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[vorrutyer]

Who: Prior(ly) (priorly) & Byerly (vorrutyer)
What: By fusses about Prior's life potentially being in danger and consequently endangers his life. He's sssoooo good at his job.
When: The 26thish
Where: The jungle
Warning(s): Cursing without a doubt


[ By would not, by choice, be coming out into the jungle. It's a dreadful place, truly: full of buzzing insects and sweat and mud and foul odors. Give him the open plains stretching to the sea any day - better a hundred times over than this, the wretched sticky stinking jungle.

But he has a task out there, doesn't he? And the task is this: ensure that Prior has the tools he needs to avoid a bit of murder. And so he finds a relatively open clearing, far away from any place where anyone would be alerted by noise, and settles them down there. He brushes off a fallen log for Prior to sit upon, and then asks, a bit solicitously: ]

All right there, dear fellow? Do you need a rest?

Comments

[priorly]

[Tools are entirely by the by (By). Prior could have a box of them at his disposal and the likelihood of him reaching for the right one at the right time would remain low. As, surely, is the likelihood of anyone attacking him. Picking his way through the jungle like a wobbly-footed baby deer (one with equally morbid fears of stinging insects and potentially man-eating trees) he can hardly look like a threat.

He does need a rest, now it comes to it, but that doesn't stop him standing and watching Byerly sweep the dirt off a log like it's a velvet couch.]

Oh I'm fine, really. But seeing as you've dusted.

[It would be churlish not to sit for a minute. He settles down, delicately, and pats the space beside.]

Careful not to step on any of those magic leaves everyone's been looking for. Don't you think that seems awfully coincidental, by the way?

[vorrutyer]

That they just happen to be here?

[ Byerly smiles ironically. ]

Perhaps all along those terrorists simply wanted peace, love, and understanding. Detonating those bombs and designing that disease so we'd seek friendship with Wyver. Doesn't it warm your heart?

[ As Prior sits, By gets to setting up targets, twisting leaves and branches so that they're placed at about the right height and distance. ]

[priorly]

It's like a children's game. We're learning to share and love one another, isn't it sweet? Except for the part where people are bleeding from the eyes but [He lets a shrug run shoulder to shoulder, tipping back a little on his log as he watches Byerly work] sacrifices have to be made. Well. I couldn't love anywhere with this humidity.

[He links his hands behind his neck.]

And it makes me feel like a heel, all of this. Low as the snakes we're no doubt surrounded by.

[vorrutyer]

Why in heaven's name do you feel like that?

[ By steps back to examine his handiwork. Not terrible. ]

Haven't you been working hard to help your ill fellows? Caring and fussing and worrying and keeping their spirits up? That's hardly the work of a villain, dear Prior.

[priorly]

From a relatively safe distance, mostly.

[Because he's been scared, because illness scares him, because it's not even two months since a close friend died of bird TB and another of the flu and he's learned to flinch whenever he sees someone coughing. But that's not why he's felt like such a selfish fuck.

He takes a quick breath and gets to his feet, moving to stand behind Byerly, similarly eyeing the odd little set-up he's made.]

And, I suppose, because I can't help wondering - why no magic leaves for me. [And a quick exhale - he tries to move along, pointing at a twisted treebranch that had been sweeping the floor.] That's the little shitbag who tried to trip me as we came through. I won't mind murdering that.

[vorrutyer]

Ah. Searching for justice in a universe of cruelty. That strikes me less as villainy than...well, insanity, I suppose.

[ By bends over and pulls up the tree branch. He cocks an eyebrow, examining it, then props it up slightly dubiously as a target. Not ideal, but he'll do his best to ensure that Prior can exorcise his wrath, endearing and underwhelming though that wrath might be. ]

[priorly]

Bleeding life in a universe of wounds. [May be a weird thing to mutter under his breath, but nontheless.] Mm. We've covered insanity, I think. At least villany would be something new.

[Not that standing in a jungle with the idea of training him in combat seems any less insane than - oh, any individual day of the last several months. He'd like to think he's getting used to it now.

A cloud passes the blazing sun, bringing some kind of mild respite, and a new set of strange shadows to the clearing.]

This place is creepier on the inside than the out. Do you suppose we'll meet any wild animals here? Lions and tigers and bears?

[vorrutyer]

Well, let me take that, dear fellow. The villainy. I think I have a better face for it than you do.

[ He stretches and steps back, then nods satisfaction. Then he turns to the log Prior is sitting on and lays out two guns: one a normal, familiar pistol, pulled from his belt, and the other a sleek futuristic oddity from a discreet shoulder-holster under his coat. ]

And bears are a possibility, though lions would surprise me rather a lot. I'm certainly not an expert on old-earth xenobiology, but isn't the lion a creature of the open plains?

[priorly]

[And Prior takes a side step away from the log.]

Oh, no you've been mislead. You could stumble into any one of them in the right sort of forest. [He looks up through the overhang of the tree branches, a hand pressed to his collarbone - apprehensive.]

