Target Practice [OPEN]

[someonetocarry]

Who: Zoe and OPEN
What: Shooting stationary objects and doing chores
When: Flammedi, 21th of Rosefrucht
Where: Outside the Gazelle and Child and in the nearer environs to it
Rating: PG probably for mild space-western swearing

First on the list of things to do that morning: target practice. Zoe settled herself in at the shooting range beside the Gazelle and Chine, the side meant more for gunners than for rangers, and took aim again and again at the targets there. She needed to keep her hand in, when she wasn't going out targeting living things, and she hadn't enough rank-- or money-- for a horse of her own to go out with, so the moving target range wasn't available.

Plus, she kept trying to get the gun to change shape, like she'd been told it would do, but it so far stubbornly remained a shotgun. She favored shotguns, fair enough, but she sure did wish she could get a shape change in practice rather than out in the field some day when it would take her by surprise.

Then came an early lunch and walking out some of the horses that the more higher-ranked archers had taken out for the morning, and taking them back in to groom. At least that was an easy enough chore; she'd rather have that than mucking out their stables, which she did yesterday. Besides, that let her lead the horses around the nearby streets, and see who might be out and about. After a few weeks here without many friends, she was starting to open up at least a little and greet people.

Just a little, though.

Comments

[someonetocarry]

It was hard, keeping your eye out for those oddly short people. This one was even smaller than Kili, and Zoe took a step back, using her back to block the horse's path so he didn't do any of that stepping Sam was worried about.

At least the short guy was polite. Zoe offered a little smile, back. "No problem. Shoulda been payin' better attention where I was goin', anyway. You all right?" She was pretty sure no stepping on had taken place, but it was always safer to ask than to assume.

[uluithiad]

People outside of the Shire at home were often unprepared to accommodate to people three feet tall, and this sort of consideration seemed to be even rarer in Goldvale. It was hardly a place suited to Hobbits. Taking a seat on a chair seemed a great ordeal, and navigation was a tough ordeal.

He stayed in place, shifting the basin's weight in his hands, as the woman spoke. She seemed friendly, and unfazed by his appearance. He thought, for a second, it might be possible that she'd seen his kind before.

"Aye." Sam replied, "Unhurt an' all. Hope I've not caused no inconvenience."

[someonetocarry]

His kind? Not exactly. Something like? Definitely. Mostly, though, she was good at keeping her expression neutral. "No harm done on this end, neither," she assured him, "and sometimes inconvenience ain't so bad."

She shoved the horse's nose back with one hand, when it tried to nibble on one flyaway curl, and offered, "Name's Zoe Washburne. Set up with the Archers guild, down that road."

[uluithiad]

"Sam Gamgee," He introduces himself, calmly, and ducks his head, "quite at your service, Miss."

Or he was as at-her-service as he could be. He wasn't very sure what a Hobbit of his stature could offer, and to Sam, Zoe looks more then capable of taking care of herself. He nods curtly at her words, but they don't make him feel all that much better about stopping her. "All the same."

He looks down the road as he's pointed, and quickly back to the woman. Truth be told, he hadn't much looked into the guilds themselves; he'd looked for one based on herbology, or perhaps on cooking. Failing that, he gravitated towards the most completely furnished swordplay guild and avoided the other options. "With the lancers, meself. Nothin' I'm naturally inclined to, so I've picked out what I might trust myself learnin', if you'll follow." He guesses this woman isn't native to Goldvale; she doesn't seem like any of the residents he's spoken to yet, in voice or bearing. He isn't sure if this is cause for reassurance or suspicion quite yet.

[someonetocarry]

Not native, at all, though she might pass if there were more folks of her color here. She's entirely sure he's not a native, though, either way. Too small. Talks funny-- in a way that some backmoon folk do, though with a rather friendlier tone. Idly stroking the horse's nose to keep it distracted from her hair, she nods.

"Considered that myself, but I'm jest better with a gun than I am with a blade. 'Sides, I ain't had the best of experiences with lawmen." Her lips quirk up a bit at that, because really-- the lawmen back where she's from are generally the worst to have to deal with, in her opinion. "Figured gettin' myself involved with 'em was jest askin' for trouble."