Halphas / Byron James Archer (bringitdown) wrote in monte_logs, @ 2012-09-11 22:09:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | halphas, izanami, ~complete |
Characters: Izanami/Paige (inviting_sorrow) & Halphas/Byron James (bringitdown)
Date/Time: September 1, afternoon
Location: Montenegro Sportsman Club
Rating: IT’S OVER 9,000!!!!
Warnings: Light language
Summary: Paige goes to the gun range to get away and meets James.
If Paige had to judge the time of her first two weeks in Montenegro, she would say she was satisfied with her new home with her experiences so far. As a Detroit resident, she knew how to make her way around a city and wasn’t intimidated by having to learn new locations and routes. She settled in by taking some time to explore the city and campus by herself, as well as with her roommate during her first week. She also started work at the Wellness Center and introduced herself to her new co-workers, who were all-in-all pleasant to work with. She even began to talk to fellow Shinto deities over the forums for the first time ever, and although she still hadn’t met her mythological counterpart, she was finding the rest of her pantheon to be a group of rather interesting reincarnates.
Still, she wasn’t totally immune from the stress that was beginning to wear her down.
It wasn’t just the normal strain of adjusting to a new apartment, job, and school, all of which she could handle. A part of it was the weather as a small string of thunderstorms rolled over Colorado. They were nothing to be excited about: just normal summer weather. But they were precisely why Paige never looked forward to summer in the first place.
As usual when storms occurred, the voices of the dead followed her around, their regrets, sorrows, and resentments carried by the claps of thunder. She was resigned to being unable to block them out. But somehow living in Montenegro seemed to increase the volume, and during the worst of it, Paige kept to her room, begging Annabelle’s pardon for being such poor company at the moment. Attending her job was a little better, with work for Paige to focus on instead. Since her co-workers were only just getting to know her, they had no idea what she looked like when distracted.
Had there been no storms, Paige would have been in a lighter mood with which to ignore the fact that September had arrived. But after so many days of being haunted, September’s significance was all she could think about: a once celebrated anniversary tainted forever by hatred.
On this Saturday, Paige made her excuses and left the apartment by herself, taking advantage of the day being ironically free of clouds. Other people might have gone on a walk in the park or descended on the mall for Labor Day deals to clear their heads, but Paige had a much simpler plan.
She walked into the Montenegro Sportsman Club and turned in paperwork for the gun range.
It wasn’t such a far-fetched place for Paige to be as it appeared. As a younger woman, “Cassie Jane” St. Clair had once gone out hunting regularly with her husband. Even now, Paige could remember the cadence her grandmother’s words took whenever she’d retold a particularly hilarious or happy moment of those outings she’d spent with Todd St. Clair, a man Paige had never had the pleasure to know.
Growing up, Paige had gone to the range with her Gramma a few times, but the hobby hadn’t held her interest as a child. As the years went by, however, she felt compelled to try to hold a gun again, as a way to reconnect with her grandmother... and to satisfy a darker desire.
Being rather rusty and inexperienced, Paige had to work with a trainer. She only hoped that unlike the last time she had tried this back in Michigan, the guy would take her seriously.
~*~
Time at the Sportsman Club tended to be rather boring most days. He worked side by side with a couple other incarnates, some of whom were similarly and supernaturally gifted with weaponry as he was (oh his poor heart for not being special), and he saw the same bunch of familiar faces every weekend. But it paid the bills, and now that he was running the gun range himself, it was paying Marilyn’s bills too.
Now that was anything but boring. Keeping an eye on her as she rounded out her second month with the pregnancy was one thing, but having a girlfriend and some very involved friends could make it difficult. He grew tired of explaining that they were just friends. He was also growing tired of playing footsie with too many people who weren’t his girlfriend. Paris, for one. Carter for another. It was all a big fucking mess. He was supposed to be loyal. But he couldn’t seem to fully commit to being a full-on adulterer or a dedicated boyfriend. The silly thing was he should have just been true to his feelings. But there were a lot.
It was like Days Of Our Lives or something.
It sounded funny to think about, but the truth was James knew he was in some deep, irreparable shit and he was terrified. Which was why, for all its dull weekend afternoons, working at the Sportsman Club was a bit of a blessing. But sometimes it surprised. Every once in a blue moon, a new person would enter. Mostly students - people who thought that it was cool to fire guns but didn’t really care much for the gun safety. James often tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but it was incredibly hit or miss, teaching him not to judge a book by its cover. So when a girl walked in, his first thought was to try not to be pessimistic (actually, that was a lie, his first thought was ‘dude, that fro’) and he plastered a welcoming smile on his face.
“Hey there.” He greeted her. She looked intelligent, but then there were dumb smart people out there. “Do you need to fill out the paperwork or do you already have a membership card?”
