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Colors of Spring
Apr. 19th, 2018 07:06 pm((Bonus Image Prompt for April))
Even in Spring the air in Skyrim carries a crispness to it. The warmth from the sun still has to pierce through the dense pine forests and compete with the sharp breezes that remind those who walk in the soggy thawed ground that mother nature could rear her head at any time and quash this reprieve from the cold if she so felt like it. Jim thinks her name might be Kynareth here, but it's really only a guess based on the books he's slowly but surely paging his way through in his evening Cyrodillic studies.
Stratos' camp buzzes with activity even in the early morning hours fresh from the dawn. Breton knights and Imperial battlemages mending armor or going through morning drills against the practice dummies. Unpacking crates of weapons and armor and inspecting them carefully. Stewards tending to the fires where cooking potatoes, rabbit, and leek waft on the breeze with the smoke. By now Jim's a familiar enough face that he gets a nod of the head and a murmured 'captain' in greeting from any passers by but otherwise no trouble for being here.
It's become something of a habit for Jim since he's been 'grounded' in Yorktown. Tiber has long since wriggled free from Jim's cloak and started chasing dartwings and butterflies in the grass while Jim sits at a low bench and fastens his bracers and arm guard. Strings his bow, checking for any signs it needs to be replaced. Shoulders his quiver before getting up and walking up range from the targets set up on the edge of camp.
Nocking the arrow serves as Jim's focus. Honing in on the feel of the fletching against his fingers and tuning out the noise of the Imperial Camp surrounding him. Jim relishes every draw of the bow and the power he feels in his arms when he gets the arrow to its anchor point next to his mouth. When he first picked this up years ago as a hobby with a friend from the Nexus teaching him it was laughable how easily he'd tire after loosing only a handful of arrows with varying degrees of success. It's not as easy as those hot shot archers make it out to be, but the challenge was well worth the reward.
After their trek through Bruma Jim stayed away from his bow for a few months. Bad memories and a lack of free time ate away at what had become one of his favorite exercises. There was a focus to it and a thought process that his tactician's mind craved like a drug. Just existing in Skyrim and its steep hillsides and mountainous terrain was enough to get his Cardio in. Archery filled in strength training and picking up a useful skill for Tamriel. He was never going to be a soldier, a tradesman, or a mage but with a lot of practice and a bit of lessons from those more experienced than Jim he was at least becoming decent as a hunter. Survival skills were already things Jim had thanks to a combined love of the outdoors and terrible life experiences. Being able to properly use a bow went a long way in a place like this.
Every arrow loosed is a puzzle solved. The captain's fingers don't even begin to ache until he's down to the last of the arrows in his quiver. His shots quicken as his arms begin to burn with fatigue. The strain to hold his draw is too much when he's down to these last few attempts. Jim's aim starts to shake when he reaches the last arrow and it goes wide of the rest of his clustered arrows, lodging itself into the tree instead. He's breathing heavily by now. Has to take a moment to catch his breath before Jim can head down range to collect the arrows.
Jim's been so focused on the targets he nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm slides round his shoulders and pulls him back ever so slightly.
"It's not noon yet, why are you awake?" Blue eyes scowl over his shoulder at Felix and earn a chuckle from the Imperial along with the shrug of his shoulders. Felix knows Jim isn't actually cross. Just annoyed at having been caught looking less than cool for even a moment.
"Your little terror decided to 'gift' me dead bug parts on my face as a morning present." Felix's eyebrow game has gotten much stronger over the years spent learning from Starfleet's best. Jim finds himself looking around for the golden furred kneazle and can only suppress a laugh seeing him chomping one of the dartwings he's been content chasing all morning.
"He wanted to help stock your alchemy stores, clearly."
"Mmmh. I could do without them in our bed." Jim feels Felix huff as the breath messes with his hair. The food cooking at the fire smells heavenly suddenly. Jim can see Stratos heading their way from the other side of the camp and he wonders for the first time if this is what having a home feels like apart from the ship. He grins back at his fiance before waving his future brother-in-law over and this, Jim is certain, must be what family is. This sense of belonging.
