Gunslinger

…no.

i ain’t sayin’ that the whole… love gig… is somethin’ i’m any kind of expert on here.  i sure as hell ain’t.  but i reckon, if you love someone, then trust is part and parcel of the gig.  y’all don’t gotta know their deepest darkest… don’t need to go rattlin’ skeletons out o’no closets.  but i believe that if’n there is something there that’s important to someone - if’n you got trust, then they might just have enough faith that you ain’t gonna judge ‘em.  

trust is one o’the hardest things to build.  an’ one of the easiest to break.hearts are probably easier mended than faith.

Patty gave him a look, one that was far from slight and extremely against ‘deciding’’ not to hold as much admiration for him as she did. As if that wouldn’t make sense by any stretch of the mind and she couldn’t imagine someone who would think differently from her. But she answers softer, as though it’s all in her power in the end. “I’m already good. We’re both good here.” Patty winks and turns back to the firing line. 

Nate seems uncomfortable with her joke, maybe that was her bad. It seemed subtle when she said it, not too revealing, but perhaps this wasn’t his first encounter with something like that, or he was just more perceptive than she thought. Either way, his response has tact and makes her feel more secure, so though she’s feeling iffy about it the smile she offers back is genuine and speckled with confidence. “Thanks. In the meantime, I hope we get along.”

Patty did a little dance at the praise, she’d take it even in the smallest forms. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked to be taught but it hadn’t really been an option before; Ambrose considered her place to be somewhere between his bed and beside the river, folding clothes. What did she need self-defense for when she had him? She was under no impression that hitting the bottle had been anything but an accident but she still hammed it up, briefly cocking one hip with her hand upon it, mockingly blowing at the tip of her pistol through the corner of her mouth.

“I’m a fast learner! ‘N I’ve been watching. It’s not the same as using your own hands, I know…but you get what you get sometimes, you know?”

When it becomes clear that Nate’s about to demonstrate, her silly grin falls just a tad and she glances between him and herself as she watches him, doing her best to absorb and copy the tips he’s giving her down to every finger position, every angle of the arms. It’s tough–she furrows her brow in concentration trying to imitate and commit that feeling to memory, while also trying to remember why at the same time. It’s only when he catches himself about to swear that she glances at him with a smirk.

“’Fuck’. You can say it.” She teases coyly before returning to the task at hand. 

“Like this?” She asks, kind of faraway as she’s still trying to go down the checklist and make sure she’s done it all. Elbows…feet. Fingers. Then she points down the sights again, opening her eye like he told her and blinking, pursing her lips, trying to re-acclimate to seeing things this way. Patty doesn’t fire yet, though, she just stares at the world on the other end of that gun and enjoys the feeling of dominance it gives her.

“…’you always feel this way?” She asked, quietly excited. “Like nothing can touch you?”

“i know i can.  but - i try not to.  my grandpa’ taught me that it ain’t polite to use bad language around a lady.”

the sentiment was likely as outdated as most other things now.  but it’s one that somehow still flips in by default.  the old southern rancher had a way about him that generally meant once a lesson was learned, it was one that stuck.  and in so far as the crumbling world around them might well have changed people... sometimes in better ways, sometimes in worse - nate believes that there’s still something inherent in everyone, something everyone carried with them - whispers of their own past that refused to be quieted... even now.  

but the words are spoken with a grin of his own.  perhaps she’d think him foolish to hang onto something as simple as manners.  but it’s there - about as bone deep as the demonstration he offers.  one which she copies, the dutiful student, paying attention.  and... what she comes up with, mimicking his stance isn’t half bad.

“yeah - i think you’re good.  might feel a bit weird.  most people get their hands on a gun and either turn into miami vice or charlies angels - so... as long as you ain’t tryin’ to ‘tv’ shoot-em-up, then... yep.”

a nod, then a pause... her next comment bringing him up slightly short.  and he does have to think about it for a moment.  but when the answer comes, it comes with some solid honesty, nate - ever rubbish with words - attempting to put something that’s more of a feeling into the air... 

