Shatterstar and Kevin | Guns BACKDATED
Jan. 18th, 2024 10:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to Jan 18 Shatterstar ends his shooting lessons with Kevin.
Shatterstar was efficient in the cleaning up and while he knew that Mr. Sydney wouldn't judge him for wishing to stop their lessons- or at least wouldn't say anything he still wasn't sure how to approach the subject.
Head-on it was.
"Mr. Sydney," he said in a business-like tone. "I have reflected and believe that my original goal of improving my aim has been achieved in my practices outside of the shooting range."
He has become, while not comfortable with, at least used to a gun in his hands as well. He wasn't sure he trusted the weapon with a wielder like himself after the realization he had with Miss Abbott.
"Fair enough. You've gotten better although you still have a long way to good before I'd consider you properly trained. Then again, my version of 'properly trained' is a little more extensive than other people's, I'm told." Kevin was stacking away the live ammo, reflexively counting it in his head against every round fired in the range, a habit ingrained into him so long ago that he couldn't stop doing it if he tried.
"Some people find they like the range. Other people, who are well trained and active with a weapon, find otherwise. Is the reason just that you think you've learned enough to hit your objective?"
"No," Shatterstar admitted after a moment. "I also feel I need to reevaluate my views on what I am training for after what happened in District X." While he was unsure if Kevin was there, he was sure that by now he had heard all about it. Mr. Sydney was the type of man who seemed to know everything, and more importantly make it his business to know.
"If I ever decide I would like to be trained to your standard, may I seek you out again?" Shatterstar asked, not wanting to close the door completely. He's come to respect shooting, and more importantly Kevin, after the months of practice.
"Of course." Kevin said, pausing once he'd cleared the last of the weapons and ammo back through the secure gate to the attendant. He reached into his pocket for a flask and added a generous glug to his coffee, motioning with it to Shatterstar before putting it back. "The first time I ever touched a gun I was thirteen. There was a local youth gang - tough Irish kids - mostly muscle for rationed good scams like bootleg gasoline, that sort of thing. One of them, McSorley was his name - he had an old .38 that his old man had bought off a bent cop back in the 20s. Don't know if that was real but it was a good story. They liked to show off, especially to us kids who were three-four years younger than them. One day, they were target shooting cans off a rail back in one of the train yards. Let me fire two shots." He took a sip and grinned. "I wasn't within five feet. That was the safest empty tin of Campbell's Tomato soup in history."
He had known Kevin was impossibly old, of course, but sometimes it was easy to forget. The stories Kevin told made it seem all the more real. Shatterstar listened intently to Kevin's story but wasn't sure the point of being told it by the end. "It's hard to imagine you missing," he admitted after a while, still mulling over what Kevin said.
"Like I said, it was a long time ago." Kevin shrugged. "At that point, a gun was still an abstract thing to me. More of a symbol than an actual weapon. Our neighbourhood was tough as hell, but it was mostly street fights with the odd chain, bat or razorblade in the cap brim to solve things. And then I went into the Army, and learning that the one purpose of a gun of any type was to kill something - period - was like being dunked into icy water."
Shatterstar finished the cleaning of the gun and looked at the weapon, weighing it in his hands. "Yes," he said finally.
This was a killing thing.
Shatterstar wasn't sure if he wanted to be a killing thing.
"Yes it is."
"Don't get it wrong. The sword you train with is almost the same." He took a seat. "We tell ourselves all kinds of fancy arguments about weapons. 'It's for self defense', or 'it's to defend people'. Which is true, but stops before the end of the statement, which is always 'by killing someone before they can kill us'. All weapons are meant to be used. Guns are just a lot quicker and more efficient."
He took another contemplative sip and shook his head. "It is a good thing to stop and think through what you want to be. Too many people either just go through the motions until it is too late, or just bullshit themselves about what these things mean." He waved his free hand. "Anyway, that's enough of the old man lecture. At my age, I'm required to do at least two a week to anyone under the age of 35 to keep my room in the mansion. If you want to start training again, just drop me a note."
"You're good at them," Shatterstar said after a pause.
By killing someone before they can kill us.
And what if you were scared of what that justification could do? What you could allow it to make you do? What did it mean then? But Shatterstar had the feeling that if he asked Mr. Sydney he would just be told he had to figure it out for himself.
"Thank you for all the training. I will be sure to reach out if I ever wish to start again." He held out his hand formally.
"Absolutely. Take care." Kevin took the man's hand firmly, a handshake so automatic and classic it seemed older than him. The reality was that in another life, he would have already started Shatterstar down the path most useful to Kevin. Taken all that hesitancy and bound it up in whatever higher concepts or ideals the young man had until the only thing he saw through those gun sights were targets, and not people.
