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

[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.

[samson]

[Brock's wife has been trained as a spy since before she was even legal, so he's pretty used to the idea of baby soldiers. Her answer is somewhat surprising, but it makes sense. He's quiet for a bit, but not for too long.]

Yeah. You and my wife probably would get along pretty well.

[hellofist]

[Well that's different.]

Think so? Would like to... meet her, then. If she's here.

[samson]

Yeah. Her name's Molotov -- if you ever saw a redhead with an eyepatch walking around... maybe with a little bear on a leash... that's her.

[hellofist]

[There's just... there's just so much there to react to.]

... You didn't ask her? For help, with... throwing knives?

[JUDGING YOU.]

[samson]

[Brock screws his eyes upward.] It's... kind of a pride thing...

[hellofist]

[Judging you so hard.]

But asking strangers... is fine, doesn't hurt your pride?

[samson]

Pretty much.

[If you met his wife, you would understand...]

[hellofist]

[WOULD SHE THOUGH?]

Well... you improved already. Throw again.

[samson]

[PERHAPS... maybe.

But he grunts and throws again, anyway. He's still not great, but at least he's hitting the target now.]