target practice (incomplete)
Apr. 29th, 2013 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: Target Practice
Rating: G
Series: Supernatural / According to Plan
Wordcount: 760
Summary: Nigel isn't thrilled about the new recruit.
Remarks: Part of a Supernatural AU; incomplete, but I like what exists. Andrew/Jester is mine, Nigel/Secateur and Jamie/Guilt are Quixote's.
The crack of the rifle was loud even through the wraparound earmuffs, but the heavy thump of the stock against his shoulder was a lot more noticeable, and Andrew staggered backwards as jarring pain shivered along his collarbone. A wide wave of his free arm nearly saved his balance, but then his foot turned on an uneven patch of ground and he gave it up as a lost cause, dropping gracefully onto his butt and then flopping over onto his back for good measure.
He placed the gun down carefully alongside him, and peeled the muffs away from his ears, settling them down around his neck in time to hear the approach of a steady stride that stopped somewhere near his head. Rolling his eyes upwards brought the pair steel-toed boots into view.
“Ow,” he informed them solemnly.
“Congratulations,” the man above the boots said in a tone that suggested anything but celebration. “You can hit the broad side of a barn.”
Andrew promptly flipped himself into a cross-legged position, but when a round of applause broke out from behind him he jerked his head away before he could see just where his shot had gone. The back fence was faded and narrow and didn’t look like it could hold back a herd of determined chickens, but Jamie didn’t seem to be having trouble sitting there, with her legs swinging gently as she clapped. He hadn’t known they made leopard-print earmuffs until this morning.
“Pretty impressive for your first kill,” she called.
“I know!” he said, swinging back towards the shed. None of the paper targets pinned to its side were torn, and the wood was too dark to easily see any scuffing, so he just framed the whole lot in a director’s rectangle of forefingers and thumbs. “Is it possible to stuff and mount a wall on your wall, or is that inviting paradox?”
The crunch of dirt beside him made him drop his fingers and glance over to see the man—Nigel, he’d been told—bend over and pick the rifle up, taking a moment to do something with it that Andrew assumed was turning the safety back on or some other kind of gun-related magic. The pale brown eyes soon shifted from the rifle to his face. “So you’re not familiar with guns.”
Andrew pressed the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully. “I’ve been told I have a natural gift for laser tag.”
Eyebrows rose high over the brown eyes, and stayed raised as the gaze was slowly transferred towards the fence. “Jamie, can I have a word?”
“No,” she said cheerfully. “This isn’t actually a test, you know.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Andrew remarked, which earned him absolutely no reaction whatsoever. Only slightly thwarted, he propped his chin on his fists with his elbows braced against his knees and surveyed his new acquaintances. It had been pretty easy to work out that Nigel wasn’t overwhelmed by angelic job references, which might have been because no church would let him in with his hair spiked and dyed along its centre like a fluffy shark’s fin. He was definitely tall enough to be a badass demon hunter, though, and the way he held the rifle suggested he was very familiar with the many ways of ruining a supernatural nasty’s day with one.
At the moment he looked a little like it was his day that was being ruined, which Andrew might have felt bad about if he wasn’t busy being so amused by the man’s expression. With Jamie refusing to duck to the side for a polite conversation on the rookie’s ineptitude, he seemed to be trying to communicate all his misgivings with just his face—or he was trying to beam his thoughts directly to the woman’s brain, which admittedly might have been a valid tactic.
There was no way to tell, since Jamie just pulled an exaggerated face in return and hopped down from the fence more lightly than Andrew would have expected, dusting her hands off. “I think the challenge should be good for you.”
“Jamie,” Nigel began.
She cut him off by propping her hands on her hips. “What would you suggest, then, palming him off on someone just as inexperienced and watching them both get eaten?”
“I’d suggest he find a different hobby that won’t see him dead within the week,” Nigel said, and then glanced very quickly down at Andrew like he’d forgotten the subject of the conversation was still seated there.
Andrew just shrugged. “Apparently my heavenly destiny doesn’t involve stamp-collecting.”
