(no subject)

[the_huntsman]

The Huntsman is completely oblivious to the slight furore that may or may not be indirectly his fault.

He's been lurking in the forest ever since the Orpheus Incident (and yes, it deserves that capitalisation), refusing to even enter the room Bar had provided him with. He was tempted to throw the key into the lake, but he's not sure exactly what the punishment might be - or whether it would prevent Bar from just producing another key, and giving it to him again. He hasn't even dared wash in the lake, worried there might be a repeat of the previous attempt, where he had been stared at by Orpheus, amongst others.

So it's a slightly grubby, decidedly distracted, and definitely grumpy Huntsman making use of the practice space behind the main building. He's tossing hatchets at a target, overarm, trying to lose himself in the easy rhythm of throw-*thud*-retrieve. Throw-*thud*-retrieve.

Bother, if you dare.

[ooc: Tiny!tag: The Huntsman.

links lead to: Teja and Orpheus having Words. Orpheus' anger bleeding over all and sundry in the clearing; Steve Rogers defending Orpheus upon meeting Teja; Orpheus and the Huntsman drinking and doing adulty things.]

Comments

[mute_clay]

Clay's been walking in the forest, looking for berries. He's been successful and is thus in a good mood. Raspberries will do that to you.

He sees the man and stops at the edge, munching on another small handful of berries.

Funny way to use an axe.

[the_huntsman]

Good for bringing down a deer. Is what the Huntsman would say, if asked.

For now, he's ignoring the fact he has an audience. Both hatchets buried deep in the centre of the target, one beside the other, he trudges over to it, levering them out of the splintered wood and walking back to his starting position.

[mute_clay]

Clay has settled down on suitable tree stump and is for the moment busy sucking the pips from his teeth.

He is mussed and scruffy and could look like he too has spent the night in the outdoors.

He's wondered what this place was for. Back home, Callie'd just set up a bunch of cans and shoot at those.

[the_huntsman]

The Huntsman glances over at the stranger, frown growing deeper as he realises that he's not moving on.

"Can I help you?" He asks, gruffly.

[mute_clay]

Clay looks up at the question and then shakes his head.

He points to his left knee. Even through the fabric of his jeans it looks gnarled and twisted.

He's taking a break because his knee is acting up.

He fishes out a crumbled pack of cigarettes and offers it to the other man after shaking one out for himself.

Cigarette?

[the_huntsman]

He looks at the small packet the man is holding out. White sticks. He shakes his head, frowning as he watches the stranger put the white stick between his lips.

"Cat got your tongue?" He grouses, arching an eyebrow.

[mute_clay]

Clay shakes his head calmly and taps his throat, shaking his head.

Nope. Can't talk.

Then he lights up the cigarette and takes a drag. It doesn't bother him when people ask.

[the_huntsman]

Light dawns, and the Huntsman nods. He doesn't apologise for the grumpy comment - he's not sorry, why would he?

He watches, bemused, as the man sets fire to the end of the white stick, and breathes in the smoke. No, he hasn't seen this before. And it makes precisely no sense to him.

[mute_clay]

Clay offers him some raspberries instead. He's carried them in a handkerchief. A clean one.

Then he points to the man, the hatchets, and the targets, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

What are you doing?

[the_huntsman]

Stepping closer, the Huntsman takes one, nodding his thanks as he tosses it into his mouth, chewing slowly. It's not raspberry season, back home, and so it's been a long time since he tried them.

"Practicing," he explains, picking up the stranger's meaning. "I'm a hunter." He hefts the hatchet in his hand, flinging it at the target, a satisfied nod as it hits the bullseye, just a smidge off centre.

[mute_clay]

Clay nods. That makes more sense then. Even if it seems like an odd choice of weapon for a hunter to him.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows a smoke-ring.

[the_huntsman]

Swords are no good at any range, and bow and arrow useless up close. The Huntsman finds that axes combine the best of both. He follows the first hatchet with another, grimacing as it hits off the mark.

"What is that?" He asks, nodding towards the white stick in the man's hand.

[mute_clay]

This?

Clay looks at the cigarette and then back at the man.

It's a cigarette. He illustrates that by taking another drag and then offering it to the Huntsman.

You smoke it.

Explaining obvious things is a bit difficult.

[ostro_goth]

"There's more hatchets in the forge," Teja says, coming up from the side, when he is still at a distance, speaking when the Huntsman is not throwing, as not to startle him off his aim. "Use any weapons of my stockpile that you wish, for training, so you can throw several at one time."

[the_huntsman]

The Huntsman glances over, nodding. "Thanks," he murmurs gruffly. He hasn't worked at the forge since that hungover morning, and as such, hasn't seen Teja, either.

"Did the cat find her way back?" He asks. He'd borrowed Myrrh for the day, but she'd gotten bored of the attention eventually and wandered off.

[ostro_goth]

"They always do," Teja says. "My cats wander far at times, but ever know where their home is: - in the forge!"

Pause.

"How are you faring?"

[the_huntsman]

He shrugs, and flings one of the hatchets at the target, gouging another mark in the bullseye.

"Well enough," he answers, though he avoids looking at Teja. He looks tired - he's not slept well, and the desires which Orpheus stirred in him will not settle. Sober, he finds himself ill-at-ease with those feelings, and so he ignores them. There is a large flagon of ale sitting beside his belongings which speaks to exactly how he's going about ignoring them.

[ostro_goth]

Teja picks up another hatchet, and embeds it right in the middle of another target.

"Are you free to help me with some forge-work, later?"

[the_huntsman]

Eric makes an impressed face, watching Teja.

"Aye," he says, nodding. He has nothing else to keep him busy, after all.

[ostro_goth]

Teja picks up three more hatchets, and quickly throws them at the target.

With the third impact, the target falls over, as the hatchets are too heavy, and bring too much momentum.

"Were that a Byzantine mercenary," he says, "he would be more than dead thrice over. Axes, swung or thrown, are truly fearsome weapons, but take much skill in wielding."

Pause.

"Which you have."

[the_huntsman]

The Huntsman manages a bit of a smug grin, at that.

"Practice helps," he points out. But he flips the hatchet lazily in his hand, end over end, before spinning and flinging it at the next target over, where it sticks deep into the wood, the handle vibrating.

[ostro_goth]

"It does," Teja says. "That Byzantine mercenary would be quite dead, also."

[the_huntsman]

"I don't see me running into many of them." He doesn't know what Byzantine is, but he doesn't think it describes any man from his world.

[ostro_goth]

"Mercenaries from other places, then," Teja says. "Or maybe just angry boars."

Who are dangerous as well, and need to be dead times, also.

[the_huntsman]

Eric nods. "Those I have run into." On both counts. And individuals of both have met their end at the hands of the Huntsman's axe.