“i think... at first, i did.  used to shoot rats back on the ranch, clear out the barns, make sure the stores were clean, those critters sure as hell can get into places you just wouldn’t expect.  and they’re damn quick too.”

the gun he’d used to demonstrate is placed back onto the crate he’s using as a temporary table, nate stepping back to give patty a little space to settle herself, folding his arms over his chest to resist the urge to slot a clip neatly into the gun and knock down as many of the bottles and cans as he could.

“was somethin’ like a sense of achievement.  get ‘em with one shot before they skitter back into a hole or disappear into the shadows.  thing is, i know that the rats weren’t tryin’ to hurt me, they were just hungry sons of bit--...  bitches.  and it was kinda... sad... ‘cos after, i had t’go pick ‘em up and drop ‘em in a sack t’go on the fire.”  

a slight twist of lips before he continues --

“took the knack o’poppin’ rats and made a career out of it.  just then the things i was aimin’ at weren’t no critter.  and a bit too big t’go in a sack.”

there’s a shrug which he doesn’t know whether she sees or not.  but the things of his past, and his present, weren’t something he was ashamed of.  even if it meant taking a life at the end of a slew of orders and intelligence, or standing up to a gang of raiders.  the purpose was the same.  stand up for those people who needed you to.  protect, fight, shoot to kill.

“guess i ain’t felt like that for a long while.  a gun don’t make you god.  just makes you the one who sends others to meet him.”

“Don’t be modest…I’m so over it,” Patty laughed a bit. For once, she wished one of these people would go ‘you’re damn right that’s me’. If only to amuse her for a second or two. Then again, maybe he got thanked a lot. Maybe she was just beating a horse too many others had taken a turn on before. Regardless, she didn’t want to come off ungrateful.

It’s interesting, watching him examine her gun. Patty couldn’t even begin to predict what he was looking for, but his focus was cute and there was something thrilling about watching a guy work with his hands. She even laughed a bit, surprised when he dismantled and reassembled her gun like it was nothing. Like he’d known it for years. “Jeez,” she sighed, grinning and blinking a bit, starstruck. “’Can’t say no to that…teach me to be cool like you, jefe.”

She just quirked her brow a bit at his playful little followup. Then smiled, with veiled nostalgia, when Nate implies Ambrose had lost something special. You have no idea. “He had others.” There was a time she wouldn’t have dared make jokes but she finally feels like she’s putting it past her, like she’s stopped regretting something she really…had no choice but to do. “Your stuff’s safe. As long as you never try to lock me down. Then I’’m takin’ all of it.” She winked. 

With her gun back in her hands, Patty dug her feet in by the line and looked down at the gun in her hands, carefully disengage the safety. It took effort for her to chamber the round, something she probably should have done beforehand, but once it was done she raised her arms straight out and pointed, trying her best to aim in the direction of the bottles he’d set up. Then she shut an eye, forced herself to stop thinking about Nate and all his height standing behind her, and shot twice. The first one shocked her, the recoil harder than she expected but gun remaining firmly in her hands. She’d hit nothing, though, which is why the second shot came seconds later. She watched the bottle fall but barely burst as her shot grazed the neck. 

Satisfied, Patty let her hands drop some, grinning, then remembered to put the safety back on, turning back to face him afterwards. “More?” She asked cheekily, proud of herself for hitting something at all.

“i ain’t.”

there’s a quick flash of a grin because... no.  nate was pretty much just a part of the furniture at this point.  someone people payed attention to when he made his presence known, but otherwise... usually hunched on a roof or scouting a perimeter.  enough distance between him and them that conversation wasn’t always present in abundance.  and when there was, nates general demeanour was at best - enough to turn most of them the slight sour of milk left out in the sun too long.

