He was scarred horribly, face twisted up and scowling at one side, but Sloane couldn't help a twitch of sympathy at the sight, despite the fact that the man really did not deserve it. The Bowyer pursed her lips, hands tightening around the bow she carried, until she was sure she could feel splinters rubbing off into her palms. He was one of the three who had 'rescued' her from the Sea of Grass, and was partially to blame for her current situation. Blowing out a breath she made a conscious effort to relax her grip, lest she damage her bow.

True enough, she'd likely have died if the hunting party hadn't happened upon her, either ripped apart by glassbeaks or snatched away by Zith. Despite that, Sloane still felt as though she may have been better off left on her own. The horses may have returned to attack site, and perhaps she'd have been able to make it to Riverfall on her own, assuming the gods had her in their favor. Instead, she was stuck in this wandering city, the potential wife of some horselord who didn't share her language.

If the man had ever mentioned his name, Sloane couldn't recall, and nor was she much inclined to care. All she really wanted was to go back to the Firelash Pavilion and spend the afternoon in her tent, preferably without any Drykas bothering her. So she surprised herself as she diverted from her path, veering to the side to draw nearer to the man, curious as to what he did when not attempting to sell women into slavery.

"Six." She corrected dryly, drawing to a stop a short way from him, arms crossed over her chest. She cast her gaze over the little scene, from the battered post to the scarred man with daggers in his hands. "A bow would be more accurate you know. Not to mention easier and far more lethal." Sloane fell into the comfortable, familiar common tongue and felt some relief and confidence in herself return, along with her her old sarcastic tone and smart mouth. Regardless, she was unsure of what she was doing, other than worsening her own mood and potentially provoking a dangerous man. "Or do you make a habit of performing half arsed jobs."

Common ~ Pavi ~ Thoughts

[Konrad Venger]

"Six."

Konrad knew when he was being addressed regardless of what language was being spoken. But as he turned his head, he was sure he recognized not just the voice but the word. Then he took in the lovely face and hard stare of the woman a few feet away and one thought came to mind:

Gotta stop making it so easy to petching sneak up on me.

The slave. The wahlak. No, technically she wasn't that second one. She was, for want of a better term, breeding stock. She'd been brought back to Endrykas and now the Drykas would decide between themselves who would have her to... perpetuate the race, as it were.

"Thank you," he said, lilting Pavi strangely batching his Sunberth brogue, even if the words were far too willowy for his rock-crushing mouth. Then he turned back to the post and flipped the knife around his knuckles, until he was holding it by a thumb and two fingers. "Now sod off."

Another wasted opportunity, his mind spat as he refocused on the battered hore post he'd salvaged. The girl would have gone for one, maybe two hundred mizas back in Sunberth. More, in Kenash. She was young, strong-limbed and had attitude to her: punters would pay double for a girl that fought back, if you found the right brothel. And even without her cunny in the bargain, she'd be a beautiful house slave, as good an investment as a fine work of art.

But not among the Drykas, apparently. No. They didn't take slaves. They just took wives. Such was explained to him when he and those two Drykas girls came back with this handsome creature in tow, and before Konrad could even start bartering, she was out of their hands and... common property, he supposed was the term.

Konrad snorted into the air and shook his head, messy curtain of dirty blond hair flowing past his shoulders.

"An' dey call me a petchin' savage-"

"A bow would be more accurate you know. Not to mention easier and far more lethal."

He flung and heard at the same time. He was not yet capable of doing both. His eyes flickered to the voice just as he let go of the blade, arm extended, just as he meant to-

CLANG

Konrad all but snarled in irritation as what should have been a perfectly acceptable thunk turned into a clang, followed by the knife spinning off into the grass. He stalked after it, stream of speech that seemed to growl and grunt into existence from the back of his throat trailing after him.

His father was never worth much of a shyke, but Myrian was a fine language to curse in. Konrad had picked up all the juicy words.

