He shot an arrow into the air, and where it fell... Who: James Bond and Tonks When: Thursday morning Where: Archery range, on the Hotel grounds What: Just keeping his bow strung Rating/Status: tba/Incomplete
The morning sun gleamed wickedly upon the strung bow as he bent it back, and upon the hair of the blond that wielded it. He was dressed informally in comfortable khaki linen shorts, loose-fitting pale mint shirt, unbuttoned and open to the waist, revealing the chiseled abs, pale complected, the fine physique. Effortlessly, he pulled the arrow back then let it fly, straight and true, dead into the center of the target which was 100 yards (91m) away, the standard distance for Imperial rounds.
James smiled to himself at the sight, but then he had expected no less. He had already been to the pistol range this morning, early, and had decided that a bout of archery would not go amiss. The grounds had been thoroughly explored, and he had discovered what many before him had, that they ended abruptly in an insurmountable blackwall of seemingly infinite proportion, similar to that found in certain online games when the ping was exceedingly high. Unlike the games, this wall never seemed to waver or to recede. He wondered if it would be possible to tunnel beneath, but somehow he suspected not. It as if the Hotel were an anomaly of sorts, one that could not be breached by standard means.
A gentle breeze ruffled his fine blond hair as he reached for another arrow, nocking it easily as he raised the bow once more, sighting his target, and letting the arrow fly. Dead center again. Good. One never knew when such skills would stand him in good stead. Especially when one lived the rather turbulent life such as James did.
He paused in the act of reaching for another arrow, his attention having been caught by a sound behind him, and without thinking twice, he whirled in that direction, weapon aimed, for he had learned to always assume the worst unless evidence to the contrary was presented.