Chapter 93
Practice target shooting with Snapshot: 9 Votes
As the Gang began to split up and tackle whatever they felt like doing for the day, Kestrel decided that it would be good to just work on her fundamentals in preparation for the inevitable shootout that was to come tomorrow. So, after making sure her revolvers were spotless and her bandolier was filled with ammunition, Kestrel grabbed several old bottles of whiskey, gin, and beer lying around the camp and placed them into a crate. Then, placing that crate on her back between her wings, Kestrel made her way through the camp, glass jingling on her back, until she found Snapshot leaning against a tree, peering through the copse between the camp and the road, ever vigilant for any signs of trouble.
“See anythin’?” Kestrel asked, walking up to Snapshot’s side. She peered through the trees to the road but didn’t spot any movement. “Looks dead to me.”
“It has been,” Snapshot answered her. Kestrel knew better than to expect anything more from the stallion of little words, so she instead tried to read his body language to glean any more clues from him. He didn’t seem on edge or bothered, so it likely meant that he was just bored or relaxed, and not actually suspicious of any activity.
“Well, that’s good,” Kestrel said. She shook her hindquarters to give the crate of bottles on her back a little shake, the jingle of glass managing to turn Snapshot’s ear and get him to look at her. “I was thinkin’ of passin’ the day doin’ some shootin’,” Kestrel said. “Practice the fundamentals a bit. Just gotta be ready for tomorrow, y’know? Ain’t done much shootin’ since leavin’ Rock Ridge.” She pointed a wing toward Snapshot’s rifle, leaning against the tree by his side. “If you’re goin’ with Trixie and Rough, I figured you might want to shoot some as well.”
It took a few seconds, but Snapshot finally nodded and picked up his rifle in his magic. “By the lake?” he asked, head cocked back in the direction of camp.
“Probably for the best, so we ain’t gonna shoot nopony,” Kestrel said. “C’mon, let’s get goin’.”
Having successfully looped the Gang’s distant shootist along for some target practice, Kestrel led Snapshot toward the lake, passing through the camp and nodding to the ponies there so they knew that the gunfire they were about to hear wasn’t coming from an attack on the camp. The two gunslingers made their way around the right side of the lake, opposite from where Kestrel saw Tumbleweed fishing on the distant sore, and started setting up the bottles at about shoulder height on a fallen tree down by the shore.
“So here’s a question for you, Snapshot,” Kestrel started as they set up the bottles, trying to get a conversation going between them. “How’d you get so good at shootin’? Obviously, seems like it was in your name and such…” When Snapshot only raised an eyebrow at her, Kestrel rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Snap, this ain’t no interrogation. Just tryin’ to strike up some friendly banter.”
“Banter isn’t one of my strong suits,” Snapshot simply stated.
“Yeah, and you been with us for four years now, so I think it’s ‘bout time you managed to open up a little.” Kestrel set up the last of the bottles, tossed the crate aside, and started counting out paces away from the log to set a distance. She stopped at ten, Snapshot matching her stride for stride, and turned around to pull out her revolver. “You talk so little I ain’t ever knowin’ what’s goin’ on in that head o’ yours.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Snapshot remarked. “There are two kinds of ponies in the world: those who talk too much and have nothing to say, and those who talk little and value their words.”
Kestrel (8) and Snapshot (9) use Gunslinger to shoot at the first pair of bottles: Success, Critical Fail
The two gunslingers drew their weapons and attempted to hit the first target from ten paces away, with Kestrel’s smoking revolver shattering the first gin bottle with ease. Snapshot, however, frowned as his revolver spewed a shower of sparks out of the barrel. “Bullet must not have been seated right,” he said, working the hammer and readying the next round. The second bullet flew true and shattered the bottle at his end of the fallen tree, and Kestrel smirked as Snapshot opened the revolver to clear out the dud round.
“I’ll count it as one to two,” she said. “Fewest shots to clear their bottles wins.”