"Oh!" He said, feigning surprise with as much comedy as a face that mutilated and an aura that hostile could manage. "You don't say?" He pointed at the ground a few feet away from the post, where his shortbow and quiver lay. "Thank the gods youse showed up wiv' dat imporant liddle titbit. I's called practice, girl. An' sometimes you ain't always gonna have time to nock a soddin' arrow, are ya?"

"Or do you make a habit of performing half arsed jobs?"

It wasn't cold. It hadn't been cold all season, thanks to the gods not doing their sodding jobs, but for just a tick or two, anyone passing Konrad would have shuddered. Insulting his choice in weapons was one thing, and the ignorant little bitch could hardly be blamed for that, but questioning his... professionalism?

The ice lasted. There'd been a time when it wouldn't have. He would have walked over and knocked out half her teeth with the hilt of his dagger and left her choking on them while he finished his practice.

But he saw the bow over her shoulder. Marveled at how the Drykas would allow their slaves - because that's what they were, unless they didn't have a word for "prisoners" - to carry weapons. But she was, and arrows to go with it. The ice slowed things down, and made him patient. Made him watch, and think. She held it like she knew it.

"A'right." He said, voice low and measured. Probably not the outraged inferno she was expecting. A face that was not made for smiling still made one, and gestured to the post. "Youse can do better? Knock yerself out. Show me 'ow 'tis done, eh?"

The mercenary-turned-trapper stepped back, arms crossed, throwing knife tapping one of his biceps as he waited. His face radiated smug, confident control. Red flags to raging bulls, if he was any judge of this woman. He kept the facade up and his eyes watchful, though. He'd been watching Drykas all season for tips, tricks, stances and grips and everything else. He might as well try someone fresh, and pay attention.

"In yer own time... wife."

Aye. That should do it.

[Sloane]

Sloane couldn't help but smirk with satisfaction as the dagger failed to find it's mark, and she turned the smirk to the man, chin tilted defiantly, a silent 'told you so'. A small part of Sloane thought that perhaps she shouldn't be so pushy and antagonistic towards the man, but as a whole she really couldn't bring herself to care. He towered over the young woman, and was clearly far larger and far stronger than she'd ever be.

Sloane froze and swallowed hesitantly. She wasn't an archer, she only really knew the skill because it was a crucial part of her work. Testing a newly made bow took little more than drawing and losing a handful of arrows, and so Sloane hadn't learnt beyond the very basics. She could sing the praises of a good bow day in and day out, but when it came to demonstrating any significant skill in using one, she fall short of the mark.

"...wife." Sloane's eye snapped back to the other walahk, her gaze sharp and frustrated. She had the sudden urge to add to the mans scars, perhaps a nice set of nail marks down the other cheek. "Fine, cultakh." She snapped, stepping forward so that she stood before the post, yanking an arrow roughly from her quiver. "Maybe I should shoot you full of goose feathers instead." She smirked, brushing her fingers over the fletching thoughtfully. "It'd be a good look for you."

She stood side-on to the post and nocked the arrow, her hand curling comfortably around the leather grip that had literally been made for her, and took a deep steadying breath. She raised the bow and drew at once, a smooth motion she'd practiced repeatedly until it was perfect. Her hand brushed the side of her mouth, and Sloane sighted down the length of her arm, eye's focusing on the post.

"Who are you anyway, you're not Drykas, and you seem to fit in even worse than I do." She grunted, distracted momentarily as she released the arrow, her fingers snapping back and out of the way lest they catch the bowstring and divert the arrows course. The arrow moved far faster than the daggers had, and managed to hit the post, though not the point Sloane had been aiming for. She smiled regardless, happy to keep that bit of information to herself.

She rubbed at her bare forearm, only then remembering that she'd left her bracer in her tent. Self satisfied and smirking, Sloane turned to Hansel, quirking a brow at him. "See? And I'm not even that good."

Common ~ Pavi ~ Thoughts

[Konrad Venger]

"Cull-Tak-Ah?" He'd have to have to ask about that one. Carefully, though. Clearly it wasn't something one tossed around in polite company, and that's what Konrad ostensibly was nowadays. Just another broody outcast taken in my the all-loving Jonas Pridesun, learning the Drykas way.

