2021-11-20 - I Am Not The Elk!

You don't want to ever find yourself in the kind of dream where a horde of creatures from the Other Side is trying to eat everyone -- and then have nothing but Stern Words to make them stop. Ravn Abildgaard does not by any means approve of American gun laws -- he thinks guns belongs with people who have special educations and jobs that require them, rather than with civilians. But he's also been stuck once or twice in the kind of Dream experience where he was in fact very grateful that someone packing heat was around to blow the heads off pied pipers and take down hordes of rabid mind eating weasels.

He's never really gotten over that last bit. He's known in a local toy shop as that weirdo with the funny accent who comes in ever so often to buy a stack of weasel plushies. Then he disappears forest-wards with a duffel bag over one shoulder, full of plushies, a sandwich, and the 9 mm Glock that Seth Monaghan gave him, months ago. Because next time brain weasels try to eat children, he's not going to count on Chief de la Vega being there to do the shooting.

And that is how come the sound of a gunshot rings out in a secluded glade. And how come anyone wandering nearer to investigate may come upon a tall copper blond Dane in black, arranging a bright pink and green striped weasel plushie on a branch before walking back towards his bag. Judging from the fluff on the ground it's about to join a lime green plushie on the happy hunting grounds of wherever plush toys go when their earthly forms are shot to pieces.

Gunshots? That means someone else is out having fun too right? Well, if you're from the rural Midwest it probably does mean that...or murder, it's a toss up, but since they're coming from the middle of the woods it's likely someone hunting or getting some target practice in. Since Fae seemed to have the same idea in her head for the day it just makes sense to track down whatever great mind had the same thought, introducing yourself is generally a great way to not catch a stray bullet as well.

From the foliage emerges the little ginger girl, rocking an outfit that certainly says rabbit season and resting a Mossberg 500 over her shoulder. "Hey there stranger!" she calls out loud enough that even ear protection certified to protect your eardrums from a bullet bang is found lacking. A wide smile crawls over her as she waffles her hand to the Dane and enters into the glade, Chris closely in tow behind her. "Gettin' some shootin' practice in?" she yammers off, checking out the scene of stuffed weasel carnage before her.

With a bright orange vest over a heavy camo coat, Chris was ready for a day of wandering in the cold forest with his rifle and the girl at his side. As an outdoorsman, he was no stranger to blacktail season, but why did they always have to get shot when it's so freaking cold outside?

"Any luck?" he calls with speculative interest from over the shoulder of the others. Maybe he hasn't witnessed the stuffing carnage itself or expects luck to be found inside their cotton guts.

"Well, the green weasel was out of luck," Ravn returns with a small grin and a glance at the plushy bits on the ground; the multicoloured weasel on the branch still looks hole and hale, but then, he hasn't fired at it yet, either. He lowers the small Glock as Chris and Fae approach -- possibly because while pointing a firearm at someone is always dangerous, it's probably twice as dangerous in Gray Harbor; certain powers are always on the lookout for an excuse to cause some misery.

It's definitely not a hunter's choice; if anything, it's the kind of pistol you conceal in a shoulder holster or down the small of your back. Good thing this state has pretty easy going laws. "Want to join? I have plenty plushies."

"Get out and enjoy the great outdoors, Perdita, you'll love it, Perdita, just go out into the woods and have FUN, Perdita." comes the grousing from the young woman who's somehow managed to get herself lost out here... and, truth be told, isn't entirely sure she remembers why she came out this way, why the maxi-length red skirt she's wearing keeps catching in the underbrush, or why she's in a damn midriff exposing blouse in mid November. Also, these shoes are not suited for the rough terrain, and her hair is all wrong, falling to mid back in tight spiral curls... and is she chiming softly as she walks?

There's a sudden indignant squeak from not too far behind Ravn and the others as Perdita's feet slip out from under her, but she somehow manages to keep her feet on the slide down the hill, though she looks ridiculous as she balances.