“so if’n you decide not to be... i’m good with that.”

though at the mention of some kind of lockdown, there’s definitely a blink of confusion because... n-o... that didn’t sound any kind of good at all.  and if the previous owner of the gun had done something like that ( at least, the way nate’s brain ran the translation into some kind of torrid occurence of the past - and there’s a brief moment when he wonders if he’s reading it right at all... or if it was perhaps just a slip of words on her part... )... then ‘nicking’ his weapon was probably the least he deserved.

so he decides to stack it, stash it, store it away.  perhaps she might shed a little more light on it...

“i think if i do something as shitty as that sounds - you’re welcome to all of ‘em.”

but he does watch carefully, it’s a mentors observation.  not that he’s ever really ‘taught’ anyone before, but he knows this.  inside and out.  can see the flaws around the weapon more than he can see the person holding it.  so he has to... mentally zoom out.  start from the gun and work backwards.  see the way it rests in her hands.  the ‘kick’ of that first shot shifting her shoulders and arms... steps a little to the side, moves back from the arms... watches her aim, measures her stance.  the ‘ting’ of a bottle in the background.  hitting something was ‘part 2′... part one was taking the shot and making it right.  though he does acknowledge it.

“hey, i thought you said you were an amateur...  nice shot.”

as she asks if he wants more, nate just gives a small nod, but holds up one hand - a gesture to pause for a moment.

“that wasn’t bad at all... here’s a couple things you might try which could help...”

he picks up one of the guns from the table - another 9mm not too dissimilar to the one she has.  it’s not loaded - no clip and nothing chambered, but it’ll do for a demonstration.

“two hands - set em comfortably - an’ y’keep your finger over the trigger guard till you’re ready to shoot, not on the trigger - means you don’t accidentally lose a toe.  seen it happen... not pretty.  but funny as fu-- uh... amusin’.”

“next... y’gonna keep both eyes open.  no squintin’.  you shut one eye an’ somethin’ comes at you from the side, y’ain’t gonna catch that.”

“now - y’ain’t always gonna have the luxury o’shootin’ from a normal stance, but if you can do it, then take the opportunity -- feet shoulder width apart - one in front o’the other or side by side... , nice an’ steady, whatever’s most comfortable.   arms bent, just a little.  lockin’ your joints up is a fast trip to instability, reduced mobility and slower shots.  elbows slightly bent lets the recoil ride back instead of flip up, keeps your wrists safer too.  but you’ll learn to control that with a bit o’practice an’ it won’t come as a surprise.”

as he speaks, nate takes up the stance he’s describing to try and demonstrate. looking back to patty with another of those nods - 

Nate grants the thief her wish to say and Max finds herself filled with immediate relief, glad her display hadn’t punished her further with being unwanted, her assistance unneeded. Of course, she knows Nate doesn’t need her, the brief battle against the corpse at her feet evidence enough, but Max… doesn’t handle being alone so easily when fear twists within her gut, when deft hands usually so steady find themselves trembling so slightly.

And her hands stay wrapped around Nate’s, even as they begin to walk, to continue the patrol she’d signed up for, had perhaps previously been excited for, the possibility of encountering a much needed battle consistently playing on her mind when boredom strikes too deep.

The question, though warranted, is not one she can bring herself to answer so quickly and it’s a silence that greets Nate as her gaze meets the floor, watching her feet as she puts one foot before the other. The cold is… gone, for the most part, except for the place within her chest. A small nugget of numbness so close to her heart Max is almost certain that one day it’ll simply latch onto her soul for good, freezing her from the inside out in ghostly flames.

“I can’… control it,” Max mumbles, her voice almost a whisper, so coated in shame and embarrassment. For someone so insistent on being independent, on fighting the good fight alone standing on her own two feet; what kind of burden had she unwillingly become now? “S’happened before. I get protective, or angry an’ it jus’… happens. Anythin’ bad gets close an’ tha’s it, I’m ou’. I don’ get no say in it. An’ wit’ this I jus’ – It’s like back wit’ the raiders. Secon’ you’re in any kind o’ danger, I wanna set the damn world on fire t’ keep you safe. An’ tha’ ain’ no damn divine’s fault, I’d figh’ fo’ you wit’ or wit’ ou’ this stupid thing.”

