TLV: IC Contact

[sixfeetofdirt]

Careful; I bite.

Comments

[sixfeetofdirt]

I'd like that. Meet you at the Enclosure?

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Yeah. I'll get someone to unlock it.

Thought we might go hunting. Got any ideas for what you want to hunt?

[sixfeetofdirt]

Birds? Something small. I feel like a challenge.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Hell yeah.

I'll meet you there. Get it set up.

[sixfeetofdirt]

See you soon.

[Astarion is there a few minutes later, dressed for the outdoors, bow slung over his shoulder and quiver strapped to his back.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He's waiting for him there, hands in his pockets, the door open. "Come on. Picked a good fall day," he remarks, voice bright as he ducks inside the door and down to the Enclosure. They walk into a forest, the trees just at the peak of their color. Reds and yellows and bright oranges look like a wildfire as the gentle wind rocks the leaves.

"What do you think? Plenty of clearing for quail and lots of birds in the trees."

He picks up his bow he left near the door.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion nods his approval.

"Perfect. Not even too cold," he says, pleased. "You didn't bring Mae to retrieve our quarry?"

He's teasing. He knows their prey is illusory, at best.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He laughs. "No. She's mostly trained, but I didn't want to be distracted with her."

He nudges against him. "Wanted to spend some time here anyway."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion nudges back with a little smile.

"Is 'here' anywhere in particular?"

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Vermont," he answers with a shrug. "Uh, it was in the show we saw about mountain lions," he says, sliding the quiver around his back as he leads the way through the brush.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Ah - ah, yes, I remember these trees."

He follows carefully, tread almost silent.

"I learned to use a gun in here, not long ago. I can't say I cared for it."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"What kind of gun? And who took you?"

He reaches back and picks up one of the arrows, toying with the weight.

[sixfeetofdirt]

"Collins. I don't know the exact type, it was...smaller than some I've seen?" He holds his hands a pistol's length apart. "The bullets loaded into a little cylinder with holes in it."

The word for the specific weapon is escaping him.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"A six cylinder? Revolver? The cylinder spins to load each bullet?" he guesses. "No wonder you hated it. Those things have a kick like a fucking donkey."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion laughs.

"I can understand the efficiency of such a thing, but you're quite right, the recoil is painful. And they're so loud."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Yeah, they're not used for hunting. They're used for hurting people," he points out. "I usually use a rifle. It sits right there against your shoulder and absorbs the recoil. It's much longer."

[sixfeetofdirt]

"I've seen them," he recalls. "Personally I think a crossbow is enough technology for me to kill anything."

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"You say that, but you can't hit a deer at a hundred yards!" Or maybe you can. Jacob doesn't have much experience with crossbows.

"Come on. There's a field up here." His footsteps aren't as noiseless as Astarion's, but he picks his way through the path carefully.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion trails along after him.

"I can get close enough that I don't have to," he points out, rather smugly.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

"Show off," he mutters, crouching down as they approach a clearing. He can hear the sounds of rustling in the brush, but he waits, nocking his bow in anticipation.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion just smiles, drawing out an arrow of his own and preparing it. Unencumbered by the sounds of his own breathing and heartbeat, he's acutely aware of the environment around them, the slightest movements, the presence of animals close by.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Jacob picks up a rock, ready to scatter the birds in the clearing for them. He holds it up silently, waiting for Astarion to prep his bow.

He takes a breath and throws it, and the birds fly up in fright, in a rustle of wings and panic.

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion doesn't even need to consciously make a decision: he just responds, the first arrow piercing the chest of a fleeing quail. He's immediately nocking a second and just catches his second quarry across the side, breaking a wing and sending it falling.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

He fells two before Jacob even fires off a single shot. Impressed to the point of distraction, he doesn't even manage to get one in his sights before they've flown away.

"Damn," he snorts, digging a boot into the ground. "You're a fucking good shot."

[sixfeetofdirt]

Astarion doesn't even try not to look flattered.

"Yes, well. When it's the difference between life and death, one gets good."