City of Shadows Mux City of Shadows Mux

Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Shootin'
Players Ted, Faith	Ye Olde Gunshoppe & Range 5 September, 2022 Faith and Ted shoot guns and shoot the shit.
It's an early evening here at Ye Olde Gunshop and Range. It's a simple affair, gunshop in the front with all the various expected accoutrements, with a rather expansive indoor range stuffed behind the store itself. It seems that Ted Keene is well known enough here that he's just waved right on through without much fuss. Once the cowboy is out at his spot on the range, he slips on a pair of the provided earmuffs - firing anything louder than a nerf gun in here would be absolutely deafening, especially to anyone with supernaturally attenuated hearing. He lays out his trademark revolver on the counter-top in front of him and goes over his mental checklist, looking for wear and tear on the few moving components, signs of rust or caked-on oil, that kind of thing. Lots to do before one even begins to shoot. Sometimes, Faith gets ideas. And sometimes those ideas mean she ends up in places like this, looking (and lets face it, being) kinda weird. The dark glasses, the hoodie, these things that really get people wondering and acting just that little bit weird around her. At least, she lets them think that's what's weird about her. As an unfamiliar face, and all the challenges her nature causes, it takes her a bit longer to get onto the range proper, but eventually she manages it, looking around with perhaps a touch of uncertainty about her. "Ah, damn," comes that sweet southern drawl, "fouled up the barrel again..." There's some movement from one of the stalls - not too many shooters in tonight, apparently, but one is definitely speaking loud enough to hear himself over his earmuffs (even though that's not how the sound of one's voice works). There comes next a sound of scrubbing as Ted has removed a small wire brush and is firmly scraping some crud and buildup from inside the barrel. The revolver is, naturally, not loaded while he does this but he does manage to keep the business end of the weapon focused down-range. With a small case that has her rental weapon in it, and a set of earmuffs that she had to purchase, Faith is mostly left to her own devices. Others might get offered some beginner lessons, but not her. But that familiar voice does get her attention, and she's making her way to that stall, sunglasses still on. As she spies the cowboy doing his thing, she waits a moment before stepping close enough. "Evening," she greets, her voice more or less polite, if kept rather neutral otherwise. Having made a suitably disgusted noise at the sight of his wire brush unfouling the barrel, shoves off his earmuffs just in time for the small polite voice of Faith to register in his head. It's rather amusing to watch such a broad man spin like a ballerina as he twists to face the Vampy - while also reaching behind his gun holster to where his knife sits. Of course this reaction fades quickly once the cowboy actually recognises the woman and he just shakes his head, "Scared the life outta me. You shoot?" Faith does actually lift up a hand, palm forward, a gesture of peace. But she understands. "I do that a lot," she admits with no real apology about the scare, and then a slight shake of her head. "Not really, no. I admit, I have very little idea what I'm doing." A pause, before she steps that little bit closer. "But it seemed like something I should change. Got any advice?" Pausing to allow for a moment's thought as he looks her over, Ted nods, "Get somethin' small enough that it won't break your arm when you fire it. I know, I know, you've got super-powers, but it's easier if you don't have to rely on 'em." He reaches up to rub his large hand over his chin and tilts his head, "Well you don' need'a worry about your breathing..." He holds out his hand fingertips pointing upwards... then lowers his pinkie. "Grab my hand with your shootin' hand, and pull on my uh... right, index finger with your trigger finger. Show me what kinda strength we're workin' with." "I agree, it is easier," Faith says, setting aside the little case she has. "They gave me this as a rental. It's some kind of nine millimetre beretta. It seems simple enough really but ..." she trails off and then considers him, nodding. She does as asked, hesitating only a moment before reaching out with her right hand. Her grip is firm, and she's stronger than she looks like she ought to be without really having to try about it. She squeezes with her own index finger, a little awkwardly, but trying to follow the instructions. Nodding as she squeezes, Ted makes one final firm nod before extricating his fingers from the grip of the tiny