milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a Lawrence.

He is half-slouched on the couch with a flat surface in front of him, idly scribbling on a grid-type paper with coloured inks. He is in fact making a map.

Yes, from Memory. It will be surprisingly accurate.

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Light scrapes and bruises in (we're assuming) more than one place.

One for certain in the middle of his back. "...oh, you don't know..." He pauses, and smiles.

"They are projectile weapons. They do not have guns in your time?"

"No. No...gonnes, did you say?"

She shrugs a little. "Swords, crossbows, and slings, stuff like that. I saw a gonne wound yesterday, though. It wasn't very pretty."

"No, gun wounds are not very pretty."

He draws out his Colt .45 Peacemaker from its holster, however, and hands it to her so that she may examine it. It's unloaded, don't worry.

"But guns themselves are very interesting."

She takes it awkwardly, examining it with an interested light in her eyes. Watching it, exhaling, the smoke curling into the shape of a crossbow and floating in the air next to the gun as she compares the two.

"Huh."

Well, that's an interesting trick.

"It's not completely unrelated, really. They both fire things, but guns fire bullets much faster, you see. They're smaller, too."

A pause. "I could show you, if you like."

A grin, the smoke dissapating fast.

"Sure."

He orders another box of rubber bullets from the bar and then smiles to Mal, offering her his arm so that he can help her up.

"It is best to fire these in the woods, I have found."

She smiles, accepting the help easily. "Thanks. I'd agree - it'd be far to easy to hurt someone."

"And when one gets shot in the back, it tends to have that irritating habit of causing death."

An amused chuckle before he nudges the back door open and guides her out.

A soft laugh. "For you, maybe. Not for me."

She follows him.

"Well, for me."

He sets the box of bullets down and begins to quietly load the gun, smiling to her.

"It is surprisingly easy to shoot a gun."

"Right." Leaning over his shoulder.

"How?"

"You simply ensure that it is loaded.."

He picks up the gun and checks the barrels before shutting them, taking aim.

"Aim...and then squeeze the trigger." He does, and the rubber bullet hits the bark of a tree opposite them in the field.

"Very easy."

"Okay."

She takes the gun, and follows exactly what he did.

It's safe to say that the bullets hit something.

A grin.

"A natural!"

She laughs, and tries again.

Well, withen a metre of the tree this time. We're improving.

He slips behind her and steadies her arms a bit, improving the aim.

"Yes, more like this."

Third time lucky. She hits the tree!

A laugh, grinning brightly up at him. "I did it!"

Ah, it's nice to see her laugh.

"Yes, you did. Try again, now." Without his guidance this time. He stands next to her, watching.

She hits it again. There is much laughter, smiling joyfully...and then, quieter.

"These...bullets...they do not kill?"

"These ones do not kill, no. They are rubber -- will simply bounce off with a bit of a scratch." He slides the robes down his shoulders enough to show her the thumb-sized bruise in the middle of it along with the tiny scratch.

"Nothing too bad, you see."

She frowns a little, touching the bruise, but does not say anything.

"Yes. But there are...others?"

He smiles a tad and shifts the robes down a bit farther. Several jagged, rough-looking scars along his ribs, along his shoulder. The lash marks start about an inch from the bruise, but he won't talk about those.

"Yes, there are others. Metal, steel."

She hisses between her teeth, touching one lightly if he lets her.

"Gods. What happened? Do you need help?"

A light laugh.

"It is over with now, my dear. This is what bullets do, you see."

He tugs the robes back up, after a time.