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xp_logsDavid wants to shoot something, Wade knows where he can do it. Afterwards, lunch.
Wade parked the car and quirked an eyebrow at his passenger. "You're not gripping anything with white knuckles - either you're made of sterner stuff than some of the people I've driven or you're used to my kind of speed." He had Bea in the backseat, so he didn't even have to head up to his suite. They could just make straight for the range and get their competition started.
“Absolutely,” his companion informed him with what passed off as cheerfulness when it came to him. “I also hide my fear better.” David was no stranger to car chases. He had also had the questionable joy of speeding down mountains at breakneck speed on narrow roads in scraps of metal masquerading as vehicles. It therefore took more than Wade’s penchant for doubling the speed limit, and then some, to freak him out.
Of course, given lack of prior knowledge regarding Wade’s driving skills, it helped that his adrenaline levels had geared up and his powers had kicked him. Otherwise he might just have had to pop a Ritalin or two just to make sure Wade did not end up killing the both of them.
Grinning, Wade cut the engine and opened his door, reaching back for Bea's case before sliding out of the car. "Well kudos to you. I thought Sam was going to have a heart attack and I'm pretty sure his truck would squish anything I might have hit with it."
Sam? As in Vanessa’s supermarket Sam? David snorted and slipped out of the car carrying his own case. Unlike Wade, however, his case was empty. Instead, he was wearing a concealed holster that housed his favourite h&k handgun. This, of course meant that he was breaking the all kinds of firearm laws, not to mention his target license. “He does seem like the type to get an aneurysm just by taking a ride with you.”
"I was pretty sure he was gonna break his 'oh shit' bar, he was gripping it so hard. But he was a good sport about it, at least," Wade said, grinning. "C'mon, this way. It's a little far off - gotta keep it off the radar for the kids." Refrozen snow crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they walked.
Walking beside Wade, David let the other man take the lead as he occupied himself more with studying the layout of the mansion. It was a little strange that the most convenient shooting range would be at the school. He had almost resorted to visiting one of the public ones before he had thought to ask Wade.
The walk to the shooting range wasn't too terribly long and Wade didn't feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. Opening the door, he gestured for David to precede him, then headed for one of the cubicles so he could open his case and set up his target. "Lower score buys lunch?"
“And a good bottle of wine,” David added, snagging his gun from its holster and checking its loaded round. He had cleaned it the night before and was satisfied that it had not been damaged during its shipping from France to New York. Then he made quick work of setting up the target, tilting his head from side to side to loosen his shoulder muscles.
"Done," Wade agree, opening his case and taking Bea out. He ran through the usual set up, got his target situated, and then looked around the partition so he could quirk an eyebrow at David. "I might lose on purpose. I like making smiley faces and I don't really care about paying for lunch."
“You put a smiley face on that target and I’ll put on a frowny face just for you,” came the immediate reply that somehow managed to be both a deadpan and a warning at the same time.
Wade laughed aloud at that. "You're on, gray-beard." Ducking back behind the partition, Wade grabbed the ear protecting headphones from their spot on the wall, picked up Bea, and clicked her safety off. "We're live," he said, taking aim.
“Gray-beard,” David repeated, slightly mocking as he shoved a pair of earplugs in his ears and released his safety catch. “Who’s the old man here, huh?” Raising the gun, he took a second to aim, and fired off four rounds of three bullets, breathing evenly and timing his shots in a neat rhythm. Everything came naturally, as though it were second nature, and he did not pause even once to think about it. The target was the mark and he had orders to bring the mark down. When his chamber was empty, David flipped the safety back on and neatly discharged it, placing the gun back down. Only then did he blink and glance towards the partition.
Letting his grin drop as he focused his attention on the target, Wade took a slow breath and settled, his usual restless energy disappearing as he centered himself and took aim. Two shots for eyes, one shot for the nose, and four for an up-turned mouth. That left him with ten bullets if he needed them, which he didn't. Clicking the safety back on, he discharged the cartridge with its remaining bullets and laid Bea down after checking to make sure the chamber was clear. Pulling the mufflers off, he said, "Safety's on," then tipped his head to the side and hit the button to bring his target up to where they were standing.
Hitting the button on his end, David tugged the plugs from his ears and watched as the targets moved forward. “Not bad,” he commented with a characteristic twitch to his lips. Twelve bullets – one for each eye, three for each eyebrow, two for the nose and four in a horizontal line across the face – a frowny face if he ever did see one on a target. Of course, the first shot through the eye would have scrambled brains if the target had any. “As promised.”
Wade looked from his target to David's and laughed. "Over-achiever," he commented, noting the eyebrows. "But I think this means I owe you lunch and good wine."
