Camp Baron Crematorium

@GIDDY
fit

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There was a perfectly good indoor shooting range over in Hollowstone. Climate controlled, with ear muffs that could be borrowed for free. Real fancy, real comfortable. Dante didn't much care for it, really; it was a little overwhelming. The smell of gunpowder packed inside four walls, strong enough for a werewolf to taste it on the air, the sound of too many guns going off and the twinges of overseas memories that came with it, too many dipshits thinking they were Rambo because they knew how to fire off a dinky little nine millimeter.

Dante preferred something like this, outdoors and hardly popular, where the stands were made of aging wood and the targets were simply propped up on mounds of red dirt. There seemed to only be one other shooter out here, maybe a second one rifling around in their vehicle for all their supplies. It sure beat the shit out of a stall squeezed in among ten others, all packed with bodies. Even the bite of cold air felt almost pleasant, creeping up under the sleeves of his jacket, trying to find a weak spot somewhere in his ungodly mass of hair.

There was a new-to-him handgun in his possession this morning, and he was here to get a feel for it, to test the little sights perched on top of it. Loading the magazine and punching it into the gun, rolling one into the chamber - it was all practically muscle memory. He could do it with his eyes closed. Which, it was for the best that he didn't, because he was already in for an unpleasant surprise.

The first bullet that exploded out of the barrel literally exploded, hitting his target down range and immediately catching it on fire. Dante lowered his gun and watched the blaze with a thin-lipped look of irritation. Only a man so brilliant as himself could accidentally load incendiary rounds into a gun for practice.

A lack of practice had made Gideon question briefly why he’d even bought the damn pea shooter to begin with. A knife worked just fine. Messier, though. That was, as stated, just a brief thought though. He remembered the way the world was changing. Even with kind people like Sienna and Grace that didn’t mean some psycho psychics didn’t exist. Wolves and vamps too. Getting that type of ammo was gonna be a whole other gambit. Black market or dark web kind of shit.

Gideon posted up. He’d only brought a couple cartridges having not expected to be here very long. Ear muffs and goggles in tact. A bomber jacket to wrap the whole old military ensemble together. He brought the irons to his eye level and fired at the target.

He clipped the side of it as he heard the shot ring out.

”Dammit.” He said to himself. He knew he should have practiced before this. To his right another shot rang out. He looked over to the target as it was slowly engulfed by fire. Gideon raised his eyebrow as he turned to the hulking man who’d just fired an incendiary round at a gun range. Not smart.

”Man, you hunting vampires up here?” Gideon asked, completely serious.

Irritation whistled under his skin as the shooter next door remarked on his flaming failure. Although he guessed it wasn't really the sort of thing your average Joe could keep a shut mouth about. "Not much to hunt when the sun's out," he grunted, popping the magazine back out of the gun, watching the target turn black and disintegrate in the heat of the flame. "Why? Need some pointers? Tip number one: pay attention to what you're loading." He shook his head, beginning to roll the bullets back out, seeing now that the box he'd taken them from broadcasted its contents plainly.

"Admittedly," He said, setting his gun down and pointing towards the range. "I'd love some. Not that I wanna harass you for lessons." Gideon turned around completely to face the new range acquaintance. The man was huge and reminiscent of Opie from Sons of Anarchy. Exactly the type of guy you'd stereotypically expect to be in a gun range.

"Where do you even get that kind of ammunition?"

Dante considered the redhead with a fuller glance following his confession. Some sort of self-proclaimed amateur, maybe, who didn't seem exactly offended by the idea of blasting a vampire into ash. Wondered how he felt about the shifty type.

"Hard to come by 'less you're military or a cop," he informed the other, pointedly cryptic. It definitely wasn't the type of good you could scoop up at the local Walmart. He tilted his chin towards the gun in Ginger's possession, the fire smoldering itself to death in their peripherals. "You any good at shooting that thing?"

How old was this dude, he wondered. Twenty... five, maybe. It got harder and harder to gauge the age of people younger than himself as he got older. Everyone might as well be in high school.

Or you knew where to find it. That couldn't be the only way.