Konrad's lips twisted like he'd swallowed bitter lemon, mouthy little wench momentarily forgotten. Gods, if only people knew...

Then he blinked and fresh insults were being heaped upon him. Oh, something about his looks. How original. Konrad chuckled and shrugged, keeping his eyes on the girl and shoving those tedious thought about Jonas away. Better not to even think them until he could make use of them.

"Might be right," he said, "Couldn' get much... worse."

There was a pause as he took in that long, smooth draw of the bowstring. From straight and lowered to taut and raised, it took only a tick or two but Konrad had to admit, it looked impressive. Sloane's hands were steady as she sighted down the arrow, palm of her hand caressing her cheek and Konrad frowned minutely.

Not down the arrow... down her arm. Hmm. Clever.

She was good enough to be talking away while she aimed, too. Chatting up a storm and probing him with sharp little questions. Konrad's defenses went up in an instant, sticking to "vague, terse, and just plain untrue".

"Got attacked out inna' Sea-" he nodded out to the vast steppe surrounding them, the sprawl of Endrykas the merest pimple on the bloated grasslands. "-an' some a' their people saved me. Pridesun. Took me in. So... m'here now." Well, that was half accurate, at least. The last part wasn't, though. "Name's 'Hansel', an' no, I ain't spellin' it fer-"

The woman was still, yet the arrow flew. It took Konrad a few ticks to realize her fingers had moved so fast and smooth he barely saw them. His head snapped along a path too fast for it to follow, so by the time he saw the end-

THUNK

Not bad, was what he thought. But what Konrad said... well, that was about what he needed. He wanted another good look at that draw, that stance, how she held the arrow in place and then let it go. So he scratched the stubble under his chin when she spoke and snorted, made a little show about being outraged that he'd been proven wrong.

"Y'got lucky. Do it again." He picked up his own bow and quiver, draping the latter over his shoulders and jerking his chin pugnaciously at the post. "Then I'll show y'how it's done."

Come on, girly. Rub it in my face.

He waited and he watched and... damnit, sometimes he just couldn't help himself. He took a step closer and waited until the goose feathers were stroking her cheek again, her finger loosening on the string. He didn't not what to wait for exactly, other than that... stillness. That tick of sheer poise that a hunter or an archer wore, right before they sent an arrow blasting through the air and into a target like their will transmuted into wood, metal and feathers.

He waited until the arrow was nearly loosed, then leaned in and-

"So they started breedin' you yet?"

[Sloane]

"Sloane." She introduced herself simply, moving away to retrieve her arrow from the post, eye's shifting over it's length quickly before she made her way back over. She came to a stop beside Hansel and crossed her arms expectantly, about to tell the man that it was his turn, before he beat her to it. Sloane frowned, agreeing that she probably had gotten lucky, and she wasn't exactly eager to test that luck again and potentially make a fool of herself.

This time she concentrated on her footing, setting her feet shoulder width apart. She stood straight, her posture impeccable but loose and comfortable, completely lacking in tension. Once again, she drew the bowstring back, using the muscles in her back and shoulders rather than pulling with her arms. She held the nock of the arrow to the string with carefully arranged fingers, one above and two below. Again, she drew and raised the arrow, eye's focused on the post.

At Hansel's words, closer than she'd anticipated, Sloane jerked in shock. Her fingers slipping from the bow string at an odd angle, sending the arrow careening off course, to embed in the dirt. Her head snapped around to glare at him, eye's blazing. He was close enough that if she lurched forward she could probably bite his stupid nose off of his stupid face, and for a moment Sloane had to battle with the urge to do so. Taking a slow, deep breath she brought her temper back under control, and though her eye's still burned with anger and frustration, a sly smirk curled her lips.

She was well aware that the other walahk was doing his best to provoke her, as she had done the same to him, and Sloane was determined not to give into it. "Why do yo care? Are you jealous?" She snarked, stalking away from him to retrieve her arrow from the ground. She held it up and examined it carefully, surveying it for any damage before returning it to her quiver. "I'm sure you'd love the chance to have a tumble in a tent with one of those handsome Drykas men." Sloane finished, pushing down the anxious twist in her gut at the possibility that his words might eventually come true.

