Cipriano Shoots the Devil

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
[How much of a show is this?  Dex+Firearms D=6 Specialty: Precise (or Pistols, whatevs)]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 9) ( success x 2 ) [Doubling Tens]

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
The Family Shooting Center is currently a gleaming beacon of...something.  It is probably different to each of them that stands in the floodlights that cast everything in a strange surreal world that seems like pools of overexposed film and points of shadow.  The harsh flood of artificial light does strange things with shadows.  Blots out the stars and turns the distant night sky into an infinite void.

Cipriano looks like he might be one of Denver's many corporate drones at first glance.  Perhaps out to practice for one of the ridiculous corporate bonding retreats where they will hold guns and drink booze and pretend that slaughtering clay pigeons is proving their manhood.  The first thing that breaks the mold is his hair, but upon closer inspection, so do his eyes.  Particularly now, while he is concentrating and so not smiling, intent on his target, his eyes are not the eyes of an investment banker.

He's been traveling a long time and he is not as used to non-sentient targets.  Not so used to firing without any sense of urgency or pressure.  Not used to casual bystanders who are still casual, milling about and devouring exotic animals.  And so, even if not so observably to those at the range, his placement is off.  Still, he is hitting his targets, at least.

Verna Gardner
[How much of a travesty is this? Dex 2 + Firearms 0 D = 7]

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (3, 10) ( success x 1 )

Verna Gardner
If she were in a bar or a library or a store at this hour, Verna would be radiating wariness, with darting eyes looking for someone she never quite manages to spot. But there is something to be said about the comfort of deadly force at the fingertips, isn't there? When she holds this thing (one of the gun range's own -- she's well forgotten the type by now) and stares down the range, she sees what she's looking for. Every shot holds an enemy's face, even though she doesn't know what some of them look like.

In her imagination, they all look stupid, dull, cow-eyed, like they are the shells where some spark of intellect went to curl up and die. Even Jon Marc, with his pretty face, wanders around with the look of someone who knows nothing, and doesn't care to.

So perhaps it is this sheer spite that enables her to look so grim and determined -- to at least hit the paper if not the actual center of her target. And her gun hasn't jammed. Yet.

Her eyes are not those of a scared lab assistant at the moment, but don't let that fool you.

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Cipriano stops to reload.  Glances around.  Verna catches his attention, as much because unlike the last woman who came to shoot near him she does not seem interested in sneaking glances at him as anything else.  Instead, she is focused grimly on her target.  Inexperienced and grimly focused.

He takes a few steps toward her and waits.  It is not wise to startle anyone holding a gun.  Cipriano is curious about her: who is she, why is she here, what compels her?  And, though he certainly could continue to fire at paper targets, he's certainly not particularly interested in them.  What challenge there?  Showing Verna a trick or three at least qualifies as interesting.

Verna Gardner
She takes up the stance she just learned about in her class, sights along the pistol's length toward her target, imagines very hard for a brief second, and pulls the trigger. Click.

Right. Unlike in video games, real guns do not contain unlimited ammo. Something to remember. Also, there is a man next to her, waiting on something. Well, hello...

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you ah, need this lane for something?" she yells. Everyone's got their ear-protection on for safety, right?

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Verna's attention.  He has it.

Has captured it without and tricks.  Compulsions.  Machiavellian schemes.  This is, after all, fun.  Some of the Kindred lose their sense of humor and their taste for at least conventional human recreation.  (Which is not to say they do not find ways to make their unlives less dull.  But, please let's just not talk about Elizabeth Bathory flavors of entertainment.)  Cipriano has not.

He has been here awhile.  His tie is crooked and his hair is mussed by the wind.  He has looked much more polished.  He has looked much more rakish.  The smile he gives Verna edges much more toward rakish grin than anything subtle or reserved.   "You seem quite determined to hit the target, and you seem to have figured out at least the basics there, but I get the impression you're just learning this.  Care to be shown a few tricks?"

