Mar 04 15:54:32 108 PA - Four Rules to Live By
From Chronicles
Returning at a time of her own choosing, Isabeau has ventured to come back to Sebastien's place. The threat of polar bear or rampant wild huntress Inuit haven't served to make her put doing so aside. Reaching his door, a hint of a smile touches at the corners of her lips, and then she lifts a hand to lightly knock upon it. She waits, then, her cloak resting softly about her shoulders as she does so. It's the middle of the afternoon when she's come here, and the weather outside is calm, for a change, though there is a slight breeze to come up now and again.
There's a thump inside the apartment, and a low groan. Several seconds pass, before a voice might be heard calling, "Just a minute, s'il vous plait." The voice is undoubtedly Sebastien, and just as undoubtedly sleep-addled. When the door opens, the young man stares bleary-eyed into the hallway with hair wild, clad in an untucked long-sleeve button-down in pale blue that doesn't at all match a pair of maroon exercise shorts. His eyes narrow, peering at Isabeau, looking more than a little befuddled. "Hi."
Isabeau tilts her head slightly to one side at hearing the thump, one of her eyebrows quirking upwards a touch. That... could perhaps be problematic. Taking a moment, she looks down at her hands, the fingers of one entwined with those of the other in front of her. Then as the door opens, she lifts her blue gaze to look to him, and a hint of a smile touches her lips. "I apologize... I didn't mean to wake you," she says softly, a blush of colour to her cheeks.
"You followed me home," Sebastien reminds, "at eight in the morning." He eyes the redhead there in the doorway, blinking. "What time is it now?" He leans out into the hallway, eyes narrowing before he closes them hard, then opens them extra wide. At least he smells like he showered before going to bed! "Come in," he decides, sounding a little more awake. Backing up then into his apartment, Sebastien steps aside to allow the woman entry.
The slender redheaded woman narrows her eyes as she looks to him, and then she softly shakes her head. "I did not follow you. I know where you live, which rather means I have little need to follow you home," she comments, one of her eyebrows quirking. "It is the afternoon," Isabeau adds, giving a small nod. "Thank you," she adds, a hint of a smile touching her lips before she steps into the apartment.
"When you did," Sebastien speaks, eyeing her pointedly. "Anyhow." He reaches to rub his face, and swings the door shut behind him. "Right. Have a seat. How can I help you?" He walks towards the television, briefly, and eyes it before stepping back to the kitchen. He half-ducks out of the line of sight of the couch to tuck in that shirt, head peering 'round the corner to watch the redhead before he re-emerges, looking almost human again.
"Ah, true, when I did," she muses, a smile quirking her lips. Lifting a hand, she brushes a bit of hair from her face, then takes a moment to look around the apartment. "As we agreed, you were to teach me to use the weapons that I have bought. I've come for the first lesson," Isabeau says, holding her gaze to him in a steadfast manner, tilting her head a little to one side as he returns.
Sebastien followes her gaze, eyeing the room, and muses, "It does not look much like a firing range, does it? Well, fair enough. Did you bring them?" He purses his lips and peers at the woman, eyes narrowing just a touch as he tenses, faintly. The empath in Isa would feel a sense of wariness then, as he inspects her.
"Do you think I would not, if I intended on learning to use them? Aye, I have them," she says softly, giving a small nod, a smile touching her lips. She studies him for a moment longer, and then she brings forward the case which had been hidden by the fall of her cloak's fabric. "If this is not a good time, I can return at a better one?" Isabeau offers, a thoughtful cast to her voice.
Sebastien waves at thecouch beside Isabeau, saying simply, "Go ahead and put it down. If you've never held a pistol before, today you won't need it." He takes in a breath, a touch of a frown on his lips, and he says, "Stay here a moment." He steps around the apartment to the front door, stepping outside. And a minute later he returns, carrying along a bright red bean bag chair. A swing of his arm sends it to the middle of his living room with a muffled thud, and Sebastien collapses in it as he ponders. "Alright. There are four rules of holding a gun. Rule number one is; a gun is always loaded. This means any weapon you have not personally unloaded and have kept in your hand. Even so, a pistol you are holding that you have unloaded should always been treated as if it were loaded. This prevents bad habits that would cause you to point a loaded gun at the wrong person, or treat it without the respect it deserves."
Isabeau arches an eyebrow slightly to his words, and she gives a small nod before carrying the case over to the couch. She lifts it up to be able to lay it there, then unfastens her cloak to settle it overtop. When Sebastien leaves, she's puzzled, but doesn't ask, instead watching for his return. And when he does so with a bean bag chair, she blinks a little, caught off guard by that. Though she does at least dodge the toss of it before settling on the couch, her hands resting on her lap. "I would have expected that rule to go without saying. I don't think I'd ever treat one as though it wasn't loaded, to be honest," she admits, a bit of a blush coming to her cheeks. She's never used a gun before, so she has a healthy respect for the weapons.
