THIS IS JUST A PSL NOW I GUESS;

[fossick]

(( used the wrong method with the wrong technique ))

Comments

[fossick]

Decent enough to win a useless prize?

[He's such fun to be around. But he turns and leads in that direction all the same; clearly he's not going to dissuade her from killing time before the musical show, because what else are they going to do? Walk around and talk the whole time? Gods forbid.

When they draw near, it's clear that the booth is set up for two people to throw rings competitively, if they so desire. Tall glass bottles are arranged at various distances, presumably to catch the rings that are tossed at them, and the man running the game smiles widely as they approach, bright blue rings hanging at the crook of his elbow.]

"Ah, hello, Weir. And Lucinda -- you look marvelous in that dress. Are you both looking to play? See who has the better skill and aim?"

[He teases gently, but Weir answers.]

That would be a waste of time, considering it would be no contest.

[he's so confident]

[luciole]

Oh, thank you so much! You'll need to give your compliments to the seamstress too.

[At Weir's remark, Lucinda was more than ready to shrug it off. But unexpectedly...]

... 𝓗𝓾𝔂𝓮𝓷. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂.

[It's Feather and she seems to take what Weir says as a challenge. Lucy glances down at her right forearm with a raised brow before turning back to look at him.]

Alright, then Weir.

[She holds out her hands for the blue rings and the man gives her a few to start with.]

Beat me.

[fossick]

[Watch this brow hike up higher as he watches her take the rings, then flicks his gaze back up to her face.]

You don't think I can?

[He is not a prideful man, but he is a logical and pragmatic one. And his logic and pragmatism dictate that he is a hunter, and once a Dredger, and if he cannot hit a few targets of oversized milk bottles, then he does not deserve to call himself either.

To Weir, it's a foregone conclusion that his hand-eye coordination is far superior than most, and he isn't inflating this assessment just because it centers around himself.]

Perhaps you've forgotten what it is I do for a living.

[That isn't a "no", however.]

"Come now, Weir. At least humor the lady. She clearly wants to enjoy her time spent with you to the fullest."

[no one asked for your opinion, guy]

[luciole]

Well. To be honest, you have a higher chance.

[She twirls one of the rings around her fingers. And even though the sleeves of her dress are sheer, it still obfuscates the slight movement of the wing on her right arm.]

But the point is to have fun and exercise that eagle eye of yours.

[hint hint

Though really, if it wasn't for Feather's nudging, Lucy wouldn't have presented the challenge to Weir. She finds it funny that the winged spirit wants to one-up him more than she does. Very minor, and very petty revenge for the forest debacle.]

[fossick]

[A long, bland look.

But then he relents.]

Fine. Give me a set.

[He steps forward, motioning at the man, who smiles and hands Weir his own set of throwing rings. Weir loops the extras around his wrist, while his other hand holds one at the ready.]

You start, then. But I will only aim for the farthest target.

[Just to make it harder for her to win.]

[luciole]

Just accumulating the most points at the get-go? If that's what you really want —

[So you see, Lucinda has been standing at an angle toward the milk bottle targets. Her view of them as such is only from the side. But all of a sudden, her right takes hold of one of her blue rings and tosses it sideways and it lands perfectly at the farthest target. She didn't even look at it much to the awe of the man in charge of the game.

Thanks Feather.]

Ah. Well. Looks like I'll be doing the same.

[fossick]

[The action is so sudden that he nearly misses the way her arm flies out and tosses the ring, and it's only because he's quick on the uptake that his eyes manage to follow the whirling ring as it arcs and hitches itself on the furthest bottle on her side.

Are you fucking kidding.

Now, Weir doesn't know exactly how dexterous he is, but he isn't an idiot. He looks at her squarely, shifting to move in front of his "lane" of bottles.]

Thought I was playing against you, not one of your friends.

[luciole]

[That makes Lucy let out a laugh. The game manager steps to the side thinking, "These two are enjoying themselves, better not get in the way."

She situates herself in front of her lane of bottles and faces forward properly. ]

I mean. Technically, it's still me.

[One hand moves up to feign a whisper to Weir.]

Feather can be rather competitive.

[fossick]

Does Feather hold a grudge, then, I wonder?

[For the murder. (Feather would be valid.)]

Fine. Then if you won't play, then let's see how I fare against a spirit.

