fh_trips | Kellerman's Resort, Tuesday Morning and Afternoon, October 13th

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fall break 2009: kellerman's

Kellerman's Resort, Tuesday Morning and Afternoon, October 13th

The weather at Kellerman's continued to be favourable, as the autumn sun shone down on the fields and streams of the area. The staff of the resort were busy but happy to help, bustling through the corridors and courtyard.

The boards outside were advertising a white water rafting trip today, for anyone willing to go out and risk the rapids; for the less adventurous, a trip to see the Cascade Falls might just do the trick.

[[ Cottage and Room List | Rooms | Activities Barn | Indoor Activities | Outdoor Activities | White Water Rafting | Cascade Falls | OOC | OCD up! ]]

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"They were geese," Arthur retorted, making a kind - kind, really - gesture towards the other end of the table as an invitation, "Only near him can they manage so much damage."

"I'd argue with that, but the only example I have is me." She did more or less know how the controls worked, though it would probably help if the bar she was reaching for wasn't one that belonged to Arthur's team.

"Oh, I could tell you stories," he assured Francine. Then paused, and squinted down at what she'd grasped. "...You know the rules of this game?"

Oh. That was Arthur's knob.

Let us choose another color, shall we?

"Ooops. Sorry. Yes."

There were times Arthur was infinitely grateful that he couldn't actually listen in on anyone's narrative. This was one of them.

He heaved a put-upon sigh. "Any chance you might enlighten me?"

"You try to get the ball in the other person's ho--." There were limits to even Francine's ability to ignore what was coming out of her mouth. LIMITS. "Goal." She pointed to the holes at each end of the table. "And the other person tries to stop you."

... She did get a pause and a distinctly funny look - what was it with people today? - at the near-slip, but otherwise, Arthur was more than content to let it go. More than.

"That seems simple enough," he said, rolling his shoulders in preparation for this misadventure. "You may strike the first blow. So to speak."

Oh Arthur, you're so lucky her serve is weak as water, because you were just asking fate to give you a ball to the face.

And also that you can't read her narrative, yes.

Still, she did manage to thwack the ball nearer to his goal than her own, so let's call that a victory.

"There!"

He gave his end a ~~swordlike~~ twirl like he'd been doing this all day - which he hadn't, but at least he felt he knew how to make it look good - bumping the ball with one plastic figurine's feet. At least it made a decent little jump back towards hers, removing the danger from his fortress for the moment.

"Exactly!" Yes, Francine, he's the one who deserves a pat on the head for managing not to kill anyone with the equipment.

She tried to bat at the returning ball with the same row of Tiny Plastic Guys and missed by a mile; it took a bit of a dive for the knob nearer her goal to stop the ball from rolling right in like it was an eight-ball in the corner pocket.

Arthur shot her a look like he didn't need the childlike encouragement, which was exactly why the ball rolled straight past the line of figures that could have given him his victory.

At least his reflexes were good enough to catch the ball before it rolled straight back towards his (although that might have also been the general speed of it, really) albeit with maybe a touch too much force.

"Oh, playing rough now. I see how it is." Unfortunately for anything resembling skill, Francine's answer to that was more on the grab, yank, and flail end of the scale.

Not that it didn't work; the ball shot towards Arthur's end of the table like they were now playing pinball. It just didn't get anywhere near the goal.

"You're calling this rough," Arthur asked, with a delicate lift of his eyebrow, watching the ball bounce off the back end of the table and roll quietly back towards Francine's.

He made an effort to give it a little extra speed with a twist of one handle. "You couldn't be rough in this game if you tried," he said, "Although I know certain people who could probably put an eye out."

Listen, he was being charitable by not naming names.

Which didn't stop her from sticking her tongue out at him for being right. "Hey, it's--" NotinthegoalnotinthegoalnotinthegoallookwillONEofyoukickit?

SLAM!

The ball was probably not supposed to bounce as high as the lip of the table before skating back towards Arthur's side. "...rough for me."

"Just try not to get injured," he said, in his best calming, patronizing voice.

This one was borrowed more from Gaius than Uther, really.

He was ready this time, executing a brilliant maneuver that mostly consisted of shoving and turning one end so hard the ball went racing back towards Francine as if it had hell itself on his heels.

If you asked Arthur, anyway.

"Hey, I'll have you know that aside from--- crapcrapcrap no--" Heading straight for her goal, and the best she managed to do was nudge it slightly with one of her guys so that it at least missed the hole - sorry, narrative readers - and banked back into play, at a much-reduced speed. "--Aside from people doing things to me, I haven't managed to get injured in Fandom yet!"

Where 'Not dodging a dodgeball' is included under that broad umbrella.

"Is that what we're calling yesterday's pratfall, then?" he challenged, allowing the ball to roll all the way down to the back row of his defenders.

He was starting to get the hang of this.

He also needed to stop acting like punting that thing at as much speed as possible was going to net him the win eventually.

Well, it was. Eventually. It just depended on whether he had the patience to deal with Francine the F(l)ail-Kicker until that happened.

Jam-jab-yank-break nail which doesn't count as an injury-jam with the other hand-suck on finger-watch ball roll back towards Arthur.

"Since when is falling in the water an injury?"

For all that Merlin's decision to try and circumvent Arthur's sense of competition by destroying his swimwear was completely insane, he had had a point about how competitive Arthur was. Yes, even opposite a girl, although on a milder level.

Not that you could tell.

It was falling into a nice rhythm of roll-towards-Arthur-find-a-good-handle-give-it-a-twist-slam-it-back-to-Francine-hope-there-won't-be-real-injuries. "I think it counts," he said, "If simply for the danger of drowning."

"No way." Francine was not precisely competitive, not like that. She was just doing the game-equivalent of putting up her hands in front of her face and slapping away in hope that nothing landed, in a fight. "Let's face it, if we went by danger of injury we'd have to say it happens every time I get out of bed."

There was just enough of a pause to signify that Arthur was maybe taking that a little bit the wrong way before he shook it off - literally. "You fell out of a boat," he said, "I think that qualifies as a little bit beyond that."

"Pfft. I'm not sure I could drown if I tried." Francine, why do you -- WHAP! Airborne? Airborne? No. Whew. -- say things like that? The fates are already laughing at you. "I float."

The ball bounced off the wall less than an inch from the goal. "Yes," Arthur said, finally, carefully, "I suppose you do, at that."

"Now if we're talking about injuring other people..." Why? Francine? WHY would you possibly have such a sense of fair play that you feel the need to say that?

"I do not need," Arthur said, after careful consideration (which involved the ball drifting aimlessly across the playing field), "To know about how your ability to float has injured anyone else."

He had to draw the line somewhere. Francine's breasts causing undue harm to Merlin would be it.

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