~
“Hello.” As she looked up, she found out that her trainer this time turned out to be a man around Paige’s age, which could be either a good or a bad thing in her experience. Good for the natural connection people of the same generation tended to share; bad for the frequency of times she found men of her age who thought they could use this connection to overstep boundaries. Being practical and naturally wary, she tended to error on the side of pessimism herself. No matter the age, though, the sports club could only have employees who were properly licensed, so she could trust that he knew what he was doing, at least on the legal side of things. His greeting and professionalism meanwhile served to smooth over the apprehension that would have bloomed otherwise.
“Here it is,” replied Paige, the application fluttering softly as she handed the papers over. She was nothing if not responsible. “Everything should be in order. It’s been awhile since I’ve held a membership.”
~
Paige’s concerns were very real, and if she’d come on any other weekend, he would have validated them for her. He was professional at work, but thoughts were free space. And he took advantage of that free space often. It did help that she was so matter-of-fact and so well put together - it meant he could count on her to be mature with handling weaponry. James took the papers from her hands. “Paige.” He read out loud. “Nice to meet you, Paige.” It took him another couple seconds or so to double-check her paperwork, but she was right. Everything was in order. “Looks good.” Halphas withdrew a card and proceeded to fill it out, including the day’s date. When that was done, he handed it to her. “This is your membership card. It’s good for one year. It’s five dollars for today, and if you don’t have a gun, it’s five dollars more for a handgun rental. And if you’re thinking about it - I won’t pressure you - an annual pass is a hundred dollars. Eighty if you’re a student. Discounts, and all.” He smirked then. The salesman’s pitch was over. “You can pay when you’re done. I know what you look like and where you live.” He wouldn’t ever do that, of course, but he’d gotten some freaked out people when they knew he had their information. “So! Handgun. What’s your fancy?”
~
“Nice to meet you, too.” Nodding along as James went through with his pitch and taking mental notes of the prices, Paige stood her ground and merely quirked an eyebrow at his ever-so-bluntly-worded statement. Had she detected any malice or intention to intimidate, she would’ve called him out on it. Instead she said, with a wry crook to her lips, “Noted.” If other people were so easily spooked by James, then they probably shouldn’t have put in their information down in the first place, and furthermore shouldn’t be trusted with weapons if they couldn’t handle being held accountable. Luckily, Izanami’s reincarnate was made of sterner stuff - namely, that she could take a slightly off-color declaration and not be traumatized by it.
To answer his question: “I’ve handled .22 single-action revolvers and auto-load pistols. I used to own one of the Beretta models, but I fell out of practice a few years ago and ended up selling it.” Paige grimaced slightly at admitting that. She wasn’t particularly enamored with that gun, but it was her grandmother’s gift and it hurt like hell at the time to have to sell it to pay the bills. “If I had to choose, I’m interested in working with a bit of a heavier model.”
~
Well. The girl knew her stuff. Not many people, let alone students, came through here with experience. It made him wonder what brought her here. Maybe her dad was a cop or she lived in some bad part of town. Or hell, her paperwork indicated she was in her late twenties - maybe she had some involvement in law enforcement herself.
“.22’s a good place to start if you’ve never handled a gun before, but it’s very small compared to other calibers. I expect it was a compact or pocket-sized handgun - something light and no kick.” James smirked at Paige, shrugging. “In other words, not very fun.”
Rounding around the desk, he gestured for Paige to follow him, taking her over to a glass-locked open counter, standing to the side to help her take a peak. “A 9 mm - also known as a .38 - is a good one to get comfortable with next.” James pointed to a couple of Berettas, and since she’d mentioned some experience with revolvers, he also showed her some of the .38 S&Ws. “Easily one of the more commonly used calibers and you have yourself a good selection. I can take some out, if you want to hold them. Get a feel for them.” James smiled at Paige then, almost like he was sharing a secret. “Guns are weapons, yes, but it takes an art to handling them well. If it doesn’t feel right in your hands, it’s not going to fire true.”
~
“It was more practical than recreational,” Paige agreed, remembering that she and her grandmother were less concerned with the fun than they were in the certainty that she could feel safe living off-campus during her University of Michigan stay. She never saw the need to in the end, but one could carry openly in Michigan legally as long as the gun was registered. “I was promised that I would move on to something more challenging once I got used to it, but I never found the time.”
The white lie slid easily off her tongue, as it wasn’t technically Paige’s time that was lost. As her strength was sapped in the chemotherapy, Cassandra wouldn’t have been able to lift a compact, let alone her favorite hunting rifle. She’d promised, but...