Nossie. Okay she's not actually tiny, but at the same time she totally is. "Autoloader? Probably a good call in the mean streets of Chicago." He jerks a thumb back towards his revolver sitting on the counter, "I prefer old school. Less moving parts means less shit to go wrong, but there's more things to do in a firefight that you can forget as a first timer." He nods and steps back and to the side, shifting his kit to the side of the counter, "A'ight, lay your pistol up here and let's get a look at it." A shrug. "All I know is, it's the same as a lot of the gunshot wounds I end up fixing up." Faith notes, and then she nods, stepping up to the counter and opening the case. The firearm comes out, and it's as she said, a small semi-automatic beretta pistol. She picks it up gingerly and sets it down, making sure it's kept pointed downrange at least. She does glance at the revolver, nodding slowly. "Revolver has six shots, an' mine has to be cocked manually for each shot," Ted explains, "You don't need to worry about what that means, it's just a pain in the rear - pardon my Spanish - when you're first startin' out." He gestures to her Beretta, "May I?" Assuming she allows it, he pulls the slide back on the pistol to lock it open, demonstrating that it is empty. "With this, you've got a magazine that carries fifteen rounds, by the looks. So you've got plenty of chances to hit before you have'ta worry about reloadin'." He looks the pistol over quickly and nods, turning it so the side of the gun is facing Faith, "Here's your safety." He gestures to the switch with his thumb, "Like this," he flicks it, "means you're ready to fire. See the red dot? Red means bang." He flicks it back "White dot? White means no bang. So when you're storin' it, or anythin' like it, make sure you see the white dot." Laying the pistol down, Ted closes his eyes and shakes his head, "An' I darn near forgot the first rule of gun safety. It's this: Every gun, every single one, is loaded and ready to destroy. Every one. Until you've checked yourself. Okay?" Faith is an attentive listener. She doesn't interrupt with questions, and of course gestures for Ted to demonstrate as necessary. She watches, she listens. "Right," she says after a moment. "I understand, assuming people could die is better than assuming the other way around." She then reaches for the pistol, picking it up and going through the motions. Checking the safety, clicking it back and forth, emulating Ted's actions. She makes sure the safety is on. "Alright. What's next?" "Alright, next key point in gun safety," Ted says as he swooshes the gun's barrel to point back down range, "Only aim the gun at something you want to destroy. Why do I keep sayin' destroy? Because it's an effective word. Kill is so... mundane now-days" says the cowboy of all people, "so, destroy. Don't wave it around, don't pose with it to look cool. The only time it comes out of the holster is when you're ready to use it to kill another person. Or. Werewolf or whatever." he shrugs, labels are weird. "Now, the fun part. Loading, readying, and shooting." He steps back a fraction of a foot, "Now. Take the pistol in your firin' hand. That's whichever hand you're dominant with... usually right, but lefties can shoot too. Sometimes trickier dependin' on the gun, though." "Right," Faith says with a nod, and the gun is pointing down range and holding there. "Guns aren't really the most effective at destroying, it turns out," she mutters, but she nods anyway. "But sure. Only point it because you want to actually use it. I have no intention of using a gun as a fashion accessory." She nods again, and has the pistol in her right hand now. "Mmm, more so today than in my time," Ted says with a shake of his head, "With your automatic rifles and your machine whatsits... One squeeze and you can take down a... well, enough people to cause problems." He shrugs, "Anyhow. Step one, loading. Your magazine there, he gestures towards the small block of metal with all the bullets in it, "goes in the bottom of the hand grip. Look at the top of it before you put it in. Make sure you see bullets, and make sure those bullets are pointin' forward. Then just slide it on in to the hole at the bottom and, firmly but not roughly, slap it home." "Your time?" Faith wonders on that particular turn of phrase, considering for a few moments as she looks Ted over from behind her dark glasses. "Huh." It's just a noise as clearly something occurs to her, and she nods on. "But yeah, you're right." She nods, and then glances at the magazine, collecting it up with her left hand, checking it as instructed, and even showing it to Ted just to be sure. Bet then she's tilting the gun forward just a little to better see what she's doing and lining