She turned away, confident smirk falling from her face as she gathered herself, hands raising to twist her hair into a quick braid to disguise the action. That she may be used and viewed as nothing more than a womb disgusted her, and Hansel bringing up that point was like a knife in the ribs. She cleared her throat before turning back, calm confidence back in place for now. "Your turn."

Common ~ Pavi ~ Thoughts

[Konrad Venger]

"Hsssss... bad luck on dat once, love."

Konrad's tone dripped of so much shyke, Sloane could have fertilized a wheat field with it. The Sunberthian smirked as the arrow went wide, chuckled as it buried in the dirt beyond the post, and her steel-melting glare only made him do both ever more. For a moment he thought she might actually fly at him in a rage... and he was surprised at how disappointed he was when she didn't.

She wanted to, though. Very much.

"Why do yo care? Are you jealous?"

His expression froze at her words; it took him a lot to keep it in place. Ah... maybe she was a little more prepared than he was expecting. Knew just the buttons to press. Konrad wouldn't deny his eyes wandered over her as she sauntered away, getting her arrow. Any man with a working cock would do the same, spoken for or not. But for Konrad, as always, it was an academic exercise. A mental diversion. As if she would ever, like any of the others, would ever even consider-

Then she mentioned the Drykas, and Konrad blinked... and smirked.

Oh. She meant from the other direction.

"How d'yuh know I haven't?" He said with a smirk as she did up her hair. His shoulders bobbed up and down quickly, grip on his bow shifting as he drew an arrow with his free hand. "'cept it won't be jus' one fer you, darlin'." Now he was talking patent shyke, but he was banking she didn't know that. Konrad faced the target... and then shifted his feet. Left foot pointed at the pole, right foot facing out, standing sideways to it. Just like her. "Oh, didja not know that? Ah... well, suppose they ain't tolja yet, youse bein' a slave an' all..."

He notched the arrow and remembered. Consummate actor Konrad was not, but he knew how to watch. He exhaled... then raised the bow and drew back the string at the same time, arms straining a touch... gods, she made it look petching easier. Maybe it was how she was pulling it?

"Still, I wouldnae worry," he continued, voice as coldly indifferent as he could make it. Remember, aim down your arm, not just the arrow. "Yez look like a sturdy girl. Probably take three a' four a night, no problem." He closed one eye, focused not just on the pole maybe a dozen yards away, but the arrow sticking out of it. He rested the arrow near his face, hand touching his scars, squinting right down the shaft. Easy, easy now... "Course, then they'll probably bring in the horses-"

It was the lightest of gestures. The most gentle of movements. Three fingers going from bent and crooked to straight. But it freed an arrow, twanged the air between them and the pole and sent it flying away-

THUNK

Konrad grinned with genuine pleasure, even if it did hurt to do so if he wasn't mindful. On one side of his face, anyway. He sighed into the air, light as a breeze, enjoying the respite in the storm, his skills improving, and the quietly-horrified expression of the woman next to him.

"Welcome Endrykas," he said, signaling both words with the stiff care of a beginner. "Wanna try again... wife?"

[Sloane]

"How d'yuh know I haven't?" Hansel retorted, and Sloane couldn't help the snort of laughter escaping her at the mental image that created. She watched him curiously as he took his turn and drew, a hand propped on her hip, and her amused smile dropped as he continued to speak. She knew his words were totally false' Whayhana had gone a long way in educating Sloane about the Drykas way of life. The other woman had even pointed out that Haigen, another member of the pavilion, was without a wife. Sloane knew exactly what was expected from her, and it was only a matter of time before the Pavilion had enough of waiting for her to accept it.

Sloane considered stopping Hansel, and telling the man that she wasn't a clueless idiot as he seemed to assume. Instead she let him babble away to his hearts content, painting quite the disturbing picture. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and Sloane wanted nothing more than to stick a pin in his confidence. It seemed that in his mind she was well and truly some poor victim with no control over her own situation. Time for a change of tactics I think. She thought slyly.

