He don't want the world

POSTED: Fri Mar 17, 2017 1:26 pm

Seems like it's been thrown away, how's he gonna live?

He could feel the breeze brush against his armored shoulders, through hair that tasseled lightly against his face as he drew back the taut line of his bow, arrow fastened between fingers that were ready to let go. Basilio didn't always use his bow. He was prone to fighting with his blade rather than with the stealth that bow fighting offered. Projectile weapons didn't really require you to be close and upfront with an enemy. It could have been a far more suitable weapon for him than his katana had he not started with knives and blades first. Without thought, he let go of the taut line and with a TWACK! the arrow shot forward, sticking into the wet, deadened surface of a fallen tree he was using as target practice.

Wine stained eyes trained on the pile of wood and the arrow itself before he shook his head. He was off aim. No surprise to him. He let the arm of the bow go, the wood sliding in between his fingers till its bottom touched lightly against the ground and then he completely let it loose from his grip, watching it settle against a tree next to where he stood. He moved quietly and without pause toward the set of logs in the distance, stopping only when he stood before the one baring his arrow with its fletching.

Fingers clasped around the cylindrical surface of its neck and with a sharp tug of his wrist, he wretched it free of its target, stepping back to peer at the arrow head.

It was good to go for the most part. It needed resharpened. That wouldn't take too long, not if he worked it with water and a whetstone. He still had plenty. He began the quick trek back to the bow and his other arrows, all set up in his quiver that lay against the tree with his now unused bow. Turning the arrow he'd just grabbed so that its pointed tip was up, he slid it into the quiver and grabbed for another. He took hold of his bow and righted himself again, aiming the bow itself before he grabbed for the taut line, sliding the arrow into place.

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POSTED: Wed Mar 22, 2017 6:01 pm

Since the raid of Boreas in the dead of night, Dove had avoided the forest.

It was a strange thing, really. A child of earth and sun, Dove felt most at peace when shrouded by the great Mother Earth, whether by tree or cavern or field. Between the walls and beds and windows of the D'Neville Mansion the air was stale and immobile, scratching her throat and nostrils raw with dust. She sympathized with the horses just outside her bedroom window: The stables caged creatures built to roam free for sake of their masters' convenience.

Avoiding the forest—beyond where she walked the borderlines—was in a way betraying herself, and it took several weeks since the war for Dove to realize it. It had been long enough, too, that a detour from searching for her brother would not weigh hours of guilt on her shoulders. In the heart of the Nod Dove hesitated when she came upon Basilio and his bow among the trees, and it was when she lingered that the guilt began.

She watched him for a time, hardly hiding her presence. Though Dove could not tell precisely what on the fallen tree he was targeting his aim was indubitably precise. She did not carry her weapon with her (out of shame, perhaps), and stepped up beside him as he prepared his next shot.

"Will you walk me through how you're doing that?" she asked, and added for good measure, "Bellator?"

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POSTED: Sat Apr 15, 2017 10:53 am

Seems like it's been thrown away, how's he gonna live?

It was easy to notice when you were being watched. The fur at the back of your neck bristled and hackles rose slightly however, he knew the presence for he had felt it before. Her scent was even more familiar now that it was twinged with Inferni's own marshy smells. He turned only partially to acknowledge her presence, a sharp nod of his head in her direction before his eyes turned back to his targets and he shifted to allow himself the concentration he needed to follow through with his shots at the targeted piece of wood.

He had watched her around Inferni since that moment he'd crossed paths with her in the woods upon her initial arrival into Inferni. He knew that she was growing thinner each day, that the rumors had spread that she was not eating at all. However, it was none of his business. As a bellator, his only focus was protecting Inferni from the outside world and this girl was obviously suffering from something that did not involve him. To get involved at all felt like a grave mistake that he avoided eagerly in turn for the more beneficial conversation that dug lightly into the subject of archery.

"Target practice. It's easier than trying to shoot something that's moving," he started, peering over his shoulder at the woman. "It's how I learned to be a decent shot. One of my cousins taught me to do this and then it's easier to make your mark when you're shooting something that's moving." He make sure the arrow was knocked and quietly aimed and loosed it. The arrow struck forward with a sharp whistle and embedded itself into the wood. Not exactly on point but close enough that it gave the visage that he was a talented shot.

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POSTED: Wed Apr 26, 2017 10:11 am

Short, sorry. :C

Target practice. Obvious enough. Dove watched several arrows cycle through his hand, bow and target before she spoke again, wearied eyes flicking between his poise and its effect on his shooting. She found, by the fourth or fifth arrow, it was no use; she could scarcely focus with such hunger in her stomach and scratchiness in her weary eyes.

Despite it, observations turned to questions. “It’d be better to practice on moving targets,” she said, if only because it was how she learned... and continued to fail, but Dove didn’t focus on that part. “If you can learn how to hit something moving, hitting something standing still would come naturally.”

His arrows struck on point, however, and she began to doubt what had just been said. Dove frowned. “I’ll never get that good.”

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