"Nature is fucking BULLSHIT!!" explodes in the air from the poor young woman, sending nearby birds lifting off into the air in a flutter of wings.

"Well, I was looking for a thanksgiving turkey, but I guess stuffing is on the shopping list too. You don't need a special hunting licence for these little guys do you?" she chortles mirthfully, dimpling her cheek with a sly smirk as she pads on over. Her attention glides back over to Chris as her ear protection finds it's way from her neck upward. "Did you want some target practice with that thing?" she offers to him first, peeking through her hair at his rifle that might not get a lot of use otherwise since the great weasel massacre has certainly scared off any nearby game.

Once the -you first- offer is given she takes another look over at Ravn, her eyebrow arching slightly. "Have we met? You look super familiar..." oh yeah, the guy from the weird cow dream, that's who it is. "...I just mooved here though so maybe we haven't? At least not officially." she did that on purpose, she should have been more wary that everyone here had guns before uttering that joke. "Fae." she simply introduces herself, extending her left hand for a handshake because lefties are weird and forget they live in a right handed world a lot of the time.

"Heya other person!" Fae chirps over to the stumbling girl who seems to not be dressed for the current environment, but seeing as she herself was normally just as bad she's not one to talk. Country Girl Pro Tip: Take your heels off before you shoot a 12 gauge she learned that one the hard way a long time ago.

Inching his way closer to the scene at hand, Chris ends up next to Fae with his rifle planted over his shoulder, barrel facing toward the sky. He might not be an expert marksman, but he knows a thing or two about gun safety. There are seemingly nearly as many accidental firearms injuries as actual fires around here.

"Poor weasels," he surveys, easing the olive backpack from his shoulder to deposit on the ground. "Suppose I could use some of these cans, but I'd have to finish off their contents first." It was as good of an excuse for an early morning beer as there was, and he's in the middle of unzipping when the raucous noise from Perdita's arrival sounds.

"Find any wolves?" he calls over in her direction, flashing a big smile. "Maybe you should try some boots. And... clothing."

Ravn has to switch the Glock to the other hand momentarily to grasp Fae's hand in his own, gloved in black kidskin (maybe he's cold). "Ravn Abildgaard. Didn't we meet in the dream to turn everyone vegan recently?" There are still thin bandages under the gloves; he did acquire some pretty nasty lacerations, falling through that glass table. And of course there is the accent -- that was apparently not something the dream conjured up either; European, the kind that really wishes it was David Attenborough but fails to make the cut.

Oddly, he seems not the slightest surprised to see the Latina stumble in, dressed strangely for the weather. All he's got to say to that is, "Hiker's boots, never go to bed without them." He's probably joking (in part because while his own black boots are solid, they are definitely not mountaineering footwear).

Chris' comment prompts a grin. "If Perdy finds wolves, you boys at the GHFD are going to end up having to offer counseling to them after they bump into Little Red Riding Hood, trust me. I can help you with emptying a can if you like." Early morning beer doesn't sound that bad.

For a second, it looks like Perdita might scream at the people she's stumbled across. One can almost hear the thunderstorm rolling in... but there's a deep breath in, and then Perdita's reaching down, gathering the hem of her skirt into hand, and walking up at a more calm, sedate pace. Fae gets a tight smile, but Chris gets a look that could kill.

"Did you know that your last name basically means 'Lucky' in my father's language?" she asks, in her most saccharin sweet voice as she stalks to a nearby tree stump to rest her aching feet.

"I went to bed after finding a strange but handsome half naked man in my building. Fell asleep and woke up in San Miguel de Cozumel in a very pleasant memory of a time I was running from my homicidal ex boyfriend and banged a street performer, and then I found myself in the woods! Which I hate. Wearing dancing slippers. And I haven't had my hormones since yesterday."

A deep breath in and another breath out, "Could someone please point me to the nearest exit before I Wicked Witch myself back to my apartment on a tree branch?"

