#mounted-green-chef

wildflower-becca:

Strolling into the archery range, Rebecca smiled as she remembered the days when she would sneak into her town’s shooting grounds to practice. Her first experience with a bow was a rather embarrassing one - she had managed to hit the target…though it was the haystack beside the one she was aiming for. With skills like that, it was no small miracle that she had made it back safely from Lord Eliwood’s journey to the Dread Isle, and she smiled brightly as she allowed herself to reminisce a bit about the journey. Under the tutelage of the other archers in their company, as well as the repeated stress of life-and-death situations, she had come to realize that her bow had become her best friend and simply…felt uncomfortable without it around.

Slipping her shooting glove onto her right hand, she picked up her bow with her left, grasping it firmly and giving the bowstring a quick tug. Nodding in satisfaction, she nodded her thanks to a departing archer, taking the newly vacated lane. In one smooth motion, she withdrew an arrow from her quiver, and set it on her bowstring, her arm steadily pulling back. She paused, noting the direction and strength of the wind and adjusting her aim accordingly, then released the arrow.

Not a bad shot, she thought to herself. I guess I still have a long way to go before I could match Lady Louise, though. It was no secret that she had idolized the older sniper, and while they had become fast friends during the journey, Rebecca couldn’t help but always notice the difference between the two of them. How she wished she could mimic Louise’s elegance. As a lady, Louise was pleasant and well-mannered; as a sniper, her elegance was of a more deadly nature. In terms of skill in archery, she might manage to compete with the blonde sniper…but in terms of grace and elegance, she had a long way to go.

A voice shook her out of her thoughts, and she turned around. Lowen? she thought to herself, but as she met the green-haired stranger’s gaze, she smiled softly. She had never seen Lowen’s eyes, not even once. The resemblance went further than the green hair, though. Unlike herself and many of the other archers at the range, he was dressed in typical Cavalier gear, but the bow and quiver clearly signified that he was an archer of some skill.

Smiling, she gave a small bow before she replied. ”I’m doing well, thank you for asking! I…assume you’re here to practice, as well?”

[OOC: I hope that you don’t mind that I used this as a bit of a intro post, as well! Thank you for messaging (:]

Seating arrangements, she thought to herself, glancing over the large room. How in the world am I supposed to find my seat?

Her eyes scanned over the room, noting empty seats. She moved quickly and lightly, hoping to get seated as soon as possible. After flitting around for a moment or two, she saw a familiar face. Marcia shuffled over, noting the other attendant at the table. He looked familiar too, but she wasn't sure. 

At the table, she looked at open seat, picking up the paper with her name on it. She grinned, and plopped into the seat, sighing a little at the comfort it offered her after a few days of hard riding and flying.

Again, she looked at the other people at the table, and smiled with surprise at the man squinting.

Marcia let out a huff, ducking in and out of the stalls, pinching her nose from the occasional odors. "I'm hurryin', ya little clamhead!" she called from the other end of the building, a bag slung over one shoulder, spear resting on the other. "Jeez, can't y'at least pretend to have some manners? This is your job, isn't it?" Before he could snap a reply, she stopped in front of a stall midway down the stable, pulling its door closed. "No peeking!"

The boy let out a snort, leading her Pegasus to a closer stall.  "Don't flatter yerself, you old hag! I'd rather--"

"Call me an old hag again and see if I don't smarten you up!" 

"All right, all right. You'd kill a kid fer havin'a little fun, wouldn't ya?"

Marcia started to reply, but stopped. "I don't have the time to be conversing with the stable boy," she muttered, leaning against the side of her stall, her armor and bag at her feet and the spear propped in the corner.

She bent to pick up her bag, spilling some of its contents onto a small pile of hay. Her coin purse plopped onto the hay, followed by some sort of dark red fabric and a few trinkets. She was thankful to have traveled light, although she had rushed to get to the foreign palace on time. She was still late, and wasn't sure how many people she knew that would be attending, and she was nervous. She shook her head, distilling the distracting thoughts. She would not embarrass herself, and if it was obvious that she was out of her element, then sucks to it all. Marcia was going to enjoy herself.

She threw her traveling clothes to the floor, kicking them into a pile and donning the maroon gown. A small necklace fell from one of the folds, and she ducked to retrieve it, smiling as her fingers clasped around its cool metal. It was a plain silver chain and the pendant was jade green, with a small design in silver surrounding the rock. She fastened it around her neck, and noted her tangled, windblown hair. "Crackers," she breathed out, turning to pick up the bag, her knees still bent. She stood up, and felt around, feeling for a small comb she'd packed. She grasped it, quickly brushing through the bits of dust and leaves her hair had acquired during the journey.

A few minutes later, she stood up fully, looking down at her dress, turning around and around, making sure it fit right. It fit nicely, hugging her hips, and then flowing out to the ground. The bodice was V-hemmed, with a shoulder-width scoop. The fabric gathered at the hips, drawing the eye to the reddish brown underskirt of the dress. The bodice showed off her collarbone, and the necklace centered perfectly, resting on the middle of the shown skin.

She'd put on slippers; maroon, the same shade as the outer layer of her dress. There were small designs in silver, barely visible. The dress was long enough to cover her feet, dragging along the ground. She paused a moment more, and hoisted the gown up a little, lifting it above the hay. Marcia decided she looked well enough, released the cloth, ducked to pick up her bag again, scooping her travel clothes and other belongings into it. She straightened herself, and called to the stable boy.

"Is it alright if I leave my stuff here for now? I can pay you, if I need!"

He came to her stall, looking at the bag. " 'small enough I could put it in a storage stall, yeah. The spear, too. How long is it gonna stay here?"

"I suppose until the ball's over." "Ah. Alright, jus' leave it there and I'll take care of it."

She reached down again, and pulled her coin purse from the bag, opening it and removing some coins. "Will this be enough?" she asked, dropping the money into his hands.

"Yes'm. This'll do just fine."

A small smile played across her lips, and she tucked the coin purse back into her sack. "If I find any of it missing, I'll know to come after you." "Oi, whaddaya take me for, a thief?" A bell rang, interrupting her retort. She hitched the skirts up, shrugging. "Y'never know, yanno? Anyhow, I'll be back for my stuff later." With that, she was rushing through the stable, her hand brushing against her Pegasus before she entered the night, the smell of cooking food and burning fires washing over her.

The red-haired knight narrowed his eyes as the forest's dense foliage gave way to a burst of sunlight for just a moment before fading once again into comfortable shadow. The sun was already getting quite strong considering that there were still some hours left before noon. 

Between the crunching of leaves beneath his horse's hooves and the ambient forest sounds, the mood of the external world contrasted wildly with Kieran's growing affront. This mission had been grating on his nerves since he first heard of the situation. They could not reach the bandits' base sooner! Of all the vile acts--

"I can't believe this! What despicable villains would steal someone's sheep! Of all the nerve! Why, a farmer's sheep are to him as my horse is to me! His brothers-in-arms, who feed and clothe him! Anyone who dishonors this sacred bond has no soul! Miscreants, the lot of them! Scoundrels!"