Verna Gardner
This could be a trick, the mind says. Her eyes look up at him, worried for a moment, before she brushes aside the feeling as undue paranoia. Still, the skittishness is back.

Surely, Verna, they wouldn't attack you at a gun range. That would be suicidal.

Her lips twitch into a smile.

"Sure?"

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Cipriano crosses the last of the distance that separates them.  Verna is skittish, but he is much less so.  Accidents and 'accidents' certainly could both befall one at a gun range, but it is hardly ideal in many ways.  Particularly when it comes to killing him.  Most people would, given their choice in tactics, choose a situation in which there is not a gun in his hands.

Admittedly, he does set his gun down so that his hands (black leather-gloved, naturally) are free to adjust Verna's position.  It could be something else, the way he touches her.  He could, and has, pretended that desire still stirs in him as it did when he still breathed as anything but camouflage; he does not now.  His fingertips press lightly to reposition her.  He does not wrap around her to put his hand over hers on the gun.  He circles to one side and then the other, at arms' length.

Verna, wary and skittish Verna, may note that Cipriano is never out of reach of his gun, save the few seconds she is interposed between it and him.  That it very rarely is not in his line of sight.

"What do you anticipate, when you shoot?"  He asks as he circles one last time, surveying.  "The sound?  The recoil?"

Verna Gardner
Alas, the man is not going to strike her paranoia to new levels by acting like the charming rogue and 'helping' her with her 'stance' in inappropriate ways. That could lead to such things as 'buy you a drink?' and other red flags. It's only been four days after some unknown individual(s) busted into her apartment and broke every last piece of glass within. She knows Jon Marc was a Marine, and maybe he had something to do with it? Maybe this guy with his gun knowledge and experience is a false friend?

But at least he isn't acting like it. These are clinical touches at a glove's distance, and so she allows it -- wants to believe that someone could just be helpful for no reason.

"Yes? It's louder than I thought it would be," she says, still yelling. Maybe her hearing has been a little worn thin. "And the recoil is... more than I thought it would be."

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
[Allow us to demonstrate | WP this time since the die roller can be a jerk]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 10) ( success x 9 ) [Doubling Tens] [WP]

Denver
[The Heavens danced; a demi-god fell, and its soul went into Cipriano's gun; the potency infused his fingers. He shot the Devil as the Devil snuck by in an alternate universe.]

Denver
[I couldn't resist. Carry on!]

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
"It is loud," Cipriano says.  "And recoil is certainly something to get used to.  Coming to know your gun is why you're here.  They each have their own character."  He picks his own gun back up and steps away from Verna a little.

"You must forget those things.  You breathe and you sight and when you do fire do not think of the recoil.  Do not think of the sound.  Do not even think about your target.  Think about your next breath, which should be slow and soft."

He takes another step away, back to his target.  "Like this."  And now that he's managed to do something to capture his interest...well...he has been doing this for quite some time.  He may have much more committed relationships with some of his other, older guns, but he is reasonably well acquainted with this one.  And people do tend to look a bit oddly at you if you bring in weaponry that predates things like the statehood of say...Arizona.

Verna Gardner
The man, in his quick, effortless way hits the bullseye with casual grace. Verna's eyes go wide. Is she standing next to an actual spy or something?

"Wow! Nice shot!"

Her attention then goes to her gun, trying to remember the steps involved in reloading. There is a doohicky with a flange and some sort of apparatus. Technical terms never cease, do they? There are many 'that-thing-with-the-thing-on-it's in her line of work as well.

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Cipriano smiles a little.  He is not used to praise for making shots like that.  The last time he was awarded such a compliment, his target had been moving and significantly more urgent.  He smiles all the same because while he may not feel the same senses of longing and desire, he does still rather enjoy admiration.

"I have been at this since I was about sixteen, and, even for me, that was a phenomenal shot."  His smile widens a little.  "You may yet be as skillful, given time."  If you too, Verna, join the ranks of the immortal you will have so much time to practice.  And such incentive.  Who would give up eternity?