Her lips curl up from her teeth, jovially displaying a quick sparkle before her jaw goes about jabbering to the European man with the glock once more. "I'm not sure that any dream is enough to turn me vegan, but I remember being a bit disappointed in my date for that fiasco." Chris receives a playful side eye, he should have been there, that was all his fault that she couldn't find the way out and back to Arby's where she belonged. "Wish I could have brought that dress back though, that outfit looked super pricey." it did and terrifying cow dreams would be better with booshie party favors like a five thousand dollar gown.

Fae's features flatten at Dita's story, that certainly sounds like a lot to deal with. "Wow, that's a rough day." that is is. "I guess the exit is over that way?" she points her back out to the woods. "It's not too much of a hike. You're not going to freeze to death in that though are you? I left my extra coat at home." owning two coats is just pointless if you're not carrying them around all the time, you should always be prepared for girls to just appear in the woods dressed for a mid summer dance. "Maybe if.." cough cough "...there was a nice gentleman around they'd lend you their coat." those hints aren't subtle at all, someone give the girl a coat before her arms fall off from gangrene.

It was beer o'clock somewhere, and it turns out that place is here. Chris brought a six-pack of PBRs. The blue ribbon is a symbol of quality, but not all such symbols are positive. The fireman's more palatable varieties come in bottles, which weren't nearly as much fun to clean up after shooting them with 5.56mm rounds.

He shares beers all around with any who would have one, starting with Ravn and ending with himself. "I think I have a cartridge of FMJ in here somewhere," he mutters mostly to himself, and indeed, after a few minutes of searching, he locates a spare magazine in one of the outer zipper pockets of his bag. You never practice on targets with the expensive stuff.

"Well, I'm feeling pretty lucky lately," Chris chimes back. His smile never falters. Indeed, he seems in a lovely mood all around. "You're not going to want to walk back from here, though. Maybe you'd like to ride back with one of us?"

The rummages in the bag some more, producing an oversized wooly blanket. "Maybe this will help," Chris offers Dita. It wasn't picnicking season anyhow.

"While I think I had the pleasure of joining Perdita on San Miguel de Something Spanish, I would like to state for the record that I was not the street performer she ended up banging," Ravn muses to no one in particular. It's the kind of town where you do in fact want that sort of thing on the record. Then he shrugs out of his perfectly warm and snug Italian leather jacket which admittedly looked a tad less rough before he got dragged fifty meters on the ground while wearing it, and hands it over. "Here, keep yourself warm at least. Fae might be officially Disappointed if I don't offer."

When he receives the beer he can't help a small chuckle, though. "It's kind of funny how these are considered nice for canned beer here in the US. In Germany, where they're from, they're considered the cheapest shit available. I wonder if the recipe over here is different."

One way to find out!

Both the jacket and the blanket are accepted, which seems to mollify the young woman a little. "Thank you, both." She's gone from Dark Phoenix territory closer to... regular Phoenix. It's a good thing she can't start fires with her brain, or she might have burned down the forest with the mood she's in, and then Chris's nice day out would be ruined even more than it is with her grump. "If I had actual shoes, not the ridiculous 'appeal to the tourists that I'm just another island girl who no habla Ingles'? I would be fine to hike. I don't mind walking. I mind walking through uneven terrain in what's basically chanclas." She shivers under the blanket and coat for a few more seconds before her internal temperature begins to even out.

"San Miguel de Cozumel. Come on, Abildgaard, if I can manage the mangling of vowels and consonants that you call a name..." another deep breath, and Perdita smiles sweetly. "I mean... thank you, again, for the coat and the blanket."

"Good boys." Fae dubs the pair of men that only required a slight nudge to help the girl in need. "I didn't think about her having to walk back..." the diminutive ginger hums out as Chris vocalizes that a ride is likely in order. "Yeah, we could give you a ride for sure." she chimes in, happy to help.