“Mais… I don’ get a say no more. I don’ think I’m ever gonna eit’er. When Bryce go’ hurt wit’ you clearin’ the academy, I couldn’ stop myself none from tryin’ to fix him like I did you.” 

The thief slows her steps, a small crease between her brows as she frowns, looking to the soldier with worried eyes, teeth scraping over her bottom lip. 

“I’m sorry, Nate.”

the reply to his question is appreciated.  but it’s the same thing she told him before.  about healing bryce, healing him.  a repetition in kind.  no further forward than the confusion and inexplicability of the before.  and he has to admit... he’s still as lost with the whole thing now as he had been then.  but...

...but... they’d made an agreement.  one which seems more relevant now than ever.  and one he’s going to cash in -- though he’s acutely mindful of where they are.  and the face that the axe wielding thing left sprawled in the alley behind them might not be the only nasty roaming the streets around them.  she has her eyes nailed to the floor.  those boots scuffing the asphalt once again.  so he scans the area - once, twice... then comes to a dead stop, turning to stand in front of her.

“hey, soldier - eyes front.”

his words aren’t unkind.  not harsh.  not a command - more of a reminder.  they aren’t in a room with the privacy of those walls, with the safety of other eyes watching out for them here.  one slip.  a mistake.  a tremble in their focus and it could turn out to be... well... not good.  at the same time, he’s not shutting it down - because getting max to ‘talk’ was either a feast or a famine.  deadly silence or constant sound.  

“we’re on a mission here.”

the latter words spoken with a hint of a grin --  that never too far absent tease.  it’s a brave-face effort.  he doesn’t feel quite as at ease about the whole thing as he’s rather convincingly portraying.  it’s not as though he’s scared of her... of that power that flickered beneath her skin and lit up her eyes - perhaps he should be.  perhaps he trusts max above the power.  perhaps he’s just dumb.  he’s afraid - for - her.  for this... the ‘thereafter’.  the cold feeling, the numbness she talked about.  the blank expression and the glazed looks...  the shell the light left behind.

“now, i recall we talked ‘bout this and there’s somethin’ you said you’d do for me when the shiney came visitin’.”

so maybe she couldn’t control the light.  couldn’t tap the power.  no small irony that the thing that seemed to inspire it’s presence were intensely emotional situations only to leave her absent of them in the aftermath.  but... she does have a say in her own life.  she does have a past.  a presence, and if nate had anything to do with it -- a future.  she has stories to tell, moments that would be highlighted in reds and blues and greens and yellows, different emotions attached to them.  things that made her happy.  sad.  joyous.  frightened.  

things that are also a reminder. that she does -- feel. that those things are real, bright and tangible. and if there’s a moment when they become duller, colder, misted like a half forgotten dream on waking.  he’ll help her to remember.  he can be the reminder if she needs him to be.

stayin’ put ain’t workin’ out so well right about now.  pretty sure the guys here are figurin’ that one out - we tried it back at the airport - didn’t turn out so well.  these things are too many and more keep on comin’.  so till we got a better handle on how to take ‘em down en masse... don’t think that’s much of an option.  more people stay in one place, more it seems to be some kind o’homin’ beacon for the nasties.

reckon movin’ on is everyone’s best bet.  and i ain’t one to leave anyone behind, but can’t exactly make people do shit they don’t wanna... so... i guess i’d be makin’ the case for headin’ on out and hopin’ that people saw enough sense in that to come along.

it ain’t no sweepin’ heroic gesture.  not any kind of grandiose stance.  it’s real simple.  loyalty... honesty... but i reckon most of all just -- 

-- doin’ the right thing.  ain’t always straight forward... right thing ain’t always the only option.  ain’t always the easiest thing.  ain’t always the thing you wanna do... no matter the cost to you, the stain, the guilt, the weight...  but havin’ the guts, the fortitude, the morality, the strength to do it anyway and accept the consequences when they come.  

that’s honor.

riiight... i see where we’re goin’ with this.

