shatterverse | Lawrence, Kansas

Guns, Rachel has found, are boring. Or at least, the cleaning of them is. Right now, she's setting her ammunition boxes aside, separate from Jo's, and is putting her Very First Gun back together post-cleaning.

~~Trying not to think too hard on what might be said about this, her, with a gun.~~

"Yeah?" The gun clicks when she snaps it all back into place, chin lifted to look up at Jo curiously, brows lifted. "Target practice?"

Jo's still wondering at the sanity of teaching someone new, someone she barely knows, to shoot.

But Rachel's been attentive and not-crazy through the really boring part that frequently flushes out those who aren't actually there for a purpose. Aka The Boring Long Crap.

(And she didn't turn into a demon or have a horrid reaction on drinking either holy water in the coffee or the bare base oil combination in the eggs.)

"Whenever you're ready."

Edited 2008-06-22 04:01 (UTC)

"Not ready yet."

The gun is set down on the coffee table, Rachel getting up to stride purposefully past Jo - and to the coffee pot.

"Now'm ready," she informs Jo past a full mug, blue eyes just a little bit brighter after that first sip.

Jo watched her, brown eyes amused.

"Drink it first. We're riding, and that's not coming near my jacket."

"Like I'd ever spill it."

Though Rachel does smirk a little once she's done, setting the empty mug in the sink. "How far is it?" she asks, heading back into the living room to pick up her gun, and a jacket of her own.

"'Bout ten miles off."

To the East. Closer to the half defunct Kansas City.

Gotta love those crazy border-barrier lines.

Jo's holding the screen door, talking back. Half making sure there's no one to watch them leave.

Rachel has a shoulder-holster. She finds this simultaneously kick-ass and hilarious, smirking a little as she slips it on, tucking the gun in the holster under her arm, and pulling the jacket on over it.

...and feeling more like she should be getting on a horse outside rather than a motorcycle.

"Worried about something?" Rachel asks as she stops just before the door, watching Jo with an arched brow.

"Not exactly."

The word doesn't fit this situation.

She doesn't want them right here right now. But that's not worried.

Worried (after angry as shit fucking hell) only pertains to Sammy, who might be batshit crazy, wrapped around the finger of either something creepy or plain his not-dead-wife. Either way his actions, and lousy reactions, merited real worry.

"Been a few days since I checked in."

Jo walked off the porch toward her bike. "Should stop there when we get back."

Brows lift - and it takes a moment before Rachel's following her, straightening her jacket again. "They're gonna throw a fit about taking in a random girl and giving her a gun, huh?"

Rachel is not too surprised about this, really.

Jo looked at her, with an interesting smile.

"Unless you want shit for months, you won't mention I gave the gun or the lessons. To either of them."

She shrugged, getting on the bike.

"You can if you want, but its your funeral. Almost shooting Dean in the face already made my peace with them on my place in the field."

Rachel snorts. Because this is somewhat hilarious.

"Technically, I got the gun," she points out, slipping onto the bike behind Jo. "You just told me where to get it. And admitting to the lessons would be admitting I'm new at this.

"Not gonna happen."

Any more than it already has, anyway.

Jo smiles for that kind of response. That kind of thinking.

(It's not the same as saying she won't fill one of the boys in if they asked her point blank. And were sane.)

But the only answer she gives is to rev the bike and take off down the street.

The ride doesn't take long. It does take them out of Lawrence on 70, until she hits a dirt road going north off of it. They end up at a rickety house, with empty stock pens.

Jo parked on the front lawn, and made a motion with her hand.

"We're round back."

Hanging onto a slender girl in front of her with a gun under her arm is really difficult. By the time the bike's stopped, Rachel is already making plans to head back to the store where she got the shoulder holster - to get a thigh holster instead.

Swinging off the bike, Rachel nods and follows along behind Jo, pulling her jacket off as they go.

Edited 2008-06-22 04:54 (UTC)

Jo doesn't pull her jacket off yet.

She just walks, rounding the house like it's not there, until she gets to the back.

There are empty stock pen fences crossing everywhere. About three fences out is a line up. It's got bottles, cans, glass candles and drinking glasses. You make do in an Apocalypse.

