((Erika Stieglitz continued from There's Nothing Wrong With Better))
The clouds were moving quickly, and Erika felt a pleasant wave of heat as the sun emerged from between the gray. It was an exceptionally nice day – not too hot, but warm enough that it made her excited for summer. She couldn't hear much; though it was tied back behind a bandana, she knew it was the kind of day that made her want to let their hair loose. The trees were just beginning to sprout leaves. They were probably starting to make that beautiful sound that trees make when a gust of wind passes by.
If only I could just stand out here and enjoy it for a bit...
Ahead stood a strange assortment of props – a set of steel silhouettes freshly painted white, plastic fifty gallon drums full of sand, and a couple of makeshift barricades. All at varying levels, to present an array of challenges to the competitors. Erika took a deep breath and adjusted the grip on her SIG 551, keeping it at the low-ready position. Heavily customized, the rifle suited her frame and felt as comfortable as it always had.
Still don't want to think about how much this thing costs.
Any moment now she'd hear, faintly –
"Shooter ready?" Erika took a deep breath, and snapped back to reality. She nodded to the range officer.
Oh hell yes.
"Standby."
The telltale *beep* of the timer felt like an electrical shock, and it sprung her into action. The standing targets were easy to hit from the starting position. Lining up the first, she squeezed the trigger without hesitating. The R.O. called out the shots as they landed.
"Hit!"
Pivoting to the next target, she squeezed the trigger again. The recoil felt minor, though not insignificant. The R.O. called the hit again, and Erika moved on. The last target went down as she moved to the next section. There was a small facsimile of a door frame, which Erika had to get behind, ready the rifle, and engage several more targets. They were further away, though the frame itself presented a greater degree of stability to shoot from.
Not even much of an obstacle!
The next section demanded a short sprint, and Erika made for the artificial cover – a tall fence – as fast as she could. Not a natural runner, her hope was always that the last accurate shots saved her a few seconds. As before, she engaged the same set of targets with as much precision as she could muster. One hit far off the mark on account of her heavy breathing.
A hit's a hit. Go!
The faint footsteps of the R.O. were ever-present as she passed through each section, eventually dropping her rifle on a pre-positioned table so as to switch guns. This was a two-gun match after all, and she'd been hounded by the weight of her handgun on her hip. Erika's FN Browning Hi-Power was fitted with custom wood grips, a beaver-tail to prevent hammer bite, lightened trigger pull, and bright neon green night sights. It had been lovingly cared for and its blued steel almost shone in the sunlight. Erika chose the design given its slim profile and general ease of use – though she'd removed the magazine disconnect safety as it was more or less an anachronism.
For a moment she lamented that she was wearing hearing protection – the sound it made when she racked a round into the chamber was almost cinematic and weirdly satisfying. It was a hard thing to explain to people who didn't spend much time around guns, but they really did sound like the movies made them out to.
And it's AWESOME.
As she tore through the remainder of the course, she thought less of taking off her earbuds; even a nine-millimeter pistol was exceedingly loud, and her rifle even more so. Every shot seemed to pulse through Erika's whole bone structure, though she was too focused and high on adrenaline to really care. Running back to the final set of rifle targets, she picked up and flicked the rifle to throw the mag completely free. It looked flashy, but it was really because you couldn't always trust magazines to always drop free, especially after this much shooting. Enough time spent at the range gave her the muscle memory to drop a magazine and reload without really thinking through the process.
The last sets of pistol targets were mobile – six plates on a central axis, like spokes on a wheel. Shooting one off would change the weight of the target and cause it to spin, making it more difficult to hit the next five. Of course, there were two wheels each some distance apart, meaning she had to sprint to the second set as soon as she finished with the first.
Erika took the first six shots quickly. She didn't necessarily have to change her point of aim all that much as the wheel spun, the targets falling easily into place. The second set was at a slightly different angle, with the dirt beneath her feet uneven and pitted. This time, the wheel didn't move much at all as she punched targets off of it. Until, of course, it turned on the fourth shot. Erika missed, a small patch of dirt beyond the target exploding into a puff of dust.
"Fuck!"
I was doing so well. How did I not guess that was going to happen?
Rattled, Erika shook her head and leaned into the next shot, which landed successfully, as did the next two after that. From behind her, she could faintly hear the R.O. ask her to "show clear. It was easy enough to do given that her pistol locked open, completely empty. She took off her earbuds, and took a close look at her time; it was hard to see given the sunlight, but it seemed better than average at least. She'd have time to check her score later, for at the moment she just wanted to sit down.
I really should've made that last shot. Why didn't I? I never usually miss those. Was I impatient?
Looking back to those watching, she saw a couple of impressed looks. People generally had low expectations of her when she showed up on the range. Part of it was her appearance – tattoos weren't uncommon, but dreads and piercings were, to say nothing of the forest green bandanna she tied her hair back in. To her, green was the kind of colour associated with growth and life. For most of the people here, they probably thought of camo. Among the many Browning logos and gun-related slogans on t-shirts, the fanciful bird graphic on hers definitely stood out.
Still, being a bit out of place only bothered her a bit. One of the reasons people here tended to underestimate her was her gender. So their comments were strangely affirming, in a way. Hearing people say that she's "really good for a girl" felt nice, even though the statement itself was more than a bit condescending.
At least that's how they see me.
In some respects she was proud of all of this. It was a weird hobby to have, and it clashed pretty heavily with the rest of her life. Her online friends barely knew about it, because they'd probably think "Tennessee" and jump to all kinds of conclusions about her views towards the Second Amendment. The people she rubbed shoulders with here were nice, but they weren't exactly PC.
Being here made her feel capable though, and it was one hell of a stress reliever. Much of the self-doubt and anxiety she had experienced in the last week was conspicuously absent at the range. If she didn't like her performance here, she could adapt and improve. People were always willing to offer help, too. It was easy to change. That wasn't always the case with other things in life.
There's nothing like shooting your problems away, I suppose.
Stepping into the shade, she suddenly noticed how tired the run had made her. Her pale skin was, in all likelihood, going to end up sunburned by the day's end. She sat down at an empty picnic table, setting her gun case nearby. There was space inside for her handgun, but for the time being she wore it in its holster. Everyone else here did, anyways.
And you think it looks cool, right? Riiight?
Erika's mother waved at her from afar, mid-conversation with some friends. Erika had little doubt she'd be ostracized by most of them if it ever became apparent that her daughter was born male. Not that they'd find out anytime soon, she was about as stealth as a person could get. She offered a wave back to her mother, and then produced a small canteen of water from her bag. Staring derisively at the case of bottled water nearby, she took a swig and leaned back, staring at the trees once more. The gentle sound of the breeze through branches continued to be periodically interrupted by gunfire and electronic beeping. In spite of this, Erika found a way to relax.
Forest Green
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
((Faith C. Marshal-Mackenzie continued from By The Pricking Of My Thumbs))
Faith's steps through the range were guided by the kind of confident familiarity with the location that people typically learned within their house or school, the kind of familiarity that came from years of turning over every rock, bumping into every obstacle and falling off every bluff until you had figured out every single possible way to fall over. And then avoid doing that in the future. That was why Faith felt perfectly at home looking into the distant treeline even as dulled gunshots rang out intermittently around her, watching the trees sway back and forth in the breeze as it strengthened and abated every few moments, letting the trees snap back to their original position, only to bend them again. The sight of that was oddly mesmerising.
Before she looked away, she took note of the wind direction out of habit. Westernly, weak. And then kicked herself for even thinking it mattered in the first place, because she wasn't here to shoot groups for once and let off some steam. No, no, she was here to try something new. She shifted the weight of the rifle sling a little, inching the thin padding back onto her shoulder as she was reminded of what she was carrying. It wasn't the typical, rustic Anschutz .22 match rifle that looked like it could have fallen out of the 1800's, with it's wood and steel frame and bolt action. No, instead it was her favourite tool and hunting rifle, her Panther Arms AP4 LR-308.
It was big, black, scary, and it weighed a tonne. And she loved it. The M16-esque carry handle on it helped separate the people who 'knew some guns' from the people who 'knew guns' too. People who's opinions didn't matter would think it was an AR-15 just because of that, but here almost everyone would pick it out as an AR-10 inspired piece, and a few of them could probably narrow it down further. She knew that most of them would be side-eyeing her for using it in a two-gun challenge, but they could choke on it. This was the rifle she owned, and the rifle she knew, and it wasn't like she was going to get a new one soon. So they'd just have to deal.
That thought brought a smile to her face as she arrived at the section of the range that had been pieced together for the competition, white metal starting to glare back at her as the sun peeked through the clouds and onto the range. Yeah, that was what she would do. She'd show them that she could still hang, even without all the lightening and customisation she was sure the best timed competitors would have. She wouldn't be number one, for sure, but she'd make sure she was solidly in the middle of the pack. Hell yeah. That'd rile them up for sure.
The energy and excitement that was building up in her only continued as she watched the competitor in front of her - Erika, one of the small group of girls from the school who frequented the range - made it look easy. The low thrum of her gunfire was all she could hear through the hearing protection, and she was too far away to hear the R.O. calling hits like a spotter, but it seemed like she wasn't missing a beat.
And, then, after a few minutes of setting all the plates and marks again, the R.O. motioned Faith over. She followed the direction with the deference she typically gave the people in charge of making sure she didn't end up waking up with new holes, and tried to crack an easy smile. It ended up betraying her nervous excitement, more than anything she thought, as the R.O. gave her the archetypal "Is this your first two-gun match? OK! Here's how to not die." speech that was 90% common sense, and 10% "just have fun".
And then, before she even realised it, she was at the starting position. Her boots ground into the dirt as she prepared to run to the next mark.
"Shooter ready?"
The desire to reply with "Born ready" was there, but she quashed it and nodded, deactivating the safety on her rifle as she held it in a low position, ready to shoulder it the sec-
*beep*
She shouldered her rifle, then grimaced as she moved her feet around, boots kicking up a little dust. Right, shooting first, then running. And you sure as hell didn't shoot her rifle flat-footed. She felt the seconds ticking away, putting her lower and lower on the scoreboard. She steadied herself, put the blade of her sight on the centre of the white target. Held her breath. Leaned forwards into the shot. Visualised it. Pulled the trigger.
The staccato of .223 shooting was finally answered by the duller, bass filled thud of a .308 round being fired, and slamming into the first target. The clang of lead against steel was loud enough that she didn't need to hear the R.O.'s confirmation to move on. She swung the rifle to the right, the long profile of her rifle making it an awkward turn, but she needed to claw back some seconds, so she stuck with the footing. Lined the blade up. Held her breath. Fired.
Another target down. One more.
She picked it out, decided she could hit it from this stance. Lined the blade up. Fired. A patch of dirt to the right of the target became airborne. She shifted her aim to the left. Fired.
"Hit!"
There was a pause for a moment, and then there was running. Trigger finger moved decidedly away from the trigger. Shoulder pressed against faux-door frame. Trigger finger back into position.
She wished she could take a kneeling stance to hit these targets, but she hadn't seen anyone else do it, so it was probably against the rules. No time for contemplation, anyway. She picked out the first target. Took a moment to catch her breath as the sights bobbed up and down. Levelled them. Let the adrenaline shakes fade out just a moment. Visualised the shot. Fired. Hit.
Shit, she was fucking good at this. Hell yeah. Two-gun was awesome. Everything was awesome.
Five targets left, five rounds left in her magazine. She could reload the way Erika did, whilst running, if she hit everything. She eyed up the targets and tried to make good on that plan, rifle tracking from the first target to the second.
Fired. Hit. Fired. Hit. Fired.
She groaned as the round slammed into the dirt mound being used to keep missed rounds like that from performing natural selection. So much for being just as good as everyone else.
Fired. Hit. Fired. Hit.
Mag change. Box came out of the rifle, hit the floor. She felt a pang of pain at that, leaving her equipment lying around and in the dirt. But that wasn't as important as doing well. Another box magazine went in. She tapped the forward release switch, and the rifle did all the work for her, bolt lunging forwards, scooping a round out of the magazine and into the chamber.
