[Her gaze cuts over to Clint for a spare moment at the mention of Frank. Would it be easier to just talk about him as if all of that horrible stuff didn't just happen? That she didn't just watch Frank lose it after someone died on his watch? The same person who she had to scrub out from under her nails when everything settled? It'd be easier to just pretend Frank was a curse word, something her grandmother would have admonished a long time ago.]
My parents weren't exactly big on recreational family activities. I did try playing a flute in elementary school band once. That's about the level of club I participated in before I gave up two lessons into it.
[After a moment, the snark slides into something a little more sincere.]
It's cool. Guns are — well, they're kind of a dime a dozen.
It was cool to hold a shotgun, though. Felt like an action hero.
when you thought you hit post and discover days later you did not
The time it takes to reload a shotgun is time you could spend lining up your next arrow shot. Plus, reusable ammo. [He will die on that hill.] I can't picture you firing a shotgun, though. Depending on it, might knock you off your feet. You don't get that with a bow.
[It's fine to not talk about Frank. That's the sensitive subject they're trying to avoid, so...no questions asked about him, got it. He opens the car door for her like a gentleman-dad-uncle before hopping into the driver's seat.]
You'll probably feel like a big game hunter with a bow. Ready to hunt some flux deer.
[If there were any better response to demonstrate how she ended up in Frank's care, that'd be one of them. Granted, one of the times she'd shot a shotgun, it had been at the head of someone who was hired to kill her and all of her friends. Maybe it was a good thing that she'd missed. She's still trying to figure out how much she should hate John Pilgrim or pity him. After all, he was the one who left her friends dead in a heap.
Life is so utterly messy, so effed up beyond reason.
She supposes in retrospect... it's her own fault, for being involved in the things she'd been involved in.]
I'll only shoot flux deer if they look straight out of a horror movie.
Okay, no deer targets for you, only regular targets. [And certainly no people-shaped targets. He does not need to teach her that unless she asks.] Wonder if messed up flux deer is good eats.
[That's mostly a joke. He's not sure he'd want to eat anything not already cooked and canned and bagged and sealed and whatnot from out there in any given crazy weird zone. And now that the train's running, there's more fresh goods from farmtown, so food isn't exactly at some kind of premium.]
So what is it you do? For a job. You got something that's keeping you afloat? You drive your car okay? [Is she safe, in the wake of the everything, does she need pointers, is she okay--he can't help but let the dad show through.]
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no subject
My parents weren't exactly big on recreational family activities. I did try playing a flute in elementary school band once. That's about the level of club I participated in before I gave up two lessons into it.
[After a moment, the snark slides into something a little more sincere.]
It's cool. Guns are — well, they're kind of a dime a dozen.
It was cool to hold a shotgun, though. Felt like an action hero.
when you thought you hit post and discover days later you did not
[It's fine to not talk about Frank. That's the sensitive subject they're trying to avoid, so...no questions asked about him, got it. He opens the car door for her like a gentleman-dad-uncle before hopping into the driver's seat.]
You'll probably feel like a big game hunter with a bow. Ready to hunt some flux deer.
the eternal struggle!!!!
[If there were any better response to demonstrate how she ended up in Frank's care, that'd be one of them. Granted, one of the times she'd shot a shotgun, it had been at the head of someone who was hired to kill her and all of her friends. Maybe it was a good thing that she'd missed. She's still trying to figure out how much she should hate John Pilgrim or pity him. After all, he was the one who left her friends dead in a heap.
Life is so utterly messy, so effed up beyond reason.
She supposes in retrospect... it's her own fault, for being involved in the things she'd been involved in.]
I'll only shoot flux deer if they look straight out of a horror movie.
Bambi-shooter, I am not.
no subject
[That's mostly a joke. He's not sure he'd want to eat anything not already cooked and canned and bagged and sealed and whatnot from out there in any given crazy weird zone. And now that the train's running, there's more fresh goods from farmtown, so food isn't exactly at some kind of premium.]
So what is it you do? For a job. You got something that's keeping you afloat? You drive your car okay? [Is she safe, in the wake of the everything, does she need pointers, is she okay--he can't help but let the dad show through.]