Emmett Frye (fryebaby) wrote in angellogs, @ 2018-03-25 17:42:00 |
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Current mood: | annoyed |
Current music: | american idiot obc-jesus of suburbia |
Entry tags: | emmett frye, sherrinford holmes |
Who: Emmett Frye and Sherrinford Holmes (Other Assassins/Friends of Assassins who'd be hanging out can pop in if they like?)
When: Current
Where: Assassin HQ, Armory.
What: This weekly cleaning the armory punishment is getting old, but Em's persisting. And a Sherr's around!
Rating/Warnings: Nothing yet. Will update.
Status: Open.
Emmett was kind of starting to regret the whole stealing Desmond's Hidden Blade thing, if only because it was costing him his Sundays. Saturdays were usually matches, and even though the whole minor concussion a couple weeks ago thing meant he hadn't gotten any play and wouldn't for another week or so, he was practicing again, in limited amounts and going to cheer on his mates, and, what with that, trying to figure out some online classes so he didn't need to start a school this late in the term, trying to determine what school might TAKE him next year (he didn't want to board, and he was firmly sticking to that, even though he suspected Jacob would be glad to be rid of him, thanks.) and other odds and ends, his life was getting to be fairly scheduled.
It made having something else to do, the fact that the adults were actually carrying through with his punishment, kind of a pain, although he'd admit that the weapons themselves, especially the newer ones, were kind of fascinating. He paused now, in the middle of polishing a particularly nice kukri to take it down and strike at a training dummy that was probably more intended for displaying bits of armor and other gear.
The motion felt GOOD, and he was maybe a bit carried away, forgetting that he was supposed to be doing a job here. He'd THOUGHT he was alone when he'd come in to start the cleaning at least, then gotten distracted. Which was why a forgotten rag he'd used for polishing was on the floor, near a sharpening stone. Meanwhile, he was fighting off, or trying to fight off his 'opponent', then, taking a step that was too wide, landing on his arse hard enough that it HURT, and sent the dummy and a couple other weapons crashing down with a clang next to him.
"What the bloody FUCK?" He loudly asked no one in particular, glad that he,was, seemingly, alone.
At least that's what he THOUGHT was going on here....