“I’ll get the wine,” David replied with an easy smile, looking more relaxed than he had ever been since he left for Europe. He deftly reloaded his gun as he spoke, hitting the button to send the target back down. “Since I wouldn’t really call that a clear cut victory.” He had merely used more bullets, really.
"Alrighty," Wade said, unclipping his smiley face target and setting it aside before hanging a second and getting down to the real business of testing marksmanship.
[]-[]-[]-[]-[]
A couple hours later saw the men sitting at a deli - Wade's idea of buying lunch had been more along the lines of 'quantity over quality' because he was hungry. They could get the wine later. "So," he said, gesturing with his second sub sandwich of the meal. "Why'd you wanna shoot something so bad? You're all zen now, but you were getting wound up pretty tight before you got to the range. Just general work stuff?"
“Something like that,” David replied, with a vague wave of his hand after he had swallowed the bite of sandwich in his mouth – just one half-foot sub for him, since he did not have Wade’s amazing ability to inhale his food. “I haven’t fired a shot since I returned from getting shot at in France. And playing with firearms generally makes me a happier person to be around.” And that did not make him weird in any way.
"Mm..." Wade nodded his understanding because really, if anyone was going to get that, it was him. He took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, then asked, "Did you at least hit any of the people in France?"
David smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he nodded. “Even better. I blew them up.” Of course, he shot a few before that, but explosions were always so much more satisfying some times.
Wade grinned. He was particularly fond of explosions. "I greatly appreciate your methodology, Herr North. Did it rain baguettes and croissants?"
“Oh, yes,” David nodded, washing down a mouthful of sub with a several gulps of soda. “There was even Foie Gras and red wine.” Deep, red wine with a rich bouquet and a tinge of copper. Wiping his mouth with a serviette, the German man leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, ankle to knee. “Their gas lines are surprisingly easy to find, if you didn’t know. Tracked one straight from a kitchen.”
"I did know that, actually," Wade said, grinning. "But I'm more familiar with German gas lines. And C4 is a man's best friend when desperate times call for desperate measures. I'll give you one hint - San Francisco, 1989."
Cocking his head to the side as he connected the dots, David snorted and lifted his sandwich for another bite. “Was never too fond of fortune cookies,” he commented blithely. There had been some amusement when he learned that someone had made it shower fortune cookies in the city, but knowing Wade was behind the explosion in the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory just made some things fall into place.
"Me, neither," Wade said, nodding sagely. "Too dry."
Wade parked the car and quirked an eyebrow at his passenger. "You're not gripping anything with white knuckles - either you're made of sterner stuff than some of the people I've driven or you're used to my kind of speed." He had Bea in the backseat, so he didn't even have to head up to his suite. They could just make straight for the range and get their competition started.
“Absolutely,” his companion informed him with what passed off as cheerfulness when it came to him. “I also hide my fear better.” David was no stranger to car chases. He had also had the questionable joy of speeding down mountains at breakneck speed on narrow roads in scraps of metal masquerading as vehicles. It therefore took more than Wade’s penchant for doubling the speed limit, and then some, to freak him out.
Of course, given lack of prior knowledge regarding Wade’s driving skills, it helped that his adrenaline levels had geared up and his powers had kicked him. Otherwise he might just have had to pop a Ritalin or two just to make sure Wade did not end up killing the both of them.
Grinning, Wade cut the engine and opened his door, reaching back for Bea's case before sliding out of the car. "Well kudos to you. I thought Sam was going to have a heart attack and I'm pretty sure his truck would squish anything I might have hit with it."
Sam? As in Vanessa’s supermarket Sam? David snorted and slipped out of the car carrying his own case. Unlike Wade, however, his case was empty. Instead, he was wearing a concealed holster that housed his favourite h&k handgun. This, of course meant that he was breaking the all kinds of firearm laws, not to mention his target license. “He does seem like the type to get an aneurysm just by taking a ride with you.”
"I was pretty sure he was gonna break his 'oh shit' bar, he was gripping it so hard. But he was a good sport about it, at least," Wade said, grinning. "C'mon, this way. It's a little far off - gotta keep it off the radar for the kids." Refrozen snow crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they walked.
Walking beside Wade, David let the other man take the lead as he occupied himself more with studying the layout of the mansion. It was a little strange that the most convenient shooting range would be at the school. He had almost resorted to visiting one of the public ones before he had thought to ask Wade.
The walk to the shooting range wasn't too terribly long and Wade didn't feel the need to fill the silence with chatter. Opening the door, he gestured for David to precede him, then headed for one of the cubicles so he could open his case and set up his target. "Lower score buys lunch?"
“And a good bottle of wine,” David added, snagging his gun from its holster and checking its loaded round. He had cleaned it the night before and was satisfied that it had not been damaged during its shipping from France to New York. Then he made quick work of setting up the target, tilting his head from side to side to loosen his shoulder muscles.
