poly_chromatic

Entry tags:

the "dollars" trilogy - man with no name

-60-

And me right in the middle? Too noisy.

So long.

[ooc: The cowboy does not like the crowding going on here. I mean, it's bad enough as it is ordinarily. This just makes it worse. He put up with it yesterday, but enough is enough. So he'll be heading out of town for a while. But feel free to grab him via Network or run into him as he rambles towards the wilderness.]

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[He grins a little.]

A ways.

[Let's see what you've got, sweetheart.]

[ She beams over her shoulder at him. She's got a good fifty yards effective on her pistol. She arranges the various cans in a little display, high and low. Then she ambles back to him, slipping the 19 out from her jeans. A modern pistol, but she doesn't really consider that a factor between them.

Just checks and chambers. She's set the cans a ways out, and she's shooting first.

Fifteen bullets to hit what she can. She levels the gun steady for the first time since she started trying to hold one, sights, and pulls off all fifteen in rapid succession.

More practice won't hurt her, but enough of the cans ping to please her, a little less than half.]

[Well, she didn't hit all of them, but she seems pleased with herself. And, truth be told, he's a little impressed himself, too: her hand is steady, which really is saying something.

Though...he won't sound all that impressed...]

Not bad.

[She smiles back at him, motioning out at the range.]

Show me how it's done.

[Careful when you say something like that...

He's all slowness and languid moves right now: no quick-draw contest here. This is foolin' around on an afternoon. Sauntering up, flipping his serape back and over his shoulder, giving the cans a goodly bit of consideration.

But he has his pistol (it's the Real Deal too: genuine Colt Peacemaker--and not an antique either, seeing as he came from the age itself with it)and he keeps it loaded.

Well, he's all slowness until he fires (yes fanning the hammer and everything, if you really want to know): one, two, three, four, five, six. Six. Perfect number.

Six cans too.

He pauses to admire his handiwork there...and then spins his gun back into its holster.

Good enough. And he pulls his serape back down again.]

[She doesn't mind being one-upped. She expected it, really. She ambles over to him, gun back in its holster, her hands crossed harmlessly at the small of her back.]

Nice job.

[Don't blame him, it's what he does for a living.

He gives her one of his patented crooked half-smiles.]

You're not against a few more lessons, are you?

[Some people might think teaching the suicide-risk how to better handle her piece a bad idea. She thinks they should fuck themselves, but then she's never been very polite.]

No. Not really. If you're up for 'em.

[He's not opposed to the idea. It's her look-out.]

Good.

[Because she needs more things to keep herself busy. She grins and goes to find somewhere to sit.]

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-60-

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;