etrayalogs | December Library Catch-All [ OPEN ]

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December Library Catch-All [ OPEN ]

WHO: John, Harold, and anyone who might find themselves at the Library
WHEN: December
WHERE: The Library!
WHAT: The Library is here and open to all! Come borrow books, find a comfy chair to relax in, or snoop around.
NOTES\WARNINGS: Will be added as they come up

The Library is a five-story neoclassical building of terra cotta, brick, and stone. And the inside is, in fact, a library! And rather clean and organized too. There's no dust, no muddy footprints (apart from your own), and all the shelves are organized by Dewey Decimal, subject, and author. All literature is something you might find in a 2010 New York City library: various forms of fiction, children's and teens' sections, history, science, cooking, gardening, the list goes on. There's even small sections of audiobooks on compact disks and of DVDs ranging from old classics to history shows. The first floor has a reading/study room, a comfortable space with deep armchairs and tables with chairs; the fifth floor has some smaller tables clustered under a skylight. Part of the second floor is abruptly closed off by a door with a biometric scanner that denies entry to anyone who isn't John Reese or Harold Finch; the walls surrounding this section are soundproofed, so even a keen listener won't hear anything from inside. Otherwise, it's a perfectly normal library!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ "The Blade of Frontiers" and "the Fury of Avernus" sound like such grand titles. Are they friends? Her smile seems to indicate they might be, especially if they were companions. Went on adventures, the stuff out of tales. Maybe she wants to talk about them, remember them. ]

What are they like?

[ He's been alone for so long, or— he has Harold. Harold who is constantly in his ear, Harold who gave him a loft, Harold who orders a constant stream of suits for him. So no, he's not alone any longer, even if struggles to put a proper word to what Harold is to him. ]

Looking for thrilling tales of our heroics? [Her smile turns wry.] There's not much to say, really. [There is, of course. And if they succeed in saving the Sword Coast, and if they survive, she's sure Wyll will pen a flowery memoir detailing the Blade's adventures, but there isn't much she wants to say. Not to someone who's still a relative stranger. Not about her friends.]

They were my traveling companions by circumstance, rather than choice, but some of us did grow... close, in our time together. Some of them are good people, the best I've ever known. Some of them are quite the opposite. But each of them is exactly the sort of person I'd want on my side in a fight.

[ John choses to take that as her not wanting to talk about them. That's fine, he wouldn't want to talk about Harold. They can drop the topic, especially since the shooting range is in sight. ]

Having people you can trust in a fight is important. [ Especially if she does a lot of it, which it sounds like she might. ] That's the shooting range up ahead. Before we get set up with protective gear I can show you the different parts of a gun. Once I start shooting we'll need to wear hearing protection, so I'll explain things before that.

I'm not entirely a stranger to ballistic weaponry. I've handled bows and crossbows before, after all.

[There's a flutter of annoyance — even worse, of trepidation — at the reminder that there are an awful lot of things in this world that she doesn't understand, and there are so many people who have an advantage over her because of it. And one of those things is guns. So she attempts — with minimal success, as she's never been particularly good at hiding her emotions — to project an air of confidence she doesn't feel as they enter the shooting range.]

[ Bows and crossbows are nothing next to a gun and hold little to no semblance, so that gives John a good idea of where to start. He's paying enough attention to notice that she's not very comfortable as they approach, but doesn't know her well enough to know why. Better not to pry, for now. John gives Bear a command to go play as they walk inside and he goes to do just that, staying outside with his new dog friend.

It's thankfully warm inside the shooting range so John takes off his coat and folds it over the back of a chair in the entryway before moving into the main area. Thankfully there's a table where he can field strip his gun and he does so quickly, laying all the components out for Shadowheart to see. ]

How much would you like me to explain?

[ Better to pose the question than offend, either by going over things she already knows or making her feel like she doesn't know what he's asking. ]

[Scratch dashes off after Bear, barking happily, as Shadowheart follows John into the building. Unlike him, she makes no effort to make herself more comfortable, removing none of her armour and leaving her spear strapped to her back.