up the magazine with the firearm, and then sliding the magazine in with that satisfying click. "Yeah," Ted says, "this ain't a costume. An' that ain't a reproduction." He gestures to his old reliable sitting on the side of the counter, "Story for another time." He clears his throat and watches her send the magazine home and nods approvingly, "Good. Gotta be careful not to get your skin or anythin' caught in there when you're slapping it back. Sure, the pain won't bother you, but the extra few seconds on a firefight could wind up ruinin' a nice shirt." He leans forward slightly and gestures to the top of the gun, where there are some striations cut into the sides of the slide, "Thumb and fore finger grip here, with your off-hand. Keep your shootin' wrist straight, an' pull back with your off-hand. You're pullin' back on the slide, also called the action, so the pistol takes a round from the magazine, puts it in the chamber. Once you've pulled it all the way back, let it go - that sends the round right into the barrel and your gun is hot. So once you do that, keep your eyes on that target way down there, a'ight?" "... just goes to show how easily I've gotten used to anachronisms." Faith mutters, shaking her head and focusing back on the task at hand. She notes the potential complication of loading the magazine, something she hadn't particularly thought of, nodding slowly again. She's doing that a lot tonight. Her left hand comes up to grip the gun as instructed, straightening up her right wrist as needed. She has steady hands. She pulls back on the slide carefully, getting a feel for it, but once it's back she lets it go, as it clicks back into place she nods again, keeping her eyes on the target. "So now ... the safety?" "Not yet," Ted says, "First, stance. Since we're only shootin' targets, may as well get it all right. Spread your legs about a shoulder's width apart. Maybe a little more." He nods gently, "Some folk prefer standin' straight up; personally, I like havin' my left foot forward a smidge - feet pointed straight down range." He adopts that position right next to her, by way of demonstration." He glances at the pistol in her hand, "For an autoloader like that, you'll wanna hook cup your off-hand under the butt, cradlin' your shootin' hand and the gun a little. Don't squeeze, but just like puttin' ice cream in a bowl." "Okay," Faith says, keeping the gun pointed where it's pointed as she shifts her stance appropriately, glancing aside just a moment to review his demonstration and adjust. She does copy that idea of having her left foot forward a little. She'll try that first. She does move her hand to lightly hold the gun, cradling it just so. "Okay. I haven't put ice cream in a bowl in a very long time, but I get the idea." "Well I couldn't think of another metaphor that wasn't biological. Like a leg bone into a hip socket," Ted says with a grunt, "Now, for that pistol you'll want your right arm fully extended, with your left arm kinda bent. Just straighten out your shootin' arm and the other one will follow properly." He lets out a breath and nods, "Once you've done that, use your thumb to switch the safety to fire." "I'm a doctor, you know. That makes plenty of sense," Faith says with a hint of amusement, as she extends her arm as instructed. Firing position achieved. She's still, and quiet for a few moments, before thumbing the safety over. Her eyes remain on the target, but she's not going to actually fire the weapon until actually told to, at least. "Alright. Now it's all ready?" "It's ready," Ted says with a nod, "an' you're also a bloodsucker. I dunno what else might make you hungry." He shrugs, "but..." He slips his hearing protection back on, more out of habit than necessity at this point, "You may fire when ready." "I'm not about to go crazy over the mention of something like that," Faith mutters quietly, but before firing she uses her left hand to pull her own earmuffs up and over her hood. She's then quiet for a few moments, staring at the target before finally, gently -- perhaps even hesitantly -- squeezing the trigger. The gun fires, jerking in her hand as the round is sent down range. She's steadying her hands again afterwards, but it appears the shot has missed the target entirely. "Not bad," Ted says, lyingly, "It's harder with a rental, no idea how much abuse that thing's suffered through." He settles his hands on his hips, though, and nods once, "Try it a few more times." So, she does. Squeezing the trigger again, and again. And again. And a couple more times after that. There's a pause between each shot as she readjusts and fires again. Some of shots might even hit the target! Most of them probably don't, but it's just something to keep on practicing. "How