(no subject)

[scurlock]

There is a clearing some distance away from the bar which gets set up occasionally as a shooting range. A short time before sunset, a cowboy walks out with a rifle slung over one shoulder and a bag over the other. He paces off a certain number of yards, from the 'line'. Thankfully there is a good sized stump at roughly the distance he wants to shoot.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out several empty soda cans he collected off tables in the Bar earlier, and lines them up in a row, and drops the bag with the spares at the base of the stump before he walks back to the line.

Doc makes sure to check all around the 'range', and jabs a stick with an orange flag in it a few yards in the direction of the bar, to help get people's attention. He'd rather not shoot anything other than the cans.

Soon enough, he's standing tall, sighting the rifle, and pulling the trigger.

The lever-action rifle is loud when it fires, so anyone nearby would have plenty of warning by the sound alone. Every six rounds, he takes a break to reload.

ooc: He is botherable but obviously, get his attention first before you stroll on up.

Comments

[almosthonorable]

He's got an audience.

A quiet one.

Standing next to the flag, arms crossed over his chest, watching the aluminum fly.

When the kid stops to reload, Ben figures it's as good a time as any to announce himself.

"Ain't half-bad."

[scurlock]

"Can't be half-good -- end up dead."

Doc glances over at the man standing there, and his eyes fall for a brief second to the gunbelt and holster at his hip, then back up to his eyes as he nods his head. If Ben wants to shoot, he's more than welcome to share.

He turns his attention back to reloading, pulling the bullets from his belt and clicking them into the chamber.

[almosthonorable]

Ben's lips quirk.

"Ain't that the truth."

He returns the nod, understanding the unspoken offer, then studies the hands on the rifle.

"You shootin' with both eyes open?"

[scurlock]

"Know it all too well. And it depends on what I'm shootin' at, how far it is off, shit like that."

Rifle reloaded, those hands bring it up to position with an easy motion, and he studies the remaining cans. Two are standing.

The first shot barely misses. It's an old rifle, but he corrects for the aim and it takes three more to take out both cans. He stops then, and leans the rifle against the nearest stump.

He nods out at the cans as he takes his first step towards the far stump. "Y'want me to throw a coupla them up for you?"

[almosthonorable]

"See too many folks shoot with just one all the damn time."

He watches the young gun shoot — really, ain't half-bad — then nods.

"Long as you don't mind, son."

[scurlock]

"You got one eye closed you're missin' out on half the picture an' that bullet comin' from the other side of the ridge," he comments, as he continues out towards the cans. "And not at all, sir."

He does have his manners, even if he is an outlaw.

It doesn't take long for him to set up a line of the soda cans and then head back to where he's clear.

"Go on ahead," he nods. "Don't want the rifle gettin' too hot, after all."

[almosthonorable]

'Sir'.

Ben likes the respect he hears there.

(And the kid's smart, using both eyes.)

His lips quirk.

"All right."

The Hand of God comes out of its holster, the targets are eyed for two heartbeats.

Six shots ring out; six cans fall to the dirt, one after the other.

[scurlock]

The gun itself is impressive, from the glance he catches as it comes out of the holster, it's clean, but in this man's hands --

ping-click-ping-click-ping-click
ping-click-ping-click-ping-click

-- it's downright awe inspiring.

Doc watches with calm eyes and a hint of an awed smile. "Where'd you learn to shoot that fast, sir?"

Or how, but that's impossible to explain, in his eyes.

[almosthonorable]

Gun's got a curse on it.

Lightly, "All over."

Ben reloads, his eyes never leaving Doc's, then holsters the pistol.

"Ben Wade, 1865."

[scurlock]

His eyes snap from the pistol to the man's face.

They're sellin' those dime novels on the streets of New York City, but Doc doesn't need to buy them, or take them away from his boys when they try and sneak them into the classroom and huddle around at the break. He already knows the stories. And the characters.

"...responsible for over a million in losses to the Southern railroad...escaped Yuma prison...hell I can't remember how many times...fastest gun...the famous Ben Wade, 1865...holy-fuckin-shit."

Doc blinks.

Billy ain't gonna believe this.

[almosthonorable]

Ben grins.

"A million, you say?"

A beat.

"Huh."

A slight head-tilt.

"Year you from, son?"

[scurlock]

"1881."

Doc swallows a bit and nods his head, as he steps forward to offer Ben a hand.

"Josiah Gordon Scurlock," he says. "1881. New Mexico Territory."

[almosthonorable]

He takes the hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Just outta Arizona, myself."

As he takes his hand back, he nods, almost to himself.

"A million. Just broke four hundred thousand, right now."

A beat as his grin widens.

"Got somethin' to look forward to, at least."

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

Atton, from his spot where he certainly wasn't standing a moment ago, tilts his head at the gun. Old-fashioned guns are old-fashioned and interesting to him. He's out of Doc's line of fire, standing near the orange flag.

"Your lot still uses slugthrowers?" It's less derisive and more intrigued surprise.

[scurlock]

"If by slugsthrowers...you mean bullets? Then yeah."

Doc looks up as he pauses to reload, and then nods for Atton to come join him if he wants to.

"We don't got...well, ain't sure what you had the other day, the glowin' sword."

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"Coherent energy weapons're pretty much standard in my galaxy. For guns, at least. Lightsabers are pretty rare, not everyone can use them. Usually only break mine out on special occasions." Atton replies, mildly. "Blasters are cheaper to make than slugthrowers, for a start."

[scurlock]

"That so?" Doc thinks on that a moment. "Well suppose it's less cost for the lead and the powder, less work than refillin' shells and the like."

He cocks the action back to the rifle but keeps it pointed downrange.

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"Yeah. Just have t'worry about keeping the energy cell charged up. S'very cost effective." Thoughtfully. "Don't think I've ever used a slugthrower before." Giving Doc's rifle a slightly thoughtful glance.

It's totally not the 'should I steal this?' look. Totally.

[scurlock]

Doc knows that look. Even if it's not that look.

"You can try it, if you want." His revolver is also in the holster at his hip, but he's not as willing to lend that out for anyone to practice with.

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"Can I?" He may be already moving to take it.

[scurlock]

Doc holds the weapon out for Atton to take it.

"Got a hell of a kick, but don't try and brace against it, it'll leave a bigger bruise that way. Squeeze the trigger and then pull the action down to eject the shell and put the next in the chamber."

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

Atton nods, taking a moment to test the weight and balance of it, before raising it and firing several shots, each one hitting a can.

[scurlock]

Doc whistles low, impressed.

"Shit, you're better than I am."

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

Doc gets a bright, beaming grin. Atton's like a little kid - It more or less makes his day when people are impressed with him.

"Thanks. 'M good with guns, generally."

[scurlock]

"I can see that," he agrees, with a bit of a smile. "Just comes natural for some folk."