The precise workings of the gun are lost on her, but she watches John disassemble it closely. She isn't watching the gun so much as she's watching him: the ease with which he moves, his familiarity with the weapon. Though she wants to understand the gun, she's even more keen to understand John.]

As much as you like. Consider me your eager pupil.

[ He'll take that to mean he has permission to start with the basics. John starts by prying a bullet from the magazine and holding it up for her to see, indicating various points on it as he talks. ]

The purpose of a gun is to make this bullet shoot out really fast. It does so by causing an explosion behind the bullet, which forces it out of the barrel at high speeds. What we refer to as a "bullet" is really a cartridge that has three main components: the bullet, propellant, and primer. The case holds all of these together. To fire the bullet the primer in the back is ignited, which causes the propellant to combust, which causes high enough pressure to force the bullet to separate from the case and fly outward. In this case, since the cartridge is inside the barrel of the gun, the bullet flies wherever the barrel is facing. Does that make sense so far?

[ John is clearly as comfortable and familiar with the subject as he was with his gun. ]

[Shadowheart can tell almost immediately that she won't be remembering the details of this. And that's alright. She wants to understand it well enough that no one will be able to surprise her with one or get a leg up on her by knowing how they work, but the precise mechanics aren't terribly important to her.

Her eyes follow John's fingers as he points at various parts of the bullet. This level of knowledge is beyond the average thug or hired muscle. Shadowheart herself couldn't pull any weapon apart and name its various parts and describe how it works the way John can. This level of knowledge is that of a professional, someone experienced and capable. Someone who takes it very seriously.]

An explosion makes this thing— [She reaches out and taps the bullet.] —shoot towards a target. Easy enough, so far.

[ John does take guns very seriously, both professionally and as a hobby. He has precious few of those, but he does enjoy a good firearm.

He puts the bullet down and gestures to the parts of the gun he's taken apart, picking them for her to see as he explains. ~~And this is where I start skimming the explanation.~~ ]

The gun itself has three purposes: aiming the bullet, igniting the primer, and ejecting the casing. The barrel is what's used to direct the bullet; wherever you point is where it fires. The trigger is what releases the firing pin, which strikes the primer and ignites it. And then this mechanism is what ejects the spent casing so another bullet can be fired.

[Once again, the specific mechanical details go over her head, but once again she's not terribly worried about it. She understands the basics, and she's gaining a better understanding of John.

She reaches for the gun, running her finger across the trigger curiously.]

Pulling this little lever causes the bullet to shoot in the direction the gun is pointed. And the part of the bullet that isn't shot falls out.

[That's the bare-bones gist of it, anyway. Good enough for her purposes.]

And here I thought it would be complicated. You're quite the good teacher, John.

[She puts a finger on the gun's grip and spins it so it's facing John, an invitation for him to pick it up. The gesture is meant to be smooth and charming; in reality, she can't spin the gun that smoothly and the whole thing ends up being just a little awkward.]

When do I get to watch you use it?

[ Clearly that's sufficient for Shadowheart so John forgoes any further explanation. Unless she wanted to get into the details of the firing mechanism, there's not much more to grasp. He might be interested in guns but he's well aware most people don't share his hobby. Regardless of the awkwardness of her gun handling he understands the angle she was going for and gives a smile as he efficiently reassembles his gun. ]

Now, in fact.

[ Gun put back together, he fetches two pairs of hearing protection headphones and holds one out to her. ]

Guns are loud, so we use hearing protection in the shooting range. Not a luxury we can afford in the field, but there's no reason to ruin your hearing in here. Once you have that on we can communicate by hand signal and I'll give you a demonstration. When I'm shooting make sure to give me enough room. You can stand behind me or in a neighboring lane.

[Shadowheart dubiously accepts the headphones from him and turns them over in her hands a couple times, eyeing the strange things before slipping them over her ears. Even if she's never encountered anything like them before, how to wear them is easy enough to deduce.

