(no subject)
Who: heliotroping and windsturms, but open~
What: Guns, guns, and guns.
When: February 21st, afternoon
Where: Shooting range
Rating: General, but guns, Guns everywhere.
The feeling of the recoil from shooting a gun was familiar to Django. After many years of begging, his mentors and elders finally let the boy go out and shoot some undead and hopefully come back alive. He had barely known how to fire his gun then. Even his long time master Otenko believed so, instructing the boy in what he already knew. It was a matter of getting real practice.
Even after dying and temporarily losing much of his memory, the feeling from recoil stayed in his arms and guided him quickly back on his feet. The choices he made after that made him question his morality. The enemies in this world were much different. He would have to get used to different recoils.
Out of the metal guns he knew that existed in his world, the peacemaker was most familiar. He had glimpsed one at Smith's workshop, the man who now called himself the Steel Smith, a level down from the legendary Solar Smith. Django figured his father used peacemakers before the undeadening and before he found the Gun Del Sol in the ruins of an earthed Sol City. Finding that his beloved heirloom was useless in some parts of Paradisa, he adapted to the old and mastered it. His practice peacemaker sat on the counter, to the side.
In his hands was a Winchester Rifle. He was unfamiliar with the type of gun, let alone the model and year. The chaos that had been the fight against Isis was a painful reminder that he should have learned to use one earlier. Too many on the field at once. Should have played a support role when possible. He hated coordinating with many others on the field, especially against single enemies. The distance a rifle created allowed more freedom, he supposed. It wouldn't hurt to learn it anyway.
What: Guns, guns, and guns.
When: February 21st, afternoon
Where: Shooting range
Rating: General, but guns, Guns everywhere.
The feeling of the recoil from shooting a gun was familiar to Django. After many years of begging, his mentors and elders finally let the boy go out and shoot some undead and hopefully come back alive. He had barely known how to fire his gun then. Even his long time master Otenko believed so, instructing the boy in what he already knew. It was a matter of getting real practice.
Even after dying and temporarily losing much of his memory, the feeling from recoil stayed in his arms and guided him quickly back on his feet. The choices he made after that made him question his morality. The enemies in this world were much different. He would have to get used to different recoils.
Out of the metal guns he knew that existed in his world, the peacemaker was most familiar. He had glimpsed one at Smith's workshop, the man who now called himself the Steel Smith, a level down from the legendary Solar Smith. Django figured his father used peacemakers before the undeadening and before he found the Gun Del Sol in the ruins of an earthed Sol City. Finding that his beloved heirloom was useless in some parts of Paradisa, he adapted to the old and mastered it. His practice peacemaker sat on the counter, to the side.
In his hands was a Winchester Rifle. He was unfamiliar with the type of gun, let alone the model and year. The chaos that had been the fight against Isis was a painful reminder that he should have learned to use one earlier. Too many on the field at once. Should have played a support role when possible. He hated coordinating with many others on the field, especially against single enemies. The distance a rifle created allowed more freedom, he supposed. It wouldn't hurt to learn it anyway.