"We can save weasel shooting for another day if you're burnt out and want to go now, or you're welcome to take out some of that pent up aggression from a long night and make some of them go boom, drink a beer and hang out for a bit." she talkatively lays out of Dita, options options. "Ever shot a 12 gauge before?" normally she wouldn't ask since everyone in Missouri has, but out here maybe that's not as commonplace.

A beer is taken from Chris and cracked open, a few dainty sips meeting her lips, at least it's cold and she's certainly had worse. "Beats Busch Light and it's arguably as good as Hamms." what a stellar beer review, she's obviously just not picky, beer is mostly just beer back home without all the fancy breweries and such, unless you're heading into KC where you might find a few.

"I usually have a spare pair of flats on me but this purse is comically small and I couldn't squeeze them in, you really never know when your going to need them." stupid carrot purse, what's the point of having this thing if you can't fit extra shoes in it? Oh yeah, it's a really cute accessory, fashion over function.

Chris pops open the beer with a hiss. He might be well-prepared, but extra shoes weren't on hand anywhere within his backpack of holding.
"Don't get your hopes up," he cautions Ravn with a look. He might not be a beer snob, per se, but he usually opts for something a little more than PBR. But the sale was terrific, and brands matter little after you've had a few.

"Isn't it funny how you always run into the same group of people?" he questions after a sour sip of the can's contents. "Anything new with the two of you?" the question seemingly aimed at Ravn and Dita.

"But there is one significant difference," Ravn declares to Perdita and sips his beer, only to make a face -- enope, the US variant isn't actually much better. Still, it's beer. "Abildgaard is a proud, old, Danish name. St Michel de Gargamel is Spanish, and as we all know, Spanish isn't actually a language."

One could get the impression that he and Perdita go back a while, and that mutual ribbing is a thing.

"Just don't aim that twelve gauge at anything that doesn't have antlers and we'll be fine." Ravn suddenly chuckles, recalling something. "My father used to tell a story from a hunt he was on once, in Sweden. It was a very fancy kind of affair and everyone was very formal and proper until suddenly the guy hosting it is heard yelling from the woods -- don't shoot, I'm not the bloody moose. Turns out he and some buddies didn't really care for formal and had gone out in advance to get drunk in the bushes. And, well, started shooting at each other. I wish I'd gone along, it's got to have been the only time my father's hunts were ever interesting."

One beer and he's already telling hunting stories. Maybe now's a good time for somebody to shoot that plushie.

The Dane hitches a shoulder lightly instead. "Well, we had that same dream -- the one with the good food and the sunlight and the Mayan costumed dancer who fortunately only one of us ended up in bed with. Apart from that -- things have been relatively quiet. We did find a body in Perdita's basement." He says that like it's perfectly par for the course around here. "And I have a new neighbour who is seventy-five years old and determined to turn me into her grandson, I think. You?"

"I'm in the woods. Show me what's enjoyable about the woods. So far, I've seen birds, fungus, trees and what may or may not have been a groundhog, I'm not sure. It was small brown and furry and scurried off when it saw my hair... not that I blame it. I would run away from this, too." Perdita lifts one curl, which was lovely, lush and sleek curls on the island, and is now frizzy and disheveled. "Thank you, Fae, but these will be fine once I'm on an actual trail. I'm just... moody."

"Well, let's see... found a dead body in the basement... annnnd I found a random guy in room 404 of my building while I was inventorying the damage I can spot before I have like... a contractor come in and try to convince me that I need to replace things that are fine because I'm a woman."

It's amazing how much a human being can look like an irritated cat. Perdita narrows her eyes at Ravn, "Cuervo Huerto de Manzanas." is muttered at the man as she shifts about, taking off one shoe and scraping the edge of it on the side of the tree to get the worst of the mud off.

"You couldn't have handled Hernando."

After a more liberal sip from her bottom shelf brew Fae settles in, shifting her weight on her hip as she eagerly peers off at the weasels that are just asking to have their fluffy little lives ended. "I do think I've got some extra ears around here somewhere..." her hand unzips the rabbit food novelty purse she has slung over her shoulder and manages to pull some earplugs out from the mess of junk that's been hiding within it. "...you're going to want these if we're shooting, unless you were hoping to get tinnitus." shooting can be a big ouch, even if you're not the one being shot.

"Considering I'm rocking turkey load right now I think I'll leave the antlers alone, Chris might have to take those shots if they come up." the short girls smirk paints over her face as she winks back at the firefighter, teamwork makes the hunting dream work apparently.

The earplugs are offered out to Dita, making sure she's got ample time to put them in before things get too noise on the field. "They let you guys hunt over there?" she queries the Dane, surprised by that since Midwestern Americans in general usually assume all other countries have no guns. "I thought pretty much all of Europe was a no gun zone?" that hickish drawl certainly says 'Merica with it but she's just naive to the gun laws of places beyond her little part of the world and doesn't mean anything by it.

Stepping on up to the impromptu range Fae taps her ear, looking back behind her to make sure everyone is ready first. "Ears." she calls out, just in case anyone missed the memo. The shotgun is quickly shouldered and her aim zips out, letting a couple rapid shots down the field and turning some weasels into clouds of fluff. "Probably not the best shells for weasel hunting, but sometimes you have to make due." her grin flies up her cheek like the aforementioned fluff does into the air.

"Is there really anything more satisfying than that sound of cocking a shotgun?" she asks, I can personally think of a few things, but maybe it was some sort of rhetorical question. "You want a go?" the bubbly strawberry-blonde wonders, mostly directing the inquiry over towards Dita but anyone is more than welcome to step up and pump a few shells out.

Chris shifts his weight from foot to foot. Yeah, beer was beer, but not all beers are worthy of being shot at. He keeps his own ear protection around his neck, but it was ready to be employed whenever necessary.

"Not a whole lot new. I found this girl on the docks somewhere, and she followed me home," he says with a lopsided smile etched on his features. He gives Fae a tilt of his head in acknowledgment, "She's pretty cute, though. I think I'll keep her."

He's fluid in employing his hearing protection, the muffs quickly cutting off the conversation for the subsequent loud gunshots that echo out.

"Those are gonna taste funny in gravy and cranberry sauce," he calls out in a loud voice on the subject of stuffed weasels.

"I would probably have been quite upset to find Hernando in my bed, very nice Mayan costume or not." Ravn grins lightly.

Then he shakes his head at Fae. "Getting a hunting permit isn't difficult in Denmark. Neither's getting a firearm permit in general, really. Just have to go through some background checks and take an exam. That's half the reason we wonder why Americans make such a big fuss about gun laws -- it's not like firearms are hard to get anywhere else. You just can't stroll into Walmart to pick up an assault rifle and a bottle of Coke. And of course you can lose your right to own guns if you use them for a criminal purpose or act wildly irresponsible around them."

The Dane is already wearing earplugs -- which is a good thing although really, the little Glock doesn't make a lot of noise compared to the shotgun (which is probably one of the reasons Seth Monaghan gave it to him in the first place). He picks out a yellow weasel from his bag and tosses it towards the end of the range. When it hits the ground he fires -- but not before. Maybe he's working his way up to a moving target still.

And more plushy bits fall from the sky. It's almost like early Christmas.

The earplugs are accepted and quickly slipped into place as Perdita preps for the sounds, wincing despite the earplugs and her hands over her ears. At the question if there's anything more satisfying than the sound of a cocking shotgun, Perdita raises one perfectly groomed brow, "Hernando, for starters." She shakes her head at the offer of a go with the gun, "No thanks, they chip." she holds up her hands, stiletto nails perfectly matched to the skirt... or at least where it's not wet or muddy.