"You say that now," Sebastien replies, waving at the case, "But you'll get used to them. You'll start playing with them, practicing." He glances at the case, and murmurs, "Is that ... do you have two pistols in there? That is an awfuly large case you have there." He chuckles softly, and shrugs. "Maybe your accident will come while cleaning. In the course of your life, odds are about one in a hundred you will accidentally pull that trigger while it's loaded. Which brings us to number two. Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not prepared to destroy. So. That is a killing weapon. Don't aim it as a threat. Don't get angry at a boyfriend and point it at his car, none of that unless you desire to pull that trigger. In the heat of the moment, with adrenaline in your blood, you may reflexively trigger the gun without conscious thought. So only have it in the direction of what you intend to destroy." He smirks, and adds, "Oh yes, you'll play with it. You'll 'practice.' You need to practice drawing the weapon, and safely re-holstering it. Putting the gun away is a very dangerous time. You need to practice it, so you do not point the muzzle at your leg or in towards your body as you line it up with your holster. If the trigger snags on clothing, it could be tragic."
"I'm not so sure that I will get used to them, but you would know better than I as to if it will happen over time or not," Isabeau comments, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. "There is the small one in there, and then the larger. I have only those two to worry over," she says, a smile touching her lips. "The case is not so large," she adds, then gives a slight shrug. "I can't see myself aiming it at something I didn't truly wish to shoot. I have no boyfriend, so I would say that limits that accident from happening," she says, a touch of amusement to her voice. She gives a small nod to the last of his words, rather intending not to end up shooting herself with one of her weapons.
"Really?" Sebastien asks, brow furrowing. "Why not? You're not..." His lips slip into a smirk, and he leans forward then, giving the redhead a bemused look, "You don't have a girlfriend, do you?" He just smiles up at her, hands folding neatly in his lap.
Isabeau sighs softly, and then she lightly shakes her head. "Aye, really. And I'm not. And I don't have a girlfriend, either. I have myself," she says softly, giving a small nod. She shifts her weight, drawing one of her legs up to tuck her foot beneath her, resettling after a moment and letting her hands rest lightly in her lap again.
"Rule number three," Sebastien speaks, forging ahead. "The golden rule. If people follow this rule, maybe eighty percent of accidents would be averted." His voice gets sterner as he says, "Keep your damned finger off the trigger until your sights are on the target!" He stares at Isabeau, as if she'd done something wrong. "I mean it. When you hold a pistol, your finger goes on the slide. Outside the trigger guard. Like this." He pantomimes, making a finger gun with his right hand save that instead of his thumb up as the hammer, it's around to the left. "When you're moving around, when you're running with your gun out, when you draw, when you put it away. The finger is outside the trigger guard. Always. There's this instinct we humans have. When the left hand grabs, the right hand also grabs. So when you're running and grab a person, you will clench on that trigger. When you grab the steering wheel, trigger. When you jump to climb a fence. Trigger. This does not happen if your finger is someplace safe. Many pistols have a ridge, or a bump, or some such specifically for this. Find one, and remember to always put your finger back on that point. We clal this 'indexing.'"
Isabeau tilts her head slightly to one side, watching him and listening, and then she gives a small nod. The stare she's given is enough to have her duck her chin and blush a bit, even though she's done nothing wrong. "I think I can remember that easily enough," she says thoughtfully, her brow furrowing a little. "I've not taken a close look at the weapon to see which it has, though I have a feeling I will become quite familiar with it in the lessons to come," she says softly, a smile touching her lips.
Sebastien laughs at that. "Wait a moment. You haven't opened the box?" He blinds at Isabeau, and tilts his head. "Why..? Why exactly are you hear? Every time I make a comment, you seem to be repulsed by this thing. You bought two firearms, and they couldn't have come cheaply. Listen, I can teach you the fundamentals, but you're going to have to practice. You're going to have to stop thinking of this as a source of evil, and start considering that it's just a thing. A tool. Whether it's evil or good ultimately, well." He smiles. "Isn't that up to you?" Isabeau shifts her weight to lean forward and towards him, a spark of temper showing in her blue eyes. "I did not say that I had not opened the box. I have opened the box. I have not taken a close look at the larger weapon of the two in order to see whether it has a ridge or a bump for indexing. I doubt I would have thought much of it being there prior to you saying what it is for," she points out, then breathes a soft sigh. "I am not repulsed by them. I am wary of them, perhaps even half afraid of them. It is not the weapons themselves which are evil, but as you say... it is my choice and my actions which will make them either good or evil," she says softly, looking towards hte case for a moment before bringing her attention back to Sebastien.