long has it taken you to get as good as you are?" Not that Faith's really seen Ted shoot at anything but into the air, but his expertise makes it a safe assumption. Leaning forward, Ted picks up his revolver and slides begins working the action to load it. In his case, he pulls the hammer back a touch, then a touch more, slides open a funky gate-looking thing, and revolves the cylinder loading one rather large round at a time, "Well. Let's actually see if I do shoot okay first." He slides the gate closed after loading only five rounds. Rolls the cylinder a little and slides the hammer back to position. "This one's a touch louder than your pistol. So. Be ready for that." He's speaking just loud enough to be heard over the earmuffs without shouting as he slides his revolver back into its holster. he lets out a slow breath and draws, pulling the hammer back with his thumb as he does, and lets a single round off down the range. Faith steps back a little, clicking the safety of her own weapon back over as she then watched Ted go about working the revolver. She's got the familiarity of someone who's seen guns on tv enough times, nodding at the warning of how loud it's going to be, then glancing back down to the target once more. Even with her ear protection on, she's surprised by how loud it actually is, shifting somewhat when the weapon fires. "Looks pretty okay to me," she says, her voice lifted louder than usual. Firing off another round or two, just to make sure, Ted slides the revolver back into his holster and nods once. He slips his hearing protection free from his ears to dangle around his neck, "Yeah, passable. Still gotta knock a bit of rust off, but it'll do for now." He tilts his head, "Now, as for how long... Well I was shootin' since I was what... thirteen? An' I'm what... thirty-sixish? Plus or minus a century of bein' over the garden wall..." He shrugs lightly, "I used this revolver practically every day for over twenny years. So it's a while." Faith gives a small nod, though with a pointed glance at that wording, considering. "I figured it'd be years and years. Practice and dedication, hmm? Have you been, uh, back for long? If that's okay to ask." Faith doesn't really know what she's asking, but she's picked up bits and pieces from discussions with others. She glances down range at the target again, and after a moment steps forward again to line up another shot. Hands, feet, going through those motions before thumbing the safety over again. "Easy to learn, hard to master," Ted says with a nod, "Not that I'd ever call myself a master at it, just a... enthusiastic journeyman." He chuckles softly and leans against the narrow side of the stall, crossing his arms across his chest. "Hmm... been back about two years, give or take. Time's a little weird for me, feels like it's rushin' one minute and a snail's pace the next. Just adaptin' to new things is hard enough." Bang, bang, bang. The gun fires and fires and fires. Faith loses count, firing shots one after another until the magazine is empty, and it clicks a few times. She pauses and looks at the gun, reaching up to slip her ear muffs off properly and set them around her neck. "I know what you mean." She says easily, "With time being weird. So many nights just drag on. And the everything keeps changing faster and faster." A pause, and she looks at her gun again, frowning as she studies it. "How do I get the magazine out?" "There's a catch just under the safety, like a little button. Hit it with your thumb and it'll slide on out," Ted replies, pointing a finger at the switch in question. "I know some of your folks live a good long time. I dunno if it counts the same for us... this side of the wall we've got a regular human lifespan... for the most part. Maybe a few extra years, ain't nothin' like centuries though." He pauses and tilts his head, considering the question as he asks it, "Doesn't it get... borin'?" "Aha." Faith says as the button is pointed out and she's able to retrieve the empty magazine from the gun, setting it down on the counter. Safety back on, she puts the firearm down as well, turning about to look at Ted proper, and there's a bit of a shrug. "I don't know how to really compare the experiences either. Probably can't really. But ... yeah, sometimes it gets boring. I can't even really think about the idea of 'centuries' yet, myself, though I probably should start considering it. The oldest ones among us sometimes end up sleeping away decades rather than being, and eventually wake up in a whole new world. I guess you could relate to that in a way." Raising a hand to wobble it around his wrist, the typical 'eeeeeh' gesture, Ted shrugs, "I dunno what it's like for them, but uh... wasn't much of a nap for me. You