milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

So getting a sheep was quicker than getting a gun, but in some ways more annoying. But that's in the past. Now, Karel's here with a sheep, am unharmed but very unhappy sheep at the end of a rope tether, and a bundle wrapped up in a big striped cloth that some here might recognize as an American flag.

He and his sheep wait outside, of course. For Shephard in particular, but he doesn't mind chatting with anyone else he knows.

((Warnings on the links, I guess for, uh, unarmed robbery and the intimidation of gentle mythological creatures?))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nod-nod. "That's good. I don't know the words. I want to know all that."

Whatever it is he got himself turns out to be--well, probably pretty old-fashioned by Shephard's time, but possibly also fairly recognizable as the sort of thing you'd keep around on a Virginia farm for hunting deer and occasional coyotes.

"All righty," Shephard says when he returns from housing the sheep. "Let's, uh. Let's just... look, you take the gun a second, I got to fold up that flag proper before I do anything else, m'kay?"

(He'll explain if he has to. He's been a Marine since he graduated from high school. There may not be a Federal government or a recognizable Constitution any more, but this is an American flag even if it's not from his world, and when you are a Marine there are rules.)

Sure, no problem. Karel passes over the big piece of cloth, holding onto his rifle, watching with amiable curiosity. "It's a flag?"

"Yeah," says Shephard. "My country's flag. I ought to be doin' this with another person's help, tell you the truth. You mind holdin' this end here, by the parts with the holes in 'em? It won't take but a minute and I'm doin' nine tenths of the work anyway."

The flag's a home display size, not something sized for a military base or a car dealership. Shephard knows someone who could theoretically fold it properly all by himself- Jan ten Boom is a good six foot six- but Jan's not here, so it's best to get a little assistance and do it as quickly as can be respectfully done.

"... I'mma guess it ain't gonna go back to whoever you got it from. I c'n bring it home with me if that's the case."

Karel has only the vaguest idea of what a "flag" is, other than "a piece of cloth with a picture on it that people hang up sometimes." He nods, still amiably, and holds the end as directed. "You want it? You can have it."

Ordinarily he'd argue a little, because a piece of cloth that size is awfully useful, but Shephard's already doing him a favor.

And the Bar here is amazing. He can probably ask it for as many big cloth bags as he wants.

"Thank you kindly," says Shephard, who's going to make this as fast as he can manage and still do it with respect. "'Preciate it. We'll put it to good use at home."

Or at least he will, even if Ms. Vance or any of the others have problems with it.

"All righty," he says when they've got a little blue starry triangle of cloth left; he tucks it carefully away into a pocket. (Yes, a pocket. Kanaya Maryam made his jacket and built semi-abstracted storage capabilities into it; he can store and carry a massive amount of stuff in the pockets, including things that ordinarily would require the intervention of a Time Lord or Mary Poppins.) "Now, let's see what you got here.... congratulations, kid, you got a good one. Remington Model 700, looks like the CDL, could be wrong about that- you got the ammo?"

Fitting all that into one pocket is pretty good. Karel couldn't even jam the box of ammunition--ammo, okay, that's how people talk--into the front pouch of his sweatshirt, but now he's inspired to look for something with bigger pockets.

He'll be so disappointed to know they don't all come with semi-abstracted storage capabilities.

"This is right?" He passes it over.

"Yeah, that'll do you fine for this," says Shephard, examining the gun and then the box. "See this number here? That's what you're gonna need to look for on other boxes in future when you're tryin' to git more rounds for this particular rifle. This's a .308 caliber rifle- dead common, shouldn't be hard to git what you need in future. You know anything about firearms at all?"

"Three zero eight. I can look for that. --I don't know anything. I looked at pictures in a book from the bar. Still learning to read." His lack of familiarity doesn't seem to daunt him at all.

"Fair 'nough. Then we'll start where my uncles started me way the fuck back when I was six'n they put my first BB gun in front of me," Shephard says. "And that's by sayin' you should always, always, always assume that any gun you pick up is loaded, and you shouldn't ever point one at anything you ain't prepared to see dead or destroyed. Even if it's a li'l bitty pea shooter 'stead of somethin' like this. Okay?"

Karel nods cheerfully--and then more seriously, catching the voice of authority. "Yeah. I am careful."

...it's just a really lucky thing for Franchek and Karel that this gun is not loaded, that's all. Karel scratches his head. "I am careful," he says again.