no.  it wouldn’t.but sit the fuck down’ and lemme provide a little --  illumination.

i don’t even pretend to know what the hell is goin’ on with that... lightshow.  the whole wings an’ angel thing?  that’s above my paygrade.  but one thing i do know by now - is that no matter how much she comes off as a wiseass, she cares.  max?  she cares about these people.  she talks with them.  notices them.  helps them.  she puts herself aside, time and time again to make sure that they’re okay.  and on max’s list, everyone she cares for, and even some she doesn’t, have their names stamped  waaaaay above her own.

so - what we’re talkin’ about here - ain’t max.what we’re talkin’ about is that power inside her.  

the real question is --            would i put a bullet in max’s head if the power she has poses an imminent and significant danger to people.

                                                                   y e s.

for two reasons.  first - if she completely lost control of whatever that thing is and she became that much of a danger to others, if those powers turned against the people she cares about, she’d never forgive herself.  she’d blame herself for something she ain’t got no say in.  an’ i’ve seen what they can do.  she fought off the fuckin’ raiders and evaporated some evil shit like it was nothin’.  but take point and think about that... she ain’t hurtin’ these people.  she’s protectin’ ‘em with everythin’ she got.  at some cost to herself to boot.  do i think her powers pose a risk?  yeah, but so do the fuckin’ guns everyone’s packin’.  so ‘nless they all start pointin’ in the wrong direction then there ain’t shit to say about that, you get me?

second - if you don’t think she’d be the first person to ask me to do that, you don’t know a goddamn thing about her.

so -- IF -- we ever get to that point...                                    it’s on me.  it’s all on me.  you hearin’ this?  

if someone were as much of a threat that in defence of another person, or people, things had to be taken that far – an’ they direct it at people ain’t done them no wrong?  then that fuckery is on their own head, man.  these people been through enough already.  they don’t need shit flyin’ at them from inside as well as out.  if’n someone acts out and they’re a significant danger to others - in so far as they can’t tap their own shit and put it in a fuckin’ bottle then… yeah.

ain’t sayin’ it’s a choice i’d wanna to make.  or somethin’ i’d wanna to do.  but sometimes the hard choices are the ones you gotta make.

bottom line – handle.  your.  shit.  or someone else will be handling it for you.

Patty smiled a little wider when Nate tossed out her name without her giving it. Habit, maybe. A reminder of the good old days in the city, when her reputation wasn’t so sour and people approached her left and right. This…probably wasn’t the same but she couldn’t help but tuck her chin a little coyly anyway. “Yeah, that’s me. And you’re Nate. The cool guy I should probably be thanking more.”

She nodded and laughed at his attempts to break the ice a bit, agreeing that without bullets it would be even more useless than it probably already was in her hands. When he asked to look her gun over, she handed it to him without a thought. “Go ahead. But I’m not taking credit for what you find in there, okay…I nicked it so it’s the old owner’s handiwork.”

Patty threw a leg up on the table beside all the guns Nate had laid out, staring them down. So many variations. All formidable. She glanced back at him, hands folded over her knee. 

“What, already?” She laughed again. It made sense, she guessed. What could she learn without shooting? Besides, she didn’t want to come across like she was wasting his time. Patty sat up, more excited than confident. “Alright…I’ll show you how we did it in the Bronx. ‘Take no prisoners’ style.” She hopped up again, moving closer to the bottles he’d lined up and turning over her shoulder, waiting for her gun back.

“i’m definitely Nate, probably not so much of the rest.”

a flash of a grin at that, then he’s shaking his head, not exactly on the receiving end of any kind of flattery often enough to know how to deal with it.  but he does give a small nod when she hands the gun over.  a quick check of safety, then he’s dropping out the clip and checking for a chambered round - holding up the weapon to examine it more closely, working the trigger and hammer mechanism to see if they shifted freely... a deft shift of hands - putting each piece down as the gun is dismantled in a matter of seconds, then reassembled just as rapidly.

