Tough Hands

Festival Grounds, Late Morning

It's still snowing. The steady blizzard is making things difficult, but the constant efforts of the Angorite temple making fun in the snow is helping with the dourness. Currently at the festival grounds, a veritable wall of ice and snow is piled up wide and thick on one side, with dozens of targets strewn about the place. Most are occupied, with snowballs and little toy bows being used to hit targets, the backwall littered with missed shots. The targets with actual weaponry is spaced further away, and one man sits with his grey overcoat and a cap pulled down tight, watching a teen girl in a pink parka with a shortbow struggle with pulling an arrow back.

"Keep your elbows tucked in," Warrick grunts to his daughter.

"My fingies hurt though...!" she bemoans.

"You're the one that wanted to do this instead of staying inside. Keep your back straight and-"

Cynthia releases the arrow. It lands with a thunk two feet in front of her. She pouts.

There probably aren't too many people out in the snow. Just those who have to be, really want to be, or don't have the sense to get out of it. Bryn wanders into the grounds from the road to the north, absently whistling. She has a few chunks remaining on her Meat-on-a-Stick(tm) from one of the vendors a few streets back... until another chomp and pull cleans it off.

Then she spots the pink and plunk. Remembering to chew before opening her mouth again, she lifts her left hand high and calls out, "Ey!" as she heads thattaways.

Father and daughter turn to the callout at the same time, Warrick raising a hand while Cynthia grins and runs through the powder to meet Bryn halfway. "Hii!" she chirps. "Whatcha' doin'?"

Warrick grunts getting to his feet, putting his hands in his pockets. "Bryn," he nods, eyeing the metal hand, as if checking the condition of it.

Bryn grins broadly, and tuskily, crouching down when Cynthia nears. "Eya, Cyn! Out shootin everythin?" Her metal hand/arm looks to be in great shape; spit and polished. No, she hasn't broken it yet (or someone hasn't complained about having to fix it). "Or jus out 'ere ta make 'im all cold 'n grumpy?" The thumb on the hand proves it works as it jabs towards Warrick.

work slowed at times."

Cynthia goes for a full on hug as Bryn crouches down (the teen is still growing after all, being nearly a foot and a half shorter than the oruch) and practically latches on with the short bow still in hand. "Yep! I'm a crack shot!"

Warrick doesn't say anything, but he does side eye the small field of wooden shafts jutting out of the ground. He chuckles to himself. "She was getting cabin fever staying inside the house the entire time. Told her she could hang out at the forge, she didn't want to do that, and wanted to shoot things, and well. It's good practice. It's not always going to be perfect conditions."

Cynthia dangles from Bryn's neck with her free arm looking defeated. "Why does it suuuuuck...!"

"Warming stones in the gloves, you're not putting your hands back on it after every shot and you keep trying to make snowballs."

"Shuut uuuuuup..."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Your hand looks good. Working well too."

Bryn gives Warrick a waggle of the metal one in agreement while she puts the other around Cynthia to help with the dangling. Especially since the oruch stands back up. She laughs at the exchange. "ye know, yer da's right." A pause and conspiratorial side-eye at Warrick. "Sometimes. Can' use't well with the gloves on, so yer fingers gonna get cold. N worn onna string. Gotta tough 'em up! Then won' be so bad. Tough hands'll make better snowballs, too, eh?"

Now she looks full on to Warrick with a half shrug and more moving of the hand. "Ye. 'S good work. So it works good. Good 'nough fer holdin blade, bow, 'n beer. Don' need't for too much else."

Cynthia squeals as she's lifted up off the ground, scrabbling a bit before she ends clinging off the back of Bryn. "Ooooh, this is a much better angle! I'mma shoot it!"

"With what? You left your quiver-... where were you keeping that?"

Cinny sticks her tongue out at him as she has an arrow pulled from somewhere, and works on getting her balance right in this odd piggy-back position. "Tough hands throw tough hands!" she decides, reinvigorated.