Sloane blinked big frightened doe-eye's in Hansels direction, looking for all the world like an unsure and insecure girl. "I know." She sighed, Pavi slow and uncertain as she wrapped her arms around her middle, gazing falling to the ground. "Maybe I... I don't know."[/colour] She broke off and walked in a slow circle, frowning thoughtful and studying Hansel from under her lashes. "Maybe I need someone watching out for me, to protect me. You know?" With this her eye's flicked back to Hansel pointedly, a soft, shy smile gracing her lips. She wanted to see how he'd react, to see if there would be a way to get under the mans skin and potentially use him in someway benefiting herself. She didn't want to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in Endrykas, and he could possibly be her ticket out.

Sloane smirked as she watched. Sloane wasn't entirely sure what she'd do regardless of how Hansel may react to her little act, but she was confident in the fact that she was far more important to Endrykas than he was. She didn't doubt that any Drykas would step in to defend an unclaimed woman from some strange walahk should the need come, and even if no one did, she could put up a good enough fight herself. "I do two, you do." She insisted, shaking her head, ignoring the jab of irritation that 'wife' caused.

Common ~ Pavi ~ Thoughts

[Konrad Venger]

It was nothing a man could simply ignore. Eyes downcast, voice hushed, as if terrified of being overheard, every mannerism projected an indisputable truth: here was a girl in need of rescue. Konrad blinked slowly as she murmured out her words, wandering as if in a cage, shoudlers hunched, hugging her stomach as if starved. A man would have to have ben utterly without a heart to not have ben moved, to not have softened his voice and embraced her...

... or seen the like before. Which Konrad had.

Whatever faraway look Sloane may have spied in the scarred man's eyes while she spoke, it had nothing to do with her little farce. He still thought now and then of Coryn. How she might be doing in Kenash; if she was following his advice. Hells, she might not even be there anymore. A quality asset like her, beautiful and educated, an Etheafal and marked by the gods to boot... she would either stay with one owner forever, or be sold many times, each time for more and more.

Konrad wished he could forget her. It was an uncomfortable sensation, missing someone. He was almost glad to blink and shake his head and be reminded of the present, the pole, the arrows... the girl. Who was smirking.

Want to play the mummer? Fine by me.

"Well... ah... if-if yer worried," his words came out in a hushed stutter, as if he too was wary of hidden ears. NHe scratched behind his head and his eyes looked around, tongue nervously licking his lips as he leaned closer. "I... I might be able, um... I mean, I know I said... that was silly, but if y'want some advice..."

He leaned closer. He continued speaking. And with every word his tone went from honey to poison, warm reassurance to icy indifference. By the end, his smirk was back, leering in whatever petty triumph he could wring from intimidating someone one foot and a hundred pounds his lesser.

"... I'd work on yer actin' skills a little more, breeder. Cuz that little smirk? Kinda broke the spell, y'know? That an' I took yer measure the second you opened yer gob, an' you ain't no scared little girl. S'don't try ply that shyke with me... wife."

Yes, it was immature. Yes, he was beating the word and all it represented like a dead horse. No, he didn't care in the slightest. Every time he did, she winced, or looked away... and as far as he could see, she deserved it. She'd started all this, after all, with her cocky, snarky self swanning over and giving him shyke out of nowhere.

Besides, it wasn't like he could just smack her around. She was a breeder, after all, and all jokes aside, those were valued among the Drykas. Konrad had heard tales of disease, plague, pirates, slavers, storms, all seeming to conspire over the last few years of decimate Endrykas. The Horse Lords were in dire straits and needed fresh blood.

Bear that in mind, when it comes to wondering if they'd take your word over hers.