"So which are you?" Gideon asked with a smile. He turned back to his gun and picked it up. He looked out to his whiffed shot and shook his head.

"Not yet but that's why I'm out here, right?" He took aim at the target.

Gideon fired once, the bullet cracking from the barrel and took purchase far too left of the target's body. He lowered it again with a sigh.

Which was he? Dante grunted, considering some thread of a half-fib that’d bury any hint of his less savory connections. This kid was definitely a civilian. Maybe some wannabe… vigilante, or otherwise a criminal in the making. It was better that he waved the flag of his own poor marksmanship before Dante could answer.

Despite all the years of gunfire, the crack of a handgun still jarred him when he was not the one holding it, creating a nearly imperceptible jerk of his shoulders as he blinked reflexively. Fuck off, brain. He looked down at the target instead, seeing the missed mark crisply.

"Don’t pull the trigger so hard," he instructed, abandoning his own target practice and stupid bullets without even thinking about it. "Put the target in your sights and breathe deep. When you exhale, squeeze slowly. Keeps everything nice ‘n steady." He waved a hand. Try again, kid.

His lack of accuracy didn’t speak great to the things he aimed to do. The man held his tongue about his darkness, and Gideon would do the same. When things shouldn’t be spoken it was often more obvious than one would expect. Those who actually had something to hide did not tend to give up the ghost that easy. It was a relief though. Seeing as the man did have that sort of terrible ammunition and opted from answering meant that it wouldn’t be impossible for Gideon to find it.

He did listen though. He relaxed his shoulders, too, in an attempt to alleviate pressure on himself.

”Let’s give it a shot.” No pun intended.

Gideon let his finger rest gently on the trigger. He controlled his breathing. Exhaling slowly as pulled.

CRACK

Dead center.

”No shit.” Gideon smiled. ”Thanks for that.”

Another shot, another fierce blink. Dante stared downrange, lightly surprised by the bull's eye blast. "Look at you," he grunted, a modestly-given sort of praise. It was nothing that would make him a champion marksman, probably, but it was a start. There was a whole slew of information out there that could sharpen the man into a proper weapon.

Speaking of weapons. He got back to his own gun, pouring a little more focus into the boxes of bullets in his bag. Be a good idea to grab the right ones for real this time.

"So. Aspiring to hunt vampires for real?" There was an edge of humor to his voice, weighing the pros and cons, unsavory or otherwise. Being a vampire wasn't illegal. Murdering one probably was. But, you know.

It was exhilarating and terrifying how good it felt. To have it kick and then go exactly where he aimed it was a thrill and a feeling of power. He liked that feeling.

Gideon set the gun down again and let the tingling through his hand and arm resonate. He cracked his knuckles.

”I think that might land me in prison. Or a morgue.” He laughed. ”Just looking to defend myself. Especially since;” He flashed Dante his four-fingered hand.

”The supernatural been claiming me a meal.”

The response earned some half-grunt, half-chuckle from Dante. Smart kid. Especially if he wasn't one of those super-powered freaks, just a plain old human man, playing defense was probably his best bet. Not that Dante was particularly going out seeking undead trouble himself, or anything. Usually.

His gaze darted down to the displayed hand, eyebrows rising some at the sight of a missing finger. That sort of thing was usually the cause of a bad day at work in the industrial field, not a vampire. Or. Something else.

"No shit," he huffed, intrigued. "Who took that from ya?"

”You can’t laugh.” Gideon said, laughing. He put his hands in his pocket and positioned himself as if he was about to drop the biggest conversational bomb of all time.

”An otter did.” Gideon stared at him blankly. ”An otter, in the middle of Rice Bluff, bit it clean off while going for my two dollar breakfast sandwich.”

Every time he said it out loud he believed it less himself.

Dante wasn't allowed to laugh, but this guy already was, pocketing his hands. The thing that had taken his finger was... an otter. In the middle of the Bluff. Well, if that didn't fucking scream shifter, what did.

Dante smirked, if not a little wryly.

"Lucky you didn't catch a disease," he chuckled. Though, that was funnier, still; if the kid had been infected, he'd have that finger on his fucking hand. "What a fucking story."

