[[ milliways ]]

[almosthonorable]

whitetextiswhite

It's early -- early enough that the bar proper is more quiet than loud. Ben likes mornings like this in here, when he can sit with his coffee at one elbow and his hat by the other on the counter, and he isn't taking up more space than might be considered polite.

This particular morning, he's also got a box of ammunition in front of him, courtesy of Bar; as soon as the gray light outside bleeds to red-gold, he'll stride out back for some target practice.

Comments

[ellectrical]

As she's been coming into the Bar after often days without sleep, making up for this by the rest she allows herself in her room upstairs, and sleeping on the sofa at X's place, Elle's sleep schedule has become more than a little messed up.

It's the latter she comes in from this morning - the white t-shirt under her jacket and her jeans might be more than a little dusted with black-and-brown cat fur (thanks a lot, Farrah), but it also means she's well-rested and in a decent mood when she approaches the bar.

The box of ammunition saves his hat from the inordinate amount of attention it might otherwise receive.

"She gives you real ones?"

Elle doesn't sound surprised or annoyed, only curious.

[almosthonorable]

"Only after I promise they're just for paper targets."

A beat.

"And, hell, I don't know if blanks even exist for this make and model," he says, half-smiling as he gives the Colt at his hip a quick glance.

Lifting his eyes, he offers Elle a slight nod.

"Mornin', Miss Elle."

[ellectrical]

Elle glances up, and then back down at the box.

"I guess she doesn't trust me." It's resigned, but she says it with her own half-smile.

[almosthonorable]

Diplomatically, "Or maybe it's 'cause she trusts you've got more than enough firepower on your own."

[ellectrical]

She shrugs one shoulder, and partially lifts back her jacket, revealing the holster beneath it.

"It's better to be careful."

(Elle might've learned that exact phrase from X.)

[almosthonorable]

His eyes flick to the holster.

"That is somethin' you won't ever hear me arguin' with."

He inclines his head toward the empty stool beside him, and pulls over his mug in case Elle wants to take a seat.

"Here for breakfast, or are you headin' out to the range, too?"

[ellectrical]

She does take a seat, though with a glance at the bar -

"I already ate."

(It's not exactly a 'no' to the second question.)

[almosthonorable]

"Makes two of us, then."

He drains what's left of his coffee.

"I'm gettin' in some shootin' before it gets too busy out back. If you don't have obligations right now, you're welcome to join me."

Surely between the two of them, they can convince Bar to cough up some practice rounds for Elle.

[ellectrical]

She does hesitate, enough that it's noticeable.

But then, she looks down to the bar and asks, "Well?"

What promptly appears is a box of the rubber bullets she usually gets. Elle rolls her eyes.

[almosthonorable]

Ben's lips twitch; he gives the box a sideways glance.

"If you want to use the live ones, I've got a six upstairs you can borrow."

[ellectrical]

She shakes her head.

"But I'll have to reload first," Elle answers, actually looking mildly cheerful as she reaches under her jacket to pull out the nine millimeter and sets it on the bar to switch out the clip.

[almosthonorable]

"Suit yourself, little britches," Ben says, even more cheerful as he surveys Elle's hands with interest.

Firearms of the future will never cease to amaze him; most of them look like fakes, with their plastic parts and black finish.

[ellectrical]

Elle glances up sharply, though her expression isn't anything more than blank. Though she's hopeless at it for the most part, there are times when she's very good at following the tone of a conversation.

(And for a second, she'd misheard him. She's not used to being called 'little britches,' but it does sound an awful lot like something she is used to hearing.)

But it's only a moment before she looks down again, removing the clip from her gun and emptying it. The process doesn't take very long - she's used to having to do this by now, as she's definitely not going to use her own live ammunition for this.

When she's done, she slams the clip back in the gun (not particularly quietly), and then looks up expectantly, as though Ben had been the reason for the delay.

[almosthonorable]

He's bemused when he catches that expectant look, as if he's a layabout.

Standing, he gestures toward the back door like the gentleman he can be, reaching for his box of rounds with his free hand.

And, because he hadn't missed the way her head had whipped up so fast a minute ago: "It's another word for pants, Miss Elle. I forget not everybody here's stuck in the past like I am."

[ellectrical]

She gives a half-shrug as she steps off her stool to follow.

It edges a little on teasing, but - "I've had worse."

[almosthonorable]

"Oh, but I've got manners -- that's about as bad as it'll get, comin' from me," he says, opening the door for her.

"Unless you object to 'Goliath,' maybe."

[ellectrical]

It gets about the closest Elle comes to a puzzled expression as she walks through the door.

"Doesn't he die?"

Her Biblical knowledge is very, very limited, but she's fairly sure that's right.

[almosthonorable]

"Yes, ma'am," Ben says, conversational as you please while they head for the range. "But that ain't the point -- point is, he was a monster of a man, about nine feet tall."

A sideways glance at Elle.

"The humor's there, if you're lookin' for it."

[ellectrical]

It's the kind of humor she would get, but Elle, much like a small dog, often forgets her own size.

(Unlike a small dog, she has a reason for it.)



"Because I'm not," she gets, after a not-too-short time to think about it. She doesn't sound against it, in any case.

[almosthonorable]

"Because you're not," he repeats, adjusting his hat with one hand.

"Though I reckon there's always Peanut."

[ellectrical]

Okay, she does make a face at that.

A face that clearly reads, in an awfully grumpy manner, No.

[almosthonorable]

" -- or not," he amends, chuckling under his breath.

He sets down his ammo when they reach the range, and pulls a small box from his jacket pocket.

He studies the several pairs of earplugs housed inside with some skepticism; the napkin that accompanied them on the counter had said they'd help save his hearing out here.

[ellectrical]

Elle doesn't have anything like that on her, and she's eying the box with equal skepticism.

(Her Dad did used to make her wear earmuffs when she practiced at home; somehow she hadn't kept it up when she practiced here.)

"Are you going to wear those?"

She'd sound more judgmental if it weren't for that conscience-X-like voice in her head telling her it probably isn't a bad idea.

[almosthonorable]

"Never have before."

He picks up an earplug, evaluating it between his thumb and forefinger.

"But Miss Bar seems to think it'll help with the ringin'."

He holds out the box.

"You want a couple?"

[ellectrical]

Her eying goes from skeptical to somewhat suspicious, but she does eventually reach into the box and picks out a couple of the earplugs.

Rather then putting them on, however, she jams them into one of the pockets of her jeans for the moment.

"Don't use them on the job," she grumbles, with the definite air of someone who has worn them before.