If only I had granted you the ability to move objects in such a way, TOO.

[Weir wastes no time; he tosses his first ring and it arcs in a straight, unwavering flight, landing with a clink across the neck of the first bottle. Easy enough; though consistency is key.]

[luciole]

Perhaps. She's very peaceable otherwise.

[Her eyes track the ring as it lands and then she readies herself. Lucy's not too hung up on whether she'll win or not but she doesn't want to be too apathetic since Feather is doing this for her sake.

Her arm moves though this time it looks more natural since she's facing forward. The ring flies and lands on the second bottle.]

Do you like games, Weir? Or do you focus too much on work to give it much thought?

[He likes music though, so Lucy muses on what other things the man does enjoy when he's relaxed enough to not scrutinize things around him.]

[fossick]

[He frowns deeper as her second throw meets its mark. The attendant of the game is watching from a distance, vaguely impressed but also uncertain of this competitiveness from the huntsman. He's always so intense, this man!]

I enjoy winning, if that's what you're asking me.

[That is not, in fact, what she is asking him. But she might be able to glean a spark of competitiveness from him with such a reply, though he rarely lets it get in the way of anything important.]

...When your friend uses your arm in such a way, does she still require use of your eyes? [Hand-eye coordination, and such.]

[luciole]

I would argue it's fun to win or lose, at least in a game with very little stakes except pride.

[Weir versus Feather, the battle of the century... His brings up a good question as Lucinda twirls a ring around her index finger (her doing, not her friend's).]

It's probably easier for us if I face forward. You'd think their positions on my body would indicate their point of view.

[Flora on her chest, Feather on her arms, and Fang on her back — Out of all three of them, Feather's position is the one that seems most awkward if one were to assume her point of view was stuck there.]

But it's not a hard limitation. Everything I see, they see, everything I hear, they hear.

[fossick]

[Interesting. It's knowledge one could take advantage of, if one was in the position to. Not that Weir thinks to do this any time soon, or close to ever, after their little bout in the forest.

But... he is not against cheating a little, if she's going to do the same. (Using Feather is cheating, okay.)

To those perceptive, Weir's eyes glow that telltale green again, though it's hard to see in broad daylight -- one might assume it's just the keenness of his usual gaze, reflecting in sunlight. Lucy, of course, would know better.

The sound of very distracting static fills her mind, should he be successful; it's far from an attack, but it does disorient one's perception of the world, as though prepping to bend one's will to Weir's own desires. He doesn't go that far, of course. This is just to make her miss!! So he can win!!]

Try it now, then.

[luciole]

𝓗𝓶𝓹𝓱. 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓽.

𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓸.

[Lucinda frowns as the sound of static fills her mind but Flora's scent softly fills her senses slowly. Still, it is somewhat disorienting and dizzying. Her sight is fuzzy around the edges, thanks, Weir.

However, Feather is the one who wakes Lucinda from her deep slumbers for a reason. Even when her eyes are closed, the winged spirit is more than alert to its surroundings.

So when Lucy's arm throws out the next ring, it lands on the same bottle as her previous try, barely scraping the top of it. The medium glances at Weir and shrugs.]

She's a determinator Weir.

[fossick]

She's a cheat.

[He says, tersely, after he watches the ring fly out and hit its mark, no matter the static in her mind. He clicks his tongue and it recedes from her head, though her vision still might be fuzzy around the edges for a moment or two longer.]

Fine, no more tricks. What you see from now on is my own skill, no doubt something you should take note of.

[He doesn't need ghosts to help him aim!!

In fact, he makes this point by flinging the rest of his rings out, one by one. And one by one, they reach their mark... Except for the very last, which barely misses its mark, clinking loudly against the glass and bouncing off, landing on the ground.]




Fuck.

[luciole]

[Lol. Lmao.

Now, she'll give him some credit, he still got a lot of points with the other rings! Very impressive! But the last ring that missed is very, very, funny considering how self-assured he was. Lucy just smiles and holds back the laughter because she isn't really an asshole. She'll just look smug. Just a little.]

Oh, Weir. I don't know about you but I think I'm having a lot of fun!

[Grinning, she quietly tells Feather to retreat and let her take the reigns instead. So when Lucinda throws her rings, she doesn't manage to get the farthest bottles, just the ones that score the lowest points.