Shephard nods. "Good," he says. "'Cause there's an awful lot of folks out there who got hurt mighty bad or got themselves killed when they were tryin' to clean a gun, or just put one away, and they thought it wasn't loaded. Even when they thought it was safe, that ain't always the case."

"You also got to make sure that if you got the weapon in hand, you do not put your finger here until you are prepared to fire," he adds, and indicates the trigger. "We're gonna go through what you got to do to prepare the rifle'n how you got to hold it when you shoot. Whether you're learnin' or out practicin' or usin' it for huntin' for real, finger stays off the trigger until it's time to shoot. You're a careful kid, so make that part of bein' careful and you'll do fine."

"Yeah, my book, there was a picture. Put your hand like this, don't put your hand like this. I saw that." And remembered it! Sort of! "I will be careful about that too."

He's sobered a little; he looks like he means it.

"Smart kid," says Shephard. "Okay, now, here's where we're gonna start..."

The Marine, alas, knows vastly more about this subject than the mun does. Assume that the introduction to gun parts, safety, and usage goes on for quite some time, as he tends to be detail-oriented.

That's okay, Karel is a much more enthusiastic student than his mun, so let's also assume he's making a real effort to keep up with all the explanations. He's not that great when it comes to attention span, but he's trying!

Which is fine; when the attention span starts wavering Shephard's gonna take that as his sign to shift from Parts and Safety and Cleaning to How One Holds The Rifle So As Not To Get The Impression Of Having Been Kicked In The Shoulder By A Mule.

.... there were some people on the range at the mun's last visit who were not friends with Mr. Isaac Newton, let's just put it like that.

It's a good switch. Keeps Karel engaged. His book had pictures of all of this, and he says so. "And I read some of the words. But they don't help like seeing a real gun. --Like this?" The attention he's been paying shows in how closely he copies Shephard's hold and stance.

"Yeah, like that," says Shephard. "Snug it up against your shoulder good'n proper, and you want this finger here-"

The kid's got good physical memory, so this shouldn't take too long to get through to him. Once the basics of form and grip are covered Shephard pauses.

"Question for you. You ever been close to someone shooting? These fuckers're loud. I saw how your momma reacted when my dog did her bark trick. I got some ear protection on me if you want to block the noise some, but I dunno how you folks'd take to wearin' shit over your ears or stickin' plugs in there."

Oh. Good point. Karel scratches his head. "I never did." Never been close to someone shooting, and never tried blocking noise. "I will try the...ear protection."

"All righty. We'll start with the ear covers, see how that goes," says Shephard.

Those troll-made pockets of his are just giving the wrong impression left, right, and center today, aren't they? Two pairs of black plastic ear covers, labeled BULL'S EYE in white and PELTOR in black, are produced promptly. Shephard demonstrates how to put his own on, then notes, "Iffen these ain't to your liking, we got ear plugs instead. You'll still hear some, just not near as much, either way."

Yeah, the pockets are definitely something Karel is going to have to think about. Next time he's getting himself clothes.

He's making almost the same perplexed but trusting face a dog would make if you put ear covers on it. Mrr? He shakes his head a little, not trying to dislodge the things but getting used to the weight.

"--OKAY."

"All righty," says Shephard, raising his voice just enough to be reasonably heard. He's used to these things. "Now, I'm gonna load this fucker and take a shot at that there big wooden target fifteen yards out, m'kay? You watch, and when I'm done you follow my lead with it."

Fifteen yards is Shephard's idea of an entirely reasonable range for a kill shot with a primitive longbow. He maxed out his scores at the Marine Corps Scout Sniper training school at Quantico; with any kind of halfway decent rifle, a twenty-yard shot for him is the equivalent of successfully flicking a spitball into the head of the kid in the next row over in Mr. Porter's history class.

He takes a step or two back and nods. Okay, let's see this.

Shephard has been alive and active in the world for something like twenty-five or twenty-six years now. He's had a gun of one form or another in his hand for twenty of those years, or a bow when the gun wasn't suitable. He's used to this.

The target post has a target marking. The target marking has a cross at the center. Aim for the target and you hit the post, aim for the cross and you hit the target. Aim for the cross only you can see at the very center of the printed cross-

BANG!

Yep, that worked.

It sure did work. That's even cooler than the pockets. Karel laughs abruptly, grinning. "It's good!"