Izanami banished that line of thought in favor of walking over to the counter and looking over the bright pieces of metal and polymer on display. Somehow, she strangely felt better when she found that she could still recognize a few of the models and their manufacturers, and she was grateful that it had not all faded from her memories. The Berettas elicited a fond hum of reaction, but it was the solid frames of the S&W’s that attracted her eye. There was just something about the revolver that required respect from its user.
Meanwhile, Paige didn’t have to be a gun enthusiast to recognize the deep well of appreciation James held in his voice for this potentially dangerous artform of a hobby. She’d heard it before. “It’s not a paint brush, but I understand what you mean. Could I try one of these medium-frame revolver models please?”
~
Not for recreational use, huh? That wasn’t often the story of people who came in here unless, again, they were in law enforcement or military. James watched her with a discerning eye as her attention drifted across the assortment of guns, skimming the Berettas before settling on the S&W’s. When she selected the medium frame, he nodded, extracting the gun from the case and locking it back up. “Good choice.”
He moved back around the counter and slid out one of the drawers, removing a 50-pack of the appropriate bullets for the revolver. After he did so, he grabbed the gun and nodded towards the side door, which would take them into the range. “So I’m a talker.” He said. It was a bit of a lie. He was only really a talker if someone or something drove him to enough curiosity. And with what little she said and how she carried herself, Paige was certainly becoming that. “Tell me a little bit about yourself. What got you into it?”
~
Paige offered a soft-spoken, “Thank you,” lost in thought for a moment as she gathered all the bits and pieces of advice she’d ever received, and regretted once again for not paying enough attention during all those times when she’d had the chance. Still, she followed her instructor with her chosen gun into the range without hesitation. Once she fully committed to a decision, she rarely turned it back.
While James asked his question, she noticed the familiar subtle sort of shift in the air as they entered the range, a sign of the building’s soundproofing and its ventilation system. Paige let him lead her to one of the lanes while she considered how much to oblige his curiosity. She wasn’t much of a talker with people she’d only met for the first time, and because of this, she was often mistaken for being colder and more aloof than she’d meant. Deciding that he seemed friendly enough, though, she’d ventured slightly from her shell.
“My grandmother wanted me to be able to protect myself when I first left for college. It was only an hour away, but it was off-campus housing. I was by myself most of the time.” She’d had to make sure not to mention that fact to just anyone, as well as to never mention to strangers that she’d owned a gun. Less chance for a curious thief to find it. “Painting was more my idea of a hobby, but shooting was hers. She loved hunting, and she loved going to outdoor ranges. Especially with my grandfather, the army vet.” Paige couldn’t count how often her grandmother had spoken about her trips up north with Todd, to lakes and hunting lodges all over the state and across the border into Canada. Shrugging off her nostalgia goggles, Paige cut the flow of words there before they crossed into more personal territory and redirected them on herself. “I don’t like hunting, but I like the focus and discipline it takes to learn to shoot well, you know? It clears my head.”
~
James listened intently while bringing Paige to her booth. She’d divulged quite a bit to him - not all of it in words, but more how she spoke them. He could have very easily said that her grandmother sounded like an awesome person and it was cool to bond with family over things like that (he supposed; he never did much bonding with his own family outside his twin), but he was smarter than that. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said, looking sidelong at her briefly. Any longer and it would be like having some kind of moment and he hated those and hell knows what she would have thought. “This isn’t much in comparison, but if you like rifle hunting, we have shooting frisbees. Outdoors and all. It’s pretty nice this time of year. And you don’t hurt their feelings.”
As he handed her the goggles and ear protectors, he added: “But I know what you’re saying. Clearing the head and all that.” Briefly, he showed her how to load the weapon. It was all very matter of fact and basic, but for the sake of safety reasons, James felt it was necessary. That way, too, he wouldn’t have to come back and help her every five minutes when she really came here to be left alone and do her thing. “Now, you know how this works, right? Elbows on the platform if you need to get comfortable.” James held up the revolver and demonstrated the positions of his hands. “Right hand holding, left cupping the base, thumb should be resting about here.” He passed the gun to her. “Relaxed stance, don’t tighten up in the shoulders. A lot of people do that and then they complain about neck aches which in turn becomes a pain in my ass. Don’t become a pain in my ass.” But he was smiling as he said this, indicating it was altogether inoffensive and in the name of humor. “You know how to line the sights and all that, I’m sure.”
~
She glanced back at him, and with a nod, Paige accepted the words of condolence, grateful that James didn’t linger or ask for details. She wouldn’t have been wild about having a “moment” herself, being a big believer in avoiding her feelings, so instead she directed her attention on his suggestion to try the outdoor range. On the “feelings” of real versus clay pigeons, Paige let him assume what he pleased concerning her opinions on hunting. The truth concerned her little ‘talent,’ and she was used to sparing people the details. No one else, except perhaps other death incarnates, needed to be concerned with her personal memento mori. “I’ll keep that in mind. It’s worth a try.”