It is a good breakfast.
Even in Spring the air in Skyrim carries a crispness to it. The warmth from the sun still has to pierce through the dense pine forests and compete with the sharp breezes that remind those who walk in the soggy thawed ground that mother nature could rear her head at any time and quash this reprieve from the cold if she so felt like it. Jim thinks her name might be Kynareth here, but it's really only a guess based on the books he's slowly but surely paging his way through in his evening Cyrodillic studies.
Stratos' camp buzzes with activity even in the early morning hours fresh from the dawn. Breton knights and Imperial battlemages mending armor or going through morning drills against the practice dummies. Unpacking crates of weapons and armor and inspecting them carefully. Stewards tending to the fires where cooking potatoes, rabbit, and leek waft on the breeze with the smoke. By now Jim's a familiar enough face that he gets a nod of the head and a murmured 'captain' in greeting from any passers by but otherwise no trouble for being here.
It's become something of a habit for Jim since he's been 'grounded' in Yorktown. Tiber has long since wriggled free from Jim's cloak and started chasing dartwings and butterflies in the grass while Jim sits at a low bench and fastens his bracers and arm guard. Strings his bow, checking for any signs it needs to be replaced. Shoulders his quiver before getting up and walking up range from the targets set up on the edge of camp.
Nocking the arrow serves as Jim's focus. Honing in on the feel of the fletching against his fingers and tuning out the noise of the Imperial Camp surrounding him. Jim relishes every draw of the bow and the power he feels in his arms when he gets the arrow to its anchor point next to his mouth. When he first picked this up years ago as a hobby with a friend from the Nexus teaching him it was laughable how easily he'd tire after loosing only a handful of arrows with varying degrees of success. It's not as easy as those hot shot archers make it out to be, but the challenge was well worth the reward.
After their trek through Bruma Jim stayed away from his bow for a few months. Bad memories and a lack of free time ate away at what had become one of his favorite exercises. There was a focus to it and a thought process that his tactician's mind craved like a drug. Just existing in Skyrim and its steep hillsides and mountainous terrain was enough to get his Cardio in. Archery filled in strength training and picking up a useful skill for Tamriel. He was never going to be a soldier, a tradesman, or a mage but with a lot of practice and a bit of lessons from those more experienced than Jim he was at least becoming decent as a hunter. Survival skills were already things Jim had thanks to a combined love of the outdoors and terrible life experiences. Being able to properly use a bow went a long way in a place like this.
Every arrow loosed is a puzzle solved. The captain's fingers don't even begin to ache until he's down to the last of the arrows in his quiver. His shots quicken as his arms begin to burn with fatigue. The strain to hold his draw is too much when he's down to these last few attempts. Jim's aim starts to shake when he reaches the last arrow and it goes wide of the rest of his clustered arrows, lodging itself into the tree instead. He's breathing heavily by now. Has to take a moment to catch his breath before Jim can head down range to collect the arrows.
Jim's been so focused on the targets he nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm slides round his shoulders and pulls him back ever so slightly.
"It's not noon yet, why are you awake?" Blue eyes scowl over his shoulder at Felix and earn a chuckle from the Imperial along with the shrug of his shoulders. Felix knows Jim isn't actually cross. Just annoyed at having been caught looking less than cool for even a moment.
"Your little terror decided to 'gift' me dead bug parts on my face as a morning present." Felix's eyebrow game has gotten much stronger over the years spent learning from Starfleet's best. Jim finds himself looking around for the golden furred kneazle and can only suppress a laugh seeing him chomping one of the dartwings he's been content chasing all morning.
"He wanted to help stock your alchemy stores, clearly."
"Mmmh. I could do without them in our bed." Jim feels Felix huff as the breath messes with his hair. The food cooking at the fire smells heavenly suddenly. Jim can see Stratos heading their way from the other side of the camp and he wonders for the first time if this is what having a home feels like apart from the ship. He grins back at his fiance before waving his future brother-in-law over and this, Jim is certain, must be what family is. This sense of belonging.
It is a good breakfast.