Sebastien listens, nodding slowly, as his features grow increasingly blank. He peers at her intently, leaning forward as she speaks, eyes narrowing as she mentions that the weapons themselves are not evil. In a flat tone devoid of humor, he speaks. "Who put you up to this? Barber? Is he here?" Sebastien stands then, glancing once at Isabeau as he strides to the window, shoving aside a fern-like sprout of Dragon tree to look down at the street below. "Does he want Sara back? How is the old Goat? It figures he'd send you." Sebastien glances over his shoulder at Isabeau, apologizing, "Not *you,* you. Someone like you. A pretty redhead. He has that humor."
Isabeau narrows her eyes slightly as she looks to him, wondering what's gotten into him. She blinks at his words, then shakes her head, not understanding. "Barber? I'm sorry, I have no idea who you might mean... I don't know anyone by that name," she says softly, her brow furrowing a little bit. She watches him head to the window, and she tilts her head to one side, horribly confused. Pushing herself to her feet, she blinks a little more before lightly shaking her head. "Perhaps I should go," she suggests, frowning slightly.
"Sit," Sebastien replies, sounding stern. He turns then, his scarred head looking down at Isabeau, and the young man stalks back across the room. Eyes narrow as he appraises her. "Are you lying to me?" he asks softly, in a tone that's anything but soft. "I'm not going to hurt you, either way, but I need to know. Did somebody send you?"
Isabeau seems startled at the sternness he exudes, though she gives a small nod before settling back on the couch with one of her feet tucked beneath her again. She watches him stalk across the room, and she settles her hands on her lap, fingers of one entwined to those of the other. "I'm not lying to you, Sebastien. I have no reason to do so. Nobody sent me. It was suggested that I should learn some type of weapon to be able to protect myself," she says, her brow furrowing a little.
Sebastien's jaw is wide, but his lips are nearly closed, forming a small 'o' as he peers down at her, as if trying to find the truth in her words. He shifs from his left foot to his right, peering at her, before he whispers, "But's not the gun you're afraid of, is it? It's yourself." He kneels before Isabeau, blue eyes seeking hers, and he plants a hand on either side of the smaller woman's knees as he leans towards her, head cocked to the left. "You're afraid ... that in the moment of truth, having the power to act will reveal something of yourself. That you're not the moral creature you believe yourself to be. That you'll crumble. That you'll strike down the wrong person."
There is no lie in her words to be found, and only truth within them. She watches him, her brow furrowing a little bit as he speaks. "Aye, more of myself than of the weapon," she says quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper in volume. She meets his gaze for a moment, then lowers hers, looking to her fidgetting fingers in her lap. "I fear having power that requires that the decision be made as to whom to strike at, whom to hurt. I have been able to be ignorant of such things because, what little magic I have, could barely harm anyone let alone kill them," she says quietly, then gives a faint little shrug. The way she drinks wine and gets drunk, it's a considerably valid concern.
Sebastien is nearly in her lap. He presses a touch forward, getting in front of her eyes, and speaks softly, "Rule number four. Be sure of your target and what is behind it. Never strike at a shadow, nor a sound. Your laser will punch through homes for a quarter mile, so know your backstop. Be very careful in the city. Know that, if you miss, of if you shoot *through* someone, there may be a family torn apart ten homes beyond. So endeth the lesson." He eases back, giving Isabeau room to breathe, and waves towards the door. "Next time we meet, we'll open the case."
Isabeau manages to lift her blue-eyed gaze to meet his, after a long moment has passed. "It... shoots that far?" she asks quietly, sounding apprehensive. No foolish shots, then, not that she was intending to make any. Her fingers at last stop their fidgetting, and she gives a small nod. "Aye, next time, then. When would you like me to return?" she asks softly, raising an eyebrow slightly. He's given her things to think about, which isn't a bad thing.
"Morning," Sebastien replies. "Say, nine. Or on Tuesday or Thursday, around nine at night." He motions for the woman to stand, the adrenaline wearing off to reveal one exhausted francophone. The lines around his eyes are deeper set, and he glances back towards his bedroom. Longingly.
Isabeau pushes herself to her feet, and then she reaches out to claim the case with her weapons. She looks to Sebastien, and then she gives a small nod. "Thank you," she says softly, a small smile touching her lips. "I will keep the times in mind," she adds, giving a small nod once more. A glance is given his bedroom, then him. "Go back to sleep, Sebastien," she adds.