That's if the flying monkeys didn't get you first. [He presses his lips together to negate a smile.] Well. Are you going to demonstrate, at least?

[vorrutyer]

[ He presses a hand to his heart, half-bows, and answers: ]

I live to serve.

[ You strange man with your strange flying monkeys. He picks up the pistol, weighs it rather evaluatively, and then turns. He announces his target: ]

That little orange blossom, right there.

[ Not a particularly difficult target: the blossom is large, and it's only perhaps twenty paces away. So his manner is casual and easy as he takes aim and, calmly, blows it off the vine, the crack of the weapon loud in the clearing. The jungle goes quite still for a moment after before slowing resuming its cawing, chirruping noise. ]

[priorly]

[One day someone will give him a VCR and a classic movie selection, one day. Then you'll... totally fail to understand why he can quote every word of a movie about a little girl, most likely.

Also, this whole thing seems very unfair on an innocent flower, but Prior's unreasonably impressed. Enough to clap his hands together.]

You make it look so easy. Just point and shoot. [He points.] That cluster of berries, at the top.

[vorrutyer]

[ Wryly: ]

Speaking of performing monkeys...

[ But, obediently, he lifts his aim, squints just a moment, and shoots. The bullet and the berries go winging off together into the foliage. ]

[priorly]

[Applause!]

Very Clint Eastwood. Do you know, I could watch this all day.

[What if he just sits back here and does that?]

Now, let me pick a leaf I don't like the look of...

[vorrutyer]

[ Sigh. ]

Prior, dear fellow, I'm not going to use up all the ammunition and keep you from having to try.

[priorly]

[Guiltily, he stops mid-way back to the log. Looks over his shoulder, sheepish.]

It was worth a shot.

[And slowly retraces his steps back to Byerly.]

I've never even held one, is that ridiculous? Do I start with this one or your sleek little thing?

[vorrutyer]

This one.

[ He smiles faintly, ironically, appreciating that at least Prior didn't keep up the bullshit. ]

Tragically, this world does not make replacement energy packs for the stunner. So once I run though that battery, that's it. Good for another hundred shots or so - I'd sooner not use them on flowers and leaves. Besides which, how can we tell if a tree is stunned?

[priorly]

Oh is that what it does? [If anything he's more interested in Byerly's own weapon now, though he won't ask for it to be wasted on his account.] I don't mind so much about trees, but I'd be more comfortable knowing I wasn't making holes in anybody. It's so messy.

[He's seen the aftermath of a shooting, and while that's kind of a joke, it kind of isn't. It's just not a thing he can imagine inflicting by choice.

Though, maybe there are times when choice isn't quite the word.

Blowing the air out of his lungs in one quick rush, he holds out a hand.]

But as long as it's only trees.

[vorrutyer]

[ By passes him the gun without further comment. It's his intention, fully, to pass the stunner along to Prior at the end of all of this. It leaves him uneasy, the prospect of carrying only lethal weapons for himself; he himself certainly does not love the prospect of shooting to kill. But he doesn't think for a moment he'll ever be able to talk Prior into using anything but the stunner. He'll just have to traumatize Prior enough here to convince him that it's worth depriving Byerly of it.

Sometimes he does loathe good people, truly. ]

Alright. Weigh it in your hand. See how heavy it is. Yes?

[priorly]

[He adopts a grip copied from movies he's never really liked, but lets it tip to feel the weight.]

Yes? Am I supposed to calculate something from that? Is this like baking?

[vorrutyer]

[ The look By shoots him is just a little bit annoyed. ]

Now raise it and hold it level. Twenty seconds. Feel how heavy your arm gets just from that.

[priorly]

[Look, he's nervous around these things, and disguising that requires flippancy. It's one or the other.

He raises his arm, resisting the inclination to hold it two-handed, or with one palm supporting his wrist. Twenty seconds in and his arm isn't steady any longer, but he hasn't lowered it either.]

[vorrutyer]

[ A small nod of approval, measured. ]

That's what you'll be fighting against when you actually hold it. Fatigue will throw off your aim. So will the kick of the gunshot. Modern energy weapons don't have that kick, thank heavens - it's a dreadful thing - but since we're working with barbarian technology, here we are. All right - use your left hand to support your right, to keep it up.

[priorly]

[First he swaps the gun into his left hand, still tentative in how he handles it, shaking the ache out of his right wrist.]

If my century's so barbarian, perhaps we should be out here with fur loincloths and clubs? I'm sure I could source at least the first part.

[Right, another go. It's easier with two hands, at least. Gun raised, he doesn't even realise he's automatically closing his eyes.]

[vorrutyer]

I wouldn't fancy the draft on my nether parts. Eyes open, darling.

[priorly]

I don't know, fresh air can be quite exhilarating.

[He blinks, frowning as he opens his eyes, narrow but as functional as they get.]

You understand I'm unlikely to be precise in this? [But if he has to hold this pose much longer he'll barely manage to aim at all.] And now? Point and crook my finger? Is everything on? Or, off. Whatever it's supposed to be?