I'm less ... skilled with staves than I'd like. It's not something I ever prioritized, growing up. I'm quite good at close-quarters combat, but ... I rarely often needed to rely on the extra distance. Either I was far enough away that it wouldn't be any more useful than any other hand-held weapon ... or I was close enough that my skill in a fight was so much better than my enemy's and my reflexes so much faster, their extra reach didn't grant them much advantage. Maybe if I could find something like a truncheon, instead ...
[she says that off-handedly, as if needing to know how to hurt other people was commonplace in her childhood - her comparable childhood, anyway. she can't be much older than her teens.]
... I might take the staff, though, if I can't. Just to be on the safe side. [and so she reaches out to take the pole from Holoway, and sets it beside herself, while she searches for an alternative anyway - and eventually, in the weapons pile, she finds an extendable rod-like object with a well-molded grip, about two-thirds the length of her arm at full extension. she nods, hefts it in her hand, rolls it mid-grip at a horizontal level across her flattened palm, wobbles it this way and that, arm extended - raises her arm, drops it, catches it before it hits the ground with her other hand. frowns in thought as she tests how it feels on her grip, her wrist, her whole arm, to bear the weight and momentum of it as it moves through the air. then, with deliberate, pursed-lips thoroughness, she goes through a similar routine with the pole.]
[it seems like that would be that, when she exhales, giving a firm "mmh" aloud, and sets to looking for a way to more easily carry both, possibly, with her later. until, with a sigh, almost as an afterthought, she adds, her tone of voice deeply melancholic:] I'm grateful for the help, and the advice, I really am. I'll probably be happier with something like this than the alternatives. ... It's one of my deeper regrets in life to know that I have very good aim.
no subject
[she says that off-handedly, as if needing to know how to hurt other people was commonplace in her childhood - her comparable childhood, anyway. she can't be much older than her teens.]
... I might take the staff, though, if I can't. Just to be on the safe side. [and so she reaches out to take the pole from Holoway, and sets it beside herself, while she searches for an alternative anyway - and eventually, in the weapons pile, she finds an extendable rod-like object with a well-molded grip, about two-thirds the length of her arm at full extension. she nods, hefts it in her hand, rolls it mid-grip at a horizontal level across her flattened palm, wobbles it this way and that, arm extended - raises her arm, drops it, catches it before it hits the ground with her other hand. frowns in thought as she tests how it feels on her grip, her wrist, her whole arm, to bear the weight and momentum of it as it moves through the air. then, with deliberate, pursed-lips thoroughness, she goes through a similar routine with the pole.]
[it seems like that would be that, when she exhales, giving a firm "mmh" aloud, and sets to looking for a way to more easily carry both, possibly, with her later. until, with a sigh, almost as an afterthought, she adds, her tone of voice deeply melancholic:] I'm grateful for the help, and the advice, I really am. I'll probably be happier with something like this than the alternatives. ... It's one of my deeper regrets in life to know that I have very good aim.