|Charles Renmont (shot_inthedark) wrote in zionmystiqueic,|
@ 2019-11-23 23:02:00
|Entry tags:||!november, !thread, charles, jean|
Who: Charles Renmont & Jean Ramsey
When: November 23rd, Afternoon.
Where: The trick shooting/riding area.
What: Wrapping up his show.
Status: complete and closed
The chill in the air whipped across his face as the cowboy rode at a hard gallop; the reins of his horse held between his teeth as both his hands held firm to the ivory handled twin pistols he carried in an iron grip. Back and forth Renmont and his steed raced, dust kicking up with every step forward. All the while the blindfolded man unloaded round after round, shattering the bottles that had been placed all over the field. Here in these moments Charles felt most alive. No pain, no migraines or muddled thoughts plagued him as the modern gunslinger put on his performance...pulling off seemingly impossible shots with those smoking twin guns. All while cut off from his sense of sight, and seemingly at the mercy of fate itself.
There was no scam. No cheat at all. Only a man and his horse thundering across the field, and the cheers of the audience barely heard over the echoing sound of gunfire that rang out. Many had asked just how he did it. How Renmont managed to hit the mark every single time, while blindfolded and astride his horse. Truth be told though even Charles himself had no real answer to give. Sure the man had practiced for years with those beautifully crafted weapons. Yet practice could only bring a man so far in life, and his skill seemed to possess a bit of the devil's own luck. Earnestly it was in these moments that everything just sort of clicked in his mind. All that noise and agony faded away, and was replaced with a clarity that let him perform the impossible. Before the trigger was squeezed Renmont just simply knew. Well not knew exactly, but he felt it. Felt that sensation in his gut, that flicker of prescience that told him the exact second to fire.
It was here during his shows; and sometimes while playing cards or more dangerous games of chance, like knife throwing, that that feeling returned. With it the almost unending headaches gave way to a blissful sense of heavenly peace. Sure he knew that the moment would fade shortly after the show, just as it always did. Still for the moment the cowboy focused on nothing at all, nothing beyond the feel of his heart beating, and the sound of each bottle shattering as the bullets hit their marks. Blind, thanks to the handkerchief around his eyes, Renmont still knew the show was coming to a close. A hundred bottles lay broken on the ground, and all that remained now was the big finale. For the briefest of moments he slowed his mount to a trot, quickly reloading his pistols while a helped brought a willing volunteer out from the stands. With an apple placed upon their head, and two more set in outstretched hands, a whistle was heard to signal that the setup was ready. With a faint smile Renmont's blind gaze drifted over to the area where the whistle came from; and with a kick he spurred his mount on to a full run. When the distanced was halved in only a few powerful strides the cowboy leaped up to stand atop the saddle, body jostling with every bounded step forward. Yet with a lazy grin the rider barely noticed the way his knees groaned. All his focus was firmly affixed to the darkness before him, and at the last possible second three shots rang out in rapid succession...each blowing the trio of apples off of the volunteers head and hands. Not leaving the faintest of marks on their body, beyond a bit of pulped apple.
Once more the applause was heard yet Charles barely noticed. Out of sheer habit the man offered a slight bow after sitting back onto the saddle, and when his guns were holstered at last Charles removed his blindfold and tipped his hat to the crowd. Before dismounting and handing over his steed to a helper. The moment he was out of sight that flask of his was hastily pulled from his coat pocket, and a large gulp of the whiskey/laudanum concoction was swallowed with a sigh escaping his lips. Maybe this time, he thought to himself, the pain wouldn't be so bad...yet even Charles knew that such hope was short lived, since the migraines always returned.