"Honestly, I understand why Ravn needs a gun, his talents lie elsewhere... but... why do either of you?" Perdita asks, seriously, absently gesturing. The head of one of the stuffed animals that's already been blasted to bits goes flying up into the air, only for a downed tree branch to spear through it like an arrow, all without Perdita even having to shift her posture.

Feeling substantially more educated on the topic after Ravn gives her the deets, the ginger girl bobbles her head up and down releasing her left ear from it's cover while he talks, but letting her ear armor return before shots are literally fired. Fae then gathers up her beer, still nursing it as the weasel hunting commences. "Learn something new everyday, sounds like it's not any different at all really, beyond the lack of Walmart firearm sales which are an American staple for sure." a lighthearted simper smoothly slides over her before she turns towards Dita's display of mind power.

"Wow." she blinks, a little shocked, bullet bangs aren't enough to make her jump but that certainly got a hop out of the rabbit clad chick. "Um, because I can't do that..." she murmurs, her eyes still owlishly wide. "...I also just kinda like shooting. Grew up with it. I've even done a bit of competition. I came in second last year in Missouri's women's skeet shooting competition." she's so proud, look how proud she is, how cute. "So...yeah." she bounces cheerfully pushing her hair behind her ear and occasionally sliding her eyes over to the impaled weasel in awe.

"I have yet to use a gun in a dream," Ravn points out. "The danger of bringing firearms to the Other Side is that they can just as easily be used against you. But there was a time at the hurricane shelter when things came over to our side, and I was certainly not sorry that some of us knew how to shoot. Even if I had to steal a mother-of-pearl handled Beretta off someone's grandmother to join the fight. I don't usually carry because again, anything you got can be used against you."

Why learn to shoot, then? "I'm trying to pick up all the survival skills. Shooting, swimming, fighting. Because you never know what you'll need. And Perdita's right -- if it comes to a contest of wills and shine, I've already lost. I'm an asthmatic pacifist with neuropathy, and I don't have much magic juice, either."

He glances at skewered weasel. "I could probably do that. But that's also about it."

Looking Fae and Chris over curiously, Perdita tilts her head slightly, as if to say she doesn't believe it, but also doesn't want to argue. "Maybe you'll be able to, someday." she murmurs, glancing to Ravn.

"Was that before or after the indecent proposal?" she asks, barely hiding her amusement at the thought, "I wasn't there for that, so..." she gestures vaguely, as if indicating he should tell the story.

"For the record...has anyone ever used a gun in one of those funny dream thingies?" Fae checks with Ravn, with some serious intention behind her eyes for next time, if that wouldn't have been a foreign purse last time it certainly would have had a revolver in it. "Asking for a friend." that's just a quirky way of saying -I need to know before I make a huge mistake-

A curious interest crosses her as she selectively echo's Perdita's words "Indecent proposal?" attention swiftly flashes over to Ravn. "Story time?" she simply hopes, a round of giddy applause coming from her as the stock of her boomstick is held under her arm. "Story time, story time." oh no, it's being chanted, can he really not comply with the request now?

Ravn glances at Fae. "I'm not sure," he says quite honestly. "That one time I did end up shooting brain weasels along with the police chief, it was them coming to our side -- I think. It can be hard to tell sometimes."

And then of course he too is blinking at Perdita. Oblivious, whether genuinely or by choice, he asks, "What indecent proposal?"

Yes, Dita, whatever it is, you get to do story hour.

Quietly, Chris has been in the background swapping out the magazine on his AR-15. Those blacktail deer never stood a chance. At least, until they all ran off from the loud gunshots.

"So," Chris cooly tells the story as he readies his aim down the barrel of his scope. He placed one of the empty cans on a rock outcropping at about sixty meters off. "Sometime after the Halloween festivities were calming down, Perdita comes over for some Chinese takeout and a bleeding leg wound. Apparently, firemen are her type."