“I dislike revolvers,” Snapshot said. “Rifles are more accurate. Precision versus a revolver’s unrefined punch.”
“Ain’t nopony makin’ you use it,” Kestrel said.
“If I used my rifle, this wouldn’t be a fair competition.”
“If you say so, Snapshot.” The two ponies backed up ten more paces, bringing the range to twenty. “You still didn’t answer my question, Snap.”
Kestrel (8) and Snapshot (9) use Gunslinger to shoot at the second pair of bottles: Success, Fail
Once more, the two gunslingers fired, and once more, Kestrel’s bottle shattered while Snapshot missed his mark. Frowning, the stallion took extra time to line up his next shot and shattered the bottle. Kestrel whistled. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer that, on second thought,” she said. “This ain’t seemin’ like your day.”
“Revolvers,” Snapshot said, as if that explained everything.
Kestrel chuckled. “A real craftsmare don’t blame her tools, y’know.”
They took another ten paces back, sidestepping a young tree sprouting out of the ground. “I used to be in the Army,” Snapshot finally said as they walked. “Only for a couple of years, though. Enough time to shoot a few griffons in the southeast during the conflict over Westkönigsland. I was a sniper. I killed a griffon colonel and four other officers in the war.”
Kestrel raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. “You ain’t never mentioned that. I didn’t know you and Rough were in the Army together.”
“Not together,” Snapshot corrected. “I only met him when I joined the Gang. I certainly didn’t meet him fighting the griffons.”
Kestrel (8) and Snapshot (9) use Gunslinger to shoot at the third pair of bottles: Fail, Success
This time it was Kestrel’s turn to take two shots at hitting the third bottle, while snapshot took his time and drilled it dead center with his bullet. Kestrel whickered in annoyance as the score narrowed between the two of them, but didn’t change the topic now that she finally was getting something out of Snapshot. “You’re only thirty though, right? And you joined us when you was twenty-six. How long ago were you in the Army?”
“The conflict with the griffons was ten years ago,” Snapshot said, shrugging. “So I suppose I must have been twenty. That’s about how long ponies have called me Snapshot.”
“That ain’t your real name?” Kestrel asked him, somewhat incredulous.
“It’s what my army comrades called me,” Snapshot said. “I had the highest marks for accuracy in my brigade. The name stuck.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t call you Crackshot then,” Kestrel said. “A crack shot implies accuracy. A snapshot’s about speed, right?”
“Didn’t do enough cocaine for the other name,” Snapshot said.
It took Kestrel a moment to realize that was a joke. “You just make a joke, Snap?” she asked him, even managing an amused grin. “I think that’s a first.”
Snapshot faintly smiled back at her. “The merits of talking little and making your words valuable.”
Kestrel (8) and Snapshot (9) use Gunslinger to shoot at the fourth pair of bottles: Critical Fail, Success
Snapshot’s revolver quickly barked out a round, shattering his bottle, while Kestrel’s clicked on a dud round. Growling, Kestrel forced the cylinder along with a quick flick of the hammer and fired a live round, finally hitting her target. “At least we’re getting’ all the duds out now,” she said. “Equestrian bullets are the worst. They’re cheap as all hell, true, but the quality reflects that.”
“Griffon bullets are much higher quality,” Snapshot said. But he shrugged as he added, “Too bad we can’t get them around here. They were hard to get before the war. Now they’re impossible to find.”
“Yeah.” Kestrel popped open the cylinder of her revolver and dumped the empty shell casings (and dud bullet) on the ground. “Well, shit. Looks like we tied.”
“We still have bottles,” Snapshot remarked. “Reload and try again?”
“I like that idea,” Kestrel said, loading her revolver with fresh lead. “That’s a good idea, Snapshot.”
“I know,” the unicorn said. “Mine usually are.”
Kestrel could only laugh as the two went back at it for a second round.
Kestrel’s Gunslinger score has temporarily increased by +1 for the duration of the conference job.
[NO POLL FOR THIS CHAPTER]