Rating: G
Series: Supernatural / According to Plan
Wordcount: 760
Summary: Nigel isn't thrilled about the new recruit.
Remarks: Part of a Supernatural AU; incomplete, but I like what exists. Andrew/Jester is mine, Nigel/Secateur and Jamie/Guilt are Quixote's.
The crack of the rifle was loud even through the wraparound earmuffs, but the heavy thump of the stock against his shoulder was a lot more noticeable, and Andrew staggered backwards as jarring pain shivered along his collarbone. A wide wave of his free arm nearly saved his balance, but then his foot turned on an uneven patch of ground and he gave it up as a lost cause, dropping gracefully onto his butt and then flopping over onto his back for good measure.
He placed the gun down carefully alongside him, and peeled the muffs away from his ears, settling them down around his neck in time to hear the approach of a steady stride that stopped somewhere near his head. Rolling his eyes upwards brought the pair steel-toed boots into view.
“Ow,” he informed them solemnly.
“Congratulations,” the man above the boots said in a tone that suggested anything but celebration. “You can hit the broad side of a barn.”
Andrew promptly flipped himself into a cross-legged position, but when a round of applause broke out from behind him he jerked his head away before he could see just where his shot had gone. The back fence was faded and narrow and didn’t look like it could hold back a herd of determined chickens, but Jamie didn’t seem to be having trouble sitting there, with her legs swinging gently as she clapped. He hadn’t known they made leopard-print earmuffs until this morning.
“Pretty impressive for your first kill,” she called.
“I know!” he said, swinging back towards the shed. None of the paper targets pinned to its side were torn, and the wood was too dark to easily see any scuffing, so he just framed the whole lot in a director’s rectangle of forefingers and thumbs. “Is it possible to stuff and mount a wall on your wall, or is that inviting paradox?”
The crunch of dirt beside him made him drop his fingers and glance over to see the man—Nigel, he’d been told—bend over and pick the rifle up, taking a moment to do something with it that Andrew assumed was turning the safety back on or some other kind of gun-related magic. The pale brown eyes soon shifted from the rifle to his face. “So you’re not familiar with guns.”
Andrew pressed the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully. “I’ve been told I have a natural gift for laser tag.”
Eyebrows rose high over the brown eyes, and stayed raised as the gaze was slowly transferred towards the fence. “Jamie, can I have a word?”
“No,” she said cheerfully. “This isn’t actually a test, you know.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Andrew remarked, which earned him absolutely no reaction whatsoever. Only slightly thwarted, he propped his chin on his fists with his elbows braced against his knees and surveyed his new acquaintances. It had been pretty easy to work out that Nigel wasn’t overwhelmed by angelic job references, which might have been because no church would let him in with his hair spiked and dyed along its centre like a fluffy shark’s fin. He was definitely tall enough to be a badass demon hunter, though, and the way he held the rifle suggested he was very familiar with the many ways of ruining a supernatural nasty’s day with one.
At the moment he looked a little like it was his day that was being ruined, which Andrew might have felt bad about if he wasn’t busy being so amused by the man’s expression. With Jamie refusing to duck to the side for a polite conversation on the rookie’s ineptitude, he seemed to be trying to communicate all his misgivings with just his face—or he was trying to beam his thoughts directly to the woman’s brain, which admittedly might have been a valid tactic.
There was no way to tell, since Jamie just pulled an exaggerated face in return and hopped down from the fence more lightly than Andrew would have expected, dusting her hands off. “I think the challenge should be good for you.”
“Jamie,” Nigel began.
She cut him off by propping her hands on her hips. “What would you suggest, then, palming him off on someone just as inexperienced and watching them both get eaten?”
“I’d suggest he find a different hobby that won’t see him dead within the week,” Nigel said, and then glanced very quickly down at Andrew like he’d forgotten the subject of the conversation was still seated there.
Andrew just shrugged. “Apparently my heavenly destiny doesn’t involve stamp-collecting.”
