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]

[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.]

[hellofist]

[Not great, no, but she's still pleased with his progress.]

Good. Does it feel different, when you throw? Better, worse?

[samson]

[Brock pulls a face, glancing back at her.]

Kinda... awkward.

I saw that look you gave her brook

[hellofist]

[And it's very hard to not laugh at that expression. As it is, she just flashes him another smile. So many smiles.]

It will, for awhile. Just keep going.

no it was a mirage!!

[samson]

[This girl is really cheerful...]

Yeah. I guess I don't really have a choice.

no I saw it, I SAW IT

[hellofist]

[Cheerful ex-assassins. Go figure.]

No, you do. Can choose to improve, or choose... to do nothing.

no, so false!!!

[samson]

[It's weird to meet cheerful assassins, really. Every one he's met before coming here have either been assholes or insane.

Guess which one his wife is.]

Doing nothing means I'll keep sucking at it. So, no thanks.