Warrick gives a long sigh and shrugs, looking back to Bryn. "Glad to hear they're working out well. Cap does good work." He tilts his head to the side, thinking. "You know, I had this one guy on my squad. Gnomish guy, Paloumu. And I have another friend, Schara. Both really good with artifice. Both missing some limbs. Holding stuff is good, but if you want to do something a bit more with it, you can do some rather fun things with a metal limb. Metal and wood takes magic enchantments." He rolls a hand, as if that's all the explanation that was needed.

Bryn has met a goblin or two, so is not unaccustomed to being a perch for others. Her flesh hand reaches up and back to try and help steady Cyn while the other points out at a(the?) target to help with that, too. "There ye go! ye got this! Tough hands!" She can be, well, inspirational, afterall. "Think mebbe I met a Schara, once? Idea o' magic'n this up ain' bad at all. So long's she don' yank it off me 'n smack me wit'it fer messin up her work." She can't help but laugh at her own joke, even if it might be deterimental to steady aim.

GAME: Warrick rolls 1d20: (3): 3

Cynthia gets steady with the help. "I see it! Winds are... wimdy! Distance is uh... sorta close! Tough hands!" she rallies nocking and pulling at the bow, fletching touching her cheek as it steadies over Bryn's shoulder. Aims. Sloooowly starts falling back. Compensates. Laughter. Faster. Compensate. Faster. Shot!

The arrow goes straight up into the air.

Warrick cranes his head up. Frowns. And sidesteps.

Cynthia falls over into the snow, peeling off Bryn. "Bleh."

"Schara isn't one to smack you with it, though she may overexplain your ears off on how it works," Warrick elaborate, smiling. "Though, Cap may do that if you fuss it up enough."

The arrow lands where was standing.

"What's the second rule, Cynthia?"

Murmbled from the snow below, "Don't shoot unless you're sure..."

"Correct. You're grounded until you do a shift at Grans."

"Bleh."

Bryn is more focused on Cynthia's loosing for the moment. The arrow, that is. Though then her loosing herself from Bryn follows. It's then that it's the oruch's turn to loose; a chuckle. "Ey, don'tcha worry none, Cyn. Gettin better takes work, but ye'll get it!" She offers one hand down to the sinking and/or sulking Cyn and waves the other at Warrick. "Ye, the second one. Don' mind explainin, but don' wanna angry khazad at me. Ain' no fun. 'N ain nothin wrong bout 'er work, neither. I'll make sure nobody mucks it up."

With no more shooting or riders, she eyes Warrick a moment, curious and evaluating. "What else ye been doin? Any more sky pirates 'r whatnot? Keepin warm?"

Cynthia grumbles as she takes the offered hand to pull herself up. She mutters a thanks, going out into the wooden flower field to collect all her missed shots. Warrick watches her go, then steps a little closer to Bryn so that he wouldn't be overheard. "She's getting better. Just hasn't done this in a minute, and the conditions are terrible. Though I can't look past basic rule violations. So. She's stuck at mom and dad's shop for the day."

He chuckles. "Honestly, Cap would be fine if it gets mucked up from blocking a hit or something worthy. Tools aren't meant to last forever. She just hates it when I overuse a tool. I go through a lot of helmets."

He catches her glance. A small shrug. "Nothing much, honestly. As much as I'd love to take down some sky pirates, there haven't been any. I do the occasional odd job of paid bodyguard here and there, since moving around the city in the snow can be dangerous if you're left out for too long. But nothing adventurous. Mostly staying home and staying warm. Little artifice heater does wonders."

He looks back to Cynthia in the field. She's opted to throwing arrows at the target now. Venting frustration. "And what's new with you? You're seemingly coming back with some new scar or what not."

Bryn gives a short laugh. "Scars're good fer yet. Proof of deed 'n that y'ain' dead." Cyn gets a glance, and a grin at her ingenuity and determination; if you can't shoot them, throw them. At least that's how Bryn takes it. "Eh, better helmets than yer head, eh? Not as hard, but easier ta knock the dents out." A bigger grin.