ever read uh... them Narnia books? Kids go into a cupboard, have adventures in a magical world, grow up, become royalty, an' then they all come back to the real world as kids, havin' lived a full life as an adult already?" He shrugs again, "More like that. But with more terror and nightmares you can't *quite* remember..." "No, I don't imagine it was. Though, I've heard some tell that terror and nightmares are pretty standard for a long sleep. Depending on the circumstances. I don't know. Never done it myself." Faith comments, "But yeah. The growing up and whatever part, pretty different in the end. Is that what's like? Adventures and being royalty? I've read the books, yeah." She turns back after that question, putting the gun and the empty magazine back in the case she was given. "Well... more like suddenly coming back to reality after havin' lived entire lifetimes over and over and over again, less actual royalty," Ted says with a sheepish chuckle, "It's a complicated mess, an' most of us don't really remember it. Like how goin' through a traumatic event your brain blocks it off? Fear, and anger, hate, torture... lotta shit. S'partly why I always carry this with me." He taps the holster, "They like sendin' folk after us to take us back. They bein' the uh... rulers of the other place? I guess? It's hard to explain when I ain't the smartest of the bunch." "Yeah, it sounds complicated. I can't imagine it." Faith nods in understanding, closing up the little case and then turning back to face Ted proper. "They ... okay. That explains something, I think. I mean, I understand a healthy little bit of paranoia, I really do, but if there's people out there actively looking for you, that explains why some of yours are less inclined to be as sharing as say, the wolves have been." "Yeah," Ted says with a short nod, "Some of us fight 'em. I've killed... lord knows how many, but that just makes 'em want us even more." He shakes his head slowly and leans down to pick up his hat, that had been knocked from the counter when he made space for Faith's shooting, "There's lots of paranoia... or caution, at least. Combine that with the fact most of us can't remember shit about what happened to us? Makes for real great conversation." Scooping up the case again, Faith shakes her head. "So you're just always on the look out. Well, I can empathise with that in a way. But I can't blame anyone for not wanting to share overmuch, given that." A pause, and she adds, "And you know. My people don't exactly have the best reputation, sometimes." "Eh," Ted says with a grin, "I've known some pretty bad regular ol' humans too. Bounty on my head back in the day could buy you a pretty comfortable life, an' it weren't the biggest of the gang." He pauses and frowns slightly, "You uh... you know much Wild West history?" The way the words come from his mouth certainly indicates some level of discomfort, knowing that it's now 'history'. "Oh I know. Anyone can be a monster." Faith agrees easily, giving that simple nod again, her lips set into a thin line. "Still." She shrugs, and her head tilts slightly at that discomfort, finally a tiny bit of a smile creeping onto her lips for but a moment. "Not really. Just a couple of movies or whatever, the basics. Freedom, getting out from under Uncle Sam's thumb, and all that?" Ted lets out a snort followed by a bark of a laugh, almost as loud as his revolver, "Oh that's the story they sold, sure." He shakes his head slowly, "I guess that was a part of it. A small part. Mostly it's what such things are always about. Money, violence, and a tendency for man to do evil when doing good just ain't givin' enough of the other two." Another brief grin from Faith, as she considers. "That makes sense really. It all gets very romanticised now." She shakes her head. "So, not much has changed then. It's just all got a different coat of paint. And automatic rifles." "Yeah... we didn't have as many of these uh... multi whatsit marketing things, though," Ted says with a furrow of his brow, "I reckon if I were born today, I'd end up some... crypto-whosit scammer or somethin'. Less violence, more money, an' I wouldn't have to go get dust and shit in my face." "Sit at your computer all day long, arguing with random people online how crypto currency is the future, actually. Reckon that's the life for you?" Faith is almost amused at the idea of Ted-The-Crypto-Bro. "If I was born today, I'd like to think I'd still try to end up a surgeon. Who can say though?" "Nah, nah," Ted says with a wave of his hand, "Like those guys who... hold hospitals hostage with their computer stuff?" He absolutely has no idea what they do or how, but he *has* seen the news, "That kind of deal. I've got a core of criminality runnin' deep. Mostly