[Training] threading the needle

WESSEX out of the night that covers me Fireworks. How… she doesn’t want to think useless, as there are some inherently dangerous things about a magic that can fly and spark, like burns, and blindness, etc. But compared to Edy’s fire and disintegration, to Deimos’s life sucking power, it just seems…  less than, somehow. That might be solely due to Wessex’s view on the usefulness of certain magics in battle, as an offensive or defensive power, so for someone who isn’t a combatant, it makes perfect sense; she’s never thought of Rexanna as a fighter. Ah, Wessex, your biases are showing.   Still, she doesn’t say these things out loud, she just watches the firework, nods, and moves through her sequence, leaving Rexanna to do her thing. Much like with Are, there is little judgement in her voice. They are here to get better, to train, and scathing criticism won’t improve skills unless you’re the sort of person who needs to be dressed down in order to progress. “A wide variety. As I know it none of us are alike. Our Lady bestows her gifts as she sees fit and often according to our needs. But we can all drink from someone and use their power. For example, I have quite the selection of abilities at my disposal right now. Just depends on how I want to use it.” She smiles rather wickedly. The thought of more power has always delighted her. But as for her own secrets... no, those aren't to be revealed quite yet. None of those power, however, will help her hit a target better, and as she sees it, she’s missed two of them. Going to pluck the arrows from their destinations (except for the one in the tree), she lines herself up again. “This time for accuracy. I’ll go slower. You line up beside me and shoot after, yeah? Maybe that will help.” Settling the arrows in their quiver again, she Ascended woman makes room for the Abandoned, leaving enough space between them so as to draw a bow unhindered. And then she goes through the targets again, each time waiting until Rexanna is ready, though she performs the series in silence again; only the twang of the string, the thud of a strike, and a single person’s breath can be heard amongst the evening noises of a fall forest. black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul