"Let your gun therefore be the constant companion of your walks." - Thomas Jefferson
When: Wednesday, May 20
Where: The firing range
Who: Dean Winchester and Jayne Cobb (closed for the safety of other characters!)
What: Kindred spirits with firearms
Rating: PG-13, at least, for language
Kaylee said there was no way to leave here. Kaylee assured him he'd get used to it. That he'd even come to like it here.
Jayne wasn't buying it.
He'd been here for months now, and the itch was still with him, strong as ever. He'd never stayed in one place this long, not since he'd left home over thirty years ago. And the longer his list of crimes had grown, the more enemies he'd made, the more powerful the urge to keep moving grew. Serenity had suited him in that way. Small boat, moved fast and quiet, easy to have their fun and skip out on the aftermath. Jayne enjoyed making enemies; even enjoyed running into them again from time to time, when things got too quiet. But staying put for too long - man might as well paint a big old target in the middle of his back.
And the longer he was here, the more he felt the itch of that target getting deeper. And there was nothing to do to distract him. No whores, and he was quickly running out of even the few women who were up for a casual fling. A bar or two, but never a good brawl to be had. And killing, or even good old-fashioned fighting in the streets, was apparently strongly discouraged.
And then there was the thing where a man could find himself waking up with woman parts without nobody askin' his say-so on the matter.
All in all, this town wore on him. There were a bare few things that could put a lid on his temper. Not enough labor to be had to wear himself out, not a man as used to heavy work as he was, but labor along with a hefty dose of working out sometimes helped. Drinking himself into a stupor was another option, though that got expensive, and stealing cash wasn't as simple as it used to be when he couldn't get out of town after. And then there was the firing range. Damned tame after all the gunfights he'd been in, but apparently it was the only place in town a man was allowed to let his weapon off the leash, and if he didn't take Cassie out from time to time she was like to get mad at him. Didn't do to get a lady mad.
So he stood in one of the little slots, having scoffed off the ear and eye protection they offered (they hadn't tried too hard; they were used to him by now). And put one bullet after another through the hole his first had made in the dead center of the target. It helped some.
Where: The firing range
Who: Dean Winchester and Jayne Cobb (closed for the safety of other characters!)
What: Kindred spirits with firearms
Rating: PG-13, at least, for language
Kaylee said there was no way to leave here. Kaylee assured him he'd get used to it. That he'd even come to like it here.
Jayne wasn't buying it.
He'd been here for months now, and the itch was still with him, strong as ever. He'd never stayed in one place this long, not since he'd left home over thirty years ago. And the longer his list of crimes had grown, the more enemies he'd made, the more powerful the urge to keep moving grew. Serenity had suited him in that way. Small boat, moved fast and quiet, easy to have their fun and skip out on the aftermath. Jayne enjoyed making enemies; even enjoyed running into them again from time to time, when things got too quiet. But staying put for too long - man might as well paint a big old target in the middle of his back.
And the longer he was here, the more he felt the itch of that target getting deeper. And there was nothing to do to distract him. No whores, and he was quickly running out of even the few women who were up for a casual fling. A bar or two, but never a good brawl to be had. And killing, or even good old-fashioned fighting in the streets, was apparently strongly discouraged.
And then there was the thing where a man could find himself waking up with woman parts without nobody askin' his say-so on the matter.
All in all, this town wore on him. There were a bare few things that could put a lid on his temper. Not enough labor to be had to wear himself out, not a man as used to heavy work as he was, but labor along with a hefty dose of working out sometimes helped. Drinking himself into a stupor was another option, though that got expensive, and stealing cash wasn't as simple as it used to be when he couldn't get out of town after. And then there was the firing range. Damned tame after all the gunfights he'd been in, but apparently it was the only place in town a man was allowed to let his weapon off the leash, and if he didn't take Cassie out from time to time she was like to get mad at him. Didn't do to get a lady mad.
So he stood in one of the little slots, having scoffed off the ear and eye protection they offered (they hadn't tried too hard; they were used to him by now). And put one bullet after another through the hole his first had made in the dead center of the target. It helped some.