She runs her fingers around the outside of the headphones to find the tips of her pointed ears sticking out.]

Not designed with elves in mind, I see.

[ John frowns at that, slightly. He's a stickler for gun safety and doesn't want to fire his weapon unless she has proper ear protection. ]

How's the muffling? How well can you hear me?

A voice like yours? I'd be able to hear it anywhere.

[Yes, she's attempting to flirt. But she can hear him through the headphones. She has quite good hearing, regardless, but if these things are truly meant to block out all sound, the shape of her ears may indeed be a problem.

Well, if he's going to be insistent about it...]

I can cast silence, if it's that important to you. [She doesn't like to waste magic, but one spell won't hurt.]

[ She does get a smile at the attempted flirt, he does know what she's doing and appreciates the effort, but unfortunately for Shadowheart gun safety is very important to him. ]

I'm assuming that will make things silent? I won't fire my gun unless I'm confident you have proper hearing protection.

Completely. It conjures a sphere of perfect silence that not even your voice could break through. Quite handy, really.

[Her head tilts to the side as she gives him a smile.]

For all sorts of circumstances.

[It's not that she doesn't take this seriously; she certainly doesn't want to damage her hearing, if guns truly are as loud as all that. But if it is only a matter of sound, she's not worried. Silence will more than suffice.]

Come on, show me where you want to shoot that thing, and I'll show you how magic works.

[ He's going to have to accept that he's just going to have to trust her on this. Magic will always be a thing he doesn't understand, to some extent. He motions with his head in the direction of the gallery and heads that way. All the lanes are open so he picks one, gesturing to the target at the end of the gallery. ]

Set up is simple. You stand in your lane and shoot the target at the end. If you stand a bit behind my shoulder that'll be a good angle.

Solid as a rock, aren't you? As a healer, I can assure you that the occasional smile won't harm you.

[Someone who won't respond in kind to her — admittedly sometimes clumsy — flirting is better than someone who's stupidly cavalier with dangerous things, at least.

As she stands behind him, she drags her fingers through the air, drawing on strands of the Weave for power. A soft violet glow starts at the tips of her fingers and runs up her hands, and for a moment her eyes glow with it too as she murmurs the words of the spell. Briefly, in the glow that surrounds her, the holy symbol of Selûne — two eyes surrounded by seven stars — burns itself into the air in front of her, and then it dissipates, along with all the rest of the light.

Every bit of ambient sound is suddenly gone, as they're encased in a sphere of perfect silence. Nothing at all will be audible to them until she drops the spell or its time runs out.]

[ He gives a reflexive smile at her comment; it's unpracticed and feels as awkward as it looks. John is— caught off guard by that comment. Most of the time he doesn't have conversations long enough for people to judge his stoicism, and Harold and Shaw don't seem to mind. Expressing emotion is... not his strong suit. It's a thing he purposefully avoids examining. He doesn't smile often because... he just doesn't. He knows how to, he does smile sometimes, it's just... he was starting to feel a bit comfortable around her, starting to feel like maybe he didn't have to plaster his fake smiles on for her entertainment. He'll probably think back on this exchange when he wakes in the middle of the night and can't escape himself any longer. For now he just pushes it from his mind, focuses on what's happening around him.

He watches the magic carefully. Of course, it's completely foreign, but he makes a note of the process. It's not instant, it takes time, and the result is undeniable. He doesn't feel the need to test it, the effect is instantly obvious. Instead John just nods and turns towards the paper set up at the end of the lane. It's natural, automatic, bringing his gun up, firing at the outline in the distance. How many times did he do this in training? How many times has he done it on live targets since? But contrary to his training where he aimed for the head or chest, this time he aims for the shoulders. If the targets had them, he'd aim for the knees. It's purposeful; he doesn't shoot to kill these days. Harold doesn't want unnecessary death and John is relieved to comply; he's killed so many people, so many that's it's impossible to say there weren't innocents, a debt to the world he will never repay. So after the clip is empty the paper target at the end of the lane is riddled with shots clustered around the shoulders, vitals completely clean. A job well done.

