This is my rifle, this is my gun

[notvaljean]

Jean misses hot showers.

He misses a lot of things about the world that was--the Internet, getting enough to eat, being warm, washers and dryers, safety--but mostly he misses hot showers. He's pretty sure, sometimes, that he would give his right arm to be able to stand under a steady, pounding shower stream, turned up to almost scalding, and to actually get clean for once. He supposes, though, that hot showers have gone the way of the dinosaurs and worries about global warming, and there's no point in bemoaning their extinction.

He can't help the little indulgence of splashing some cool water on his face every morning, though. It's a simple routine, one that once involved cleansers, gel masks, toners, a fancy electric razor that was serious overkill for the amount of beard he can actually grow, and aftershave by Ralph Lauren, but it makes him feel connected to who he used to be. The same way the shirt he shrugs into--an oversized button down that once belonged to a much taller man, with sleeves so long he has to fold them up to his elbows--makes him feel a little better. He's lost the tie he used to wear around his head, but he still slips his long-dead iPhone into his filthy jeans pocket as he moves out onto the compound to start his day. He knows the others think he's crazy for continuing to carry the phone, months after its batteries gave their final gasp, but there's a picture of his mom buried in its electronic memory, and he can't let it go quite yet.

He walks out into the field behind the compound, his eyes narrowed against the early morning light, looking for a certain big, bulky figure. He's loathe to ask this, but it's probably time. It was sheer dumb luck that got him through Chicago unscathed--dumb luck and years of fencing lessons--but he might not get that lucky again. There aren't crowds of slow, panicking people to distract the walkers anymore; he might have a harder time slipping through if he ever got separated from the group. And he can't walk in someone else's shadow forever.

It doesn't take him long to find Reiner, and Jean slides up next to him, clearing his throat to get his attention. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"

Comments

[warrioreidlos]

It is nothing he wasn't already planning to do, so agreeing to Jean's request comes rather easily to Reiner. They honestly don't have that many different types of guns when you get right down to it. When you had to get by on the types of guns that could be scavenges from the homes of small town USA, there were only so many different ones that were used.

"Sure. It's right here." He repeated the gesture of switching the safety off and on again, before glancing at Jean. "Wanna hold it? It's heavier than you might expect."

[notvaljean]

It might be Small Town USA, but it's Redneck Small Town USA, and Jean has been frankly amazed and a little appalled at the sheer numbers and varieties of guns they've come across. It seems like a mind-boggling variety to him, and he thinks it'll take him a long time to learn about all of them.

His eyes go wide when Reiner offers him the gun, though, and he tentatively holds out both hands. "Can I?"

[warrioreidlos]

How different their perspectives are. Reiner's own hometown was not much different from these little villages, except higher up in the mountains. To his eyes, this is a rather normal amount of guns they have encountered.

"S'what we are here for, right?" His voice is warm with gruff affection as he carefully transfers over the gun to Jean's hands. "Remember, keep you finger off the trigger. Tell me when you've got a good hold on it so I can let go."

[notvaljean]

Jean takes the gun gingerly, more letting it rest on his palms than actually holding it. He stares at it for a few moments, then nods to Reiner.

"Okay, I've got it." It's definitely heavier than it looks, and Jean doesn't like it. He comes from a household of liberals, and this just feels creepy, redneckish, and wrong. He balances the gun on the flat of one hand, and points at a part of it. "That's the safety?"

[warrioreidlos]

With Jean saying he's got it, Reiner slowly pulls his hands back, making sure Jean actually got a hold on it, before he lets go completely. He gives a short nod when Jean indicates the safety. "That's it. Right now it's on. If you slide it down, the gun will go live."

[notvaljean]

“Okay.” Reassured that the gun isn’t going to go off, Jean carefully moves it in his hands until he’s holding it the right way. He remembers what Reiner said and has it pointed to the side, the nozzle aimed at the ground. “Am I holding it the right way?”

[warrioreidlos]

"Yeah, you are doing good." To be honest, Reiner would immediately jump in if Jean were to manhandle the gun. As it stand though, as long as Jean doesn't do anything actively dangerous, Reiner is content to let him try. He knows that Jean is nervous, but there is nothing wrong with having a bit of nerves. It'll help him remember to respect the gun he is handling and not do anything stupid and cocky.

[notvaljean]

"Okay." Jean just holds the gun for a few moments, feeling its weight and heft, and then lifts it, pointing it towards the open field on the side of the compound. "You look down the top of it to aim, right?"

[warrioreidlos]

"Yeah." Reiner reaches over, carefully touching the front and back sights on top of the barrel. "Try and line up your line of sight along these two when aiming."

[notvaljean]

Jean lifts the gun and looks down the sights, trying to line them up on a tree in the distance. "Is it easy to hit a walker with one of these?"

Reiner and Bertolt make it look really easy.

[warrioreidlos]

"If you got the practice and an advantageous position, yeah." Reiner drums his fingers against his thigh, letting the conversation lapse into silence for a few moments. When he starts talking again it is slow, as if he is thinking something over. "S'easier than people in some ways." Not... that he has ever shot a human, nope, what would give you that idea, what is he, some sort of soldier? "They don't think or learn. They are singleminded so they are easy to predict. As long as you don't panic or run out of ammo, you can beat them."

[notvaljean]

Don't think Jean didn't pick up on that, Reiner! He lowers the gun and turns to look at him, his eyebrows lifted and more than a little shocked. "Did you ever... shoot a person?"

He sounds surprisingly sympathetic. He had to do some things he wasn't proud of to get out of the city, and he can relate.

[warrioreidlos]

"We were... we were guards--" It is the best lie he can come up with as it stands. He knows the others must be rather curious where Bertolt and him had learned all they had, and it seems like it is only luck that nobody has made the jump yet from their skills with weapons to the idea of them being soldiers. Though when they will-- Reiner can't deal with thinking about that. They'd deserve the punishment, he knows they do. All of this is their fault, after all. But he still, selfishly, wants to spare Bertolt from that.

"It's... sometimes we had to do things for our job that I am not proud of." Now there is an understatement if he ever told one.

[notvaljean]

Jean, fortunately, is willing to accept that explanation. He wonders, briefly, what exactly Reiner and Bertolt were guarding that required them to shoot people, but he isn't going to ask. At this point, he doesn't really care.

He watches Reiner for a moment, then bends over and very carefully puts the gun on the ground. Then he comes up to the big man and puts a hand on his shoulder. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

[warrioreidlos]

Reiner glances to the side, looking at Jean. The kid wouldn't be offering him this level of comfort if he really knew what he had done. He knows Jean has lost loved ones when the dead rose, people he will never see. He knows Jean lost a future when the walkers came, forcing him to suddenly handle a life he would've never wanted. If Jean knew he was responsible for bringing back the dead, he certainly wouldn't be patting him on the shoulder.

But even against his better judgement he drinks in the comfort. It's not really meant for him, just for the person Jean thinks he is, but it is still a human touch and some comfort. Only Bertolt has been able to give him that, but Bertolt is just one person. And Reiner has always been too much of an extrovert to depend on the affection and attention of just one person.

Reaching up, he rests a hand against Jean's head, still for a moment, before he ruffles his hair. "Don't worry about it. We all just have to keep going, right?"

[notvaljean]

Jean ducks away from having his hair ruffled, although he lets it go on for slightly longer than he would have normally. It's not like he has any gel or styling products left anyway.

"Yeah. Yeah, we do." He bends down and picks up the gun again, holding it a little more naturally this time. "Okay, so how do I shoot it?"