so this is what you meant when you said that you were spent

[voodooqueer]

There's shit that can kill you in Darrow.

Maybe it ain't quite the same as it was back in Bon Temps, but Lafayette no longer feels like Darrow is a calm reprieve from all the bullshit. The bullshit ain't so personal anymore -- no Eric, no fucking Pam, none of that other crap. No Debbie Pelt, no vampire Tara, no dead lovers. But it still ain't safe.

The creeping realization just pisses Lafayette off, sends him to the gun shops to pick up a handgun, a shotgun, to hardware stores for extra locks for his door, for an axe with a good strong handle. Shit he might need.

He isn't afraid to hold a gun, or to shoot somebody with it, but he's not nearly as good a shot as Jason Stackhouse, and he knows he can do better with practice. He looks up where the local range is, drives out in his shitty hooptie to plunk down his license and cash and head out. The air is pretty bitterly cold, but Lafayette feels it less as he concentrates, hands gripping around the pistol as he aims and fires. Not good enough.

He licks nervously at his lips, drying out in the cold until the start to crack. It's his patience that starts to go, next It isn't like him, to lose his patience, and not keep his cool. The frustration only sends his aim even more down the toilet, and he curses under his breath, ripping the soft mufflers off of his head.

Comments

[voodooqueer]

"My cousin a vampire. Back at home," he says thinly. It's the second time he's admitted to anyone in Darrow that this is the case He wonders why this chick, just some white chick with long blonde hair and a pretty face. Maybe it's that scar of hers, maybe it's her attitude. Maybe it's because she doesn't shrink from approaching a dude she don't know playing with a gun.

"Tara. Partly my fault. If it was less totally fucked the shit up, I actually even say it good for her. Tempted to say so anyway." Laughing it off in deep, breathy chuckles, Lafayette shakes his head, the long earring in one ear tinkling softly on the otherwise empty firing range.

"Relax, huh? Been a long time since I did that, without a blunt 'tween my lips. Or whatever else. You get the idea, I bet. I ain't need to spell it out for you. Sayin' I just need to relax ... a whole lot easier than actually gettin' it done."

[uncannyaim]

Andrea's not a particularly curious person, she's never had to have all the details about how something works, as long as it does work, but when it comes to people, she always wants to know more. She wants to know more without having to supply any information of her own, which isn't fair and so she doesn't ask the things she wants to. Maybe he'll tell her, maybe he won't. Maybe in time, if she gets to know him better, she'll be able to ask more about his cousin.

Before Spike, it probably wouldn't have interested her as much, but now that he's around, she likes learning the nuances of things she never used to understand.

At his next comment, she gives a snort of laughter, then shakes her head. "I mostly just mean make sure you're not holding all your muscles so tight," she says, still grinning. "And I don't think I'm supposed to advocate getting high before coming to the gun range as a teacher, but anything else... I mean, hey, if it works," she teases.

[voodooqueer]

"That a good way to look at things," Lafayette says, relaxing a little at the sound of her laughter. If she can laugh at shit like that, he figures, she an alright lady.

"Least, that's how I always felt. Whatever you gotta do to deal. You wanna go to church every Sunday, fine you wanna go to the gun range and shoot shit, fine. You wanna go home and stand nekkid in front of your fridge and eat your feelings out of an ice cream container, that fine too. And it's all a hell of a lot cheaper than a lifetime of Xanax and a shrink bill."

He snorts. "Different strokes for different folks," he says, turning to aim at the target again, trying to take her advice. Relax your muscles. Slow your breath. Just worry about the target. Don't worry 'bout work, or Sook, or everything at home in Bon fucking Temps. Just worry about how good it'll feel. To hit that target head on.

He pulls the trigger and lets it fly.

[uncannyaim]

There are people she has to really teach, people she has to stand beside and watch every gesture and so she studies Lafayette as he prepares to shoot again and she can tell right away he's not one of those. "Feels better, doesn't it?" she asks after he's taken the shot, a grin curving her lips before she holsters her pistol again. Then she lifts her rifle and sets it comfortably in the hollow of her shoulder as she moves into position at the next target. She looks down the sights and lets out a breath as she squeezes the trigger, the shot hitting dead centre.

There's nothing in the world she's as good at as she is shooting. And there's nothing in the world that makes her feel quite so good.

"I guess you can tell which one of those relaxing situations I'd go for," she says, grinning at him over her shoulder.