Gideon shook his head. More in disbelief than anything.

”Telling that story to as many people as I have, I still can’t believe it. First real encounter with the supernatural besides seeing some psychics suck at their powers.” He shrugged.

”Even still, I don’t outright want to kill them.” Only the ones that fucked with him and his neighborhood. Like that fucking otter. ”I just wanna make sure they don’t take something bigger from me.”

His first "real" encounter with supernaturals. Besides psychics. Was that what they were called? Fuck if Dante knew. They had a thousand different labels so far as he could tell.

Anyway. The guy's fear only went so far as that same desire for self-defense. So he said, anyway.

Dante nodded his head, looking back down the range at their targets. Or, well, what was left of his, anyway, which was... nothing.

"Well. Recommend taking some skeet-shooting lessons. Get good at blasting moving objects." Which was maybe not all that helpful, really. No vampire would move at the same speed as a clay disk in a pinch.

Gideon even remarked on that.

”I mean it couldn’t hurt but it’s pretty hard to shoot what you can’t see with the naked eye. Can’t shifters and vampires move like jets?”

He was rather sure he was right but the question wasn’t rhetorical. He hadn’t had any of those things confirmed yet if enough people said it it became a lot more true.

Gideon looked over at the smoldering ruins of a target. Would really suck if this dude had to reimburse the owner for that.

”You need to use my booth?”

Like jets. That was a hell of a comparison. Dante shrugged his shoulders, nodded his head. It was, at any rate, a far fucking cry from a paper target tacked to a mound of dirt.

At the offer, he huffed his amusement and shook his head. "Naw. Got a ream of 'em in my bag." He gestured towards the duffel, which did indeed have a few more white-green-black diamond targets, still half-encased in plastic wrap. Actually. Guessed now was as good a time as ever to pull one out and go tack it up. So he did just that, pulling one free with the fluttering flap of moving paper, and stepped out onto the stretch of dirt between the booths and the targets. "If you shoot me, make sure it's right in the back of the head," he said as he walked away. Dark humor at its finest.

What the hell was this guy's deal? Gideon couldn't get a read on him. Stoic military type with knowhow and equipment to deal with the supernatural coupled with his emotionless joke that spoke volumes about how the dude felt about himself. Fucking weird.

Not that he himself was far from it. We all had things haunting us.

"You ever kill one?" He called out as the man set up his new target.

Dante operated with the keen feeling of eyes on his back, or at least his skillful imagination's rendition of such. Staking his shiny new target to the mound of dirt, he laughed to himself under his breath as the kid's question rang out across the field.

"No," he called back, without turning around.

The truth of it was, even as a human, he'd never been much of one to flash the blood on his hands. Only a weak man was a braggart, right?

Target secured, he came wandering back, eyes down on the dirt. When he got closer, it felt more like they were talking about vampires or werewolves and not a trophy bull moose or some shit.

"Damn near been killed by one once or twice, though," he added on, picking up his sidelined magazine to inspect its load one more time.

Gideon looked at him thoughtfully, trying to gauge what the man was giving off. He had mystique. Gideon didn’t exactly believe his words but had no proof of either truth. He tongued his cheek.

”I hear that happens a lot. Imagine having to harm to live, huh?” Right, Gideon?

He picked his gun back up after the man was safely in his booth. Following his advice he took another shot at the target. Nigh the same exact spot. Gideon nodded with a look of impression.

”That’s amazingly consistent.”

Having to harm to live. Huh. Dante grunted in what was more of an acknowledgement than a response. Sure, couldn't blame 'em for that, nature of the beast or whatever. Not like he'd never had to trudge beneath that line. Vampires were something else, though. Eventually, they all twisted up into the same ugly ropes. Creatures who had power over the mind, given the opportunity. He would never trust a single one of them.

Kid fired another shot, and Dante blinked fiercely yet again, gaze bouncing over to the young man and then down range, to his target. Impressive, for sure.

"Damn, kid. You might be a natural after all." He nodded his chin towards the target, clicking the magazine into his own handgun. "Keep it up."