Jo walk to the far edge of the fence closed to them, and pulled herself up to sit on it, nodding out.

"Try and hit something."

...okay. Rachel stares at her for a moment before making a face - not at Jo, but at the lines of glass on the fences. She pulls the gun out of the holster and, after a moment, drops the holster to the ground right after. Definitely getting rid of that thing.

As for the actual shooting bit, she's busy frowning - a lot. Lifting the gun awkwardly and adjusting her grip until it's comfortable again. There's some squinting, one eye closing briefly before both open again, trying hard to line up the point of the gun with one of the bottles, clicking back the hammer before aiming again.

She's never shot before. But she's been shot at quite a bit. And Rachel definitely knows how to pull a trigger.

Unfortunately, knowing how and actually doing it really isn't the same thing - at all. She doesn't even nick the bottle she was aiming at.

This warrants a glare.

Jo watched her.

And if the comment wouldn't be said, she was at least not ten feet off.
Which wouldn't kill something she wanted, but it wasn't as bad as it could be.

"Which is your dominant hand and eye?"

"Right hand and... right eye, too, I guess." Rachel drops the gun with an irritated sigh, clicking the safety on and taking her finger away from the trigger before letting it hang by her hip.

MEH, says Rachel.

Jo gives her a look and shake of her head that questions seriously why she's moved her gun.

"There are a complicated number of things you have to focus on. Pull your gun back up. Use your right hand for pulling the trigger, for controlling your whole gun with that movement. Your left is only used to steady your hand from moving and catch on recoil."

She nods toward the target again. "Aim with your right eye first, but compensate one-fourth or half an inch to the left to make up for your vision. Try a few."

Ignoring that first look-and-shake, Rachel lifts the gun again - safety off - and listens to Jo's instructions carefully. Following them is harder. Not only is this harder than cleaning was, it isn't nearly as methodical, it's something she'll have to learn to do in a split-second.

And there are no instincts to borrow so she can do it.

Eyes narrow then open wide, head turned slightly to the side so she can aim with her right eye. Then back, centered, half an inch to the left for her vision.

And fires three times.

One can goes flying, but Rachel doesn't look at all satisfied.

Jo was watching her, more than the bullets.

"Widen your stance."

After a few more rounds she adds.

"You'll be hitting larger targets in the field. Moving ones. These are sitting still."

"That's not the problem," Rachel mutters, trying to concentrate. Her stance, her vision, her hands on the gun.

But she isn't criticizing the gun, the targets, the bullets. She's criticizing her own faulty, nothing senses. How can she be expected to aim without eagle eyes? How can Jo want her to keep her hands steady on the recoil without thick, corded muscle like a bear? How does she expect her to just learn all this, when there are no natural instincts to give her a hint?

...like most other humans do it, probably.

Rachel keeps scowling through every shot. But she does improve.

She sinks into the recoil and never startles at the blast. Two things people brand new to guns and shooting never did. Jo watched it calmly adding it to the list of things that were Rachel.

Her hands laid on the boards, she watched.

In more ways, she remembered.

"you're tightening your upper arms before you shoot."

Edited 2008-06-22 05:34 (UTC)

"I don't want to get knocked off-balance with the recoil," Rachel replies, a little strained, glaring when her gun clicks on empty. She sighs after that, holding the gun at her side and brushing her hair back again. "What do you do?"

"This." Jo turns without pause, it happens in a flash of seconds.

Her legs spread over the beam from sitting, hook on the board in the middle. Her right hand reaches around her left side under her jacket as her left arm moves out, and there's an automatic in her hands.

Her face doesn't tighten except when she's reaching for the gun. Her body is a straight line, not wavering, absorbing shock in a wave, staring forward with both eyes.

The first three bottleglasscandle go down. Then one is skipped, can goes down, the two are skipped, bottle, then three are skipped, smallcandle.

Rachel's watching - but not the targets. Her gaze never moves from Jo's stance, the line of her shoulders specifically, how she absorbs the recoil, since Rachel's method obviously didn't work.

Although, the clink of glas to go with the sound of a gunshot is duly noted.

