milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

The door opens, and River wanders in.

She looks to be in a reasonably good mood; at least, she's looking around the room, rather than staring at the floor or the air, even if her gaze doesn't quite settle quite normally. It's the tall boots today, rather than bare feet, under a loose floral skirt, and a couple of shirts in layers.

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Roland nods. "Very old, yar. You know how to work it?"

She ghosts her fingers along the chamber, over the barrel. She watches it curiously, as if it's a branch, or an animal. Anything to be investigated.

Then she lets her free hand drop, and turns a little sideways. Straightens her arm, points the gun towards the bottles, and cocks it with her thumb.

Roland steps back.

Quietly: "Shoot, then."

She looks at the bottles. Intently. Her eyes are wide, gaze sharp.

"Can't look."

Then she closes her eyes.

"Can't look."

Bang. One.

The recoil startles her a little, and she opens her eyes to scowl at the gun. Another sweeping glance, and she closes them again.

"Can't--"

Bang.

Bang.

"--look."

Bang. Almost a miss; the very top of the bottle explodes, and the bottle rocks, slowly tilts, falls over as--

Bang. That hit's solid.

She opens her eyes, and smiles at him. Sweet and cheerful and a little proud.

And Roland's smile -- not sweet. Maybe cheerful, if you looked hard enough. Proud, and impressed, and a bit wondering.

"It is well." A pause. "Do you always shoot such?"

Her arm drops to her side, gun pointing at the ground.

She looks out at the lake, and doesn't answer.

He studies her for a moment.

Quietly: "I'd have you do another thing, River. Would you shoot again?"

She looks back at him.

After a moment, she nods a little.

He removes five bullets from his belt, holds them out to her. "Reload, then."

She switches the gun to her left hand. She holds out her right hand, and lets him drop the bullets into it.

It takes some fumbling and some figuring out, in the chilly moonlight, but eventually she manages to load them all and pop the cylinder back into place.

Roland picks up the other bag. "Moving target, now. Watch carefully."

He hunkers, and keeps the bag open.

His hands are fast.

One-two-three-four-five. He flings them all high in the air, and away so that the glass will not break on them, and watches.

Her eyes go wide and startled.

An instant's hesitation -- too short for any but a gunslinger's eyes to see, maybe, but Roland will know. Then her hand moves in a blur, one-two-three-four-and-fiveatthelastsecond. She doesn't know to fan the hammer; she does it with the thumb of the same hand.

Four bottles explode. One crashes to the ground, splintering on a rock. She scowls at it.

Roland knows.

But it doesn't matter.

He straightens.

And quietly: "Very well done." A pause. "First time using a gun like that? With a hammer you must pull back, after each shot?"

"Old," she tells the gun quietly. "Not current technology." She reaches out as if to run her fingers along the barrel again, and then pulls them back before they touch. "Hot."

Roland nods. "You say true." Pause. "Why'd you use the thumb, rather than fan the hammer with your other hand?"

She blinks at him.

Then peers at the gun.

Her free hand rises, makes a fanning gesture at the hammer. She does it as if cooling it off, rather than hitting it properly with the side of her hand.

Then, slowly, she strokes the flat of her hand along the top of the cylinder, and lets it fall down on the hammer. Click, and the empty cylinder rotates. She touches the worn sandalwood of the grip with her fingers.

Quietly: "Just so." A pause. "When using one gun only, it's better to fan. When using two -- it takes much practice, and a long time, but it is possible to have the same speed as with one, and reload with the same speed. Then it is necessary to shoot from the hip."

She lets the hand holding the gun fall to her side, and looks out at the scattered shards of glass on the shore.

Softly, after a moment, "Careful. Cut your feet."

Roland nods. "You say true." A pause. "Would you shoot more, River?"

She looks at him.

"Would you shoot more tonight?"

"Out of bottles."

It's enough for tonight.

"I'd clean the gun, River. May I have it back?"

She hands it back to him, carefully.

When he takes it from her, she smiles again, small but real.

Roland reloads, quickly, and holsters -- and smiles back.

"Inside." A pause. "You hungry?"