"Guess ye don' gotta worry bout gettin bored inside so much," a tilt of head at Cyn. "I gotta keep busy. Ain' used ta so much standin, round, ye know? Elsewise, just eatin, drinkin, tusslin, 'n ruttin ta make the time go by... not that those're bad."

It was Warrick's turn to give a short laugh. "Tell Carver that. I tell her to wear /something/ on her head but she doesn't listen. It'll bite her one day. But, fair. Scars are just evidence of what didn't kill you."

He shakes his head. "I don't. I've got books to read, things to tinker with, a house to tidy. And whatever shenanigans she wants to get up to fills up the rest of it."

The man gives a wan sort of smile. "I know that well. I was like that growing up. Then had Cinny and it made me realize I was being a bit too reckless." But he chuckles with a shrug. "But nothing wrong with all that. I sort of did my adventuring already. I guess I'm back in the saddle. Since I... really don't have much I can do if I don't. Least, that's what I think Serriel is hinting at me."

"'Xactly!" Bryn agrees with the 'didn't kill you' part wholeheartedly, and probably more, besides. "I'll tell her. I ain' so worried bout one. Gotta head like a rock." She even raises up the hand to rap metal knuckles on her side of her skull. Then she follows his talk of changing things, turning her head to look from the arrow-retriever and back to him.

"Heh. Ain't right the same, there. What I'm used to, I mean. Whole clan was always onna go: mas, das, grammas, kids, babes, alla us. Jus more folks ta watch 'n help go from one spot ta the next. Never stayed in one place more'n a couple nights, 'n those were at the tradin towns. Ta stock up on good ale, good food, go comp'ny."

Warrick laughs. "Good luck with that. Her skull is as thick as yours," he teases before looking out and tucking his hands in his pockets. "Honestly, if I grew up that way, I'd probably be the same way. Always looking and searching for something new. But I was born here. Grew up here. I know these streets from running them the same exact way that she is now-" he gestures at Cynthia, who's collected all the arrows and is currently climbing up the audience stands, "-just now I know what's good to learn and what's bad to learn. But I get it. I think Carver's the same- always moving. Don't think its for me. Cynthia though... she'd probably like that more. I think she's going stir crazy in more than just being stuck inside."

He quietly chuckles. "And, honestly, I probably wouldn't mind trying that for a few months. Change things up a little bit."

Bryn's perks up, posture and fuzzy brows alike. "Ha! Sounds great!" What does? She explains after giving him a hearty swat on the shoulder. "We can go out, run the wilds for a bit! Get yer legs stretched, let 'er run 'round a bunch. Been wantin ta see more o' things, too." She looks up. "Mebbe after the snow quits some. Meantime, mebbe ye can share more about what ta learn round 'ere?" A wry, tusky smirk. "Or what not to."

Warrick's a little lost in thought, the smack on the shoulder jostling him a half step. But he's quick to recover with a grin. "A woods trip honestly sound like a good idea. Deal. Once this all blows over we can go to the woods to the north. There's a good hunting lodge up there. And, if you're lucky, might run into Mictlan."

He gives a side eye, but chuckles. "I can show you the good spots around here. Lot of places you can just walk right into and have something to do."

"In fact-" Warrick whistles sharply and loud, cutting the distance to Cynthia. Who's currently half clambered up the back of the bleachers. She pauses, "-Cinny! Noodles!"

The teen all but nearly falls down the bleachers, scrabbling down and jogging up to them. "Letsgoooooo-"

"You're still grounded. I'm legally obliged to feed you."

"-ooooooohhh man." She falls into the ground.

Warrick leans down, and scoops her up, throwing her over a shoulder with a grunt. She flails. Ignoring her, he turns to Bryn. "Noodle stall down from my house is good on a cold day. After that, the Colosseum has been holding some sports matches, might be up your alley. Can show you."

"Food!" Bryn sounds just as excited as Cynthia, though she doesn't have to run down bleachers. And she isn't thrown over Warrick's shoulder. Then it gets even better. "Wrasslin!" she woots. "Ye, le's go!" The nice thing about simple pleasures in life is that its simple to be pleased.

-End Scene-