enjoyin' this uh... weird second chance, but the itch is still there." He chuckles softly, "Of course you'd be doin' surgery with laser beams and robots, like in that uh... Space Trek show." "Oh, right." Faith too doesn't really understand the details, but she too has seen the news, and has a more recent point of reference. Her brows lift up from behind her sunglasses, and she considers. "It's Star Trek, I think you mean. I don't really know about some of the ... interpretations of how things work, in sci fi, but yeah. Maybe." She nods slowly. "So you try to keep yourself clean now, then?" "Well," Ted says with a pause, "No. But it ain't outta greed." He shrugs his shoulders, "When we're taken over the wall, they sometimes leave somethin' behind. It acts like us, sounds like us, basically is us. It lives on our behalf while we're away bein' enslaved and abused... an' when one of us comes back, well it ain't sensible to have two of someone runnin' about the place." He reaches up to rub at his chin again, "An' then there's the armies of hunters and other folk loyal to our captors that need takin' care of. Hard to really get a 401K outta that, an' a guy's gotta eat..." He chuckles softly, "Still a criminal. Jus' doin' it for the right reasons now." She's quiet for a few long moments there, taking in the implications. "No one even knows you're gone. I don't know if that's better or worse than having to randomly disappear out of the lives of everyone I knew, knowing they'll never know what happened." There's a nod though, and a wave of her hand to dismiss that thought. "Most of the criminals I associate with are most definitely not doing it for the right reasons. Not that I can judge really. Besides, they pay well enough when they need me." "It's easy to lie to yourself an' say that you're doin' good," Ted says with a slow nod, "I sure did, for a long time. Even now I have doubts, dunno if what I do helps, or just prolongs some inevitable war or massacre or somethin'." He shrugs once more, his default motion because feelings are hard, "But I'd rather regret doin' than regret not doin'. You know?" "I don't know. I'm well aware most of the people I help just end up killing other people, or getting themselves killed anyway. It's most all street level gangsters. Is it good, helping those kinds of people?" She then shakes her head again, shrugging for a lot of similar reasons. "I admit, I don't really think about the morality of it all most nights, not anymore." "Yeah... morality's a little much for me too," Ted says, though he does have a far-off look on his features that make his words ring a little hollow. Nothing like an eon's worth of trauma to make you really re-evaluate literally everything. "We've got skills we can't ply in the real world. We can either use them, help out and survive a little longer, or we can sit around and wait to die. I don't really see a third option." "Sometimes," Faith says with a thoughtful, distant sort of tone of her own, "I find it hard to take people -- humans, I mean -- seriously. But I also need them anyway, so I guess you're right. Help out and maybe feel a little bit more alive, from time to time." Another shrug, and she pushes away from her spot. "Thanks for the lesson, though. It's a start. And learning things always helps with that boredom." "Well, s'long as I ain't off workin' I'll be around whenever you want another, or just someone to shoot and chat with," Ted says with a nod, "I'll bet your politics are as... interestin' as ours. Always good to chat with someone not tryin' to work an angle." "Oh yeah? Do your politics get deadly?" Faith wonders with another shrug, collecting her things proper. "It's enough to make me feel like my default position is 'trying to work an angle.'" She admits, with a small sigh. "But sure. I'll be around. And if you ever need medic or something, for someone, I can help out." "We're a bunch of terrified people with super powers who gain our most deep energies from the emotions of others," Ted says with a chuckle, "Things get frisky." He settles his hat on his head and, slipping his revolver out of its holster again, loads enough rounds for there to be five rounds in the cylinder, replacing those he fired earlier. He twirls the gun in his hand easily and slips it back into its holster. "Semper Vigilans. I'll walk you out, need a ride anywhere?" "Frisky." Faith says with a shake of her head. "I like that. A good description. Try a room full of predators that mostly look exactly the same as the people they eat." She does watch the twirling of the gun, shifting in place and then, and starts to move towards the exit, though does grin at the offer. "Thank you. Very kind of you. My car is just outside, but we can walk."