He is amused when he sees her puzzling over reloading, and he does not entirely hide that, but his amusement is a warm thing tonight.  Warmer than the wind.  Warmer than the skin she could not feel through his gloves.  He does not reload for her, but he does reach out to touch each piece she needs as she needs it by way of prompting.  The finer points of gun assembly can be the subject of another night.

Verna Gardner
[Dex 2 / Firearms 0 -- Diff 7 = We're going to try that again, woo!]

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (6, 7) ( success x 1 )

Verna Gardner
"I doubt that very much," Verna says. "I don't need to be that good. Just good enough."

She doesn't have any aspirations toward Olympic level shooting prowess, Verna. It would take too much time. Already the hours close in. Soon, classes will pick up again and she will have no more gun practice.

All she wants is to be good enough to hit the target when it counts. Some day, she might actually be present when horrible people knock in her doors and windows and lay siege to the place. It seems likely, considering. Either that, or she is cursed with the best kind of bad luck -- the kind that always strikes when you aren't there.

She tries to remember his lesson. Breathe out gently, just like your target won't anymore. Don't think about the noise.

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Cipriano can barely remember a world that wasn't stalked by monsters.  His youth was a time of amazing scientific discovery, yes.  But it was a few youths of amazing scientific discovery ago, fraught with undercurrents of superstitions.  Good enough is different when you know how real the monsters are.  When you know how hard they are to kill.

But, Verna....  "Good enough for what?"  He asks.

Verna Gardner
She shoots as soon as the question is asked, as if to answer with a final bang. But once the echo stops ringing, she's just Verna again, happy to have hit the target at all.

She shrugs. "There have been... uh... break-ins at my apartment and my work lately. You know? Bad guys? If I'm ever there when it happens again, I--" don't want to get stuck behind an immovable door with someone threatening her life? Last time they just dropped dead bird pieces in her bathtub. Now it's the glass thing. What's next? The Shining? Axes and crazy people?

"I just feel like I should know how to protect myself a little better."

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Break-ins at my apartment and work lately.  Someone else might ask what she does.  Cipriano goes quiet for a few seconds, more contemplative than concerned.  He's only just met Verna.  For all he knows, she deserves whatever is hunting her.  He might doubt that, but he cannot know.  Not every evil is committed by someone dangerous in outright combat.

Still....

"Perhaps you might also consider a change of location."

Verna Gardner
"That is definitely also on the to-do list."

For one, the carpet in her current place will never be free of glass shards. For two, there's plastic where her windows should be. Either the complex gives her a new apartment, or that lease is getting broken.

The thought of it is enough to draw her ire to the target again. Horrible, evil, nasty, paper-with-Jon-Marc's-face-on-it.

[Dex 2 / Firearms 0, Diff 7 = Someday, this is going to go badly...]

Dice: 2 d10 TN7 (2, 9) ( success x 1 )

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
"While that might be gratifying, and I by no means feel you should stop, you will learn best and perform best calm.  Calm in such a moment is not easy, but being relaxed with your weapon helps.  You are driven to shoot by anger and fear, and when those are manifest they make it more difficult to aim steadily.  To pull gently at the trigger.  You must relax.

"Those things though, also come with time.  As with the anticipation of the sound and the recoil, you should let your mind be empty.  Your world should be you and the gun.  Your target is a fleeting thing.  Impermanent.  You need notice it only to take aim.  Anything else is a distraction."

Verna Gardner
So. Zen and the art of shooting trespassing idiots? She quirks a brow at him.

"I think it will be a very long time before I don't have to think about it."

Besides, it's more fun that way.

"But yes. Most things do go more smoothly when you don't have to concentrate on anything else."

Cipriano Santos-Augustine
Cipriano smiles, and it transforms his face from something serious to something warm and alight.  "I still have yet to master that.  I am given to a number of things more than being dispassionate.  The man who taught me was very insistent that was the way to success.  The closer I draw to it the more I think he may be right.

"Life infrequently gives us moments of pure contemplation.  We might snatch them sometimes, into our grasp.  But they are rare, still.

"We can but try."