Black tongues speak faster than a car can crash
WHO: burnthepeasants and YOU??
WHAT: Doin' what Zukos do best: woobie'ing
WHERE: Indoor shooting range and then the streets of Manhattan. You can run into him in either place.
WHEN: December 7th, afternoon
WARNINGS: What could possibly be more safe than a cranky guy who only sleeps every two weeks with a gun in his hands? 83 Don't worry, he won't shoot anyone.
SUMMARY: Agitated, mentally drained, and torn up inside, Zuko goes to blow off some steam in an indoor shooting range. After that, he'll be walking around because if he's anywhere near the Bins right now, he's going to scream and it won't be because he's pretending to be a banshee.
The walls echoed with the sound of gunshots, but even without the ear protection he wore, Zuko wouldn't have been bothered by it. This was the one thing in this entire world that was familiar to him, the warm metal in his hands, the playful nudge of recoil, the faint smell of gunsmoke. Too bad he had to only settle for a pistol, just a little thing he made from the scraps he didn't use for his pride and joy. That one would have to be saved for New Mexico, if he managed to go back. And he fully intended to. Even if he had to drag Azula kicking and screaming.
He made shot after shot without flinching, always hitting the mark, and once the chamber was empty, he reloaded and started again. You paid for time here; ammunition was free. Zuko came here often to unwind, to relax, to think, and sometimes to not think at all. His form was perfect, his aim frighteningly accurate. It was the one skill he had that he could pride himself in to the fullest, especially since he usually failed at everything else. He could barely firebend, he sounded awkward and stupid when talking to people, and now he could add smoothing over a situation to his list of many failures.
BAM!
He had to be honest with himself, they had a point.
BAM!
Why was he defending her?
BAM!
First of all, she wasn't his sister, not technically. Second, if the two were almost alike, then she was just as cruel as his own.
BAM!
Someone had once mentioned loyalty, but he doubted that was it. But... there was a feeling of responsibility, and it refused to go away. All he could think about was his uncle being dragged away to whatever horrible fate awaited him because his chickenshit nephew had been too much of a coward to do what had to be done to stop it when he had the chance.
BAM!
She did say to take care of her, after all.
BAM!
Zuko blinked when he saw that his latest shot had hit way off the target. It was the one thing in this world that could distract him enough to make him miss. He sighed as he put the safety on and returned his pistol to its resting place in its holder. That was enough for today, and his hour was almost up anyway. Besides, having a gun in his hand and thinking of his mother was a bad, bad mix.
WHAT: Doin' what Zukos do best: woobie'ing
WHERE: Indoor shooting range and then the streets of Manhattan. You can run into him in either place.
WHEN: December 7th, afternoon
WARNINGS: What could possibly be more safe than a cranky guy who only sleeps every two weeks with a gun in his hands? 83 Don't worry, he won't shoot anyone.
SUMMARY: Agitated, mentally drained, and torn up inside, Zuko goes to blow off some steam in an indoor shooting range. After that, he'll be walking around because if he's anywhere near the Bins right now, he's going to scream and it won't be because he's pretending to be a banshee.
The walls echoed with the sound of gunshots, but even without the ear protection he wore, Zuko wouldn't have been bothered by it. This was the one thing in this entire world that was familiar to him, the warm metal in his hands, the playful nudge of recoil, the faint smell of gunsmoke. Too bad he had to only settle for a pistol, just a little thing he made from the scraps he didn't use for his pride and joy. That one would have to be saved for New Mexico, if he managed to go back. And he fully intended to. Even if he had to drag Azula kicking and screaming.
He made shot after shot without flinching, always hitting the mark, and once the chamber was empty, he reloaded and started again. You paid for time here; ammunition was free. Zuko came here often to unwind, to relax, to think, and sometimes to not think at all. His form was perfect, his aim frighteningly accurate. It was the one skill he had that he could pride himself in to the fullest, especially since he usually failed at everything else. He could barely firebend, he sounded awkward and stupid when talking to people, and now he could add smoothing over a situation to his list of many failures.
BAM!
He had to be honest with himself, they had a point.
BAM!
Why was he defending her?
BAM!
First of all, she wasn't his sister, not technically. Second, if the two were almost alike, then she was just as cruel as his own.
BAM!
Someone had once mentioned loyalty, but he doubted that was it. But... there was a feeling of responsibility, and it refused to go away. All he could think about was his uncle being dragged away to whatever horrible fate awaited him because his chickenshit nephew had been too much of a coward to do what had to be done to stop it when he had the chance.
BAM!
She did say to take care of her, after all.
BAM!
Zuko blinked when he saw that his latest shot had hit way off the target. It was the one thing in this world that could distract him enough to make him miss. He sighed as he put the safety on and returned his pistol to its resting place in its holder. That was enough for today, and his hour was almost up anyway. Besides, having a gun in his hand and thinking of his mother was a bad, bad mix.