zzzzzshtThunk.Booth rolled his shoulder, loosening up the muscles and shaking his wrist. It felt good to throw a little, to keep loose
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"It seems like every time I run into someone new in this place, they're always doing something like killing pigs or fighting . . or, throwing knives," Vanessa commented as she approached. She'd waited until he was most decidedly not actively throwing the knife. An accidental stab injury wasn't in her plans. "What's with the knives?" Vanessa asked. "Guns not good enough?"
He shrugged, smiling. "Shooting guns wastes ammo." And what a shame. He had plenty of time to kill with marksmanship and sniper practice, but he couldn't afford to waste the ammunition. Not to mention, he didn't have his rifle here, either. Shame.
He held the blade carefully, even if he did kind of feel like flipping it at that moment; he didn't want to make her nervous. Or actually hurt her. "Besides, I haven't thrown in a while. I could use the practice."
"Oh, right," Vanessa nodded. "I keep forgetting we have finite supplies of things here." She watched him handle the blade. He clearly knew what he was doing so she didn't feel like she was in any danger. "It seems like fun, throwing them. Very precise. How'd you get so good? Are you from a random superhero land?"
Vanessa very much missed normal people. Aside from the UES, it seems like everyone she ran into had some fantastical background.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Nope. Definitely not a superhero." He gave into temptation, giving the knife a gentle toss, getting a feel for the balance again. He caught it deftly by the handle, nodding. "Back home I was in the Rangers, and then I was an FBI agent in the homicide division." He shrugged. "Came with the territory."
Drawn by the familiar sound of metal striking wood, Jon was curious to know who was practicing, and with what weapon. When he came level with Booth he stood back, watching him throw until his hands were empty and the knives all stuck in the tree a ways opposite him. "Nice knives," he said with a grin as the other man turned his way. "Between that and the gun, you're quite a dangerous fellow, aren't you?" The irony in the fact that he himself was presently still sporting a sword of Valyrian steel was not lost on him; but the fact remained the man had helped save him from death by squid, for which Jon was not likely to stop being grateful anytime soon.
He was heading for the tree when the voice came over his shoulder. He glanced back at the familiar voice, smiling at Jon. He yanked the knives free, turning back to face him. "And don't you forget it," He gestured with one of the knives, entirely joking, his grin wide. "You're not so tame yourself, with that giant sword of yours."
Jon reached up to Longclaw's hilt showing over his shoulder. "Oh this old thing?" he quipped, "it's just for show." His tone implied nothing could be further from the truth; and certainly there were few things Jon could imagine feeling more like a part of him than the sword, unless it be his wedding ring or the arrowhead he still wore under his shirt.
"I admit to some surprise at seeing you with those," he went on, gesturing at the knives. "I had thought most would find them archaic when compared with guns, or the tasers we've been given." He paused only a moment on the unfamiliar word, though the twist to his mouth as he said it made it clear neither the word nor the weapon itself sat favorably with him.
Booth chuckled. He knew damn well that Jon could wield that sword like it was an extension of his arm; he'd seen him in action with a damn squid and it was still a sight to see.
Booth shook his head. "For all the technology in all the world, a shank of metal is fast, straightforward, and effective. You don't need ammunition, you don't need to load it, you don't even really need to clean it." Unlike a gun-- enough sand and even the best guns have trouble. Enough sand and a knife is still ready to go.
He glanced down at the blades in his hand, giving one a spin. "Deadly force. And handy as hell."
Booth blinked, his head pulling back a bit. Woah. "Hi." He paused, getting his bearings. The guy was... Bouncy. "Booth. Seeley Booth." He smiled crookedly. "Thanks. Gotta keep up practicing."
"Showoff," Barbara said from about 12 feet behind him, the smile clear in her voice. He was rubbing off on her, it seemed like. She rolled up even with him, and held out her hand. "Best out of three? Winner names their prize."
Her mouth slowly quirked, and she looked up at him expectantly. Knives hadn't ever been her specialty, but it wasn't like she'd actually mind him winning. Besides, she could kick his ass if she wanted (somewhere, she was amused at the turn of phrase - and knew that it'd be close either way.)