“it’s not in too bad shape, could probably do with a clean and oil, but don’t look like there’s anythin’ wrong with it at all.  can show you how to do that too... means that it won’t jam in a pinch and if’n there comes a time when you do need to use it, it won’t see you wrong.”

it’s nate’s turn to chuckle now - the slightest raise of brow -

“guy you nicked it off lost a nice piece... do i need to keep an eye on these?  or you good with the one you got?”

a light tease as he snaps the clip back in, sets the safety in place and steps forward to where she’d settled herself on the line - holding out the weapon for her to take.

“safety’s on.  and - yep... no time like the present.  besides, it ain’t so much of a shootin’ lesson if’n you don’t get to do no shootin’, right?”

Trust him. 

She already did. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have at her side facing down such a monstrous being. They’d faced so much together in the space of a few months that this… thing, didn’t scratch the surface. What’s one beast to an army of men? To a house brewing with fears in the darkest places of a soul? 

The beast moves forward, dragging its axe with it and Max tears her gaze away from her soldier to stare down the monster that dare threaten them. Her upper lip twitches with the threat to snarl, to hiss and curse at the thing until it backed down. She’d always grow to be the feral sort. A few rounds in a ring with men far bigger than she and a partner so devilish himself taught her that there was nothing else she could be.

But as the monster growls, as it roars loud enough to shake mountains, Max feels her entire body rush with the need to move forward, to grasp the beast by the heart and allow fire to consume once more. It’s… a wrath that builds from within and as Nate raises his gun to take care of things once and for all, Max looks down to her hands.

The bones of her knuckles, still white with anxiety, had gained cracks down the centers, her hands like a porcelain doll who’d seen better days. She could see beneath the sleeves of her jacket that the lines continues up her arms, that whatever power burning within her had awoken. Beside her, she hears the sound of Nate’s gun, the mass of bullets he fired with such perfect aim that Max needn’t look up to see the damage, to notice the beast was about to meet its maker, the pitiful sounds it made signalling enough.

What concerned her more was the trembling her form took as teeth clenched so hard her teeth throbbed with pain. Not now, she tells herself, sucking in a breath, not now. She didn’t need it, didn’t want it. She could fight without it if she must. This situation didn’t call for something so extreme, lacking a reason to pay a price so dire to herself.

The thief hears something heavy hit the ground, the clatter of metal and she glances up to see the fallen beast laying dead upon the ground, red oozing from different spaces in its head. Nate places a hand upon her shoulder and Max flinches, suddenly aware of where she is, who she’s with and she allows herself to be moved. 

And it’s all for the better, really, for even as the monster lay dead, the light within the cracks of her skin had begun to seep out, ice blue flames dancing in time to the wrath pumping through her form.

Not now.

As Nate kneels down to check the monster had truly passed on, Max sheathes her knives and flexes her fingers, willing over and over for the light to fade, to leave her and never return. She looks to Nate as he speaks, her irises burning blue. She hears his voice and for a moment… feels nothing.

No excitement she’d craved for so long. No thrill of a fight and the victory that followed. No impulse to press lips against his.

Just a dull, cold throb in her chest.

And the hand that’s offered to her is snatched up in an instant, held tightly between both her own, the cracks of her skin glowing softly as they began to slowly dim. 

He’s warm, real, there with her, ego satisfied with a perfect and clean kill and she’d done nothing to warrant this feeling, had done nothing to deserve such a numb, emptiness. She’d stood by like lame support. 

This isn’t fair.