The weight of the gun was still something he wasn’t used to. The kick had left his hands a big tingly and he was a bit more interested in seeing the other man shoot. Not only that, but he didn’t have many bullets to his name. He was getting more curious about the skeet shooting. He wanted to fire at something moving.

Gideon looked over at the man as he clicked his magazine in. ”Its thanks to your advice, I appreciate it.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

”Try not to burn this whole range down, eh?” He smiled jokingly.

A natural, thanks to his advice! Like a little diamond in the rough, kid just had to be dug out and dusted off. A light roasting came quick on the heels of the compliment, and Dante grunted, casting him a look that was equal parts unamused and light-hearted.

"Could just see the headlines now. 'Local man burns down whole state.'" He huffed, rolling one into the chamber and lifting the gun in his hands, arms out. His gaze loped down and out, his whole world narrowing down to three minuscule sights and the green-black diamonds beyond it. He listened to the wind, to the heart and lungs working not five feet beside him, to his own breath scraping slowly into his body.

His own shots did not cause any jumping or blinking. Even the wolf in his head stood still, comfortable with the unnatural weapon as he stroked one, two, five bullets out in smooth succession. It was nothing magical, exactly, but it was at least not a target up in flames. Instead, the center of the target bore three and a half holes in a tight cluster, and Dante sighed some kind of palpable satisfaction for it through his own ringing ears.

On the contrary, Gideon thought it was exactly that.

Magic.

That fractured second of metal leaving chamber seemed to whizz by as the bullet cascaded through its target. The man complimented him but gave no indication to his own skill until now. Which was proven to be at minimum; immaculate. No effort, no thought. It was as if the gun was a third hand. Something he'd always used. This only furthered Gideon's theories onto the strangers backstory. This was no ordinary man.

"That is..." Gideon searched for the words. "Picture fucking perfect, man."

The kid sang high praise, and Dante felt that old brand of cocky pride well in his gut. Yeah, it was fucking perfect. Dante wasn't good at much, and maybe even this wasn't much, being able to blast perfect holes in a defenseless piece of paper. But those holes were perfect, god damn it.

Dante chuckled, breathing quietly. "Military." It was, sort of, a very belated answer to the younger man's earlier question. Even then, it was hardly the whole truth. "Wouldn't recommend it."

Gideon nodded at the answer. Unsurprising. He had that kind of demeanor. One of someone who's seen enough to not care for pleasantries or politeness. To be unburdened by such social normality had to be quite the double edged sword. Or in his case, twin barrels.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He said honestly. Gideon wasn't cut out for it either. Cutthroat or not the young man knew that any form of war wouldn't be his forte. He was better in the shadows.

"Army?" Gideon asked as he began to load his gun once more, preparing to take aim yet again.

Wouldn't dream of war, but was keen to learn how to handle that little pistol. Dante considered him with another sidelong glance, silently curious. What sort of kid was this, he wondered, who seemed so tender-footed and full of purposeful questions. Where had he been, and where was he going. Was he really just a boy who'd been scared into action by the loss of his finger to an otter?

"Marines," he corrected, setting his own emptied gun down on the table. "Just about the same shit, I figure." He shrugged, pulling a soft pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket to light one up.

Gideon side eyed the cigarettes. Could absolutely use one of those but he had his own. Wanted to take another shot first. See how consistent he was.

"Gotcha." He said in acknowledgement to the information. Didn't have a ton to add. He wasn't privy to knowledge on the military and for the most part he didn't care for it. Just some of the tools, maybe.

Gideon took aim again. This time a bit too eager. He fired and hit the target but just barely. It grazed the top of the target and whizzed further into the nowhere behind. Gideon let a 'tsk' escape his lips as he set the gun down.

"I still require a lot of concentration. Breath exercises and a slower pace. Study my target harder." His voice was cold and calculating. It was hard to tell if he was telling this to Dante or himself.

He absorbed the information, useless as it was, and leveled the field with his pistol again. Pop - Dante blinked forcefully, again. His eyes opened downrange to the target, looking at its split upper lip through a veil of smoke. A pretty good miss, and to the side of him, the boy's voice ground out. Some... constructive self-criticism, he guessed.