John puts the safety on, holsters the gun, and turns to face Shadowheart, see what she thinks of the demonstration. He's not smiling but there's somewhat of a lightness to his face, especially in his eyes; he likes having an excuse to fire his gun. He misses it. ]

[She watches that smile of his. Making conversation has never come easily to her; she has neither Wyll's effortless charm and practiced manners, nor Karlach's exuberant likability, nor Minthara's magnetic confidence. A product of her upbringing, no doubt. Mother might have taught her perfect elocution, such that she can pass for highborn, but there are some things that cannot be instilled with a lesson plan and a rod. Wyll grew up rubbing elbows with aristocrats, Karlach singing shanties in dockside taverns, and Minthara navigating the endless deadly subtleties of drow society. Shadowheart grew up alone, in the dark.

Reading people, though. That is a skill she must have learned early, and practiced often. She picks up the faint strain in John's face, the way his lips curve, or don't quite, the awkwardness of it all. He doesn't smile often, and she gets the sense that he isn't truly smiling now.

But he is clearly enjoying himself, once he makes his demonstration. And he's good at it. A warrior wielding his weapon of choice, if she's ever seen one. It's curious that he puts holes in the shoulders of the target rather than the head or heart, but she can tell it was an intentional choice rather than the result of poor aim.

She drops the spell so they can speak.]

Why the shoulders?

My partner doesn't like needless violence or death. I mostly go for kneecaps these days but they don't make targets with lower torsos.

[ There's a small hesitance at the word "partner". He almost said "employer" but Harold had insisted from day one of being here that he refused to have such a distant relationship with John. There is nothing distant between them, no matter how little he knows of Harold, no matter how they dance around each other just beyond arm's reach. Harold wants to be known as partners, so that's what John says, whatever implications it carries, whatever that says about him. And he purposefully doesn't mention how every bullet that goes in a kneecap instead of a head is a small blessing; he will never walk in the light again but it's a relief that Harold has asked him to do better, to be better. ]

You can still do quite a bit of damage with a shot to the shoulder. If you hit the wrong spot, your target might bleed to death. They could lose the function of their arm, or simply be in pain for the rest of their life. Especially if the bolt— the bullet— shatters a bone or hits the shoulder joint.

[She says it flippantly, like it's merely a piece of trivia. Which it mostly is. She's not here to make judgments.

It is... nice, though, in a way she finds odd, that he tries to avoid outright killing. She can't say she's ever made such an effort, and in a world of devils and mind flayers and monstrosities, and all other manner of creatures constantly trying to kill her, she doubts such an effort would prove fruitful. But she's trying to do better, too, in the ways she can.]

Avoiding killing is a luxury few can afford, and fewer still even bother to try. You say you're not the heroic type, and yet you make the effort.

[ All those things are true. Still, it's a simple equation and it doesn't keep him up at night. He's been shooting guns long enough that it doesn't bother him seeing the various goons and ne'er-do-wells end up in the hospital. ]

Better the hospital than the morgue. And trying not to kill people is hardly heroic.

[ He has been called heroic before, for other things. Usually things that involve killing. But when they save a number, when that person looks him in the eyes and thanks him for their life— he doesn't feel like a hero, not really, but he feels a bit lighter. ]

[She looks at him curiously.]

What would you call it, then?

[ What would he call it? Paying his dues. Salvation, maybe. All the people the CIA had him bury just because, all the bullets and the bodies that were unidentifiable if they were ever discovered. And then Harold, who asks him to do better, asks him to be better than that. He's never even told Harold, at least not so much, and he's not going to say so now, not to someone who is practically a stranger, even if he's trying to secure an ally. Instead he just shrugs with one shoulder, a brief gesture. ]

Doing my job.

December Library Catch-All [ OPEN ]

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i actually don't know much about guns so if any of this is wrong... yolo

me either so if there any errors I definitely won't be noticing them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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cw: implication of child abuse

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