north by north lest we have to settle down

[boughtabookstore]

Date & Time: March 25th through April 1st.
Location: Bars, training room, police headquarters, assorted other locations of your choosing.
Characters: Roslyn Small (boughtabookstore) and YOU (aka OPEN)
Summary: Roslyn is out and doing, well, about the usual. But running into people at the same time. Whatever format you want, if one of the given options doesn't work for you feel free to come up with one that does.
Warnings: Most likely not any, will change if that changes.

one. bar hopping.

[ She's actually in bars a great deal less these days - more commitments, both to her job and to her friends (and isn't that a change from a year ago), but she's always found that people in bars can be excellent sources of information and she still does enjoy alcohol, though her drinking right now is a great deal more in moderation.

It's still fairly easy to find her in one of her favorite bars at night, talking to the natives or to friends or simply sitting in a corner by herself and watching. ]

two. respectable citizen (??).

[ During the weekdays during normal work hours most of her time is spent either at the station working on paperwork or out on the streets looking for things that will then give her more paperwork to do. She never was a beat cop of any sort, and though strictly speaking that isn't her designation she can't take inactivity while working enough to let her stay stationary. It's interesting. When she was an agent they never stayed long in one place on a case. Certainly not long enough to gain contacts or really get to know a place.

She has to say she likes it. It's good to have a purpose again, and it's interesting to be - for lack of a better word - engaged in the place she now lives in. ]

three. also about those missions.

[ She goes to the mandatory training sessions, but as well as that she tends to also show up at the training hall early in the mornings before work to put in a workout routine, make sure she's staying fit and prepared for anything. On the weekends she comes in for a slightly longer time, works on her target shooting and sometimes looks for someone to do hand to hand with.

The missions are unpredictable and frequently dangerous, and she'd like to ensure that she's always ready. ]

Comments

[latkje]

[ It'd be hypocritical of Nash to whine about people who interrupt . ]

Maybe not an instinct. [ He doesn't want throwing pointy things to be an instinct, he decides. ] But you can't overthink it. You have to be faster than that.

[ He lets the knife go, sailing into the target, sticking. He shrugs. ]

My wife says I'm pretty good at overthinking.

[boughtabookstore]

[ When you practice at it long enough, it becomes an instinct whether you like it or not, she's pretty sure. ]

I've never done knife throwing. I presume there's a trick to making sure the blade sticks?

[ Watching the progress of his knife with interest. ] You talk about her a lot.

[latkje]

I know. [ He smiles. There are reasons, of course— he can say a lot of things through his wife, without really saying them. It was a blank space in the conversation, better than talking about the weather, because the missus could say all kinds of things, not just comment on the number of clouds in the sky. And he knew it would annoy her, if she knew he used her like this. So that was a bonus.

But there was also something to their ritual of insults, something comforting to repeat. He hadn't seen her for months, now, which he didn't want to think about. Having her say things out loud, even through his voice— it helped him not think about it.

After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And we can't have that. ]

The trick is throwing it hard enough. [ There was a form, too. But it was force that got the blades to take. ]

[boughtabookstore]

[ But he smiles with it - that speaks less to the missing that she was thinking and more to - what she isn't certain. Reading people's motives and understandings has never been a strong point of hers. That was for the others on her team.

Still, it was interesting. Worth of note, she thinks. ]

Would you be willing to teach me?

[latkje]

Kids these days! [ He throws up his arms, in mock confusion. ] Does no one take knife-throwing in school anymore? [ He's joking, but he did learn very young, and from harsh teachers. ]

I can teach if you can learn.

[boughtabookstore]

In my time, there's not even a question of whether they should. [ Discrepancies behind worlds are something she's had to become very used to, but they interest her. ]

I'm an excellent student.

[latkje]

If your world has sharper things that cut, I'm not sure why they would. [ The differences interest him too— he remembers her implication that gunpowder was common, where she came from. Which spooked him. ]

But it seems, in any world, it's hard for me to say no to a lady.

[boughtabookstore]

Well, we have guns. But we don't generally teach those in school either.

