067. In The Evening

[samson]

[In the early evening, Brock can be found at the archery range alternately shooting his crossbow at targets or using throwing knives. He is... pretty bad.

Also pretty bad is his constant swearing about how terrible he is. It's just awful. Embarrassing even.

But he's still trying. Just getting more and more pissed off as he goes on.]

[Brock's voice comes over the journal in the evening, tone flat.]

I need to know if anybody has experience with like... really bad depth perception. Don't ask. I just need advice.

Comments

[hellofist]

[It's almost painful to watch him be so bad, but it's only partly because he's just... he's so bad. Mostly it's because he's so upset that he's so bad and no matter how hard he tries or how colorfully he swears, he's just not really improving all that much.

She watches him from the shadows for a little bit longer, but then just heads over. Maybe she can help?]

Hi. Do you, uh... remember me?

[samson]

[It's almost like he doesn't even see her coming. He jumps when she speaks, his hand going to the knife at his belt, and then he makes a face that is like... half embarrassment and half annoyance. (Though the annoyance isn't strictly directed at her.)

Awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, he nods, glancing to the side.]

Yeah... Cass. Right?

[hellofist]

[She doesn't flinch. Even if he did manage to throw on target she could just catch the knife, but... well, he hasn't been.]

Yes. And you're Brook.

[Yay reading comprehension. She nods to the targets he's got set up and just breezes right on past that girl's name comment.]

Been practicing long?

[samson]

Uh... [He'll get to that in a minute.]

I've been here since about six. Couple hours. It's Brock, by the way.

[hellofist]

Oh. That... makes more sense.

[Not that Brook isn't a very nice name or anything, but Brock fits him much better.]

Are you just learning... how to throw knives?

[samson]

[GRIMACING...] No. I can't see out of my eye. Which is... new. So...

[hellofist]

[And that explains why he was favoring one side, his entire body focused on the part of him that wasn't working the way he wanted it to.]

So you're relearning? [Or at least trying to, anyway. He gets points for that.] I could help.

[samson]

[Would Brock accept help from a teenage girl is the question...

The answer is yes, though, because this is pissing him off.] You know how to deal with messed up depth perception?

[hellofist]

Knew someone... who stabbed own eye out. Saw how she adjusted.

[Don't be like Ravager though Brock, she was totally crazy.]

Throw again. Don't think too hard, just throw. Like you normally would.

[samson]

[He fixes her with something of a long, skeptical look, then throws anyway.

And still misses.] Ugh...

[hellofist]

[He might miss, but at least he tries. He hasn't given up yet, that's something.]

You know... this won't be fast, right? Will take months, to adjust. Maybe longer. Have to be patient, with self.

[samson]

[Brock is capable of patience... but pretty much only when dealing with other people. And even then it's kind of subjective.]

Maybe if I die again, I'll get a different loss. [A pause. Maybe he should explain --] Uh, I mean, this happened because I died. I think.

[hellofist]

Big maybe. Really want to... risk something worse? Might come back... with no arms.

[samson]

Then I'll just keep dying until I get something good. [Death roulette...]

[hellofist]

[Wow, she really isn't the best person to be having this conversation with. She agrees with him, might even do the same thing in his position.]

Could be good plan. Bad for people... who will mourn you, though.

[samson]

[It's at that point that Brock makes a face like he didn't even consider that part.

Because he hadn't.] Damn it. You're right.

I guess I'm stuck like this.

[He throws another knife at the target and... misses again. It's terrible.]

[hellofist]

[Wow, Brock. That's real considerate of you, be glad Cass said it before you went and did it and Molotov killed you just for being dumb.]

You'll learn. Keep throwing, see how far... you're off. Which side you go to. Then, make yourself... aim more the other way.

[samson]

[He has problems with linear thinking, okay...]

Yeah... I mean, it makes sense. I just can't seem to... do it. [Squints... and then adjusts his aim slightly. He feels like he's overcompensating and it's extremely awkward, but at least he hits the target this time.]

[hellofist]

Good!

[Look at her, all excited for him.]

See? Just takes lots of practice. Before you know it, will be able... to hit while blindfolded.

[samson]

[Wow, that's kind of cute... collecting cheerleaders is good for his ego, anyway.]

Oh. Well, I could do that already. [Which makes his inability to do it now sound really dumb, so he needs to clarify --] I mean, I think maybe I'm just... overthinking it.

[hellofist]

[She'd even wear the uniform if it helped.]

That's usually... what the problem is. Just need to... trust your body. It knows how... to do this, so let it.

[samson]

[He would need to card her first.]

You're probably right... but, hey. [He holds out a throwing knife toward her, handle facing out.] Humor me. Close one eye and you give it a shot.

[He wants to know if she's able to do it on her first try, so he can tell if he should be super embarrassed or only... kind of embarrassed.]

[hellofist]

[Cass takes the knife, turning it over in her hands with an ease that shows she's used to handling a weapon like this, and considers her options.

If she misses, he'll stop listening to her. If she gets a bullseye, it'll be a blow to his male ego and he'll probably stop listening to her. Men.

So she covers one eye and throws, hits the target just to the left of the bullseye, a good inch away.]

Might have, uh... unfair advantage. Was trained for that, just in case.

[samson]

[Oh, well, that's... just...]

Great.

[It's kind of dumb to look so out of sorts about something a teenager just did, but Brock has a bad habit of wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Or on his face, as the case may be.

But then he squints at her.] Trained for... losing an eye? What kind of military did you say you're from?

[hellofist]

Military?

[That's a first, no one's ever guessed that before. It's almost nice, being taken for something good for once.]

It wasn't, uh... that. Was trained to be... best assassin in the world. Could only be... one of me, so. [She shrugs here.] Had to learn... to adapt to anything.