Us vs. the Apocalypse
Title: Pro Shooting, Yo
Word Count: 466
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Alright, time to count 'em up!" Mason called. Avery and I looked up from the cleaning of our rifles and rolled our eyes simultaneously.
"Is that really necessary?" I asked.
"I'll have you know that this is a time-honored tradition," Dixon replied, shrugging out of his jacket.
"And a great way to decide who's buying," Keenan added as he did the same. They both tossed their jackets to Mason, who then set himself down in the bed of Dixon's truck, cigarette pinched between his lips. With the sort of meticulous attention to detail you'd never expect from him, he checked every square inch of the jackets for tears or dental impressions - proof of close calls, or "near death experiences" as he liked to call them. I tried not to pay attention as he counted aloud the spots of damage done to Dixon's jacket, but as usual I could feel every number like a knife in my gut, a reminder that I'd almost failed them. Judging by the frustrated, distraught expression on Avery's face, she felt the same way.
"And four!" Mason announced, pushing his fingers through a series of punctures in the fabric of the right shoulder. "Those fuckin' schoolgirls, eh?" he asked, and tossed Dixon's jacket back to him. "Best get that patched, man."
"You know, you could make our job so much easier if you just didn't run into the middle of them," Avery pointed out, her voice low and sullen as Mason set to work on Keenan's jacket.
"Where's the fun in that?" Keenan asked.
"Seriously," Dixon replied, standing up so he could grab a bottle of water from the cooler.
"You're a fine one to talk," I pointed out, jabbing my index finger at Dixon. "You're not even a Hunter."
"Why should he get all the fun?" he defended. "You're not seriously gonna make me sit in the truck all day, are you?"
"Works fine for us," Avery quipped. "And we don't have to worry about -"
"Looks like we've got a tie!" Mason said, holding Keenan's jacket up and shaking the dust and crusted Ollie blood from it. "Four good chomps on this one and... wait a minute." I glanced up in time to see him tugging at the hood, peering closely at the fabric. "The fuck, man, you dousin' cigarettes in this or something?"
"In my jacket? Why the hell would I do that?" Keenan stood up and leaned over the edge of the truck, Dixon following suit. "That's not a cigarette burn," he admonished, jamming his thumb through the large, slightly singed hole. "That looks more like a..."
The three of them turned to look at me at the same time, eyes wide, and my cheeks turned crimson.
"Um..." I mustered a weak smile. "Guess Dix is buying?"
Word Count: 466
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Alright, time to count 'em up!" Mason called. Avery and I looked up from the cleaning of our rifles and rolled our eyes simultaneously.
"Is that really necessary?" I asked.
"I'll have you know that this is a time-honored tradition," Dixon replied, shrugging out of his jacket.
"And a great way to decide who's buying," Keenan added as he did the same. They both tossed their jackets to Mason, who then set himself down in the bed of Dixon's truck, cigarette pinched between his lips. With the sort of meticulous attention to detail you'd never expect from him, he checked every square inch of the jackets for tears or dental impressions - proof of close calls, or "near death experiences" as he liked to call them. I tried not to pay attention as he counted aloud the spots of damage done to Dixon's jacket, but as usual I could feel every number like a knife in my gut, a reminder that I'd almost failed them. Judging by the frustrated, distraught expression on Avery's face, she felt the same way.
"And four!" Mason announced, pushing his fingers through a series of punctures in the fabric of the right shoulder. "Those fuckin' schoolgirls, eh?" he asked, and tossed Dixon's jacket back to him. "Best get that patched, man."
"You know, you could make our job so much easier if you just didn't run into the middle of them," Avery pointed out, her voice low and sullen as Mason set to work on Keenan's jacket.
"Where's the fun in that?" Keenan asked.
"Seriously," Dixon replied, standing up so he could grab a bottle of water from the cooler.
"You're a fine one to talk," I pointed out, jabbing my index finger at Dixon. "You're not even a Hunter."
"Why should he get all the fun?" he defended. "You're not seriously gonna make me sit in the truck all day, are you?"
"Works fine for us," Avery quipped. "And we don't have to worry about -"
"Looks like we've got a tie!" Mason said, holding Keenan's jacket up and shaking the dust and crusted Ollie blood from it. "Four good chomps on this one and... wait a minute." I glanced up in time to see him tugging at the hood, peering closely at the fabric. "The fuck, man, you dousin' cigarettes in this or something?"
"In my jacket? Why the hell would I do that?" Keenan stood up and leaned over the edge of the truck, Dixon following suit. "That's not a cigarette burn," he admonished, jamming his thumb through the large, slightly singed hole. "That looks more like a..."
The three of them turned to look at me at the same time, eyes wide, and my cheeks turned crimson.
"Um..." I mustered a weak smile. "Guess Dix is buying?"