Practise yard

[there_is_a_me]

Spoon is almost impossibly glad that Blink was able to bring him back those crutches. Lack of mobility is SO not his thing. Granted, he still can't put enough weight on the twisted ankle to really suit his tastes, but he'll adapt, dammit

Comments

[notanoptimist]

"Hey... should you be doing that?"

Dropping his armload of concrete (and it's a small armload, admittedly) Sokka walks over near Spoon, frowning a little in concern. You've got cruches man - and a busted ankle.

"Do the doctors even know you're out here?"

[there_is_a_me]

Spoon looks up. "Lily fixed the bones," he says, "but I won't bother her for healing the wrenched bit unless it's dire need. If I don't get out here and do summat I'll go mad, or start usin' the ceiling for target practise." Which some might consider the same thing. "They sent me out of the infirmary last night anyway, so they ought to know I'd do something like this."

Which probably means 'no'.

[notanoptimist]

Probably. But Sokka's not overly inclined to care so long as the man isn't hurting himself. He even looks a little amused as he smiles and steps a little closer to peer at the target. "They let you have a bow in the infirmary? Or-- well, what would you throw at the ceiling?"

[there_is_a_me]

"Nah, they put the bow back in my room," Spoon says. "But they didn't take away my whetstone, so I sharpened my knives. And my fork. And my spoons, 'cos I had a lot of those. And then I took one of the knives and sharpened a couple of chopsticks. Did you know you can get a spoon to stick in the wall if you sharpen the bowl end of it enough?"

[legal_loyalist]

"I would caution you against straining yourself, except that I doubt it would make little different."

I'm shaking only a little from my daily dose of hell as I step from the building, but it should soon pass. I wish that the fatigue which is getting progressively worse might do the same, but I am coming to doubt it. Thus do I settle against the wall.

[there_is_a_me]

"Nowt to strain," Spoon says, "'cos all I'm doin', see, is archery practise. I left the punching bag alone until I've made up for the blood loss."

He hobbles away from the target to the firing line, where he left his bow and arrows. "Besides," he says, "you're right. Won't make much difference. Before the fighting I was training with Iroh five hours a day, and shooting for a sixth, before I'd go out on patrol. Can't really work with Iroh just yet, but I can do this."

He slides right down his crutch, the bad leg going out behind him smoothly, and scoops up his bow. A moment later he's nocked an arrow and has it at full draw. Several long moments of silence pass; then- thoq!- there's a green-vaned arrow sunk in the heart of the Magog-shaped target.

"Worked for the Chinese, shooting from the kneel," he says with some satisfaction. "How've you been, anyways?"

[legal_loyalist]

"Hungry and ill and somewhat preoccupied," I answer truthfully. "Yourself? From what I understand, you were one of those who bounded boldly into the fray at the enemy stronghold."

[there_is_a_me]

Spoon nods. "I was, yeah. Lily healed the arrow through my shoulder and un-broke the bones in my ankle, but she ran out of steam when it came to the twist," he says. He picks out another arrow. "One of the Magog tried to twist my foot off when I kicked it on the way out. Bastard."

Blink. Blink.

"Ill? Didn't think you could get ill, in your state."