"Don't overthink it, kid," he grunted, cigarette dancing around from the corner of his mouth. "Just focus, and do it. Over and over again."

He definitely knew what it would require. Practice and practice. Such is the way of things.

"You been using them since before the military?"

Dante weighed the question with a chuckle, nodded his head, responding on another cloud of smoke. "Mhm. I was raised by a bunch of fuckin' rednecks in Oklahoma. I was shooting way too young, probably." Definitely, was more like it, but his parents had never exactly been the epitome of responsibility. It hadn't managed to kill him, at least, for whatever that was worth. "Lots younger than you." He squinted some. "How old are you?"

Gideon laughed at that. He didn't consider all rednecks to be gun toting maniacs but it is a funny thing to hear be reinforced. He looked back towards his gun on the table beside him. It was probably best not to allude to why he'd actually bought the thing.

"I'm twenty six." He said with disdain. Gideon expected this guy to give him hell for his age even more after knowing it. Seemed the type to scoff at any number you said and say something along the lines of "ha, I remember those days" or some shit.

"Yourself?"

Twenty-six. Dante felt some faint flash of embarassment. He had long since reached a point where guessing the age of other people might as well have been a sort of science. Kid could have been flat twenty, for all he knew. Young all the same. He tried to remember where he'd been when he was twenty-six. Iraq, probably. He frowned down at the table beside him, then glanced back towards his companion as the question was turned back to him.

"Thirty-seven, allegedly," he grunted, scratching at the side of his neck. One thing he did know was that when he'd been this kid's age, the concept of pushing the ripe old age of forty had been impossible to grasp. At least he'd been spared the regular human hardships of bad knees and frequent back problems.

Gideon had figured the guy was around there. He didn't look much older than Gideon but certainly enough for the experience he'd claimed to have; and did have. The Oklahoma thing wasn't surprising either. Classic military man, probably hated the newer generations for the things they understood but he didn't. It's cool, even Gideon has a hard time grasping some of it.

'Those same rednecks the ones supplying you with vampire bullets?" Gideon asked coyly. He needed to get ahold of incendiaries. Somehow.

The question earned a grunt of a laugh, Dante's chest and shoulders puffing with amusement. He considered the younger man with something of a raised eyebrow. He didn't see through the question, really - he was not necessarily a man of nuance.

"They fuckin' wish," he huffed, looking back to his bag of organized chaos, before looking back to Gideon. "You wanna try one?"

To his point; who didn't? Vampires seemed to be the cause of a lot of problems nowadays. Having a way to decimate something can decimate you is never a bad feeling.

"Of course." Gideon wanted to have them, really, but knowing what they did was good enough for now. He could drag info on a fence another day. Gideon flipped the safety on his own and set it down then slowly walked over to Dante's stall.

"Those things must cost a pretty penny."

Of course he did. Dante watched the younger man wander closer, and plunged his hand into the bag at his bench, re-producing the pack of incendiary ammunition. It was a simple white box, unmarked, which was probably suspicious in itself, and maybe illegal, but. Here they were, a wolf man and a kid, who both probably didn't give a shit about that.

The remarked earned a sort of scoffing noise. "All the more reason not to use 'em on a paper target."

He plucked a single bullet from the box, and held it out to Gideon in his open palm, hefty brass and green-tipped. "Don't miss."

"Don't plan on it." He said to the burly bear of a man handing him a vampire destroyer. And that's what it was he wanted to use it on. Not on these targets that he could use regular ammo on. This was practice; and this one bullet really could be the difference between being a meal in the middle of town or not.

He walked quickly back to his stall and began to pack up. It seemed that this was a perfect opportunity to consider the day successful.

"And you're right; I shouldn't waste it on paper."

Nobody ever did plan to miss, he wanted to say, but bit it back, watching the boy scuttle back to his stall, and begin to pack up his shit, including the sleeping flame. The addition of his next words earned a hearty, short laugh from Dante. Smart little shit. He decided with quick certainty that he might like the guy, nameless though he was, making a quick departure with his sacred new belonging.

"Don't forget to breathe," Dante grunted as a means of farewell, turning back to his gun, content to be left in peace again.