Behind the Dorms, Tuesday After classes

[bitchprince]

"Today," Arthur said, scraping his throat with all the repressed joy any British royal with a stick up their ass could manage upon being reunited with their army, "We will be returning to a very basic element of our strategy. Which is being able to anticipate on what your fellow soldier will do. To that effect, we are going to guide you through a few very simple hand-to-hand drills, to be executed by you all as a group. Please take a good look to your left and right to see who is closest, so you can keep an eye on their step."

Zack nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the group.

"Basically, we're telling you where to go and how to get there, and it's up to you guys to keep in time with the rest and make this work." A pause. "And if you don't, I guess we'll have to poke at you until your form improves."

"Or smack you 'round the ears with a beach umbrella," Arthur added, letting a bit more glee shine through. "Anyway, you should all know how it goes-- so please follow Zack and I as we demonstrate both a basic attack and a basic defensive drill. Mind your footwork."

[[ wait for the ocd up! and open! ]]

the roof - tuesday evening - 10/6

[new-to-liirness.livejournal.com]

Usually, Liir made a point of doing this sort of thing in private.

For one, he wasn't much for spreading around how he felt or making others tolerate him when he was in a less than cheerful mood. For another, Makejoy was usually a rather good cure for any unpleasant emotions; it was nearly impossible to feel melancholy for any length of time when you were constantly being pounced to the bed and licked all about the face. Lastly, there was the sky, which was one of the few places where he could really be alone unless someone else happened to be flying.

Today, however, he was on the roof. And, to be utterly frank, he was doing something that looked very much like moping even if he'd insist he wasn't. After all, hadn't he done this already? He'd done it twice, in fact, which was more mourning than Elphaba Thropp really needed, if you asked Liir.

That didn't mean that he wasn't on the roof, fingers ticking through the brush and flowers of his broom, staring out at nothing at all. It just meant that he'd probably blush furiously when and if he was interrupted in doing so.

[open to the sky and to pinging!]