[ But ha, success. She's always interested in learning something new. ]

Does now work, or would you rather I wait?

[latkje]

[ Nash shudders involuntarily. It's unlike him, to be something other than deliberate. ]

It's fine. [ He shakes his head. ] There's not much of it to learn.

[ But he has to go and pick up the knives he's already thrown. When he removes them, he does it carefully— not because he's worried about hurting himself, but he wants to see how well they stuck. ]

[boughtabookstore]

[ Well huh. That's definitely interesting, though she's not sure what prompted the reaction from him. Guns seems to be the only real possibility. ]

Then we'll do now. [ She walks after him, hands behind her back as she leans forward to watch him examine them. ] How did you do?

[latkje]

I'm rusty. [ He raises both of his eyebrows, yanking the last knife out. ]

Okay. [ Nash palms most of the knives, they disappear into one of his pockets, up one of his sleeves. But he keeps one in his hand. ] This is how you hold it. [ And he demonstrates, holding it loosely, like a hammer, but with his forefinger straight against the top edge. Then he hands it back Roslyn. ]

You try.

[ Hopefully this wasn't all an elaborate ploy of hers to get into stabbing position. ]

[boughtabookstore]

[ That's really paranoid, Nash, she's never shown any inclination to stab you. Goodness.

And she shows none now too, taking the knife and turning it over in her hand a few times to get a feel for it before she mimics his grip, a little less natural but a fairly accurate replication. ]

Like so?

[latkje]

[ He's paid to be paranoid, alright? But look, he trusted you, Ros. He did give you the knife. ]

Pretty good. You don't want to hold it too tight. After all, the whole point is letting go.

[boughtabookstore]

[ That doesn't sound like a very pleasant job description. But yes, he did trust her, it's pretty great. She nods thoughtfully and rolls her hand to loosen it up, lets her fingers slide a little more. ]

All right.

[latkje]

[ He has to walk back to the throwing line. ] Come here and I'll show you how to throw it.

[ One of the knives he palmed earlier appears in his hands. It's clear that he's standing deliberately, as an example, his weight even between his two feet. ]

[boughtabookstore]

[ She follows him back, notes the stance and adjusts herself accordingly, rocking back and forth for a moment to make sure her balance is adjusted. ]

Ready.

[latkje]

Alright. You have to hold it above your head.

[ He demonstrates, undulating his arm, moving his wrists. It looks a bit goofy. ]

Most of the throw is in the wrist, not the rest of your arm.

[ He snaps, and throws the knife— it doesn't look so goofy anymore. It's a no-spin throw, the most practical if you actually plan on hurting something. ]

[boughtabookstore]

[ She imitates his stance as closely as possible, waiting to watch how he throws it before she tries anything. ]

The wrist, okay.

[ She tests the balance again and then attempts to imitate his throw, feeling for the moment she can tell her wrist is in it. ]

Hm. Okay.

[latkje]

You can compensate with your arm, either way, but the wrist is where your power should come from.

[ He shrugs again. ]

It gets easier with practice.

[boughtabookstore]

Somewhat like throwing a frisbee, perhaps. [ A thoughtful noise. Hmm. ] May I try again?

[latkje]

I don't know what that is, you know. [ He suspects she does. But he produces another knife from up his sleeve or something, and hands it to her. ]

[boughtabookstore]

I thought you might not. What it is isn't important, simply that the principle seems the same.

[ She takes the knife carefully and shifts her stance back and forth to be certain before flinging it with a snap of her wrist. Better, but not satisfactory enough. She'll have to practice. ] How long have you been doing this?

[latkje]

Twenty, twenty-five years. Give or take. [ He raises his hands in anticipation. ] I know, I know. I'm older than I look.

[boughtabookstore]

[ Eyebrows definitely straight up. ]

You certainly don't. Good genes?

[latkje]

Ha hah hah. [ That was more of a reaction than he was expecting. ] Something like that. [ Though his parents never got to grow old. ]

It's embarrassing, but back home I always washed my face with a special soap.