Fired. Hit.
She ran again, closer to the targets now, to a fence that was obviously designed to be tall for the average person at the range, but not tall enough that you could rest your rifle on it. This latter exception did not apply to Faith, and she was more than happy to take advantage of it right now. She added six new marks to the already battered targets with surprising speed, and no-one called her out on it. She was practically beaming now. Back on pace.
She unslung her rifle from her shoulder and placed it down on the table. It was a sturdy piece, but you didn't just throw a recently fired rifle around. That was how you got accidental discharges, and that was how you got politely, and firmly, asked to leave the range. Which no-one wanted. With that safely done, her hand went down to her hip and retrieved the pistol by her side.
If her LR-308 was her tool, then the M1911A1 in her hands was her toy. It was simple looking, of course, no fancy tech or sights. Just simple, parkerized steel, with only a small Springfield Armory logo on the slide, and a matching pair of rubber grips bearing the printed likeness of a tiger's stripes to tell it apart from all the other 1911's in the world. That didn't matter though. It was hers.
There was no need for Faith to rack the slide, a grip safety let you carry it with one in the chamber without worrying too much. Her thumb flicked up, disengaging the extra safety. She lined the sights up, then let it roar. The .45 ACP did all the work for her, the clear ring of each successful hit moving her onto the next target as she kept her body moving, shifting the angle of her upper body between each shot, her two-handed grip on the pistol kept the muzzle flip down. She grabbed her rifle once again, sling grabbed and wrapped around her forearm to keep it off the ground without reslinging it. The recoil was beginning to make her shoulder a little sore, but the adrenaline made sure that stayed as a low priority, as another set of targets fell.
Everything felt like a blur as she left her rifle behind again and left another magazine in the dirt behind her, lamenting the limited capacity of her pistol. 7 rounds was flat out not enough for this. It meant she could only miss once per rack of plates, and she'd still have to reload in the middle. Still. She could make that happen. Six plates later and another magazine hit the ground beside Faith.
Fire. Hit. Fire. Hit. Fire. Miss. Fire. Hit. Fire. Hit...
One plate left.
She steadied herself. Paused. Breathed in, breathed out. Watched the swinging arc go back and forth, figuring out where it stood still for just a moment. Aimed at the spot where she knew the plate would be.
Fire. Hit.
The competition had felt like both an eternity and an instant, so hearing that she'd completed the course in "7 minutes, 12 seconds, with penalties" felt odd. But seeing her name on the tracker they had for times put everything in context, although part of her winced at the fact that they couldn't fit her full name on the card and had decided to put her up there as "F. Marshal-Mackenzie". She hadn't quite achieved the middle-of-the-pack result she'd been hunting for, that had probably been a little too ambitious. But she was, at least, clawing at their heels. 6:30 to 5:00 seemed to be where the majority of results sat. She supposed she could deal with that, for now. She'd make sure she broke under 7 minutes next time though.
She couldn't find Erika's time anywhere in that pack though, so her eyes went up a little further, trying to pick out "Erika" from the list of names. Wow. 4:34. That was insane. She wasn't number one - there were a fair few people above her still - but she was standing head and shoulders above a lot of the competition. Faith's smile grew a little more mirthful at that, as Erika tended to stand head and shoulders above a lot of people, on account of being one of the taller girls in school. She made a mental note of that one.
There was a lingering temptation in her to just go try it again RIGHT NOW and prove she could do just as well as everyone else, but she could feel a dull ache in her shoulder from the earlier run without the adrenaline pushing her forwards. She knew what trying to shoot on a bruised shoulder was like, and had no desire to repeat that experience. At all. Ever. Which was why she wandered towards the edge of the range, exchanging waves with a few of the regulars who knew her well enough, planning to simply soak in some of the sun and watch things unfold for a while. She even snagged a disposable plastic bottle of water from a pallet someone had brought along, which she'd thanked them for. It was a nice gesture, and you could really get dehydrated quick when your mind was on something as intense as match shooting. It was that sort of thing that made the range feel like home to her. People just helping because they could, not because they had to.
She cracked the top off, and took a swig of water as she looked for a spot to cool her heels, when she noted a technicolor disturbance in the see of khakis and tan and camo. It didn't take three guesses to figure out who that was. She tried to catch her eye and see if she was interested in talking, but her head was pretty clearly in the clouds, as she stared out into the middle distance. Faith considered leaving Erika to her own thoughts for about a second before discarding that idea and walking over. Least she could do was say hi and offer her some congrats on her run - which she'd earnt. And, hell, maybe she'd be able to give her a few pointers. That'd be pretty awesome.
As she got closer, she pulled the simple ear defenders that had been hanging around her neck off, stowing them away in her bag, managing to do so without completely destroying the neat ponytail she'd managed to force her hair into for today. She would have kept them on, but they were making the back of her neck super itchy, and trying to take them off mid conversation would be the worst. She brought her arm up into a lazy wave at Erika, hoping to catch her attention before greeting her.
"Hey Erika! Nice shooting out there earlier, hun." she greeted, her tone low and respectful, and a warm, competition and adrenaline fuelled smile on her face as she confidently sat down at the picnic table without asking for permission from the other girl. "4:34 is a hell of a time, better than most of 'em" she added, pausing for a effect, before laughing a little and sheepishly adding "And a hell of a lot better than me!" to the statement, trying to break the ice with a little self-deprecation as she relaxed her posture a little, subconsciously moving her hand to rub the tender spot on her shoulder, as if to check that the pain still existed.
Faith's steps through the range were guided by the kind of confident familiarity with the location that people typically learned within their house or school, the kind of familiarity that came from years of turning over every rock, bumping into every obstacle and falling off every bluff until you had figured out every single possible way to fall over. And then avoid doing that in the future. That was why Faith felt perfectly at home looking into the distant treeline even as dulled gunshots rang out intermittently around her, watching the trees sway back and forth in the breeze as it strengthened and abated every few moments, letting the trees snap back to their original position, only to bend them again. The sight of that was oddly mesmerising.
Before she looked away, she took note of the wind direction out of habit. Westernly, weak. And then kicked herself for even thinking it mattered in the first place, because she wasn't here to shoot groups for once and let off some steam. No, no, she was here to try something new. She shifted the weight of the rifle sling a little, inching the thin padding back onto her shoulder as she was reminded of what she was carrying. It wasn't the typical, rustic Anschutz .22 match rifle that looked like it could have fallen out of the 1800's, with it's wood and steel frame and bolt action. No, instead it was her favourite tool and hunting rifle, her Panther Arms AP4 LR-308.
It was big, black, scary, and it weighed a tonne. And she loved it. The M16-esque carry handle on it helped separate the people who 'knew some guns' from the people who 'knew guns' too. People who's opinions didn't matter would think it was an AR-15 just because of that, but here almost everyone would pick it out as an AR-10 inspired piece, and a few of them could probably narrow it down further. She knew that most of them would be side-eyeing her for using it in a two-gun challenge, but they could choke on it. This was the rifle she owned, and the rifle she knew, and it wasn't like she was going to get a new one soon. So they'd just have to deal.
That thought brought a smile to her face as she arrived at the section of the range that had been pieced together for the competition, white metal starting to glare back at her as the sun peeked through the clouds and onto the range. Yeah, that was what she would do. She'd show them that she could still hang, even without all the lightening and customisation she was sure the best timed competitors would have. She wouldn't be number one, for sure, but she'd make sure she was solidly in the middle of the pack. Hell yeah. That'd rile them up for sure.
The energy and excitement that was building up in her only continued as she watched the competitor in front of her - Erika, one of the small group of girls from the school who frequented the range - made it look easy. The low thrum of her gunfire was all she could hear through the hearing protection, and she was too far away to hear the R.O. calling hits like a spotter, but it seemed like she wasn't missing a beat.
And, then, after a few minutes of setting all the plates and marks again, the R.O. motioned Faith over. She followed the direction with the deference she typically gave the people in charge of making sure she didn't end up waking up with new holes, and tried to crack an easy smile. It ended up betraying her nervous excitement, more than anything she thought, as the R.O. gave her the archetypal "Is this your first two-gun match? OK! Here's how to not die." speech that was 90% common sense, and 10% "just have fun".
And then, before she even realised it, she was at the starting position. Her boots ground into the dirt as she prepared to run to the next mark.
"Shooter ready?"
The desire to reply with "Born ready" was there, but she quashed it and nodded, deactivating the safety on her rifle as she held it in a low position, ready to shoulder it the sec-
*beep*
She shouldered her rifle, then grimaced as she moved her feet around, boots kicking up a little dust. Right, shooting first, then running. And you sure as hell didn't shoot her rifle flat-footed. She felt the seconds ticking away, putting her lower and lower on the scoreboard. She steadied herself, put the blade of her sight on the centre of the white target. Held her breath. Leaned forwards into the shot. Visualised it. Pulled the trigger.
The staccato of .223 shooting was finally answered by the duller, bass filled thud of a .308 round being fired, and slamming into the first target. The clang of lead against steel was loud enough that she didn't need to hear the R.O.'s confirmation to move on. She swung the rifle to the right, the long profile of her rifle making it an awkward turn, but she needed to claw back some seconds, so she stuck with the footing. Lined the blade up. Held her breath. Fired.
Another target down. One more.
She picked it out, decided she could hit it from this stance. Lined the blade up. Fired. A patch of dirt to the right of the target became airborne. She shifted her aim to the left. Fired.
"Hit!"
There was a pause for a moment, and then there was running. Trigger finger moved decidedly away from the trigger. Shoulder pressed against faux-door frame. Trigger finger back into position.
She wished she could take a kneeling stance to hit these targets, but she hadn't seen anyone else do it, so it was probably against the rules. No time for contemplation, anyway. She picked out the first target. Took a moment to catch her breath as the sights bobbed up and down. Levelled them. Let the adrenaline shakes fade out just a moment. Visualised the shot. Fired. Hit.
Shit, she was fucking good at this. Hell yeah. Two-gun was awesome. Everything was awesome.
Five targets left, five rounds left in her magazine. She could reload the way Erika did, whilst running, if she hit everything. She eyed up the targets and tried to make good on that plan, rifle tracking from the first target to the second.
Fired. Hit. Fired. Hit. Fired.
She groaned as the round slammed into the dirt mound being used to keep missed rounds like that from performing natural selection. So much for being just as good as everyone else.
Fired. Hit. Fired. Hit.
Mag change. Box came out of the rifle, hit the floor. She felt a pang of pain at that, leaving her equipment lying around and in the dirt. But that wasn't as important as doing well. Another box magazine went in. She tapped the forward release switch, and the rifle did all the work for her, bolt lunging forwards, scooping a round out of the magazine and into the chamber.
Fired. Hit.
She ran again, closer to the targets now, to a fence that was obviously designed to be tall for the average person at the range, but not tall enough that you could rest your rifle on it. This latter exception did not apply to Faith, and she was more than happy to take advantage of it right now. She added six new marks to the already battered targets with surprising speed, and no-one called her out on it. She was practically beaming now. Back on pace.
She unslung her rifle from her shoulder and placed it down on the table. It was a sturdy piece, but you didn't just throw a recently fired rifle around. That was how you got accidental discharges, and that was how you got politely, and firmly, asked to leave the range. Which no-one wanted. With that safely done, her hand went down to her hip and retrieved the pistol by her side.
If her LR-308 was her tool, then the M1911A1 in her hands was her toy. It was simple looking, of course, no fancy tech or sights. Just simple, parkerized steel, with only a small Springfield Armory logo on the slide, and a matching pair of rubber grips bearing the printed likeness of a tiger's stripes to tell it apart from all the other 1911's in the world. That didn't matter though. It was hers.
