milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

He took his time coming to a decision.

When he woke up in the infirmary so many months ago, he discovered he had been given another chance, and had taken it with both hands.

Then the realities of his old life had come sprawling through the front door. Still, he took his time coming to a decision. There were those here that could uphold the law on their own.

In the end, the decision had come down to whether he would be able to stand aside should it come down to bullets.

That morning, he had gone to Bar and requested spare rounds. She wouldn't give him live ammunition, but rounds of blanks would serve just as well for bringing his eye and aim back to their old standard.

Out behind the stables, where he has noted it generally stays quiet, Shane stands with his gunbelt comfortably around his slim waist, and for the first time since he rode into Milliways, his gun rides at his right hip, filling the missing piece needed to complete the picture of the man. Despite how he might wish otherwise, this is what he is: a gunfighter, tried and true.

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Gavroche came out to attend to his pony, but they've been for a ride and he's brushed Pistolet down now.

The noise behind the stables caught his attention, and now he's standing at the corner of the building, safely behind Shane, watching.

For a moment he stands, hands loose at his side, gun holstered, staring off into the distance. He isn't sure who is responsible for the mountains that now guard the skyline, but he is grateful for them. The land just seemed wrong without mountains in the distance.

Then, like chain-lightening, he moves, draw, cock, aim and fire in one smooth deadly movement. The shell is a blank of course, and there is no obvious target, but the slim man seems satisfied with it none the less. Casually he opens the chamber of his colt pistol, emptying the spent shells and reloading.

Even more casually, he half-turns, raising an eyebrow at his young audience.

Gavroche grins at him cheerfully, unabashed at being caught watching.

"Hi!"

That, Shane feels, is only as it should be.

"'Lo." He nods, his voice quiet and calm. The shells clink softly as they slide into their places in the chamber. "Mite bit cold for a lad your size."

He's wearing a quilted jacket, in a concession to the cold, but only because Door caught him on the way out. Small boys are invincible, don't you know? Even when they've already died once.

"'s not too bad", he says. "And I like the snow."

Shane nods, pushing the chamber back into place and holstering the weapon. Again he looks off towards the mountains. They might not look quite like the more familiar Rockies or Appalachian Range, they are just familiar enough to be comforting.

"I'm Gavroche", the boy offers after a minute or two of silence.

Shane looks back at the boy and tilts his head at the unfamiliar name - not too many Gavroches in the lands he's roamed through.

"You from around these parts?"

He shakes his head. "From Paris. But now I live in London Below."

He nods, though both of those names only conjure up vague memories of stories from other countries, far away across the ocean and of little consequence in day-to-day life.

"A city lad?" He asks instead, "Must be strange, all this open land." He even manages to sound as if this is, indeed, a lot of open land.

It's certainly more than a Parisian street urchin would ever have hoped to see. Gavroche nods.

"It was, when I first got here. 's been a long time now, you get used to it."

"Will I indeed?" Shane asks, gravely courteous. "That is kind of you to say." He does not sour the reassurance, kindly meant, by noting that after working cattle in the western prairies, all else seems a bit close by comparison.

"Well, if you stay", he allows. "Where're you from?"

"Nowhere in particular, lad - I'm a wanderer by nature, always have been too footloose to stay put in one place for long." Shane replies in his round-about manner, and it is true as far as it goes. It is rare he spends more than a couple months in one town or province.

"Oh." He considers this. "But you're American?"

"That I am." Shane nods. "Not quite as exotic as London or Paris."

"...yes, it is", the boy insists. "I've never been to America."

"It is a good land." The gunman replies, looking off towards the mountains for a moment, then back at Gavroche. "With lots of room for boys to stretch out and be boys."

Gavroche grins.

"Must be really nice."

He's totally not angling for an invitation. Why would you think that?

"It can be, lad." Shane says, distantly. "It most certainly can be."

Gavroche eyes him at that tone, speculatively.

"Which parts were you in? Or all of it?"

"Most of it, and some of the Territories." He allows, mildly. He did say he was a rambler.

"Where's the Territories?"

"Lands out west, new land free to any man that can scratch out a living there." Shane explains as best he can. "They're still rough lands."

"So people go out there and start new farms?" he asks. He's just young and curious, there will be a lot of questions if Shane puts up with them.

"That's right." He nods, still unfazed by the cold. "Farms, cattle ranches, small settlements if enough folk band together."

The boy nods, eyes wide as he tries to imagine how much space there must be there. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"What year is it for you?" he asks suddenly.

"Just a few months shy of 1890." He replies simply. "Or it was, when I left."

"It was 1832 for me."

Shane nods, but doesn't comment. The first person he met, Doctor Tam, was from some far off time in the future.

With ships that sail the stars, evidently.

Gavroche turns to look at the mountains, content with silence for the time being.

Since he's seemingly exhausted the store of questions for the time being, Shane stands off a few paces and goes back to his practice with the quiet dedication of a man determined to do well in all he sets a hand to, no matter what he thinks of the task.

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