Still staring down the sights, he gives the trigger a gentle squeeze causing the beer can to go flying with a satisfying 'PLUNK'! Observing his handiwork, Chris lowers his rifle slowly to continue storytelling. "But uh, it soon became clear that things weren't meant to be," he attempts a tactful way of putting things, "But we had a nice evening of hanging out, talking about the past, and keeping things real."

He gives Perdita a look for her tacit approval.

"... That was not the indecent proposal I meant." Perdita says, through clenched teeth, though she's still smiling... but it's the kind of smile that says 'if you continue telling that story you're getting skewered like the stuffed animal.'

"No, Ravn told me about the most hilarious thing that happened to him in the high school cafeteria." she tilts her head ever so slightly at Ravn, eyes widening slightly as she does so.

Chattering onward Fae gives a faint shrug of her shoulders. "I mean, firemen are every girls thing right?" it's a pretty common fantasy trope so it probably hits a broad audience. "I mean...what's not to like." she flirtatiously dimples her cheeks as she eyes Chris up and down.

"Nice shootin' there Tiger." the diminutive girl calls over as that can meets it's doom, yep a firefighter that can shoot a gun is certainly what you'd expect her type to be, it sort of just seems to click together like a puzzle.

The mild aura of awkward between Chris and Dita seems to whiff her though as she naively finishes her first beer and lends her ear to Ravn for whatever high school story he's been reminded of.

Ravn blinks as a memory surfaces. "Actually, I do remember Seth Monaghan taking down dog headed monstrous minions of a serial killer, in a dream. So yes, guns coming in useful in dreams does happen. But I'm going to quote Alexander Clayton on it -- again. What you bring into a dream can be used against you, so be wary of hauling in the big guns."

He glances at Perdita and quirks a copper eyebrow. "Wait, did you mean, did the weasel shooting happen before or after that girl offered to screw me in the bleachers? After. That's not a lot of story, though. I mean, it's easy to get bored in a hurricane shelter."

Well, that was a short story.

Chris left out those sorts of details because he isn't a jerk and was sworn to uphold some manner of privacy. Not that he would've been blabbing about even if he hadn't. He does at least try to play the gentleman.

The awkward moment was a fine opportunity to investigate the damage that he caused the aluminum can, which gave him a moment for a short walk. He returns moments later holding a can with a fatal injury, not for being hit dead-center, but for being blasted by a 5.56mm NATO round in its thin, hollow frame.

"Bleachers aren't very comfortable," is Chris's shared wisdom. An observation he expects Fae probably shares as he settles in at her side.

Seems like Fae was expecting something more grandiose in the story time, she had already gotten settled in for a long one, waltzing over to Chris the can collector and leaning into him after he finished his pew pews. "Oh, well...yeah, that does sound very uncomfortable. Probably worse than the back of a Volkswagon" she assessingly agrees, tossing in a veiled reference to Mallrats because you don't need much of an excuse to do that.

"We should look into getting you a binary trigger on that thing, you know, before they're illegal or something." Fae conversationally mentions to Chris pointing at his rifle. "I haven't shot a gun with one, but they seem really fun and they're probably not that expensive for an AR platform." country girl knows a couple things about guns, go figure.

"I don't chase firemen, but let's be honest, they're fit, they're generally himbos..." Dita shrugs with a smile. "Just my type."

"Yeah, but in the bleachers during a hurricane sheltering? At least go to the boy's locker room and... I'm going to save that story for drinks with Itzhak." Perdita states, rising to her feet and stretching. The targets that have been knocked flat get lifted, telekinetically, one at a time, and set back into place. Which is a little disturbing, since it's stuffed animal heads rising and placing themselves to stare at Ravn with their dead eyes, as if to ask why they deserved death.

"I wouldn't know," Ravn tells Chris, amused. "I politely declined the offer. While I'm certain it was well intentioned and no strings attached, there was a certain other girl I was hoping to impress, and I'd rather not have word get back to her that I was preoccupied elsewhere."

