RP:Wilson Is For Arrows, Not Knuckles

Part of the Time Heals All Wounds Arc

Synopsis: When it comes to weapon and combat training, Penelope has zero patience. Krice comes from the shadows and acknowledges the girl's frustrations. She begs him for a lesson on how to punch, kick, or anything he wanted to teach her and he is a hard shell to crack. He finally caves. Look out Penelope because you have another thing coming.

Abandoned Archery Range

Penelope has her arm pulled back, her shoulders down, her stance parted. The woman had the bow in her grasp, and an arrow pulled back to match the target in the abandoned range. The place where the metallic-armed elf taught her once to shoot. She is draped in hiking boots, black pants, and a long sleeve with a fur vest over the shirt. The satchel of arrows are strapped to her back. She stares at the target before her and there is a furrow in her brow. The woman looks concentrated and partially frustrated. The woman unleashes the bowstring with a frustrated grunt, and the pile of the arrow flies forward where an archery dummy is propped up with several arrows in the arms and chest. The arrow flies and lands in the pancreas of the dummy. Not at all where she wanted the arrow to fly. She was aiming for the heart. “You’ve literally got to be joking!” Her shots were getting worse with each shot.The woman lowers her bow and flings her arms in exasperation.

Krice was naturally so quiet that Penelope would be forgiven if she startled when he spoke from the shadows, standing visibly between two trees just behind her left peripheral vision. " I've heard it said that talking to dummies can lower your intelligence." His tone was calm as always but harboured a hint of amusement beneath it. He was attempting a joke to dissuade Penelope from frustration. Dressed in his usual black attire with the collar open, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and katana strapped to his back, the silver-haired man looked every bit his usual self.

Penelope jumped slightly at the sound of the creeping voice. She pivots and jumbles with her bow to face the stranger before realizing the strange voice is actually familiar. The man draped in black. Krice. His light-hearted manner is taken in and she sort of half-smiles at the man. “Oh, so that’s the problem. Maybe I should stop talking to inanimate objects,” she feeds into his humor. The woman shakes her head to play off the small exchange of humor. “It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it? I’ve been practicing for nearly an hour and I still suck.” Honestly, she would not be practicing so hard if it was not for the course of events that led her back to her old wooden bow.

Krice afforded Penelope a smirk for her humourous efforts, but it was half-hearted given the frustration behind her brave face. He glanced between the woman and the dummy just once before landing his focus on her. " Only an hour? And you're complaining about not getting it right?" Emerging from the tree line, the warrior stepped into the archery range and moved behind Penelope to pause at her opposite side, just out of reach, with his gaze on the bow in her hands. " First you have to make sure that your weapon is the right size for your grip and style."

Penelope frowns at the man who comes from the tree line. He was right which made her more agitated, but she remains stoic to hide the emotion. “I’m just… sort of worried lately, I suppose, so I am trying to force it which does not help with aim either.” As he stands at her side and observes the bow, she feels a sense of slight sheepishness. “Well, it is –borrowed-. My ex gave it to me a long time ago,” she admits. “I haven’t really… practiced much since then. Only recently.” The bow was a lot bigger than she was. Manly. Linken had been a lot bigger than her, and the bow was his passed down. The woman was petite. “… What would you suggest?”

Krice glanced down at the bow again, and when his eyes returned to Penelope, he seemed particularly understanding. Clearly her ex wasn't the same size as she. What would he suggest? " Why are you using -this- bow?" If he thought anything about the fact that she was worried, he didn't say as much, but his demeanor somehow communicated to any who would notice that he felt sympathy for her concerns. She wasn't the only one to experience such tiresome feelings.

Penelope stares at the bow at lingers in her grasp. “The only one I had,” that was truly not the answer he was looking for. Penelope Halifax shooting a bow? There had to be a good reason for this one. “I want to learn to use some sort of weapon is why I am using it. There’s been a lot of… chaos lately, and I don’t know the first thing about combat,” she shrugs. “Not like I’m not intelligent, but I am rather book smart. Not wound another smart. Not that I want to wound someone, but in case events call for it.” She then turns fully to Krice. Her arms open and she looks herself up and down. “Does it look like I know how to take down a burly man, or a demonic figure, or a giant spider?” She was referring to past events clearly. “I don’t even know the right way to throw a punch. Petty, I’d say.” Her words were becoming quicker and breathless. The herbalist was spiraling.

