[[ hands like a gunslinger ]]

[almosthonorable]

whitetextiswhite

bang

A dented tin can falls.

bang

And another.

bang

And another.

Ben's at the practice range.

bang

He's having a good morning -- or, at least, his aim and depth perception are. Sneaking up on him isn't exactly advisable, but he'll say good morning to anyone who wanders up.

Comments

[almosthonorable]

It was the confusion over the number of victims and the mistaken identity that was the surreal part; Ben would've asked for more details, but he's focusing on the here and now.

"Long as I could lift one."

Half a smile.

"Shot my first gun when I was four."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

Another bang, and the last can falls off into the grass with a resounding thunk. "This would be my....third time firing a gun."

Ben can ask any number of things for details; as long as it's not too emphatic on how he got shot. "Wow. Four years old." Color Charlie impressed.

[almosthonorable]

"I could barely hold on to the damn thing," he says with a short laugh.

Then, nodding toward the dented targets littering the ground, "Not bad for your third time out; keep practicin' when you're here, you'll just keep gettin' better."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

"What, can I keep this one?"

He thinks in the long run that might cause him a few problems, though. "Or at least borrow it?" He smiles hopefully; he likes being praised, like any sane person, and finds Ben good company.

[almosthonorable]

"You can hold on to it if you want."

Lord knows he's got more than one extra upstairs.

"If you decide you're done with it sometime I ain't around, you can just leave it with Miss Bar."

[licensed-pro.livejournal.com]

Charlie smiles. "Iced, then. I'll keep practicing with this, till I can at least come near you."

[almosthonorable]

"You do that. And come talk to me in 'bout twenty years."