There was no need for Faith to rack the slide, a grip safety let you carry it with one in the chamber without worrying too much. Her thumb flicked up, disengaging the extra safety. She lined the sights up, then let it roar. The .45 ACP did all the work for her, the clear ring of each successful hit moving her onto the next target as she kept her body moving, shifting the angle of her upper body between each shot, her two-handed grip on the pistol kept the muzzle flip down. She grabbed her rifle once again, sling grabbed and wrapped around her forearm to keep it off the ground without reslinging it. The recoil was beginning to make her shoulder a little sore, but the adrenaline made sure that stayed as a low priority, as another set of targets fell.
Everything felt like a blur as she left her rifle behind again and left another magazine in the dirt behind her, lamenting the limited capacity of her pistol. 7 rounds was flat out not enough for this. It meant she could only miss once per rack of plates, and she'd still have to reload in the middle. Still. She could make that happen. Six plates later and another magazine hit the ground beside Faith.
Fire. Hit. Fire. Hit. Fire. Miss. Fire. Hit. Fire. Hit...
One plate left.
She steadied herself. Paused. Breathed in, breathed out. Watched the swinging arc go back and forth, figuring out where it stood still for just a moment. Aimed at the spot where she knew the plate would be.
Fire. Hit.
The competition had felt like both an eternity and an instant, so hearing that she'd completed the course in "7 minutes, 12 seconds, with penalties" felt odd. But seeing her name on the tracker they had for times put everything in context, although part of her winced at the fact that they couldn't fit her full name on the card and had decided to put her up there as "F. Marshal-Mackenzie". She hadn't quite achieved the middle-of-the-pack result she'd been hunting for, that had probably been a little too ambitious. But she was, at least, clawing at their heels. 6:30 to 5:00 seemed to be where the majority of results sat. She supposed she could deal with that, for now. She'd make sure she broke under 7 minutes next time though.
She couldn't find Erika's time anywhere in that pack though, so her eyes went up a little further, trying to pick out "Erika" from the list of names. Wow. 4:34. That was insane. She wasn't number one - there were a fair few people above her still - but she was standing head and shoulders above a lot of the competition. Faith's smile grew a little more mirthful at that, as Erika tended to stand head and shoulders above a lot of people, on account of being one of the taller girls in school. She made a mental note of that one.
There was a lingering temptation in her to just go try it again RIGHT NOW and prove she could do just as well as everyone else, but she could feel a dull ache in her shoulder from the earlier run without the adrenaline pushing her forwards. She knew what trying to shoot on a bruised shoulder was like, and had no desire to repeat that experience. At all. Ever. Which was why she wandered towards the edge of the range, exchanging waves with a few of the regulars who knew her well enough, planning to simply soak in some of the sun and watch things unfold for a while. She even snagged a disposable plastic bottle of water from a pallet someone had brought along, which she'd thanked them for. It was a nice gesture, and you could really get dehydrated quick when your mind was on something as intense as match shooting. It was that sort of thing that made the range feel like home to her. People just helping because they could, not because they had to.
She cracked the top off, and took a swig of water as she looked for a spot to cool her heels, when she noted a technicolor disturbance in the see of khakis and tan and camo. It didn't take three guesses to figure out who that was. She tried to catch her eye and see if she was interested in talking, but her head was pretty clearly in the clouds, as she stared out into the middle distance. Faith considered leaving Erika to her own thoughts for about a second before discarding that idea and walking over. Least she could do was say hi and offer her some congrats on her run - which she'd earnt. And, hell, maybe she'd be able to give her a few pointers. That'd be pretty awesome.
As she got closer, she pulled the simple ear defenders that had been hanging around her neck off, stowing them away in her bag, managing to do so without completely destroying the neat ponytail she'd managed to force her hair into for today. She would have kept them on, but they were making the back of her neck super itchy, and trying to take them off mid conversation would be the worst. She brought her arm up into a lazy wave at Erika, hoping to catch her attention before greeting her.
"Hey Erika! Nice shooting out there earlier, hun." she greeted, her tone low and respectful, and a warm, competition and adrenaline fuelled smile on her face as she confidently sat down at the picnic table without asking for permission from the other girl. "4:34 is a hell of a time, better than most of 'em" she added, pausing for a effect, before laughing a little and sheepishly adding "And a hell of a lot better than me!" to the statement, trying to break the ice with a little self-deprecation as she relaxed her posture a little, subconsciously moving her hand to rub the tender spot on her shoulder, as if to check that the pain still existed.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Erika was midway through a swig of her canteen when she saw Faith walking over to her. She returned a friendly wave, and capped the canteen. She'd watched her run - she handled her weapons well, especially considering what she was using. While Erika had made every effort to make her run as easy as possible, Faith ran with some kind of AR-10 and an old-school .45 Colt. The rifle was probably not the lightest thing in the world, and the short-stroke piston on a gun of that caliber was sure to throw some extra inertia behind whatever recoil it was throwing. There was nothing particularly wrong with running with .45 ACP - it was hard to find an old timer on the range who didn't - but the gun's capacity was barely more than half of Erika's.
She looked like she was enjoying herself, though? I can't fault her for taking a handicap for funsies.
It reminded her of the one and only time her father had gone out to the range with them. He'd insisted on using an old Mauser bolt-action rifle and for a handgun, "anything old." It was quite a sight to see the bespectacled academic with a salt-and-pepper goatee striding between positions, carefully and methodically proceeding through the course with no eye to time. He hit every shot with the Mauser - not far off from something he'd used as a kid - but had more difficulty with the pistol. For all he looked down on shooting sports from his Ivory Tower and his turtlenecks, he was grinning ear-to-ear at the end of it.
Faith sat down nearby and offered a few compliments on her time -
"4:34 is a hell of a time, better than most of 'em, and a hell of a lot better than me!"
- to which Erika paused, slightly stunned. Had she really done 4:34? She realized that despite looking at the timer, she hadn't actually remembered what her time even was.
Jesus, I must've been more high-strung than I thought. Oh shit, am I socializing right now?
She noted Faith's self-deprecation and offered a smile, shaking her head.
"Oh heck Faith, you did a damn fine job considering the artillery pieces you've got there!"
I am doing a social. The only reason I'm okay right now is the buzz from shooting at stuff real fast. Keep it together. Erika noted the same kind of buzz from Faith, and attempted to continue being herself.
"Plus I mean... you're really only competing against yourself. That, and it's fun as fuck either way. I'm legit on kind of a high right now." She played with one of the small silver charms that was sneaking outside of her bandanna.
And it's a legal high, too!
She looked like she was enjoying herself, though? I can't fault her for taking a handicap for funsies.
It reminded her of the one and only time her father had gone out to the range with them. He'd insisted on using an old Mauser bolt-action rifle and for a handgun, "anything old." It was quite a sight to see the bespectacled academic with a salt-and-pepper goatee striding between positions, carefully and methodically proceeding through the course with no eye to time. He hit every shot with the Mauser - not far off from something he'd used as a kid - but had more difficulty with the pistol. For all he looked down on shooting sports from his Ivory Tower and his turtlenecks, he was grinning ear-to-ear at the end of it.
Faith sat down nearby and offered a few compliments on her time -
"4:34 is a hell of a time, better than most of 'em, and a hell of a lot better than me!"
- to which Erika paused, slightly stunned. Had she really done 4:34? She realized that despite looking at the timer, she hadn't actually remembered what her time even was.
Jesus, I must've been more high-strung than I thought. Oh shit, am I socializing right now?
She noted Faith's self-deprecation and offered a smile, shaking her head.
"Oh heck Faith, you did a damn fine job considering the artillery pieces you've got there!"
I am doing a social. The only reason I'm okay right now is the buzz from shooting at stuff real fast. Keep it together. Erika noted the same kind of buzz from Faith, and attempted to continue being herself.
"Plus I mean... you're really only competing against yourself. That, and it's fun as fuck either way. I'm legit on kind of a high right now." She played with one of the small silver charms that was sneaking outside of her bandanna.
And it's a legal high, too!
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Faith couldn't help but smile a little wider as Erika complimented her right back. She knew it was just the polite thing to do and she probably didn't mean too much by it, but it didn't stop it from making her feel a little happier knowing someone had noticed that she was still able to make a decent showing, despite her less than perfect equipment. Plus, something about her saying heck just made the corners of her mouth curl up, part of her wanting to laugh at her for such a dorky turn of phrase.
She slipped the strap of her rifle bag off her shoulder as Erika continued, propping the drab, khaki coloured monstrosity that kept her gun clean against the bench to the left of her as she got herself comfortable. She made sure the barrel was angled distinctly away from Erika of course. Always treat a gun as if it's loaded, and never point it somewhere a bullet shouldn't go. And inside other people was a pretty bad place for a bullet to go, all things considered.
Well, most of the time, at least.
Erika seemed just as full of excitement as her, and damn if it wasn't nice to have someone else to share it with. Too many people seemed to talk as if shooting was relaxing rather than exciting. Not that she didn't shoot to blow off some steam and relax from time to time, but that was more a venting thing. Plenty of quieter and cheaper hobbies if you wanted to take the slow lane. Still, she didn't buy that Erika was just competing for herself. You didn't get that good just by improving for improvements sake, you had to have a reason for it, and - well - judging by the few comments that she'd heard about her being good "for a girl", she could take a pretty solid guess as to what that reason might be. Twats. Probably just mad about their times getting knocked down a place, but it still got under her skin when people denigrated a fellow shooter like that. Good on Erika for making them eat some damn humble pie.
She mulled over saying something to that effect for about a tenth of a second before squashing the idea. It'd kill the mood, and quite frankly she wasn't sure if Erika had heard. Ignorance was bliss, or something. Besides, Erika had left her a golden opportunity with that 'artillery piece' comment.
Her smile turned into a lopsided, cocky grin that belied her intent as she thought about what she was going to say. She reached over and patted her rifle like it was a favoured pet, just to draw attention back to what Erika had said in the beginning so she'd understand what she was playing at.
"Ah, you know how it is Erika, gotta bring out the big toys if you-"
She moved her right arm into a faux bro-flex as she spoke, the kind of thing Wyatt did when he was trying to show off his body, but looking pitiful in comparison - barely having a bump in her dark green shirt to show for all the tension in her arm. The bagginess of her male-cut shirt only helping accentuate the self-mockery.
"-want to show off the big guns!"
She finished, her tone dropping all pretences of seriousness at the end, the threat of laughter impacting her cadence as she fought to not be the first to laugh at her own joke. It was a lame one, for sure. But the best jokes were ones that made you groan at how bad they were internally as you laughed anyway.
She slipped the strap of her rifle bag off her shoulder as Erika continued, propping the drab, khaki coloured monstrosity that kept her gun clean against the bench to the left of her as she got herself comfortable. She made sure the barrel was angled distinctly away from Erika of course. Always treat a gun as if it's loaded, and never point it somewhere a bullet shouldn't go. And inside other people was a pretty bad place for a bullet to go, all things considered.
Well, most of the time, at least.
Erika seemed just as full of excitement as her, and damn if it wasn't nice to have someone else to share it with. Too many people seemed to talk as if shooting was relaxing rather than exciting. Not that she didn't shoot to blow off some steam and relax from time to time, but that was more a venting thing. Plenty of quieter and cheaper hobbies if you wanted to take the slow lane. Still, she didn't buy that Erika was just competing for herself. You didn't get that good just by improving for improvements sake, you had to have a reason for it, and - well - judging by the few comments that she'd heard about her being good "for a girl", she could take a pretty solid guess as to what that reason might be. Twats. Probably just mad about their times getting knocked down a place, but it still got under her skin when people denigrated a fellow shooter like that. Good on Erika for making them eat some damn humble pie.
She mulled over saying something to that effect for about a tenth of a second before squashing the idea. It'd kill the mood, and quite frankly she wasn't sure if Erika had heard. Ignorance was bliss, or something. Besides, Erika had left her a golden opportunity with that 'artillery piece' comment.
Her smile turned into a lopsided, cocky grin that belied her intent as she thought about what she was going to say. She reached over and patted her rifle like it was a favoured pet, just to draw attention back to what Erika had said in the beginning so she'd understand what she was playing at.