Krice tilted his head as he listened to Penelope, not only the answer to the question he asked, but the one he was -considering- asking, as well. As her words became run-on and borderline anxious, he lifted a hand palm-up and calmly asked, " Can I see it?" Thereafter, assuming the woman passed him the weapon, he would turn it between his hands to get a feel for its weight, asking " Have you told Lionel about your want to learn how to fight?"

Penelope manages to breathe in a new breath of fresh air as he raises his palm up. The bow is now extended in the exchange. “I’d rather not.” Her moss gaze appears lazy. “I’d rather save myself the embarrassment on that one, thank you very much.” An odd reaction. Clearly the woman did not want to run off anymore battlefields. “Maybe –you- can give me a tip or two?” She sort of tries to give him an elbow nudge with enthusiasm.

Krice arched a brow at Penelope's response, but he didn't outwardly question her reticence to ask Lionel for help - peculiar as it may have seemed to him. When she nudged him in accompaniment of her request for 'tips', his lips twisted slightly into a thoughtful expression, though it faded soon after. " I don't specialize in bow use," he mused, retrieving an in-tact arrow from the ground between them and knocking it as he straightened. Without applying conscious thought to his actions, the warrior pulled his shoulders back and bent his left elbow, drawing the knocked arrow inward with his left hand. The stone (are we using stone or bone or what?) aligned with his right grip around the corded handle of the bow itself. He breathed in, exhaled almost imperceptibly it was so slow and quiet, and released the projectile straight into the heart of the training dummy - as if he had been using a bow since childhood. Glancing sideways at Penelope as he lowered the bow once more, the warrior murmured an offhand remark, " Beginner's luck." He shook the bow to gesture it for Penelope's sake. " But I wager you'll feel more comfortable with a smaller one - at least to start with."

Penelope watches his expression carefully. The healer had been slightly hopeful that the man would cave, but her expression turns flat after he declines her request. As he draws the, indeed, stone bow (just to make it easy), her head sort of tilts at his posture. His stature was calm and collected and the quiet man is shooting the arrow through the air with ease. The arrow shoots straight in the heart. “Yeah, sir ‘I don’t specialize in bow use’. Beginner’s luck, I doubt it. You’re like naturally skilled,” she appears almost annoyed. “Though, the bow size is noted. But it doesn’t mean that I have to use a bow. What about a punch,” she tries to sweet talk him in her friendly ways. Her eyes squint as she mockingly observes his knuckles as he passes the bow over to her again. “You, sir, look like a –great- puncher,” she enthuses. “You teach a girl how to throw a punch? We can use our pal Wilson over here!” Had she actually named the dummy? Who was Wilson? No one, she was just an odd girl. She begins to backwards walk, hopeful that he would follow.

Krice relinquished the bow to Penelope's possession, all while amicably suffering her charming bid - through words and undoubtedly accompanying expressions - to wear down his apparent reluctance to teach her combat skills. Her concluding words about punch-throwing and victimizing poor Wilson were met with an arched brow and a disbelieving glance at the dummy. He stepped forward despite himself, gesturing with a lazy hand to the rigid, non-sentient male. " Wilson? That thing? S'not a Wilson."

Penelope would shake her head towards the male. Once she approaches the dummy, she would set the bow down at her feet and rest her head against the impaled wooden dummy. "Of course he is! You'll hurt his feelings?" She sort of pouts her lip. The woman then holds up a finger. "Think of it like this, I'm Socky Ralboa, you know, that fighter dude that people rave about in the books, or is he a real person?" Beat. "Either way, Wilson is my trainer, only he does not really say much and well, he takes all the beatings. Though, that is where you come in, you come in and teach me a little," she sort of jabs forward, but it is pathetic, but altogether weird and giddy, "hoo, ha!" she would grunt. "Please." The woman would then rest her head on the dummy again angelic-like.

Krice was the complete opposite of Penelope's Wilson-centric enthusiasm; calm, composed, spoke only when necessary. This bubbliness was beyond his scope of... understanding. Fixing Penelope with a rigid stare, the warrior broke his silence to say, " You're going to hurt yourself if you punch wood." Not wanting to be a complete killjoy, he asked a more sincere, " What inspired all this? Did something else happen?"