But she doesn't miss any 8')]

[fossick]

[She goes for the lower point rings and does not miss a single one; though the point difference, given his inclination for the harder targets, still gives him the advantage. Though she eats into it quickly enough.

It leaves him with one ring left, the deciding factor.]

Are you.

"Come now, Weir. The lady is having fun, and if you're trying to earn her favor, perhaps you know what you should do."

Who is trying to earn her favor? [HELP, WHY IS EVERYONE JUST ASSUMING THIS-]

"Is that not why you're accompanying her? Why, I thought this was a date." [The man laughs.] "I'll happily take her off of your arm if that isn't the case!"

[oh my GOD]

[luciole]

[haha, sir this man tried to kill me three days ago

Lucinda, who is enjoying the exchange at Weir's expense, laughs at the vendor's remark.]

The offer is appreciated but we're going to be experiencing the rest of the festival together. Fortunately, this is not dependent on whether he scores more points than me at the games.

[Leave it to Lucy to neither confirm nor deny that this is a date.]

[fossick]

[that's peak romance tho

He actually winces, as though her laugh in concert with the man's amusement does him actual psychic damage -- which is quite a feat for a man who has an eldritch entity in his brain.]

Shut up. Both of you.

[Yeah, that's his eloquent and cheeky reply.

WHATEVER!!! Weir lets his ring fly and, because fate is having a laugh, it clinks against the glass and lands on the ground. That's a no-go. You guys are throwing him off his game.]

[luciole]

[Whoops.

Lucy does in fact, stay quiet though only for a moment. She turns to the vendor and lightly asks.]

I believe I've won.

[PRIZE TIME!!! I mean]

So that's one game down.

[fossick]

[The vendor grins widely at her, amused by the whole display. Honestly, the huntsman can stand not to win a game or two, if only for the sake of learning that winning isn't everything! (This is not the sentiment that Weir holds, but that's not the point.)]

"The lady's indeed won, Weir. Now, don't look so glum."

I'm not glum. [SHE'S CHEATED FOR LIKE 80 PERCENT OF THE GAME, and he just rolls his eyes. Clearly, something like irritation is hard to actually reach him, but he will frown for days.] "One game down", she says, like I plan on taking you to another.

[The vendor laughs, shaking his head, and turns to a small wooden crate full of... something! She does indeed get a prize!]

"Now then, it isn't much, but Miss Lucy does deserve a prize, does she not?"

[He produces a little blue fox plushie. You know, a Ye Olde plushie.]

[luciole]

[Lucinda's eyes widen with surprise and unmistakable delight at the blue fox plushie and she reaches out to retrieve it. The medium holds it in her hands lifting it up to examine it; not unlike a child in awe of their new toy.]

Thank you.

[Lucy hugs it against her chest and smiles at the vendor gratefully.]

I love it quite a lot. It will make a great new friend.

[And to Weir, she jokingly says:]

I don't think you'd be as keen on taking care of this little one if you had won. Let's move on then, shall we?

i didn't think i was away from this thread for so long gomen

[fossick]

[He is rolling his eyes so hard over here, it's a wonder they don't fall out of his head. Of course she gets a plushie. Rewarded for being unbearable (because she cheated).

The vendor replies cordially happily. It's his pleasure, miss!

The look Weir gives Lucinda and her silly little fox is less cordial.]

You want to try your hand at another? I'll not carry any other prizes you win like some pack-mule.

[A beat.]

Thought you were interested in the performance, besides.

💖

[luciole]

[She will make the better plushie parent, not Weir! But back on track.

Lucinda nods when he reminds her of the performance.]

Then let's give that priority instead. It'd be a good idea to get some prime seating before anyone else.

[fossick]

Then come on. Let others waste their time here.

[Maybe he's still just grumpy about losing the game.

Either way, he leads them further into the main square, where it becomes clear this performance is going to be an outdoor affair -- and the seating, whatever she considers is "prime", is to be wherever they choose to sit on the ground.

The stage itself is a large, wooden raised platform, its set decorated in the whimsical colors of a storybook forest, with a painted backdrop of a swollen, full moon overhead. There's already a bustle, several villagers having congregated here that are interested to view this event. But overall? Weir and Lucy might sit wherever they like.

He has a distinct feeling that her preferences will not align with his own. (He'd like to sit in the back, if he has to sit anywhere at all.)]

You'll get that dress of yours dirty.