Stare all you want, dead weasel plushies. Bang goes the little Glock, and now there's one less creepy weasel. For someone who only started shooting hand guns some six months ago, he's gotten pretty good at it, at least as long as the target is stationary.

"I can't say that I have really given much thought to handsome young firemen," the Dane says, amused and glances at Chris. "No offence, of course, but I kind of bat for the other team. And, well, already in the game I want to be in."

Another eye catching display of psionics cranes Fae's neck around in amazement. "Golly, if I could manage that I wouldn't need to buy a new pigeon thrower." that's really what you'd use your power for if you could? Just to save some money on target practice equipment?

"If you ever change your mind I know where you can get the hook up on that calendar, I'm not going to be needing it." she graciously informs Ravn, because it's never too late to start batting both ways, he could be hitting a lot more balls if he did...actually that sounds like it might hurt? Maybe it wasn't the best phrasing.

Her fingers laces up with Chris', more than fine with keeping the fireman for herself since there were no other takers. "To each their own though." she charmingly chortles, that well of youthful ADHD energy inclining her to rock back and forth on her heels a bit

"We could," Chris examines the gun with appreciation, "But maybe it's one of those things that, just because you can do, doesn't mean you should. Besides, a Jedi doesn't need a clumsy rifle. This is a more civilized age." The pair of them are a set of country geeks, it seems.

"I don't think anyone needs a 2021 calendar," he attempts to interject and kill that discussion before it becomes a whole thing. There wasn't much of the year left, for starters. Plus, people have phones. His hand squeezes tight around his girlfriend's.

After a gust of wind blows through the area, Chris tilts his head upward toward the swaying branches. "About time to head back?" he ventures, "We can offer you that ride if you need it."

"If he changed his mind, a third of the men in this town would be kicking down his front door." Dita murmurs with might be just the slightest bit of sour grapes, or just good natured teasing. It's hard to tell when she's in a bit of A Mood. "I definitely wouldn't mind a ride back into town, I've been looking and I don't know if I trust any of those branches to Defy Gravity with... though I definitely want to try that, sometime."

Perdita's smiling, now, tilting her head a little. "I need a hot bath, a hair brush and a visit to the salon, something has decided I need my old texture back, and I'm not a fan."

"Oh, I'll gladly take pictures of both of you for the HOPE calendar, but I'm afraid that I will not be, ah, test driving any submissions." Ravn looks amused; it's probably not been suggested by anyone, either. "And while I do believe one should never say never, indeed, I think I will stay with the one girl I am seeing for the time being. Also, those calendar pictures don't have to be sexy -- they can be anything you like, it's a charity."

He removes the clip from the little Glock. "You guys give Perdita a ride back to town, then? I'll stay and clean up. I'm not brave enough to let August Roen find out I litter his forest with dead plush weasels. He might start to think I'd shoot at real weasels. Which I won't, at least not until they start trying to eat people. Again."

One last glance towards Perdita, though. "Nah, they never came knocking when I was single, either. Or maybe I just never noticed."

"In the great words of Ahsoka Tano...I am no Jedi." Fae digs deep into the Disney depth for that one to really sell home the requirements of what practically makes a gun into an automatic weapon...for fun. "Is it blasphemous that Star Wars Rebels is my favorite Star Wars series?" maybe a little in certain nerd circles but hopefully you'll be forgiven.

Seeming like it's about that time and everyone is going to be on their way she does a bit of nearby cleanup, not wanting to leave spent casings all around from the firefight with the inanimate weasel monsters.

"You're speakin' my language girl." she tells Dita aside, seriously ready for some salon pampering in the near future. "Where do you go? Do they do nails too? I'd kill for a mani pedi." I'll take things you shouldn't say when you have a shotgun over your shoulder for 1000 Alex.

It's not long before she's waving goodbye to Ravn and setting out for the short hike back out of the woods with her man and the girl that needs a ride back to town, still yapping away about...everything.