“Can I… be selfish an’ ask t’ stay wit’ you?”

he manages to get a hold on his expression and school it before it revealed something he might not want max to see... it’s not as though he understands anything about ‘what’ it is or ‘why’ it’s slipped beneath her skin.  but the appearance is just as startling and surprising as it was when he’d seen the blue lightening crackle in the midst of the raider battle.  of the phantom wings which had nestled around him with that warm healing light...  even if it’s not there - obvious and present, then it’s preying on max’s mind.  consuming her thoughts.  marking her body.  if there were some way to tear it free and be done with it, he would.  something he could give to set whatever fire burns to rest, he would.  something he could do to give her... peace.

perhaps a peace that might ease his own apprehension over the light that flickered and danced.  there’s no danger... not now.  he’d dealt with it.  and still, it makes an appearance.  not a breath where it isn’t somehow present.  it’s not just the two of them here.  there are three... three presences. 

and even though that danger passes with the quick bite of his bullets, nate isn’t entirely sure that it’s gone... dissipated.  a thought creasing his brow.  perhaps ‘volunteering’ wasn’t a good idea after all.  if every encounter is going to tempt it to the surface, then until they know more about it, know more of the effects that seem to linger there on a blank face - distant and further away than the short distance between them - it could be wise to leave the patrols to others.

even as max takes his hand - there’s a doubt in his mind.  torn between heading back immediately and making sure max was somewhere safe - and finishing the patrol... because if there was a danger around the next corner, something ready to creep onto those he was protecting, then he couldn’t just leave it to chance and fate... so... torn.  head and heart... and while he might be great with conflict - - when it’s nate v’s the world, he’s all good - nate v’s nate isn’t a battle he knows how to fight.

is there a compromise?   as her hand reaches for his, the hesitation in her voice is enough to have him squeezing her fingers and making a decision.  whether it’s the right one, he doesn’t know.

“sure - c’mon.”

with the aim to get the patrol done and dusted and back somewhere -- safe... at least somewhere that the lingering light might not be tempted to make an appearance.  while he doesn’t doubt that max can handle herself admirably when thrown up against something from the abyss, he also doesn’t think that the light waits for any kind of invitation.  it hadn’t been needed here... but had made an appearance anyway.

Nate was welcoming enough to blast her nerves right out of the water. One foot in the door was all she needed and, that established, she flashed a polite smile and came closer, letting her hands and the pistol in them rest on the table next to the others. 

She used to mercilessly mock people with sentimental feelings for their guns, now she was one of them. There was nothing particularly important about it but the act of stealing it certainly was. Whenever she looked at it she felt that thrill, pulling things off shelves into packs, robbing blind the only man she ever truly feared. It was something. It was part of her. And yet she’d never, ever used it; she’d moved to but something always got in the way. Maybe herself. Who knew.

“Let’s…say scratch. I’ve shot one before but not in a while. My daddy had a 10mm in the house, taught Mama and I in case we needed it. But we never did.” Not really anyway. The few times there had been attempted break-ins, her father was always there to break it out of the case. After the first lesson, she’d never laid her hands on it again, to her relief at the time. The thought of shooting people was scary. Just another innocence that had been abandoned since the world went to shit. 

“I-It’s loaded, though.” She’d picked that up on her own, months of watching the boys back in the shipyard. Long little glances that eventually turned into a full picture. 

“it’s patty, right? -- gun ain’t much good for nothin’ other than decoration if’n it ain’t loaded.  that, or it makes a good fake rock if y’wanna hurl it at somethin;.  you mind if i take a look? -- safety on, right?”

he just wants to check.  doesn’t know how well maintained it might be.  and if it hadn’t been used, there was danger of a misfire.  least he can do is give it a look over to make sure that if she did ever need to fire it - the thing would work as it should.  a quick glance and he can see it’s small - 9mm... can’t quite see which one, but a good size for little hands and packing enough force to still make most things think twice...  and a good start for someone unsure, not too much recoil, all in all... a decent piece.  he’s oddly partial to a 9mm... for all the rifles. and shotguns, for heavier packing pistols... there’s still something to be said about the subtlety of a 9mm.

it’s... maybe not as hard as he thinks it might be.  a little unsureity in the womans words - somehow makes it a little easier to slide into a confidence that he hadn’t really felt at the outset.  sure, he knows how to shoot.  teaching?  not so much.  

“then we can see ‘bout puttin’ a bullet from here into one of those bottles.  y’can show me what you remember - an’ we can work on polishin’ up any rough edges.  how’s that sound t’you?”