Penelope blinks once or twice. “Well, people in the books break wood with their hands. So, just sayin’.” She then shrugs this off before kneeling down to pick up her bow with slight defeat. “Look,” her gaze turns back to a poised expression. “I just need to be prepared, okay? Lionel died on the battlefield that night against Kahran. You know what I brought…? A meat cleaver from my kitchen. Now you tell me why I am so inspired,” she looks at him. “I don’t want to just be heal smart. I want to also learn to kick a little ass when I need to,” she says bluntly. “Not to mention that I’m trying to get a freaking dark entity out of my ex-boyfriend to get his memory back. Might need to throw a punch for that one too, but really, I might just put him in the tavern until I can figure out what is going on with that. That’s a whole other thing,” she scratches the back of her neck. “I need your help. Is what I’m saying. We can meet. On your time,” she quickly adds. “Teach me to throw a punch. A kick? Or maybe even knife throwing if hand on hand combat ain’t your thing. Then I can practice on my own, and I’ll never bug you about combat again.” Beat. “I’ll owe you. Anything.”

Krice's brow furrowed at Penelope's 'people in books' sass but let it slide; he wasn't so sensitive as to be offended by that. Dome people might argue that he was broodingly the -opposite- of sensitive. All that was forgotten as she spoke of Lionel's death on the battlefield against Kahran, and his own mind shifted to thoughts of guilt as to why -he- hadn't been there. It wasn't like Krice had known and chose not to go; he had no idea at all. Hearing of Lionel's death did little to appease the warrior's guilty feelings, but soon enough Penelope was moving onto talk of her ex--the same one who gave her the bow?--being possessed to the point of memory loss? The enigma's expression dissolved into one of incredulity. The irony of it all. And the hideousness of the feels. He released a sigh and considered Penelope's plea to be taught. " It's completely sensible to want to have multiple skills at your disposal," he quietly agreed. With one eye squinted, Krice's expression turned to one of deep contemplation and he mused, " Fine. We can help each other."

Penelope had a handful of issues, and little did she know, one more would be added to the plate soon. She would need Krice for that one, although the two would be oblivious to the future—like any would. The woman was unaware of the furrow in Krice’s brow at her comment of ‘people in books’. She was just exasperated, and well, full of petty humor. The release of the sigh has her searching his face with those moss doe eyes. Did he just agree? He agreed? He agreed! The quiet man agreed to Penelope Halifax’s obnoxious proposal. “Thank you,” her tone resorts to a calmer tone. The one she uses out of politeness of healing. The look on how all strangers saw her. Calm. Collected. “I won’t let you down, Krice. I promise. I will send word to figure out when you can have time to teach me some skills?”

Krice bowed his head in acceptance of Penelope's gratitude, though he lifted a hand to dismiss what could be perceived as borderline-groveling. " You owe it to -yourself- to do well, not to me." He glanced down at the bow at her feet before her offer to send word reached his ears, another nod confirming that as a good idea. " Sure. When you're ready, leave word at the Kelay Tavern. I come by here almost daily." He regarded the healer with a thoughtful expression on his face and asked, " Do you have a time frame, or you want to go at your own pace?"

The sky begins to grow into setting. The already grey sky is beginning to turn a shade darker, though there was still enough time left in the day to make it stop by the market and travel home before dark hit. As he dismisses her ‘thank yous’, she realizes that he was more right than she ever would be about the training. “Right,” she says simply and her eyes follow his. She picks the bow up. “I don’t think I have a time frame… the sooner the better. Considering that… I’m eager. I really would like to learn as much as I can so I can be able to practice on my own eventually. In the next week or so expect a note from Mesthak about it.” She nods firmly.

Krice considered Penelope's reply with a quizzical shadow in his eyes, but he didn't question her further. Rather, his peripheral vision took note of the darkening atmosphere and he nodded in acceptance of her note-date. " Where are you headed? Need an escort?" The warrior gestured to Wilson. " Since you can't even kill a stationary dummy." Another attempted joke.

Penelope’s mouth gapes at his humor. “I’ll have you know that I am very capable of walking myself back to the healer’s hut,” she crinkles her nose. “I’ll show you, and Wilson,” her eyes sharply look at the wooden dummy. “But I will see you on the training field,” she side-eyes the man longingly in taunt, but she knew that her butt was going to be whooped her first day. “See you then, Krice.” She grins at the man and then she brushes past him with the bow and she begins to disappear through the trees. Forget the arrows. She would buy a new pretty set.

Krice's smirk was subtle and fleeting, but it was there in all its 'Good job Penelope, you're funny and chipper in the face of adversity' glory. Her current attitude was half the battle when learning a new skill. When she brushed past him to depart, he murmured his customary, " Take care," and glanced down at the arrows littering the forest floor. Something else he would need to teach her. The warrior crouched to retrieve the bow refuse before departing the area as well - moving in Penelope's shadow to ensure that she arrived at the healer's hut as safely as she exclaimed she would.