Then she spoke again in Pavi, and Konrad shrugged. That seemed fair, and it was all practice, after all. He notched a fresh arrow and that draw... well, it wasn't quite the gossamer movement Sloane could manage, but it was getting better. He managed to time the draw so at its peak, feathers were tickling his cheek and his arm was steady, straight-

TWANG

-and he rushed it. She would try something, he just knew it. He had after all, and like all men with juvenile minds when it came to that sort of thing, he assumed retaliation as sure as he would the light of dawn. He didn't even bother to close his eyes to aim, just settled the arrow point over the pole and at the peak of his draw he loosed-

"... bugger."

He didn't know the Pavi for that, yet. But it seemed to fit as he watched the arrow sail past the pole and continue onward into the Sea of Grass, vanishing into some messy, muddy hole or soaking patch of heather. Konrad glared at the steppe entire, as if all of it had conspired against him. And he made it a point not to even glance at... her.

"Fine." His words were tight and low. "Still need practice, dun' I?" Then an idea came to him, quick and crazy and stemming from their first moments. With his free hand he found his throwing knife and held it between them, tossing it over lightly, offering her the hilt. "So lesse 'ow good you are with a new tool, eh?"

He shrugged. Cocked a challenging eyebrow. Did his best to embody every entitled, arrogant penis-bearer Sloane had ever encountered who'd lectured her to the effect of "you can't, because you're a woman".

"Try." He said, waggling the blade a touch, and exhausting his Pavi. "Try good."

[Sloane]

Hansel seemed to see right through her little act, and Sloane couldn't help but let the smirk grow as he called her out on it, dropping the innocent act entirely. For a moment she'd thought she'd had him, had been almost certain of the fact, but apparently not. She shrugged, a simple 'whats a girl to do' gesture, and was surprised that the 'wife' comments were irritating her less and less. She supposed she was simply getting used to it.

"Mhh, and if I were you, I'd watch what you say and to who you say it. I'm not an idiot, I know exactly what these horse petchers want from me." She said as she watched him draw, aim and... miss. He4'd rushed it, and she could guess why. Sloane grinned, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the other walahk diligently avoid looking at her. "I wasn't going to do anything you know." Sloane chuckled.

She glanced up in surprise as Hansel held out his throwing knife, momentarily confused before she took it. The knife was smaller than the usual blade, and Sloane turned it over and examined it curiously. "How should I..." She trailed off, flipping the knife around so that she held the blade for a moment, before taking it by the hilt again. She hummed thoughtfully as she tried to decide how to go about this, how to hold it and how to throw it, and finally decided that trial and error was probably the key. After all, she doubted Hansel would be willing to help her out, he seemed eager to watch her fail.

As she did with her bow, Sloane held the knife in her right, dominate hand, which seemed the best tact, but then hesitated with her footing. Naturally, she begun to turn side on, but caught herself half way there, realising that that wasn't going to work for this. She hummed thoughtfully, gazing down at her feet for a moment. Finally she settled on keeping her feet shoulder width apart, but facing the post directly.

She concentrated all her attention to the post, her brow furrowed and lips pursed with the extent of it. She raised the blade, arm going back until the knife pointed back over her shoulder, and after a short, focus gathering pause, she snapped her arm forward and released the blade once her arm had come around in front of her body. The blade twirled through the air and thunked into the dirt hilt side first. Sloane's shoulders sagged in disappointment, but she still couldn't help but laugh at how useless her throw had been.

She hustled down range and snatched the blade from the dirt, and this time she changed the position of her feet slightly, stepping forward with her left foot, but leaning her weight back onto her right. She felt steadier in this stance, and rocked back and forward experimentally a few times. It seemed this stance would give her better leverage, and may even help her with her follow through. When Sloane flung her arm forward this time, she tried to release the blade when it would be pointing at the post, as apposed to simply releasing it when her arm had been straight out in front of her.

This time the knife landed blade first, though it still hit the dirt and missed the post completely. Sloane yelped in surprised, and bounced happily on her feet, twisting to face Hansel. "See that! That was better! She exclaimed, smiling brightly at her success. Turning she hurried down range and grabbed the knife back up out of the dirt, and returned it to Hansel, satisfied smile still in place. "Here." She held it out to him hilt first. "You show now."

Common ~ Pavi ~ Thoughts