"Ah, you know how it is Erika, gotta bring out the big toys if you-"
She moved her right arm into a faux bro-flex as she spoke, the kind of thing Wyatt did when he was trying to show off his body, but looking pitiful in comparison - barely having a bump in her dark green shirt to show for all the tension in her arm. The bagginess of her male-cut shirt only helping accentuate the self-mockery.
"-want to show off the big guns!"
She finished, her tone dropping all pretences of seriousness at the end, the threat of laughter impacting her cadence as she fought to not be the first to laugh at her own joke. It was a lame one, for sure. But the best jokes were ones that made you groan at how bad they were internally as you laughed anyway.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
"Shit, I didn't realize that's what they meant by two-gun. All I've got is noodle arms and my nine." Erika made a noodly gesture towards her pistol.
She offered smirk at Faith, unable to stifle a chuckle. It was sort of the perfect image - Faith's emphatic flex next to her heavy hitting assault rifle, mocking a very particular kind of person. They both knew those sorts of people, though Erika imagined on quite different levels. For one thing, Faith probably could get along with them. Every time Erika passed by a couple of Alpha Males️ she dodged catcalls or quips about her beliefs. Then there were the ones who actually pretended to care. Few things were quite as pathetic as some dude-bro pretending to be environmentally conscious to try and get to second base with her.
As if that's all it takes. Not that either of us would be happy with how that would go.
At least with someone like Faith, she was honest with her beliefs. They hadn't talked much about that - hell, they hadn't actually talked much to begin with - but Erika could probably tell they weren't exactly in agreement with how the world worked, if the slogan on her t-shirt was any indication. But for whatever reason, Erika didn't feel like that would be a problem. If they could at least agree on the facts, there was no reason people couldn't have a reasonable discussion on the interpretation of them.
Oh how woefully optimistic of me. Erika Stieglitz, conservative-whisperer. They'll think we're just chatting and before they know it, they'll start thinking carbon taxes are a good idea. No way that'll go wrong.
She pivoted her thoughts to the present, and a sudden realization had her going through the side pocket of her gun case. It was absolutely as messy as her schoolbag, with every pocket stuffed with some kind of useful paraphernalia.
"Oh! I just got a really good idea. 'scuse me while I rifle through here."
You're a comedic genius.
From her bag, she produced a compact DSLR Camera, clearly worn from extensive use. Obvious, colourful repairs had been made to the shell, and the lenses had clearly been replaced. Erika's D.I.Y. aesthetic was in full force here, though she realized too late as she produced the camera that a small piece of tape labeled "STOP" right next to the "Canon" logo. It seemed clever at the time, not so much now. Her face turned red as she realized her mistake.
Damnit. Okay, just roll with it.
"Uh... excuse the stuff all over it. I've dropped this thing like a dozen times. I never throw things away, and I liked this camera too much to go and get a new one. I usually just take nature photography for my portfolio, birds and trees and that sort of thing. It goes with me everywhere but like, I never took pictures at these kinds of events for myself, just for my Mom."
Erika caught herself rambling, and stopped to remember the point she was trying to get to.
"Well, I never took pictures just for myself, like to remember these kinds of days. Even though I have a lot of fun here. And you actually look kinda badass with your piece there, so like, is it okay if I take your picture? It's not going to go on my portfolio or anything public, most people don't even know I do this sort of thing."
She offered smirk at Faith, unable to stifle a chuckle. It was sort of the perfect image - Faith's emphatic flex next to her heavy hitting assault rifle, mocking a very particular kind of person. They both knew those sorts of people, though Erika imagined on quite different levels. For one thing, Faith probably could get along with them. Every time Erika passed by a couple of Alpha Males️ she dodged catcalls or quips about her beliefs. Then there were the ones who actually pretended to care. Few things were quite as pathetic as some dude-bro pretending to be environmentally conscious to try and get to second base with her.
As if that's all it takes. Not that either of us would be happy with how that would go.
At least with someone like Faith, she was honest with her beliefs. They hadn't talked much about that - hell, they hadn't actually talked much to begin with - but Erika could probably tell they weren't exactly in agreement with how the world worked, if the slogan on her t-shirt was any indication. But for whatever reason, Erika didn't feel like that would be a problem. If they could at least agree on the facts, there was no reason people couldn't have a reasonable discussion on the interpretation of them.
Oh how woefully optimistic of me. Erika Stieglitz, conservative-whisperer. They'll think we're just chatting and before they know it, they'll start thinking carbon taxes are a good idea. No way that'll go wrong.
She pivoted her thoughts to the present, and a sudden realization had her going through the side pocket of her gun case. It was absolutely as messy as her schoolbag, with every pocket stuffed with some kind of useful paraphernalia.
"Oh! I just got a really good idea. 'scuse me while I rifle through here."
You're a comedic genius.
From her bag, she produced a compact DSLR Camera, clearly worn from extensive use. Obvious, colourful repairs had been made to the shell, and the lenses had clearly been replaced. Erika's D.I.Y. aesthetic was in full force here, though she realized too late as she produced the camera that a small piece of tape labeled "STOP" right next to the "Canon" logo. It seemed clever at the time, not so much now. Her face turned red as she realized her mistake.
Damnit. Okay, just roll with it.
"Uh... excuse the stuff all over it. I've dropped this thing like a dozen times. I never throw things away, and I liked this camera too much to go and get a new one. I usually just take nature photography for my portfolio, birds and trees and that sort of thing. It goes with me everywhere but like, I never took pictures at these kinds of events for myself, just for my Mom."
Erika caught herself rambling, and stopped to remember the point she was trying to get to.
"Well, I never took pictures just for myself, like to remember these kinds of days. Even though I have a lot of fun here. And you actually look kinda badass with your piece there, so like, is it okay if I take your picture? It's not going to go on my portfolio or anything public, most people don't even know I do this sort of thing."
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Faith couldn't help but respond to the returned quip with a peals of laughter, putting her elbow down on the rough wood of the table, her arm at an angle which caused her forearm and hand to hang over the edge as she leaned back, taking another look at her. She had to say, she hadn't expected that for some reason, Erika had always struck her as the nervous, quiet sort. Now she was realising that it probably did take a lot of balls to walk around dressed like a reject from a 1960's commune in a place like this, so maybe that wasn't quite right. Still, it was nice to have someone who could make a joke about themselves around, and as her laughter faded, the smile on her face was just a little more relaxed.
"Oh! I just got a really good idea. 'scuse me while I rifle through here."
Faith let out a mock groan in response to that one, shaking her head at the terrible, awful pun Erika had just unleashed upon her. She couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes, nor the widening of her grin however, as the pun wrapped around from terrible right into being good again, finding the badness of the pun amusing in itself. They were going to get along like a house on fire, she could feel it. She found herself marvelling at the sheer amount of shit Erika had in her bag too, it was quite honestly unbelievable - Did you really need a whistle on a shooting range? All Faith had in her bag other than her rifle was the few tools she needed to keep it clean, her ear defenders and... Well that was it. Packing light was important, especially on the trail. She guessed Erika never got the memo there, although given the look, she probably wasn't exactly the hunting type.
Her smile tightened and she suppressed the desire to roll her eyes and sigh at the little, tacky modification Erika had made to her camera. "STOP Canon", wow so original, I definitely haven't seen that on Reddit 10 times this week. What had they changed the slogan to? "Bullshitting you always", right? So fucking immature. It wasn't even funny.
She caught eye contact with her for the briefest moment, the flash of annoyance pretty clear on her face. She got why people might not like Canon, for sure, she wasn't blind to the dumb shit he said either. But between him and Connie? Clear choice. Easy choice. Canon might not be the best president, but at least he wouldn't start grabbing people's rights, or sell the country out to whoever had the biggest chequebook. Shit, she could only imagine what Connie would be doing in this political climate, there was so much fuel from people with misguided good intentions that'd start America down the path to tyranny...
Faith found herself snapped out of the political reverie she'd lodged herself in as Erika began talking again. She tried her best to let it go as she apologised, but she noted that talking politics with her was probably not going to end well. That was a shame, talking to people who weren't quite in the same boat as her was always interesting, as long as no-one tried a boarding action over it. Helped her sharpen her skills for debate club, and hell, every now and again she'd be able to convince them of a few things.
Faith could feel the nervousness radiating off her as she rambled her way into asking if she could take a picture of her. She wasn't sure what the cause of that was, wasn't like she was going to bite her head off for asking, especially on a public place. Hell, she was pretty sure she was well within her rights to have taken a few shots of her in the match itself. That would have looked cool, actually. Perfect thing to throw up on her mostly ignored Facebook. She made a note to ask Erika to do that next time.
"You sure you don't want me to like, strike a pose or somethin'?" She offered, her mind's eye wandering back to the pictures she'd seen in magazines - the kind you read, not the kind you put in your rifle - of people proudly showing off whatever product they'd been given to the camera and trying to look distinctly badass. "You know, like you see in Guns and Ammo." She clarified, just in case she didn't understand what she was thinking of.
There was a little pause as something came to mind, the kind of thing she normally wouldn't say to someone on the range because well, they just wouldn't understand. She weighed it up for a moment, trying to judge how Erika would react, before mentally shrugging. If anyone was going to be ok with it, it'd probably be her. Ok, or Beryl or Lavender. But they weren't here.
"Shit, it'd be nice to get a picture of a girl holding a gun without wearing a bikini, y'know?" she added, her tone still light and jovial and the same smirk on her face, just in case Erika reacted poorly. That way she could play it off as a joke.
"Oh! I just got a really good idea. 'scuse me while I rifle through here."
Faith let out a mock groan in response to that one, shaking her head at the terrible, awful pun Erika had just unleashed upon her. She couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes, nor the widening of her grin however, as the pun wrapped around from terrible right into being good again, finding the badness of the pun amusing in itself. They were going to get along like a house on fire, she could feel it. She found herself marvelling at the sheer amount of shit Erika had in her bag too, it was quite honestly unbelievable - Did you really need a whistle on a shooting range? All Faith had in her bag other than her rifle was the few tools she needed to keep it clean, her ear defenders and... Well that was it. Packing light was important, especially on the trail. She guessed Erika never got the memo there, although given the look, she probably wasn't exactly the hunting type.
Her smile tightened and she suppressed the desire to roll her eyes and sigh at the little, tacky modification Erika had made to her camera. "STOP Canon", wow so original, I definitely haven't seen that on Reddit 10 times this week. What had they changed the slogan to? "Bullshitting you always", right? So fucking immature. It wasn't even funny.
She caught eye contact with her for the briefest moment, the flash of annoyance pretty clear on her face. She got why people might not like Canon, for sure, she wasn't blind to the dumb shit he said either. But between him and Connie? Clear choice. Easy choice. Canon might not be the best president, but at least he wouldn't start grabbing people's rights, or sell the country out to whoever had the biggest chequebook. Shit, she could only imagine what Connie would be doing in this political climate, there was so much fuel from people with misguided good intentions that'd start America down the path to tyranny...
Faith found herself snapped out of the political reverie she'd lodged herself in as Erika began talking again. She tried her best to let it go as she apologised, but she noted that talking politics with her was probably not going to end well. That was a shame, talking to people who weren't quite in the same boat as her was always interesting, as long as no-one tried a boarding action over it. Helped her sharpen her skills for debate club, and hell, every now and again she'd be able to convince them of a few things.
Faith could feel the nervousness radiating off her as she rambled her way into asking if she could take a picture of her. She wasn't sure what the cause of that was, wasn't like she was going to bite her head off for asking, especially on a public place. Hell, she was pretty sure she was well within her rights to have taken a few shots of her in the match itself. That would have looked cool, actually. Perfect thing to throw up on her mostly ignored Facebook. She made a note to ask Erika to do that next time.
"You sure you don't want me to like, strike a pose or somethin'?" She offered, her mind's eye wandering back to the pictures she'd seen in magazines - the kind you read, not the kind you put in your rifle - of people proudly showing off whatever product they'd been given to the camera and trying to look distinctly badass. "You know, like you see in Guns and Ammo." She clarified, just in case she didn't understand what she was thinking of.
