two weeks to live {Able}

[Jan]

The rifle snapped as Jahel cocked it into place. His hands found the trigger and pulled; the heavy barrel leapt back at his shoulder but he easily kept it in place, resulting in a clean, clear shot. The bullet tore through the can, lifting it off of the fence it balanced on, and the empty aluminum clattered to the ground.

Victorious, Jahel let out a satisfied snort. Still keeping the cigarette trapped between his teeth Jahel breathed the smoke from his lungs in a long exhale. As he straightened and relaxed, it seemed almost as though the stream of smoke was not from the cigarette between his lips, but rather a release of pressure – like a train letting out its steam - purely from the effort of maintaining such a formidable body; for though many things could be used to describe him, subtlety was not one of them. He was tall and well-built; his head was broad and held up high. His hair was bright and ostentatious in its length, and when he spoke it was with a deep, strong tone. The young (female) cadet that stood next to him was simply dwarfed – not only in height, but in presence. There were some rooms that Jahel could fill single-handedly, after all.

As soon as the can had gone through its final throes (bouncing and rolling to a halt) the young cadet’s brown eyes quickly flitted up to his face. He did not return her gaze until he’d gone through another cycle of his smoking habit: one breath in – one breath out. When he did, Jahel saw her eyes light up and her face blush harder than a hammer on a nail.

He smiled at her.

“If you would be so kind,” he said.

The girl instantly stood rapt at attention. Her heels clicked together and her fist met her chest, a common sign of respect within the ranks of Sideris military. She let out a small sound that Jahel could only assume was a “sir” and dashed off to replace the aluminum can he had just shot through.
When she was done he returned to his side. Jahel made sure to have his eyes linger on her just a second more than was necessary.

The rifle lifted up to his shoulder. He looked down its sights. A second passed, but Jahel did not fire; instead, he began to speak. His voice was almost lazy sounding – it had only the slightest twang to it, like a light sprinkling of a slow southern drawl. “You know,” he began: “I knew a man called Ashton back at Howe.” He gestured to the punctured can on the ground. “I pretended that was him.”

BANG

The rifle fired; another can crumpled as it was shot through. Jahel let out another stream of smoke. “He was a thief and a liar,” he went on - his scarred lips lifting to show sharp canines. “Like they usually are down at Howe. It’s people like them that we need less of, and there’s nothing like teaching a man not to murder than killin’ them.”
Jahel paused suddenly. His eyebrows lifted and he glanced briefly skyward as though in idle thought. “…Defense of the nation is a funny thing, isn’t it?” he mused.

His lips pouted, teeth still clamped around the cigarette. “Huh,” he muttered.

Then he shrugged, and fired.

BANG

The can was shot off its perch, it too bearing the scars of gunfire.

[Fyre]

Though this Fossgate engineer could usually be found at a work table, he enjoyed spending time outside as well. On quieter, clear days he would usually go for a walk or a ride on his horse. With his bridle needing repairs though, a walk was all he could do.

Donning his usual apparel and his bowler, Able went and did whatever daily chores he had then left for a walk. As usual, his three legged bully was trailing behind him. May as well take the troublesome pooch with him, or else face a very annoyed neighbor once again. Plus the sight of the animal sometimes made would-be thieves back off. Saving Able a few silvers in bullets.

Not that Able himself looks like a weakling. As an engineer he is built for heavy lifting and hard work. He’s a strong and sturdy guy with a scrapper’s look to him. Weaponless, he could definitely hold himself in a one on one fight. Though if another joined in, he always had his revolver. Just holding it up was a decent method of crowd control- and he always kept it on him. Just in case.

Able let his mind wander off to different thoughts as he walked, only to have them interrupted by the crack of a rifle. His dog, used to hearing Able’s revolver, only cocked it’s head in curiosity. “Hmmm?” was the sound Able made to himself, curiosity taking hold of him. Someone was apparently hunting, or practicing. Able would have also assumed a fight, but there was no immediate gunfire after the first bang. So it had to be one of the first two. If not, then that meant the person holding the gun was deadly accurate.

Able would find out soon enough, and just in case he had his hand resting close to his revolver.

Two people came into view, though Able couldn’t make out a thing they were saying. He watched closely as the smaller person, a woman, put her fist to her chest. Military personnel? Not that he was shocked. After all soldiers could be seen everywhere in the capital, and quite a few could be found in his hometown of Fossgate. Like these two.

By the time the rifle was fired again, Able was quite close to the two and he could make out what was being said. He listened quietly as he walked, eventually the taller person shot again after he spoke. Able had to admit, nice shot. Well at least the military had that going for them, they could be a pretty accurate lot. Whereas Able was far from accurate, he made up for it by being a quick shot. His reasoning for preferring the smaller revolvers over the heavier shotguns and rifles.

Able watched as the can hit the ground, focusing on it for only a second before turning his attention to the two soldiers. He also made sure to keep his hand away from his revolver right now. The last thing he needed was to get arrested for something silly. Knowing his luck they would assume that his intent was to shoot them, if he had kept his hand there.

“Nice shot.” he gave a polite comment about the man’s shooting skills, which was shortly followed by him tipping his hat.