"Done," Wade agree, opening his case and taking Bea out. He ran through the usual set up, got his target situated, and then looked around the partition so he could quirk an eyebrow at David. "I might lose on purpose. I like making smiley faces and I don't really care about paying for lunch."
“You put a smiley face on that target and I’ll put on a frowny face just for you,” came the immediate reply that somehow managed to be both a deadpan and a warning at the same time.
Wade laughed aloud at that. "You're on, gray-beard." Ducking back behind the partition, Wade grabbed the ear protecting headphones from their spot on the wall, picked up Bea, and clicked her safety off. "We're live," he said, taking aim.
“Gray-beard,” David repeated, slightly mocking as he shoved a pair of earplugs in his ears and released his safety catch. “Who’s the old man here, huh?” Raising the gun, he took a second to aim, and fired off four rounds of three bullets, breathing evenly and timing his shots in a neat rhythm. Everything came naturally, as though it were second nature, and he did not pause even once to think about it. The target was the mark and he had orders to bring the mark down. When his chamber was empty, David flipped the safety back on and neatly discharged it, placing the gun back down. Only then did he blink and glance towards the partition.
Letting his grin drop as he focused his attention on the target, Wade took a slow breath and settled, his usual restless energy disappearing as he centered himself and took aim. Two shots for eyes, one shot for the nose, and four for an up-turned mouth. That left him with ten bullets if he needed them, which he didn't. Clicking the safety back on, he discharged the cartridge with its remaining bullets and laid Bea down after checking to make sure the chamber was clear. Pulling the mufflers off, he said, "Safety's on," then tipped his head to the side and hit the button to bring his target up to where they were standing.
Hitting the button on his end, David tugged the plugs from his ears and watched as the targets moved forward. “Not bad,” he commented with a characteristic twitch to his lips. Twelve bullets – one for each eye, three for each eyebrow, two for the nose and four in a horizontal line across the face – a frowny face if he ever did see one on a target. Of course, the first shot through the eye would have scrambled brains if the target had any. “As promised.”
Wade looked from his target to David's and laughed. "Over-achiever," he commented, noting the eyebrows. "But I think this means I owe you lunch and good wine."
“I’ll get the wine,” David replied with an easy smile, looking more relaxed than he had ever been since he left for Europe. He deftly reloaded his gun as he spoke, hitting the button to send the target back down. “Since I wouldn’t really call that a clear cut victory.” He had merely used more bullets, really.
"Alrighty," Wade said, unclipping his smiley face target and setting it aside before hanging a second and getting down to the real business of testing marksmanship.
[]-[]-[]-[]-[]
A couple hours later saw the men sitting at a deli - Wade's idea of buying lunch had been more along the lines of 'quantity over quality' because he was hungry. They could get the wine later. "So," he said, gesturing with his second sub sandwich of the meal. "Why'd you wanna shoot something so bad? You're all zen now, but you were getting wound up pretty tight before you got to the range. Just general work stuff?"
“Something like that,” David replied, with a vague wave of his hand after he had swallowed the bite of sandwich in his mouth – just one half-foot sub for him, since he did not have Wade’s amazing ability to inhale his food. “I haven’t fired a shot since I returned from getting shot at in France. And playing with firearms generally makes me a happier person to be around.” And that did not make him weird in any way.
"Mm..." Wade nodded his understanding because really, if anyone was going to get that, it was him. He took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, then asked, "Did you at least hit any of the people in France?"
David smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he nodded. “Even better. I blew them up.” Of course, he shot a few before that, but explosions were always so much more satisfying some times.
Wade grinned. He was particularly fond of explosions. "I greatly appreciate your methodology, Herr North. Did it rain baguettes and croissants?"
“Oh, yes,” David nodded, washing down a mouthful of sub with a several gulps of soda. “There was even Foie Gras and red wine.” Deep, red wine with a rich bouquet and a tinge of copper. Wiping his mouth with a serviette, the German man leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, ankle to knee. “Their gas lines are surprisingly easy to find, if you didn’t know. Tracked one straight from a kitchen.”
"I did know that, actually," Wade said, grinning. "But I'm more familiar with German gas lines. And C4 is a man's best friend when desperate times call for desperate measures. I'll give you one hint - San Francisco, 1989."
Cocking his head to the side as he connected the dots, David snorted and lifted his sandwich for another bite. “Was never too fond of fortune cookies,” he commented blithely. There had been some amusement when he learned that someone had made it shower fortune cookies in the city, but knowing Wade was behind the explosion in the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory just made some things fall into place.
"Me, neither," Wade said, nodding sagely. "Too dry."
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