... maybe it would have been better if she hadn't have felt all the while as though a hole was being burned in her back
( it was a bit lower, dear...
After having been un-sticky-fied and unceremoniously hauled to his feet, Dirk stifled a snicker as Leoba attempted to string the bow for him. He didn't think it would be a good idea to either laugh at her, or to attempt any sort of humor in the stringing of the bow. Therefore, he solemnly wedged one end of the bow into a "v" created between the junction of two of the paving stones on the patio and bent the bow effortlessly, slipping it's string into place without a word.
He was led by the hand to the line by Leoba and took his stance, then mockingly reached over his shoulder to where his quiver of 10 black-fletched arrows once hung.
"Oh my, it seems I have no arrows. I suppose I shall have to forfeit," he shrugged.
His attempt to wheel about and make a hasty retreat to his plate and mug was foiled by no less than three proffered darts: Scribbles', Leoba's, and Canamarth's. Wisely, he chose the white-fletched arrow of Leoba and re-took his stance at the line.
Dirk nocked the arrow and then screwed up his face in clown-like fashion, feigning deep concentration with his eyes squinted and his tongue poking out and up as he aimed down-range.
Then, with a quick and deliberate movement, raised the bow so that he aimed directly at the sun and released the arrow with a flourish of his hand. He watched it fly for a moment, until the dart was lost in the sun's glare.
"Damn the luck," he said overly-emotionally, "The sun got in my eyes. Eliminated already," he turned away from the line, "and I was so looking forward to matching you, Mistress Archer, shot-for-shot."
He only took one step before he stopped dead in his tracks by the sound of an arrow striking a target. Apparently, his missile had arced like a great rainbow and fallen into the target and a nearly vertical angle. Just then, rwhen arrived and handed Dirk a fresh flagon of stout ale, from which he quaffed deeply before turning around to see where his shot had ended up.
"Nice shot," said Leoba with a sing-song, mocking tone, "seems you'll have to wait for the results and perhaps participate in the contest further."
OOC: 7, if you please.
By the way, nice pics, Canamarth! I like your haircut. I hope you won't be too offended if I use the Santa Nazgûl pic in my sig on Christmas.