He turned at her voice, grinning. "You bet your ass," He said with a smile. He handed over the knives, eyebrows raised. "Names their prize, hmm. Dangerous, B." His eyes twinkled down at her before taking a step aside to let her throw.
"Dangerous makes it interesting," she said, rolling the knife in her hand, testing the balance. "Nice knives." A bit too long for what she needed - she was at a disadvantage. They were sized for Booth, and he had an easy half foot on her when she wasn't on wheels.
Ah, well. Just meant she'd have to do better.
She squinted, and threw, one - two - three - and the best glittered only half-inch off center, the worst almost a foot. Rusty. You'll have to work on it, Barbara.
"Is that an order?" He tossed over his shoulder as he walked up to get the knives, pulling them from the wood with a jerk. Damn. Even if her accuracy wasn't spot on, and from a seated position, she'd managed to sink them well into the wood. He wasn't surprised, per se-- but he was always pleased when Barbara did something so impressive. She continued to knock him off his feet.
He got back to her side, taking up a position to throw. He paused, pulling in a breath with the knife poised over his shoulder. He exhaled and threw, careful and precise. After he was done, he'd nailed the center, and gotten the other two three and five inches from the bull's eye. He smiled, cocky. "You asked for it."
Alain walked along paths that had long since become familiar. Three people where they were used to two had run their supplies low and he was collecting what he could to replenish their stores. He stopped when from some way off he heard a familiar sound.
Coming closer, he rested against a tree off to the side and behind the man, simply watching for a minute or two. He was good. Very good, Alain thought. He had the heir of a sort of gunslinger of his when and where.
"You do that well," he spoke up finally when the man was in no danger of misthrowing for the interruption.
"All things move on when left alone don't they?" he asked. He and Cuthbert worried everyday about not keeping up their training, but they worried also about running out of bullets. Knives, hand-to-hand, craft, and everything else was easy, but their bullets were precious few it seemed, for all the use they were here. "Mind if I watch your technique?"
He nodded. "Exactly. I keep up with my training, but keeping up with marksmanship is another story." He shrugged, shaking his head. "Not at all." He turned back to the target, pulling in a deep breath, aiming, and breathing out as he released, the knife slamming into the target.
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He held the blade carefully, even if he did kind of feel like flipping it at that moment; he didn't want to make her nervous. Or actually hurt her. "Besides, I haven't thrown in a while. I could use the practice."
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Vanessa very much missed normal people. Aside from the UES, it seems like everyone she ran into had some fantastical background.
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"I admit to some surprise at seeing you with those," he went on, gesturing at the knives. "I had thought most would find them archaic when compared with guns, or the tasers we've been given." He paused only a moment on the unfamiliar word, though the twist to his mouth as he said it made it clear neither the word nor the weapon itself sat favorably with him.
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Booth shook his head. "For all the technology in all the world, a shank of metal is fast, straightforward, and effective. You don't need ammunition, you don't need to load it, you don't even really need to clean it." Unlike a gun-- enough sand and even the best guns have trouble. Enough sand and a knife is still ready to go.
He glanced down at the blades in his hand, giving one a spin. "Deadly force. And handy as hell."
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"Army Rangers. And then the FBI." He shrugged. "It's handy."
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Her mouth slowly quirked, and she looked up at him expectantly. Knives hadn't ever been her specialty, but it wasn't like she'd actually mind him winning. Besides, she could kick his ass if she wanted (somewhere, she was amused at the turn of phrase - and knew that it'd be close either way.)
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Ah, well. Just meant she'd have to do better.
She squinted, and threw, one - two - three - and the best glittered only half-inch off center, the worst almost a foot. Rusty. You'll have to work on it, Barbara.
"You're up. Do better."
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He got back to her side, taking up a position to throw. He paused, pulling in a breath with the knife poised over his shoulder. He exhaled and threw, careful and precise. After he was done, he'd nailed the center, and gotten the other two three and five inches from the bull's eye. He smiled, cocky. "You asked for it."
Reply
Coming closer, he rested against a tree off to the side and behind the man, simply watching for a minute or two. He was good. Very good, Alain thought. He had the heir of a sort of gunslinger of his when and where.
"You do that well," he spoke up finally when the man was in no danger of misthrowing for the interruption.
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