As seriously as Paige tackled her studies, she listened to and watched him carefully while she fixed the goggles around her head and kept the ear protectors around her neck until she needed them. She reviewed what he’d said with what she knew, and found herself relieved that she hadn’t forgotten as much as she’d thought after all. But like any amateur, she still didn’t know everything and she knew it benefited her to go over all the points, for her own safety and for the safety of others.
Getting to take the revolver at last was something of a thrill, though of course it was far from turning her into a gunslinging maniac. It was... almost nostalgic, she felt. The weight was substantial enough -- for someone who didn’t regularly handle a weapon, that is -- and as Paige adjusted her grip as James advised, making sure the barrel was pointed at the ground and away from her instructor, it seemed the gun fit into the web of her hand comfortably.
Pleased enough with the revolver, Paige cracked a smile in response at his order and made a point to roll her shoulders back once to show she understood. “Don’t worry. I’ll save us both the trouble and the pain.” She then adjusted her stance and practiced holding the revolver up and aiming down the lane. “You align the top of the front sight with the top of the rear sight,” she said, referring to the points on the gun itself, which would position the gun properly as the bullet was fired. The natural inclination for many was to focus only on the target, but Paige knew better. “So far it feels right.”
~
Though James didn’t know it of her, if Paige preferred to shoot those clay pigeons over the real ones, he would have expressed how appreciative he was. It wouldn’t be terribly cool of him to find himself dead and sprawled out on the forest floor with his blank birdy eyes and blown out the middle. Furthermore, he had no awareness of her predicament with the dead, and as such, it was an open and closed case. “Sure thing. We’ll be here if that mood strikes you.”
James stepped to the side, rubbing his chin, and observed her as she gripped the weapon and quietly followed his instructions, loosening her shoulders and correcting her stance where needed. Usually he had to intercede at some point to make some adjustments for the handler of the gun, but as far as he could tell, she fell right into it. He was impressed. Doubly impressive was the smile she let loose at his instructions to relax her shoulders. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if she was the type who did so all that often. But then he did understand very well the feeling of holding a gun in his hand and getting in the zone.
“Yep.” He responded simply, proceeding to shrug. “You look like you’ve got it down.” There were a few more brief things to mention - the mechanisms, the safety, the reloading - but he didn’t spend very much time explaining them to her. She already seemed to have a pretty good idea of what she was doing. “Alright then.” He said. “I think you’re good to go. This booth is yours for however long you need it, so don’t rush. If you have any questions or concerns, there is a button here -” he indicated a small switch attached the wall of the booth - “you can press. It’ll let me know something’s up and I’ll come over. That way you don’t have to worry about someone waltzing in and touching your things. Keep your purse and belongings out of the way of your leg space so you don’t trip. And happy shooting.” James patted Paige casually on the back, before walking off. Normally he’d stay to watch at first - women with guns made him hot - but he had too much on his mind to really think on it.
~
Oddly enough, Paige wasn’t as self-aware or self-conscious as she normally might be when under the observation of a stranger. If she’d known how much she’d impressed this stranger, that aspect of herself might’ve kicked in and made her even more reserved, but for now she was oblivious. Ever since she fully came into her powers, she had spent an inordinate amount of time and energy making sure no one else realized what she could hear and sense from the dead, or how different and isolated she felt having no one else with whom to compare her experiences. But as James spoke, instructing and adding concise explanations where necessary, Paige directed her energy from maintaining her walls to the tasks before her.
Every action and adjustment she took had purpose, and even though the discipline was still a little rusty on her part, Paige had been tempered by an expert teacher in her grandmother. From the slide of the cylinder’s latch, to the click of the bullets loading into the chamber, it all felt familiar as she went through the sequence step-by-step. She wasn’t too preoccupied, however, to miss the pat on the back. Had Paige been prone to giving compliments freely, she might have thought to speak up about how impressed she was by his knowledge and his help. Instead, she simply gave James a grateful nod in answer before she returned to lining up the sights for real.
On came the goggles and the ear protectors at last. “Falling right into it,” was a good analogy for the sensation she was feeling, as her muscle memory settled each element down into place for her. Paige channeled the shame and the sadness, the pain and the anger, until all the emotion from her past spiraled down into that singular moment of pulling the trigger.
The recoil made her arms shudder, but she did not shake. The sound reminded her of the thunder, but she did not flinch. Not every shot was close or perfect, but she did not quit. She blissfully fell into pinning her problems to the target, shredding the helpless paper wider with each bullet fired, and thought of nothing.