But that wasn't his job now. And he shook the young man's hand and simply watched him depart to figure things out for himself.
Shatterstar was efficient in the cleaning up and while he knew that Mr. Sydney wouldn't judge him for wishing to stop their lessons- or at least wouldn't say anything he still wasn't sure how to approach the subject.
Head-on it was.
"Mr. Sydney," he said in a business-like tone. "I have reflected and believe that my original goal of improving my aim has been achieved in my practices outside of the shooting range."
He has become, while not comfortable with, at least used to a gun in his hands as well. He wasn't sure he trusted the weapon with a wielder like himself after the realization he had with Miss Abbott.
"Fair enough. You've gotten better although you still have a long way to good before I'd consider you properly trained. Then again, my version of 'properly trained' is a little more extensive than other people's, I'm told." Kevin was stacking away the live ammo, reflexively counting it in his head against every round fired in the range, a habit ingrained into him so long ago that he couldn't stop doing it if he tried.
"Some people find they like the range. Other people, who are well trained and active with a weapon, find otherwise. Is the reason just that you think you've learned enough to hit your objective?"
"No," Shatterstar admitted after a moment. "I also feel I need to reevaluate my views on what I am training for after what happened in District X." While he was unsure if Kevin was there, he was sure that by now he had heard all about it. Mr. Sydney was the type of man who seemed to know everything, and more importantly make it his business to know.
"If I ever decide I would like to be trained to your standard, may I seek you out again?" Shatterstar asked, not wanting to close the door completely. He's come to respect shooting, and more importantly Kevin, after the months of practice.
"Of course." Kevin said, pausing once he'd cleared the last of the weapons and ammo back through the secure gate to the attendant. He reached into his pocket for a flask and added a generous glug to his coffee, motioning with it to Shatterstar before putting it back. "The first time I ever touched a gun I was thirteen. There was a local youth gang - tough Irish kids - mostly muscle for rationed good scams like bootleg gasoline, that sort of thing. One of them, McSorley was his name - he had an old .38 that his old man had bought off a bent cop back in the 20s. Don't know if that was real but it was a good story. They liked to show off, especially to us kids who were three-four years younger than them. One day, they were target shooting cans off a rail back in one of the train yards. Let me fire two shots." He took a sip and grinned. "I wasn't within five feet. That was the safest empty tin of Campbell's Tomato soup in history."
He had known Kevin was impossibly old, of course, but sometimes it was easy to forget. The stories Kevin told made it seem all the more real. Shatterstar listened intently to Kevin's story but wasn't sure the point of being told it by the end. "It's hard to imagine you missing," he admitted after a while, still mulling over what Kevin said.
"Like I said, it was a long time ago." Kevin shrugged. "At that point, a gun was still an abstract thing to me. More of a symbol than an actual weapon. Our neighbourhood was tough as hell, but it was mostly street fights with the odd chain, bat or razorblade in the cap brim to solve things. And then I went into the Army, and learning that the one purpose of a gun of any type was to kill something - period - was like being dunked into icy water."
Shatterstar finished the cleaning of the gun and looked at the weapon, weighing it in his hands. "Yes," he said finally.
This was a killing thing.
Shatterstar wasn't sure if he wanted to be a killing thing.
"Yes it is."
"Don't get it wrong. The sword you train with is almost the same." He took a seat. "We tell ourselves all kinds of fancy arguments about weapons. 'It's for self defense', or 'it's to defend people'. Which is true, but stops before the end of the statement, which is always 'by killing someone before they can kill us'. All weapons are meant to be used. Guns are just a lot quicker and more efficient."
He took another contemplative sip and shook his head. "It is a good thing to stop and think through what you want to be. Too many people either just go through the motions until it is too late, or just bullshit themselves about what these things mean." He waved his free hand. "Anyway, that's enough of the old man lecture. At my age, I'm required to do at least two a week to anyone under the age of 35 to keep my room in the mansion. If you want to start training again, just drop me a note."
"You're good at them," Shatterstar said after a pause.
By killing someone before they can kill us.
And what if you were scared of what that justification could do? What you could allow it to make you do? What did it mean then? But Shatterstar had the feeling that if he asked Mr. Sydney he would just be told he had to figure it out for himself.
"Thank you for all the training. I will be sure to reach out if I ever wish to start again." He held out his hand formally.
"Absolutely. Take care." Kevin took the man's hand firmly, a handshake so automatic and classic it seemed older than him. The reality was that in another life, he would have already started Shatterstar down the path most useful to Kevin. Taken all that hesitancy and bound it up in whatever higher concepts or ideals the young man had until the only thing he saw through those gun sights were targets, and not people.
But that wasn't his job now. And he shook the young man's hand and simply watched him depart to figure things out for himself.