There was a little pause as something came to mind, the kind of thing she normally wouldn't say to someone on the range because well, they just wouldn't understand. She weighed it up for a moment, trying to judge how Erika would react, before mentally shrugging. If anyone was going to be ok with it, it'd probably be her. Ok, or Beryl or Lavender. But they weren't here.
"Shit, it'd be nice to get a picture of a girl holding a gun without wearing a bikini, y'know?" she added, her tone still light and jovial and the same smirk on her face, just in case Erika reacted poorly. That way she could play it off as a joke.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Erika heard what Faith said, though it was hard to formulate a reply. Instead, she focused on the slight but noticeable change in her reaction on seeing the Canon sticker. She had legitimately forgotten that it was there, much as she'd tried to forget the presidency of Jerrod Canon. At this point, the political sphere was so madly depressing that agonizing over the results of a non-choice was simply an exercise in masochism. Still, the idea that it might be a wedge between the two of them was upsetting. Politics was often an abstract; human relationships always felt real. It always felt tragic and pointless whenever it came between people.
Shit, I've got to defuse this. What was it they used to say?
Though she agonized over the situation in her head, to the casual observer Erika seemed not to miss a beat. "Honestly, I think the all-natural look is better for the range. Not that I've got anything against bikinis, just sayin'. Just like, look like you're looking for targets or something." She brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes, and raised the camera.
"Oh, and I'm gonna try my best here but I forgot my 'Conning Connie' tripod at home. So I'm gonna take a whole bunch of 'em."
Smooth, Erika. Just hope that didn't sound forced, and you might make it into this potential friendship alive.
A few of the digitized shutter-noises indicated she'd caught a few decent shots of Faith and her enviably monstrous AR. The early afternoon sunlight and light breeze provided unexpectedly pleasant conditions for the shots.
Shit, I've got to defuse this. What was it they used to say?
Though she agonized over the situation in her head, to the casual observer Erika seemed not to miss a beat. "Honestly, I think the all-natural look is better for the range. Not that I've got anything against bikinis, just sayin'. Just like, look like you're looking for targets or something." She brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes, and raised the camera.
"Oh, and I'm gonna try my best here but I forgot my 'Conning Connie' tripod at home. So I'm gonna take a whole bunch of 'em."
Smooth, Erika. Just hope that didn't sound forced, and you might make it into this potential friendship alive.
A few of the digitized shutter-noises indicated she'd caught a few decent shots of Faith and her enviably monstrous AR. The early afternoon sunlight and light breeze provided unexpectedly pleasant conditions for the shots.
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Faith was not a casual observer of her life, nor anything that happened within it, but the tiny hesitation before Erika responded passed unnoticed as Faith focused instead on what she said after it - Trying to weigh up how she felt about it for a moment. Probably didn't find it funny, but she seemed to at least accept the premise. Ish. That was good to know. Plus, Erika probably did know what looked better in a photo than her. Art was never a subject she even pretended to have some vague hope at, dropping it like a hot potato as early as she could. So if the lady with the camera told her to act natural, she was going to act so natural she might as well be Adam or Eve. But still with clothes on, otherwise it would be weird.
The vague gesture of appeasement from Erika was transparent enough - trying to make up for a little bit of partisan politics with the opposite side. It confused her before she got it, made the little connection between Erika and her Mom in her head, between being against the idea of government in general and being against parties individually. That brought a genuine smile to her face, even if just to admire the lack of pragmatism inherent in it. It wasn't "Your President Sucks", it was "All Presidents Suck". Fight the Man. Dismantle the heteronormative racist patriarchy, or whatever tumblr had decided to call "Anyone Who Earns More Than Minimum Wage" today. Fuck getting shit done, just do whatever I think "right" is, 100% of the time.
Yeah, thinking about it, Erika seemed like the kind of person who probably would know what tumblr called it. Better to not go there. The line of thought was the kind of thing that tickled her though, and the corners of her mouth pulled up into a genuine, mirthful grin as Erika started taking photos.
She tried to straighten her smile out though, and look past Erika's shoulder dramatically into the middle distance behind her, determined to look like a badass action star in at least one of these pictures. As the camera flickered a few more times however, her mind began to wander, trying to picture Erika's tumblr. Hmmm. Like, guns and greenpeace? That was a pretty decent title actually, "Guns and Greenpeace". Her eyes caught Erika's and she just felt that somehow Erika just knew what she was thinking, and tried to fight the corners of her mouth to stay down, but she couldn't quite do it.
Her attempt at a neutral expression wobbled, then broke into a smile and a soft, mirthful laugh. She couldn't really stop herself, so she just felt even more awkward, smiling bashfully before gesturing at her to put the camera away with her other hand as she looked away.
"Ah- Ah fuck, I just-" she laughed a little again "I can't keep a straight face on camera" she added, trying to make the whole thing a little less awkward, because oh god Erika had no idea what she was laughing at. Hopefully that would work, for a moment, but now the conversation was going to stall so she had to say something to keep them talking.
"Hey! Can we take a look at the photos? I- Uh..." She pondered for a second as she tried to piece together a concrete reason for her to be interested in them other than just wanting to see if she looked good, because caring about that would be vain and she didn't want Erika to think she was vain. "I want to put some of them up on Facebook, you know, show the family what I'm up to"... She cringed internally at how dorky that made her sound but at least it was quick and Erika wouldn't notice the stumble, although now she was worried Erika might not actually be ok with that - was she one of those super focused photo kids that actually thought they were going to be professional photographers one day? She didn't think so, but she could at least make sure.
"I mean, as long as you're ok with that!" she added, faking a little bit of enthusiasm to go with it.
The vague gesture of appeasement from Erika was transparent enough - trying to make up for a little bit of partisan politics with the opposite side. It confused her before she got it, made the little connection between Erika and her Mom in her head, between being against the idea of government in general and being against parties individually. That brought a genuine smile to her face, even if just to admire the lack of pragmatism inherent in it. It wasn't "Your President Sucks", it was "All Presidents Suck". Fight the Man. Dismantle the heteronormative racist patriarchy, or whatever tumblr had decided to call "Anyone Who Earns More Than Minimum Wage" today. Fuck getting shit done, just do whatever I think "right" is, 100% of the time.
Yeah, thinking about it, Erika seemed like the kind of person who probably would know what tumblr called it. Better to not go there. The line of thought was the kind of thing that tickled her though, and the corners of her mouth pulled up into a genuine, mirthful grin as Erika started taking photos.
She tried to straighten her smile out though, and look past Erika's shoulder dramatically into the middle distance behind her, determined to look like a badass action star in at least one of these pictures. As the camera flickered a few more times however, her mind began to wander, trying to picture Erika's tumblr. Hmmm. Like, guns and greenpeace? That was a pretty decent title actually, "Guns and Greenpeace". Her eyes caught Erika's and she just felt that somehow Erika just knew what she was thinking, and tried to fight the corners of her mouth to stay down, but she couldn't quite do it.
Her attempt at a neutral expression wobbled, then broke into a smile and a soft, mirthful laugh. She couldn't really stop herself, so she just felt even more awkward, smiling bashfully before gesturing at her to put the camera away with her other hand as she looked away.
"Ah- Ah fuck, I just-" she laughed a little again "I can't keep a straight face on camera" she added, trying to make the whole thing a little less awkward, because oh god Erika had no idea what she was laughing at. Hopefully that would work, for a moment, but now the conversation was going to stall so she had to say something to keep them talking.
"Hey! Can we take a look at the photos? I- Uh..." She pondered for a second as she tried to piece together a concrete reason for her to be interested in them other than just wanting to see if she looked good, because caring about that would be vain and she didn't want Erika to think she was vain. "I want to put some of them up on Facebook, you know, show the family what I'm up to"... She cringed internally at how dorky that made her sound but at least it was quick and Erika wouldn't notice the stumble, although now she was worried Erika might not actually be ok with that - was she one of those super focused photo kids that actually thought they were going to be professional photographers one day? She didn't think so, but she could at least make sure.
"I mean, as long as you're ok with that!" she added, faking a little bit of enthusiasm to go with it.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Faith was a naturally photogenic person, and her seemingly nervous chuckles made the pictures all the better for it. It was always nice when she could get people to offer a genuine smile. There were a lot of girls who had that kind of unsettling prepared pose-and-smile that almost invariably looked fake. Erika's strategy was very different - if she saw someone with a camera, she'd made some kind of silly face. That way, it was funny and she didn't have to worry about whether or not she seemed to be making a genuine smile.
I mean, I am. I just look like a dork most of the time.
She smiled and nodded as Faith mentioned she wanted to put them up on Facebook. Erika's own profile was still fairly new, and she didn't really use it for any reason other than to keep in touch with people or occasionally share the odd climate-related news item. Discord was better for her purposes anyways, but she had some relatives who only knew how to use "The Face Book" as they put it. It was likely for the best. Her experience with social media was altogether not pleasant, having been seemingly on the wrong side of every argument she'd gotten into online. Pinterest was a whole lot friendlier, though a lot of that was the fact that interaction was pretty limited.
Erika shuffled off of the picnic table and walked to Faith, turning the camera so they could both see it. As she scrolled back to the first photo in the series, she accidentally scrolled past to a picture of herself, taken by her father on a trip out to Alaska last fall. It was an awesome shot, to her father's credit. Standing on a rock with some mountains in the background, and her mother's big-bore revolver on her hip. The shot had gotten her into trouble, unfortunately.
"So it's fine if you post stuff, I can send you the pictures on Facebook later. This one is actually a pretty good reason I stay the heck away from the Tumbles and the 'gram these days. I thought it was just a good shot, pops and I were in Alaska because we're German and he thinks the North is just the best thing ever. We took my Mom's hand-cannon because bear defense is a legit thing you need up there, in case fuzzy-wuzzy decides you look tasty. So I'm wearing it 'cause my Dad is scared of the thing even though it doesn't kick as bad as he thinks. I think it looks awesome, I look kinda like a forest nymph that's packing heat. I post it online and-"
Oh hell, I hate thinking about this. She felt a small tightness in her chest as she remembered the posts from her other, recently-deceased social media profiles.
"Well, apparently my so-called friends online thought me carrying a gun was insensitive because of the recent school shootings and SOTF. That was where it started. Then they started commenting on my dreads, talking about how a white girl shouldn't have them and how I was appropriating someone else's culture. Ripped into everything that I had posted, ever. Older stuff about how I didn't like gender neutral pronouns and how I was 'oppressive' and a traitor to-"
STOP.
Erika stumbled, realizing what she'd almost let slip. "-a traitor to women and progressive folks. Like, I'm way more legit than those fucks. I write letters to politicians, I've canvased for half a dozen different organizations, my Mom and I volunteer at a goddamn women's shelter. I try to push actual, meaningful change in my life and these self-righteous armchair activist assholes who never leave their stupid computer screens rip my goddamn life apart when they don't know anything about me. They don't know who I am, they don't know what I've been through. These are the people I thought would like, understand how I saw the world and it turns out they didn't give half a shit to understand my side of things. Even people I knew in real life were like this, they just stopped talking to me. It's like, the worst kind of betrayal."
A sharp breath and a couple blinks of her eyes later, and Erika realized just how impassioned she'd gotten over a picture.
"You know what? Fuck those people, I think I look great here."
Though, it wasn't just the picture. It was everything that came before it. But to Faith it was probably just a picture, and she definitely didn't deserve to have to be the audience to Erika's angry tirade. She'd almost let slip who exactly those idiots online thought she was a traitor to, as well. That would not have been good, at all, and the prospect of that slipping out made it feel like she was about to throw up.
Move on, girl. It's no big deal. Show her the pictures, just move on.
Erika blushed, and gave Faith an apologetic look. She clicked ahead on the camera, to the series she'd taken of Faith. "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to go on. Here, just click the right side of that little circle there to go through 'em." Offering the camera to Faith, she took a glance at the trees again, trying to channel the calm she had felt back on the range. It still felt like a weird place to be, in every sense she could imagine.
I mean, I am. I just look like a dork most of the time.
She smiled and nodded as Faith mentioned she wanted to put them up on Facebook. Erika's own profile was still fairly new, and she didn't really use it for any reason other than to keep in touch with people or occasionally share the odd climate-related news item. Discord was better for her purposes anyways, but she had some relatives who only knew how to use "The Face Book" as they put it. It was likely for the best. Her experience with social media was altogether not pleasant, having been seemingly on the wrong side of every argument she'd gotten into online. Pinterest was a whole lot friendlier, though a lot of that was the fact that interaction was pretty limited.
Erika shuffled off of the picnic table and walked to Faith, turning the camera so they could both see it. As she scrolled back to the first photo in the series, she accidentally scrolled past to a picture of herself, taken by her father on a trip out to Alaska last fall. It was an awesome shot, to her father's credit. Standing on a rock with some mountains in the background, and her mother's big-bore revolver on her hip. The shot had gotten her into trouble, unfortunately.
"So it's fine if you post stuff, I can send you the pictures on Facebook later. This one is actually a pretty good reason I stay the heck away from the Tumbles and the 'gram these days. I thought it was just a good shot, pops and I were in Alaska because we're German and he thinks the North is just the best thing ever. We took my Mom's hand-cannon because bear defense is a legit thing you need up there, in case fuzzy-wuzzy decides you look tasty. So I'm wearing it 'cause my Dad is scared of the thing even though it doesn't kick as bad as he thinks. I think it looks awesome, I look kinda like a forest nymph that's packing heat. I post it online and-"
Oh hell, I hate thinking about this. She felt a small tightness in her chest as she remembered the posts from her other, recently-deceased social media profiles.
"Well, apparently my so-called friends online thought me carrying a gun was insensitive because of the recent school shootings and SOTF. That was where it started. Then they started commenting on my dreads, talking about how a white girl shouldn't have them and how I was appropriating someone else's culture. Ripped into everything that I had posted, ever. Older stuff about how I didn't like gender neutral pronouns and how I was 'oppressive' and a traitor to-"
STOP.
Erika stumbled, realizing what she'd almost let slip. "-a traitor to women and progressive folks. Like, I'm way more legit than those fucks. I write letters to politicians, I've canvased for half a dozen different organizations, my Mom and I volunteer at a goddamn women's shelter. I try to push actual, meaningful change in my life and these self-righteous armchair activist assholes who never leave their stupid computer screens rip my goddamn life apart when they don't know anything about me. They don't know who I am, they don't know what I've been through. These are the people I thought would like, understand how I saw the world and it turns out they didn't give half a shit to understand my side of things. Even people I knew in real life were like this, they just stopped talking to me. It's like, the worst kind of betrayal."
A sharp breath and a couple blinks of her eyes later, and Erika realized just how impassioned she'd gotten over a picture.
"You know what? Fuck those people, I think I look great here."
Though, it wasn't just the picture. It was everything that came before it. But to Faith it was probably just a picture, and she definitely didn't deserve to have to be the audience to Erika's angry tirade. She'd almost let slip who exactly those idiots online thought she was a traitor to, as well. That would not have been good, at all, and the prospect of that slipping out made it feel like she was about to throw up.
Move on, girl. It's no big deal. Show her the pictures, just move on.
Erika blushed, and gave Faith an apologetic look. She clicked ahead on the camera, to the series she'd taken of Faith. "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to go on. Here, just click the right side of that little circle there to go through 'em." Offering the camera to Faith, she took a glance at the trees again, trying to channel the calm she had felt back on the range. It still felt like a weird place to be, in every sense she could imagine.
-
Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Faith internally beamed as her stumble was wordlessly looked over by Erika, and she came to stand beside her at the edge of the shade, both of their bodies helping to clear some of the glare off the screen as well from the cloud marbled bright blue sky that hung as a backdrop to their surroundings. There was a blur of pictures of her, flickering back in time, before landing one too far and ending up in Erika's collection. Her smile tilted to become one of admiration as she saw it, it was a perfectly framed shot in the tundra of the north. A hunting trip, maybe. The big damn revolver on her hip spoke to that. Thing looked like it'd knock her over if she tried to fire it, the idea of Erika in all her huge height but no mass glory trying to fire it was momentarily very amusing, if cartoonish.
She began to talk again, letting her know she could send them to her on Facebook, which was exactly what she'd hoped for. Minimised the amount of computer shit to go wrong in her life, which was ideal. Then she began to launch into the story behind it, and she had to admit Erika was keeping it interesting, even giving her a sly grin and letting out a sharp inhale of air to signal her assent to the line "I look kinda like a forest nymph that's packing heat.", which was as hilarious as it was an apt description of her. As Erika continued talking, Faith adjusted her weight, putting much of of her weight on it to keep her upright as she leaned her right shoulder back, right hand momentarily dangling in the air as she tried to get as square on a stance with her as she could without actually getting up.
The story took a pretty rough turn as she felt everything she'd weathered from the anti-gun nuts, but with the anti-gun nuts being her friends. That had to be rough. She tried to imagine Wyatt, or Abel being vehemently and viciously anti-gun, forcing her to choose between the hobby that she'd done her whole life, or the people she really enjoyed being with. It wrenched at her heart a little bit, and she was glad neither of them would ever do that, because her friends were pretty good people, all things considered. They wouldn't just abandon someone over something that petty, unlike Erika's friends. She didn't want to paint them with the "what did you expect from the Alt-Left" brush, but uh, what had Erika expected from the Alt-Left but purity tests?
Still, the words clearly had stung Erika. This sounded like it had happened recently, and Erika had come out to shoot just to get her aggression out, or something. Explained the good time on the course, she supposed. You always tended to do better when you were fighting to prove yourself. Even if it was just to yourself.
And she was doing a mighty fine job proving herself too, by the sounds of things. Erika was doing the kind of things she was. Writing letters, trying to get the word out. Hell, she seemed like she was trying a little more than she was. That made her feel self-conscious. Why hadn't she considered doing charity work before? It was such a right thing to do now that she thought of it, but she'd always put off looking for a way to get involved. She supposed she'd always thought she'd do it with the church, but well...
Huh, church was exactly what this must have been like for Erika, wasn't it? Trying to fit into a mould you really didn't quite fit into and then just deciding one day to drop it - even if it was unintentionally on her part. The idea of losing her everyone due to something like that had twisted in her gut awfully as she'd wrestled with deciding whether or not to tell her parents. Erika must be going through hell trying to deal with that, even if her Mom and Pop still seemed to be sticking by her, like Faith's had.
Shit she looked like she was about to cry, as she broke eye contact and blinked a few times, catching her breath. Faith panicked, trying to search for something supportive to say like "Fuck those people", but she couldn't find anything in the few seconds before Erika found her own supportive statement, reassuring herself of indeed, how fucking awesome Erika did look in that photo. Right on.
Faith felt like she'd stepped on an emotional landmine, and could feel the embarrassment radiating off of Erika as she awkwardly tried to pass the conversation on without giving her room to comment on the hundred or so topics she'd thrown into the potpourri that this conversation had become, nudging the camera towards her and apologising. She wordlessly accepted the camera, but looked up at Erika, resisting the temptation to be self-obsessed and look at the photos before responding to her - especially after she'd been so open.
She pondered for a moment what to say, trying to figure out how she exactly felt about her into words not vague feelings. She felt... Respect for her, in a way, for dealing with that. For standing up for what was right, and for getting things done. For not making her identity a big thing and just doing what she wanted to do. Now she had to put that in a pithy way that would make Erika stop looking like a dog that'd done a shit on the rug, rather than just accidentally show her a picture with some personal meaning.
"Hey, you fight for you. Gotta respect that." she ended up saying in a brusque, matter of fact tone, with as little of an awkward pause as possible. She'd decided that worked because it didn't require her to say she agreed with her on everything, because well - the chances of that were nonexistent. But she wanted to show deference to her for standing up for what she believed in, and that was a good enough way to put it without sucking up to her too much.
There was another brief pause then, as Faith watched her, still tense like a jammed recoil spring and equally as likely to come flying apart if she wasn't handled carefully, looking off into the middle distance to try and keep herself calm. She tried to think of what to do here, trying to remember the last time she'd felt like Erika had. There was a pause of nothingness, followed by a vaguely relevant memory of Aaron, her older brother, surfacing to the forefront of her mind. He'd simply asked her if she'd wanted a hug, and she'd wrapped his arms round him and squeezed him until she'd felt better.
She looked at Erika and tried to weigh it up. She barely knew her, so it might come across as kind of creepy. But, everyone knew she was as straight as a razors edge though, no kissing girls at parties for her. She'd made sure of that. Plus Erika still looked like she was holding something in, and it was painful to look at and not do something about, especially after putting herself in Erika's place.
Fuck it.
"... Do you need a hug, hun?"
She began to talk again, letting her know she could send them to her on Facebook, which was exactly what she'd hoped for. Minimised the amount of computer shit to go wrong in her life, which was ideal. Then she began to launch into the story behind it, and she had to admit Erika was keeping it interesting, even giving her a sly grin and letting out a sharp inhale of air to signal her assent to the line "I look kinda like a forest nymph that's packing heat.", which was as hilarious as it was an apt description of her. As Erika continued talking, Faith adjusted her weight, putting much of of her weight on it to keep her upright as she leaned her right shoulder back, right hand momentarily dangling in the air as she tried to get as square on a stance with her as she could without actually getting up.
The story took a pretty rough turn as she felt everything she'd weathered from the anti-gun nuts, but with the anti-gun nuts being her friends. That had to be rough. She tried to imagine Wyatt, or Abel being vehemently and viciously anti-gun, forcing her to choose between the hobby that she'd done her whole life, or the people she really enjoyed being with. It wrenched at her heart a little bit, and she was glad neither of them would ever do that, because her friends were pretty good people, all things considered. They wouldn't just abandon someone over something that petty, unlike Erika's friends. She didn't want to paint them with the "what did you expect from the Alt-Left" brush, but uh, what had Erika expected from the Alt-Left but purity tests?
Still, the words clearly had stung Erika. This sounded like it had happened recently, and Erika had come out to shoot just to get her aggression out, or something. Explained the good time on the course, she supposed. You always tended to do better when you were fighting to prove yourself. Even if it was just to yourself.
And she was doing a mighty fine job proving herself too, by the sounds of things. Erika was doing the kind of things she was. Writing letters, trying to get the word out. Hell, she seemed like she was trying a little more than she was. That made her feel self-conscious. Why hadn't she considered doing charity work before? It was such a right thing to do now that she thought of it, but she'd always put off looking for a way to get involved. She supposed she'd always thought she'd do it with the church, but well...
Huh, church was exactly what this must have been like for Erika, wasn't it? Trying to fit into a mould you really didn't quite fit into and then just deciding one day to drop it - even if it was unintentionally on her part. The idea of losing her everyone due to something like that had twisted in her gut awfully as she'd wrestled with deciding whether or not to tell her parents. Erika must be going through hell trying to deal with that, even if her Mom and Pop still seemed to be sticking by her, like Faith's had.
Shit she looked like she was about to cry, as she broke eye contact and blinked a few times, catching her breath. Faith panicked, trying to search for something supportive to say like "Fuck those people", but she couldn't find anything in the few seconds before Erika found her own supportive statement, reassuring herself of indeed, how fucking awesome Erika did look in that photo. Right on.
Faith felt like she'd stepped on an emotional landmine, and could feel the embarrassment radiating off of Erika as she awkwardly tried to pass the conversation on without giving her room to comment on the hundred or so topics she'd thrown into the potpourri that this conversation had become, nudging the camera towards her and apologising. She wordlessly accepted the camera, but looked up at Erika, resisting the temptation to be self-obsessed and look at the photos before responding to her - especially after she'd been so open.
She pondered for a moment what to say, trying to figure out how she exactly felt about her into words not vague feelings. She felt... Respect for her, in a way, for dealing with that. For standing up for what was right, and for getting things done. For not making her identity a big thing and just doing what she wanted to do. Now she had to put that in a pithy way that would make Erika stop looking like a dog that'd done a shit on the rug, rather than just accidentally show her a picture with some personal meaning.
"Hey, you fight for you. Gotta respect that." she ended up saying in a brusque, matter of fact tone, with as little of an awkward pause as possible. She'd decided that worked because it didn't require her to say she agreed with her on everything, because well - the chances of that were nonexistent. But she wanted to show deference to her for standing up for what she believed in, and that was a good enough way to put it without sucking up to her too much.
There was another brief pause then, as Faith watched her, still tense like a jammed recoil spring and equally as likely to come flying apart if she wasn't handled carefully, looking off into the middle distance to try and keep herself calm. She tried to think of what to do here, trying to remember the last time she'd felt like Erika had. There was a pause of nothingness, followed by a vaguely relevant memory of Aaron, her older brother, surfacing to the forefront of her mind. He'd simply asked her if she'd wanted a hug, and she'd wrapped his arms round him and squeezed him until she'd felt better.
She looked at Erika and tried to weigh it up. She barely knew her, so it might come across as kind of creepy. But, everyone knew she was as straight as a razors edge though, no kissing girls at parties for her. She'd made sure of that. Plus Erika still looked like she was holding something in, and it was painful to look at and not do something about, especially after putting herself in Erika's place.
Fuck it.
"... Do you need a hug, hun?"
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Erika nodded as Faith made a comment about fighting for what was hers. It seemed kind of conciliatory, as if Faith was holding back a bit what she really wanted to say. In a way, that she was holding back said a lot about her even still. No doubt Faith knew of the kinds of people Erika was talking about, though likely in a completely different way. In all likelihood it looked like another example of what was wrong with "the Left" and "Social Justice Warriors" to her. It was pretty obvious Faith wasn't going to be party to Erika's own beliefs.
Not that it was a problem; ideas weren't as important as people, at least as far as she was concerned. Everyone had a reason for believing what they did, even if their beliefs were wrong. That Faith didn't jump in and start speaking her beliefs to the situation meant she probably thought the same, at least a little bit.
She's got a decent vibe, all things considered.
So when Faith offered Erika a hug, she went for it without saying much at all. Erika always squeezed tightly, because a weak hug was nearly as bad as a limp handshake. The height difference between the two meant she had to lean into the embrace, but it felt pleasant. Though she was pretty shy as a general rule, Erika was a hugger through-and-through.
Aw dang, does this mean we're friends? I hope it means we're friends. I'm going to agonize about this later, no doubt.
She pulled away gently, smiling brightly. "Thanks. I had never really mentioned that to anyone yet. It's weird; I know like, or at least I'm pretty certain..." She stumbled over her words, hoping Faith wasn't becoming impatient with her.
Stop rambling.
"Look, we probably don't share a lot of the same beliefs. I figure there's a lot about me that probably won't jive with how you see things. And that's refreshing, if that makes any sense? Like I could be wrong, but it doesn't matter." Erika made a gesture with her eyes, as if to realize something obvious together too late.
"It's taken me a while but I think people are more important than the abstractions they cling to. I don't care what kind of world someone wants to build. Whatever that is, you need to build it on a planet – this one. And I'd like a place in it for someone like me. I'll fight for it whether anyone wants me here or not." She tapped the pistol on her hip affectionately, to make the point clear.
"But past that? I've stopped trying to judge what someone believes. Opinions usually aren't the best gauge of who a person is. Kindness though? I'm down with that. I'll take a kind person I disagree with any day of the week over some abusive chuckle-fucks who just happen to be waving the same flag as me."
Once again, she caught herself on a ramble. It probably came out of nowhere. It probably seemed weird. Was it weird? She couldn't tell. She could never tell if she was being weird, and everyone always said she was kind of weird, so the safest assumption was that it was really damn weird.
Who wants to hear me espouse my beliefs? Especially here, of all places? Did Faith ask for a fucking heart to heart? No, she did not. She hugged you because of your sob story and because she probably has a lady boner for hating on liberals. What is your problem? You're going to screw this up. You're going to let it slip and it's going to ruin the rest of this year for you.
She nervously chewed at the inside of her lip, playing with the stainless steel ring through the right side. It was hard to know what to say, but she could only stumble through the first half of an excuse before losing her train of thought altogether.
"I... um... sorry, that sorta came outta left field..."
Not that it was a problem; ideas weren't as important as people, at least as far as she was concerned. Everyone had a reason for believing what they did, even if their beliefs were wrong. That Faith didn't jump in and start speaking her beliefs to the situation meant she probably thought the same, at least a little bit.
She's got a decent vibe, all things considered.
So when Faith offered Erika a hug, she went for it without saying much at all. Erika always squeezed tightly, because a weak hug was nearly as bad as a limp handshake. The height difference between the two meant she had to lean into the embrace, but it felt pleasant. Though she was pretty shy as a general rule, Erika was a hugger through-and-through.
Aw dang, does this mean we're friends? I hope it means we're friends. I'm going to agonize about this later, no doubt.
She pulled away gently, smiling brightly. "Thanks. I had never really mentioned that to anyone yet. It's weird; I know like, or at least I'm pretty certain..." She stumbled over her words, hoping Faith wasn't becoming impatient with her.
Stop rambling.
"Look, we probably don't share a lot of the same beliefs. I figure there's a lot about me that probably won't jive with how you see things. And that's refreshing, if that makes any sense? Like I could be wrong, but it doesn't matter." Erika made a gesture with her eyes, as if to realize something obvious together too late.
"It's taken me a while but I think people are more important than the abstractions they cling to. I don't care what kind of world someone wants to build. Whatever that is, you need to build it on a planet – this one. And I'd like a place in it for someone like me. I'll fight for it whether anyone wants me here or not." She tapped the pistol on her hip affectionately, to make the point clear.
"But past that? I've stopped trying to judge what someone believes. Opinions usually aren't the best gauge of who a person is. Kindness though? I'm down with that. I'll take a kind person I disagree with any day of the week over some abusive chuckle-fucks who just happen to be waving the same flag as me."
Once again, she caught herself on a ramble. It probably came out of nowhere. It probably seemed weird. Was it weird? She couldn't tell. She could never tell if she was being weird, and everyone always said she was kind of weird, so the safest assumption was that it was really damn weird.
Who wants to hear me espouse my beliefs? Especially here, of all places? Did Faith ask for a fucking heart to heart? No, she did not. She hugged you because of your sob story and because she probably has a lady boner for hating on liberals. What is your problem? You're going to screw this up. You're going to let it slip and it's going to ruin the rest of this year for you.
She nervously chewed at the inside of her lip, playing with the stainless steel ring through the right side. It was hard to know what to say, but she could only stumble through the first half of an excuse before losing her train of thought altogether.
"I... um... sorry, that sorta came outta left field..."
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Frozen Smoke
- Posts: 533
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:50 pm
- Location: Where I need to be
Faith hadn't really expected her to take her up on that hug, had worried it was going to be too personal an offer for the normally quiet if vibrantly dressed girl, but she'd looked like she'd needed reassurance very much. And she kinda knew how that felt, and as such she was basically duty bound, as Erika's friend to offer it to her. Because that was her one amendment to the bro code, under "help a bro in need".
So, when she'd felt Erika's powerful arm begin to squeeze the life out of her, she was as relieved as one could possibly be as they're awkwardly crushed by the leader of the hippie contingent of the Amazonian tribe that had seemingly decided to be reincarnated in this year of GHHS. She didn't hesitate to squeeze back though, unlike with Aaron, who'd just gently rubbed her back, Faith gave her a nice reassuring grip back. Completing the emotional handshake.
She nodded along to her speech, it all sounding like she was apologising for believing something different, and she didn't quite get that. Apologising for your beliefs just because others might disagree with them meant you only cared what other people thought, and she didn't think Erika was that shallow. But, hey. She was clearly nervous so maybe she just wasn't thinking about it as clearly as she could have been.
But everything clicked into place. Pro-environment in the kinda biblical, Stewardship sense of environmental care. Something about remembering that this was God, or well "Nature"'s in the case of Erika's, and therefore deserving of protection. She wanted to get shit done towards that. It was an honourable goal, and she certainly wasn't the average hippie-dippie pro-green-in-both-senses-of-the-colour-politically person.
She wondered if she'd perhaps thrown a bucket of blood over someone in a protest - Or whatever the environmentalist equivalent of that was - or planned to do so in the future. She couldn't help but picture it cartoonishly in her head, which made the corners of her mouth curl up once more. That seemed to be more what Erika was indicating. She didn't seem to be the sort to like, actually get radical over the environment. Though maybe she could see Erika being one of the more gung-ho "RAM THE FUCKERS" types in Whale Wars. She always liked those types.
Her response was instinctual, her mouth acting before her brain caught up with her.
"Uhuh. You're left field and I'm right wing." She let it hang for a moment, smirking as she found the punchline. "Between us we'd make a good softball team, eh?" she asked, jerking the corner of her mouth up into a grin, as she tried to take Erika's mind off everything.
So, when she'd felt Erika's powerful arm begin to squeeze the life out of her, she was as relieved as one could possibly be as they're awkwardly crushed by the leader of the hippie contingent of the Amazonian tribe that had seemingly decided to be reincarnated in this year of GHHS. She didn't hesitate to squeeze back though, unlike with Aaron, who'd just gently rubbed her back, Faith gave her a nice reassuring grip back. Completing the emotional handshake.
She nodded along to her speech, it all sounding like she was apologising for believing something different, and she didn't quite get that. Apologising for your beliefs just because others might disagree with them meant you only cared what other people thought, and she didn't think Erika was that shallow. But, hey. She was clearly nervous so maybe she just wasn't thinking about it as clearly as she could have been.
But everything clicked into place. Pro-environment in the kinda biblical, Stewardship sense of environmental care. Something about remembering that this was God, or well "Nature"'s in the case of Erika's, and therefore deserving of protection. She wanted to get shit done towards that. It was an honourable goal, and she certainly wasn't the average hippie-dippie pro-green-in-both-senses-of-the-colour-politically person.
She wondered if she'd perhaps thrown a bucket of blood over someone in a protest - Or whatever the environmentalist equivalent of that was - or planned to do so in the future. She couldn't help but picture it cartoonishly in her head, which made the corners of her mouth curl up once more. That seemed to be more what Erika was indicating. She didn't seem to be the sort to like, actually get radical over the environment. Though maybe she could see Erika being one of the more gung-ho "RAM THE FUCKERS" types in Whale Wars. She always liked those types.
Her response was instinctual, her mouth acting before her brain caught up with her.
"Uhuh. You're left field and I'm right wing." She let it hang for a moment, smirking as she found the punchline. "Between us we'd make a good softball team, eh?" she asked, jerking the corner of her mouth up into a grin, as she tried to take Erika's mind off everything.
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Erika grinned at the softball comment, though it did bring up a faint memory of her total ineptitude when it came to throwing or catching most sporty projectiles. She thought to make light of it.
"And I guess, you need to cover both sides of the field. Though I think I prefer to throw stuff at like, twelve-hundred feet per second? I can't throw a ball to save my life. Chucking lead on the other hand..."
Across the range, Erika saw her mother waving, trying to get her attention. She cocked an eyebrow, to which her mother responded by holding up two fingers. Of course! There was a second round to go, after all. It was at the second range at the club, near to where the fancy men with over-and-under shotguns went to do skeet shooting. She nodded at her mother, and then turned to Faith.
The club was pretty relaxed as far as safety rules were concerned – you could keep something in its holster but it generally had to stay there, unloaded until you hit the range again. She looked to her handgun, then to Faith's. No one was going to run you down if you took it out to have a look at it, but it was bad form most of the time.
Maybe she'd wanna do another? If this is truly the beginning of my first "person I shoot at stuff with" friendship that isn't my Mom. Gods, that sounds lame and awesome at the same time.
"So we've got another round, huh? Hey, one thing - "
She was excited to offer a tip, and didn't really wait for a reply. Erika made a show of reaching for her pistol, then pulling out a finger-gun, making a face as if to mock the range's rules. She then got into a shooting stance.
"You have this like, tiny little flinch right after you take a shot. It's not holding you back much but you'll get more mileage outta your magazine if you lean into the recoil like a bit more, almost putting yourself off balance. It's gonna push you back anyhow, so you might as well lean into it like this. Same goes for your AR, you want to almost push forward when you take a shot, to balance your follow-through. I've always found it's never the first shot I miss on, but the second or third 'cause I'm forgetting to manage the follow-through."
Erika seemed to offer a reasonably decent demonstration, though she thought it probably was a strange sight, getting shooting tips from someone who looked like they were more likely to give someone advice on how to garden organically or get in touch with "the spirits."
Fuck it, the only thing that matters here is how I look on the range.
She picked up her shooting kit and motioned towards the second range, a cocky smile on her face.
"I wanna keep showing up the old timers and dude-bros. You game, friend?"
Oh gosh did I say friend?
She would've probably avoided Faith if not for this shared hobby. Erika was glad she hadn't.
"And I guess, you need to cover both sides of the field. Though I think I prefer to throw stuff at like, twelve-hundred feet per second? I can't throw a ball to save my life. Chucking lead on the other hand..."
Across the range, Erika saw her mother waving, trying to get her attention. She cocked an eyebrow, to which her mother responded by holding up two fingers. Of course! There was a second round to go, after all. It was at the second range at the club, near to where the fancy men with over-and-under shotguns went to do skeet shooting. She nodded at her mother, and then turned to Faith.
The club was pretty relaxed as far as safety rules were concerned – you could keep something in its holster but it generally had to stay there, unloaded until you hit the range again. She looked to her handgun, then to Faith's. No one was going to run you down if you took it out to have a look at it, but it was bad form most of the time.
Maybe she'd wanna do another? If this is truly the beginning of my first "person I shoot at stuff with" friendship that isn't my Mom. Gods, that sounds lame and awesome at the same time.
"So we've got another round, huh? Hey, one thing - "
She was excited to offer a tip, and didn't really wait for a reply. Erika made a show of reaching for her pistol, then pulling out a finger-gun, making a face as if to mock the range's rules. She then got into a shooting stance.
"You have this like, tiny little flinch right after you take a shot. It's not holding you back much but you'll get more mileage outta your magazine if you lean into the recoil like a bit more, almost putting yourself off balance. It's gonna push you back anyhow, so you might as well lean into it like this. Same goes for your AR, you want to almost push forward when you take a shot, to balance your follow-through. I've always found it's never the first shot I miss on, but the second or third 'cause I'm forgetting to manage the follow-through."
Erika seemed to offer a reasonably decent demonstration, though she thought it probably was a strange sight, getting shooting tips from someone who looked like they were more likely to give someone advice on how to garden organically or get in touch with "the spirits."
Fuck it, the only thing that matters here is how I look on the range.
She picked up her shooting kit and motioned towards the second range, a cocky smile on her face.
"I wanna keep showing up the old timers and dude-bros. You game, friend?"
Oh gosh did I say friend?
She would've probably avoided Faith if not for this shared hobby. Erika was glad she hadn't.
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Frozen Smoke
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"And I guess, you need to cover both sides of the field. Though I think I prefer to throw stuff at like, twelve-hundred feet per second? I can't throw a ball to save my life. Chucking lead on the other hand..."
Faith wasn't sure if Erika was saying that to be funny, or if it was just the way she put it, but it sent a rush of air out of her nose. Her smile softening and twisting up further as it become genuine, threatening to turn into a chuckle at both her own joke and Erikas. The humour was lost as the two of them broke eye contact though, Faith following Erika's quickly to her mother and noting the sign language the two used. It was different to the one she and her Mom used, she noted. Two fingers, not thumb and trigger finger.
Erika confirmed what she'd gathered from their shared look down the range the second round of shooting was in the process of starting up. A different run of targets and positions, from what she knew, too. More close range, which meant faster shots. She winced at the thought of trying to dump the magazine on her AR-10 like Erika was suggesting. As much as some people liked to claim they made it hard to walk the day after, well - they barely even registered compared to the bruises left the morning after from a hard day spent on the range.
She needed to get an M1 Carbine sometime.
Still, she paid attention to it. She even mimed it out a little herself, trying to get a feel for it, but without the weight of the pistol in her hand it just felt wrong. She'd ask Erika to properly show her after, facing down the range. The one good thing about shooting old military calibres was that ammo for them was available for cheap so she could spend a lot of rounds if she wanted to get better. Well, as cheap as bullets really went, at least.
Faith picked up her own bag at the same time as Erika, sliding the strap across her shoulders to properly spread the weight of the hunk of steel she was acquainted with across her back. She looked over to Erika as the two of them stood there, about to thank her for her lesson as she suddenly realised she hadn't done that yet, but Erika drew first.
"I wanna keep showing up the old timers and dude-bros. You game, friend?"
Faith grinned at that. She didn't have anything to add to that, so she offered up her right fist, reaching across herself and over to Erika - clearly signalling for a fistbump.
"Hell yeah."
Faith tried her best to put Erika's lessons into practice, but overcompensated and lost her footing a few times visibly as she tried to lean too far into shots, eventually swapping back to her old style.
((Faith C. Marshal-Mackenzie continued in A Trip to the Nerd Zoo))
Faith wasn't sure if Erika was saying that to be funny, or if it was just the way she put it, but it sent a rush of air out of her nose. Her smile softening and twisting up further as it become genuine, threatening to turn into a chuckle at both her own joke and Erikas. The humour was lost as the two of them broke eye contact though, Faith following Erika's quickly to her mother and noting the sign language the two used. It was different to the one she and her Mom used, she noted. Two fingers, not thumb and trigger finger.
Erika confirmed what she'd gathered from their shared look down the range the second round of shooting was in the process of starting up. A different run of targets and positions, from what she knew, too. More close range, which meant faster shots. She winced at the thought of trying to dump the magazine on her AR-10 like Erika was suggesting. As much as some people liked to claim they made it hard to walk the day after, well - they barely even registered compared to the bruises left the morning after from a hard day spent on the range.
She needed to get an M1 Carbine sometime.
Still, she paid attention to it. She even mimed it out a little herself, trying to get a feel for it, but without the weight of the pistol in her hand it just felt wrong. She'd ask Erika to properly show her after, facing down the range. The one good thing about shooting old military calibres was that ammo for them was available for cheap so she could spend a lot of rounds if she wanted to get better. Well, as cheap as bullets really went, at least.
Faith picked up her own bag at the same time as Erika, sliding the strap across her shoulders to properly spread the weight of the hunk of steel she was acquainted with across her back. She looked over to Erika as the two of them stood there, about to thank her for her lesson as she suddenly realised she hadn't done that yet, but Erika drew first.
"I wanna keep showing up the old timers and dude-bros. You game, friend?"
Faith grinned at that. She didn't have anything to add to that, so she offered up her right fist, reaching across herself and over to Erika - clearly signalling for a fistbump.
"Hell yeah."
Faith tried her best to put Erika's lessons into practice, but overcompensated and lost her footing a few times visibly as she tried to lean too far into shots, eventually swapping back to her old style.
((Faith C. Marshal-Mackenzie continued in A Trip to the Nerd Zoo))
Criticism or thoughts on my writing are welcome and appreciated - always looking to improve! Feel free to poke me on Discord or via PM.
Erika watched Faith from the sidelines, wincing a bit when she ended up switching back to her old stance. She couldn't blame her though, shooting sports were made of habits, bad and good. She hoped that they could keep talking, though given the crowd Faith usually hung around with at school, she couldn't be sure she'd be entirely welcome. Was she one of those people who changed completely when they were around their friends?
It couldn't hurt to find out. At least, it won't hurt for long.
Before long it was her time to hit the range, and she gave Faith a wink as she walked up. Whatever else happened, they could be friends for the day. The close range targets were a godsend, as her rifle didn't kick nearly as much as Faith's.
She took a look back to the trees as the range officer took a water break, chatting with his buddies at the sidelines. Whether or not they saw her first round, they usually said the same things every time. It didn't really register to her, given her hearing protection, as she centered herself. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes. Social interaction, when it was positive, was good ammunition to ward off negative thoughts. Right now, her mind felt clear. This was probably what most of her hippie friends meant when they talked about mindfulness. Though, they probably didn't imagine guns would ever be involved. That one good conversation, that moment of not feeling like a perpetual outcast, gave her enough momentum to drift into the calmer parts of her mind.
And in that place, she was as effective as she possibly could be. She rocked the clear SIG magazine into the magwell, chambering a round with the same hand in the way that she'd seen so many of the bearded "operators" do so. It wasn't cheap imitation; at this point, it was simple muscle memory. Once the R.O. gave her the go ahead, she powered through the course fueled by little else but absolute joy. Hitting the targets at this range felt as easy as pushing needles into a pincushion.
The bravado and fluidity of her movements came not from the paranoid survivalist instinct of so many of the others on the range, but from Erika's genuine enjoyment of the fact that she was actually good at something, and could accept it for once. It was so often so hard to really accept that there was value in a lot of what she did with her time, and even if everyone else had to accept that she was good - the numbers didn't lie - it was usually hard to let herself believe it.
By the time the last brass case had fallen to the ground and the range officer called the time, she'd worked up a sweat. As she took her earbuds, she heard compliments instead of silence or derision. Most importantly, she heard them from herself.
I hope Mom got that on video. Pretty sure I made that look as good as it felt.
Her score once again registered high within the division, if not scoring slightly higher than the first course. She regarded it in passing, though it did make her feel proud. The rest of the day went by in a flash, and that night the usual guilt and anxiety she felt at going to bed early was conspicuously absent. For the first time in weeks, Erika slept easily.
((Erika Stieglitz continued elsewhere))
It couldn't hurt to find out. At least, it won't hurt for long.
Before long it was her time to hit the range, and she gave Faith a wink as she walked up. Whatever else happened, they could be friends for the day. The close range targets were a godsend, as her rifle didn't kick nearly as much as Faith's.
She took a look back to the trees as the range officer took a water break, chatting with his buddies at the sidelines. Whether or not they saw her first round, they usually said the same things every time. It didn't really register to her, given her hearing protection, as she centered herself. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes. Social interaction, when it was positive, was good ammunition to ward off negative thoughts. Right now, her mind felt clear. This was probably what most of her hippie friends meant when they talked about mindfulness. Though, they probably didn't imagine guns would ever be involved. That one good conversation, that moment of not feeling like a perpetual outcast, gave her enough momentum to drift into the calmer parts of her mind.
And in that place, she was as effective as she possibly could be. She rocked the clear SIG magazine into the magwell, chambering a round with the same hand in the way that she'd seen so many of the bearded "operators" do so. It wasn't cheap imitation; at this point, it was simple muscle memory. Once the R.O. gave her the go ahead, she powered through the course fueled by little else but absolute joy. Hitting the targets at this range felt as easy as pushing needles into a pincushion.
The bravado and fluidity of her movements came not from the paranoid survivalist instinct of so many of the others on the range, but from Erika's genuine enjoyment of the fact that she was actually good at something, and could accept it for once. It was so often so hard to really accept that there was value in a lot of what she did with her time, and even if everyone else had to accept that she was good - the numbers didn't lie - it was usually hard to let herself believe it.
By the time the last brass case had fallen to the ground and the range officer called the time, she'd worked up a sweat. As she took her earbuds, she heard compliments instead of silence or derision. Most importantly, she heard them from herself.
I hope Mom got that on video. Pretty sure I made that look as good as it felt.
Her score once again registered high within the division, if not scoring slightly higher than the first course. She regarded it in passing, though it did make her feel proud. The rest of the day went by in a flash, and that night the usual guilt and anxiety she felt at going to bed early was conspicuously absent. For the first time in weeks, Erika slept easily.
((Erika Stieglitz continued elsewhere))