"All right." She lifts her gun again, clicking it open to the empty rounds and pulling a box of ammunition from the pocket of her fallen jacket. Clicking in one after the other, she doesn't look up, speaking to the rounds. "Let me try again."

Jo settled looking back at her. Blinking, a slow breath releasing from her nose.

Relaxing from not even tensing herself. It's a work in itself.

A process she may never master completely. No matter the years.

Luckily, no one's asking anyone to master anything. Not yet.

Gun loaded and back in her stance, Rachel lifts the gun and runs through the whole process again.

More bottles and glasses explode, only missing two out of all six rounds. And Rachel still lowers the gun with a sigh, dissatisfied.

"Seriously, this is way harder than it looks."

"Takes a long time to get to easy."

Jo voices is surprisingly soft, even speaking loud enough to carry.

"It's harder the better you want to be."

At least for everyday mortals.

Humans. Meh. This kind of fighting isn't hard - it's difficult, requires training her body, isn't something it does naturally.

It's amazing how annoying that is.

Sighing again, Rachel sets the gun down on top of her jacket, using a band on her wrist to pull her hair back and keep it from falling in her face again. "Same for combat, I'm guessing. Or is that harder?"

"'Bout."

Jo jumps down off the fence, gun stowed safely away already.

"More bruising there."

"More adrenaline then, though," Rachel points out, picking up the shoulder holster to shrug into it again. She twists the gun around in her hands, careful of the heat and sighs, looking up at Jo.

"Again?"

Or is that enough for now?

"Your choice. We've got the morning. You can shoot more. You can try combat. You can sit on your ass an do nothin'."

Jo's not her drill instructor. That much is clear.

She's not forcing it. It's up to her to decide what she wants.

At the last comment, Rachel looks over and grins, amused at least. "Not really feeling like the last idea right now."

There's so much to do - or at least, there should be so much to do. And she's in no place to do it right now.

But she will be.

The cylinder of the gun clicks when it spins, re-loaded and Rachel moves back into her stance. "Combat later."

She's only just getting the hang of this part.

Rachel doesn't see since Jo's off to her side and back now.

But there's a grim faint approval on her face.

She'll walk behind after a point of announcing herself, while the shooting happens, using two fingers to correct small things with little force. Just enough touch to make her notice.

When her shoulders are up. When she isn't standing straight.

To laugh when something suddenly explodes beyond them.

It'll take time, but she's doing good at faster learning. Which was what this world demanded.

And that, at least, she knows how to do.

That grim determination on Rachel's face turns to intense concentration, listening and shifting along with Jo's instruction.

Until she ends up grinning, giddy and amused and laughing when Jo does, with the sound of exploding glass in the background.

By the time her first box of ammunition is empty, Rachel is relaxed and happy, grinning as she holsters the gun and takes a look at their ruined shot-practice - and the fence full of holes.

"That was fun," Rachel announces with a happy little sigh, shrugging her jacket back on.

Only one proper response another pretty girl with a gun, who isn't incompetent, enjoying herself.

"Fuck yeah."

Rachel laughs again, grinning at-- well, a pretty girl with a gun, who isn't incompetent, enjoying herself.

Best damn teacher she ever had.

"You have stuff to do today?"

That gets a partly dry glance up.

"I should check in."

At least with Dean or Dianne.

Someone she wasn't likely to scowl at.

Too much.

"Cool." There is nodding and small smiles. "I wanna look around a bit."

A few different ways, at that: eagle eyes, the wolf's nose, and the bear's...

Well, she just likes the bear.

"Here or want me to drop you somewhere on my way in?"

"I can make my way back to your place eventually. Give you time to... warn the locals, or whatever."

It wasn't a hard road back. And she'd made it Topkea fine all on her own.

So Jo shrugged, with a grin.

"Catch you when your back."

"Sounds good." Rachel smiles and waves, already heading around the house again. "Hey... thanks for all this."

Jo's grin was more wan this time.

With a simple nod, her hands shoving half into her tight jeans.

"Keep practicing and you just might enjoy the ride in this world."

"And without a bike, too."

Rachel smirks, waves once more, and is gone.

Lawrence, Kansas

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject