hadriel | Video

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[The video turns on to show the outskirts of town, nearby is a fence of sorts made of junk Pratt collected from the Colosseum and some baling wire. It's encircling a fancy new shooting range complete with training dummies and targets and some other items that aren't immediately identifiable.

Okay fancy isn't the right word, everything is made of remnants he found and some of the targets are empty soup cans on sticks but it looks serviceable.]

This is Deputy Pratt. I know we're all busy freezing to death, but if you'd like to take your mind off that, I've finally got this all together. Range is up and running!

It's set up by the orchard, or well.. where the orchard should be anyway.

[He pans the camera towards the orchard to show where it is and then starts walking towards the range. The camera is surprisingly steady, this is someone who has filmed hundreds of Vine videos of him and other deputies doing stupid stuff on slow days. He's a pro at this shit.]

I've got training dummies up front for anyone who wants to get their melee fighting on. But uh.. try not to completely destroy them because I don't have a ton of wood to fix them up.

For the range itself I've got targets at 10 meters, 25 meters, 50 and 100. It's not perfect because I'm measuring this with my feet, but it's close enough. Spinner targets are for guns, and the bigger baled ones are dirt and wood so they shouldn't chew up your arrows too bad.

This thing is a work in progress.

[He sets a can onto a contraption off to the side of the range, stomping his foot on a pedal and sending it shooting down the lane and a little to the left. The camera gets unsteady here as he launches a knife that's far too big for this at the can and it tumbles to the ground.]

Keeps shooting them off to the side, but it's better than throwing something and then trying to hit it.

As for weapons... [He walks over to a large but very battered chest and opens the lid.]

I've got some throwing knives that aren't stupid like the hunting knife I have. A few bows. And some arrows in here. Keep them in this crate because the weather is not kind to bowstrings and you don't want these things snapping when you're shooting.

It's on the honor system because I'm not going to freeze my ass off monitoring this twenty-four seven. So try not to burn it down in the next two days.

[Please guys. He worked hard on this. Don't set it on fire.]

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Yeah... well.

[Fuck you.]

It's apparently not up to me.

[He glowers. Because he doesn't know what to do now that there isn't a bright flowing Exit sign directing him to some convenient way to get back home.]

So.. making the best of it. I guess.

No shit.

[The smile Nate gives him is sympathetic, because he understands the desire to not be hemmed in better than Pratt might think. That kind of conversation is definitely one for another day, however, and preferably with stiff drinks in hand.]

Better than nothing, and at least you killed some time, right? [Hands in his pockets, Nate nudges Pratt with an elbow as he turns to survey the site.] How's your aim, deputy?

[The initial urge to be a cocky asshole, is tempered by the harsh reality.]

With a bow? Not good at all. That's not something we trained for at the Academy.

[And he's not super fond of Jess who he had to chase off other people's property because she watched the Hunger Games and decided trouncing around the county with a bow was a good idea. And boy did she not like cops.]

Yeah, and maintaining it will give me something to do that isn't counting my dwindling supply of canned goods.

How's your aim?

[Having never used a bow in a "professional" setting, Nate isn't especially confident about learning when his firearm proficiency is so high and he can always resort to using his fists if he drops his piece.

There's a wry, if slightly irritated edge to Pratt's voice, so Nate doesn't push it.]

With a bow? Total crap. My old line of work was more of a gun-friendly environment.

[Without the friendly fire.]

Same here. Unfortunately the only gun I have here is an M60 and ... aim isn't really important with something like that.

[Deep breath. Not having guns isn't the end of the world no matter what Montana preppers say. This is no big deal.]

Gotta adapt right? We'll be doing trick shots around corners in no time.

[Nate snorts, because the idea of whipping out a massive machine gun for the kind of stuff they tend to encounter here is pretty funny. It's the kind of weapon he'd pick up off a merc for a little spray-and-pray.]

No, it's not.

[He wishes he'd asked some of those villagers in Brazil how to use a hunting bow. It'd probably come in handy now.]

I came here with a sniper rifle. I'm sure you can imagine how often that gets used.

Does it have a scope? That might be useful at least.

[Pratt would be willing to trade his giant gun for his sidearm and some ammo if given the chance. That thing is a beast.]

You decent with it? Might need it if we get invaded or something.

Yeah, it's got a scope. And I'm not bad.

[Nate shrugs with one shoulder. The statement is underwhelming but Nate doesn't want to admit to the skill honed through mowing down hundreds of people, because that's one way to swing and miss on a second impression.]

You don't need proof, right?

Normally I'd tell you you were full of shit and make you prove it, but I don't want you to waste your ammo when we can't replenish it.

So for now, I'll take your word on it.

[And admittedly Nate looks like someone who's fired a gun a time or two in his life. So Pratt is content to let it go at that.]

Which sucks, I'd love to get us some pistols at least so if we get invaded we can protect each other. Or at least not have some of these people who've never seen a gun before shoot themselves in the foot.

[Nate unzips his jacket, reaching in for the Beretta he keeps strapped under his arm. He extends it to Pratt grip first, raising his eyebrows.]

I got a friend with a big collection of bullets that aren't gonna run out any time soon. We can spare a few.

[He still doesn't know all the details about why Lance has so much ammo at his disposal, but since he is benefiting from the bounty Nate won't complain.]

[Holy shit.]

You sure? Ammo is pretty much at a premium here.

[He takes that thing almost reverently, his thumb running against the stock like it's an old friend. It's not the same as his sidearm back home, but it's a gun and it makes him feel a little more like the old Deputy Pratt. The one who joined the force so his Tinder profile pic would be him in uniform holding a gun. The one who drove a muscle car with a big fuckoff muffler so everyone could hear him coming for miles.

He smiles and it looks natural, not the sad haggard one he normally has.]

Are you challenging me?

[It's kind of nice to see him relax, and Pratt almost seems to sag toward the gun like it reminds him of something he's lost. Nate tends not to get so sentimental about firearms, but there is a satisfying feeling, having it fit his hand, the smell of ozone igniting when he pulls the trigger.

Nate returns the smile, though his is a little cockier.]

If the shoe fits.

[You are dealing with one cocky bastard before Jacob systematically turned him into a submissive pet. And Jacob ain't here right now.]

You're never gonna lend me a gun again if I wipe the floor with you. Stakes are a little high aren't they?

Oh, I wouldn't concern yourself.

[Nate claps a friendly, jovial hand on Pratt's shoulder, offering up a grin so toothy it would make a werewolf nervous.]

I'll kick your ass six ways to Sunday. But don't worry, I'll be gentle.

Edited 2018-12-22 00:46 (UTC)

It's not my first time.

[ He smiles back. Welp, time to take the initiative, he turns to his range, eyeing the targets. Honestly they should have ear protection for this, but who cares. You only live once, or well.. in Hadriel forever but that's not the point.

He takes aim, firing three times. Three cans go spinning on their posts.

Enjoy that shit eating grin.]

[Nate hasn't used ear protection around firearms for his entire goddamn life and he certainly isn't about to start now. His eardrums have suffered worse things than a 9mm.

He's pleasantly surprised that someone from law enforcement is this competent, nodding in impressed approval as the cans rocket off their posts and into the permafrost. In Nate's personal experience cops aren't exactly experts in aiming, but it's probably different way the Hell out in the woods and mountains, where Pratt is from. Hunting folk know their way around fire power.]

Pretty good.

[Nate compliments without a trace of irony, sincere. He holds his hand out to accept the gun, glancing toward the nearby pedal.]

You wanna pick some junk for me and man the trap?

[He hands the gun back with an unnecessary spinning flourish because he's feeling a lot like his old self; that cocky asshole coming out again. He's always had fairly good aim just because there's nothing better to do than practice at the range 20 hours a week. There aren't a whole lot of call outs in Hope County where the entire Sheriff's department is four people.

And then his aim improved a whole hell of a lot when held hostage by a guy who was likely to rip out a fingernail for each wasted bullet. ]

Show off.

[Pratt's one to talk. But he grabs a few cans, dropping them one by one onto the trap and sending them flying.]

[The little twist has him grinning, because Nate can distinctly recall the number of times he's done the same thing and had his gun knocked out of his hand in under a second. Flashy, but not a good move to execute in any circumstance but this one. Nate checks the chamber and cocks the gun.]

Nah, I'm just used to moving targets.

[The indifference that bordered on sheer laziness is gone the instant the trap springs: three cans vault off in different directions, propelled by their weight. He picks them off speedily, with delicate pings that follow the crack of the Beretta and they spin toward the earth again. By the time the fourth one is airborne Nate is expecting its height and he tracks it for a split-second, peppering it through with three shots before it hits the dirt.

It rolls to their feet and he grins, raising his eyebrows at Pratt.]

Still got it.

[He's impressed, and a little pissed off that he's impressed.]

Yeah yeah.

[That last one with the three shots was a pure dick move and Pratt is more than annoyed he didn't think to do that first. Well now he can't because that would be like admitting Nate was better at this than him. Harrumph.]

Not bad.

[Turns out his shooting range buddy is a sour patch kid. Nate tries to soften the blow with a friendlier smile: nothing that pities, but settles for understanding.]

I used to get into some pretty crazy shit.

[He explains, by way of explaining very little. Maybe he should extrapolate.]

I'm talking shoot-outs on speeding trains, car chases, and stuff. This is kind of my thing.

You had a shootout on a speeding train?

[pre-cult he sometimes had to chase down drunk guys on ride-on lawnmowers. His life was not exactly exciting.]

Are you a bank robber or something?

[He alllllllmost believes him. But not entirely. ]

Uh- no.

[It has him huff a laugh, disarming the Beretta with deft, experienced hands that don't require him to look down. It isn't wise (probably, definitely) to be straightforward with his on-again, off-again profession from the days before legitimate employment, especially with a cop, but what's he going to do? Throw him in the pokey?

He'd have to actually subdue Nate first.]

No, but I used to acquire things for people. Like Indiana Jones, but without the academic funding.

[So, illegally.]

Wait, like you raided tombs?

[Like Tomb Raider Nate? Like that? Is that what it's like?]

I didn't realize that was a real thing that people did that wasn't just .. for the movies.

And people care enough about random things to crash trains and have car chases?

Oh, yeah. [Nate says with an earnestness too sincere to be lying.] The time with the train it was a Serbian warlord with a private army, totally psychotic. Before I showed up back here I was getting shelled by mercenaries off the coast of Madagascar.

[In a rinky-dink boat. In a tropical storm.]

I used to work with big clients - usually wealthy, with a hard-on for historical mysteries - but most of the time it was more of a self-employed thing.

Edited 2019-01-07 21:41 (UTC)

You know, it sounds like you're fucking with me, but I can't really tell.

[Nate definitely sounds convincing, but everything he's saying sounds ridiculous. On the other hand, Pratt could say he's from a place where a homicidal ex-soldier with PTSD is turning people into sleeper agents via songs from the 1950's - so Pratt isn't really one to talk.]

You must go through a fortune in ammo.

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