![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Sep. 5th, 2008 03:25 am(from here)
After stopping for a shower and a shave, Logan had made his way home.
The box that held the revolver and the bullets was more than a little dusty, and he cleaned it off with the back of his sleeve as he pulled it down off the shelf Joe had built for him before sitting down on the bed to open it. He spun the chambers once, then checked to make sure they were all empty before pointing the gun at the wall and cocking the hammer. Pulling the trigger, the gun clicked and Logan opened the chamber once more, this time to load it. Six bullets were slipped into the chambers and a few more were carefully tossed into a pouch to take with him, and he sat them down on the bed as he got up and got changed.
Pulling on a pair of clean jeans and a t-shirt he hadn't stretched to shit, Logan couldn't help but think of the last time he'd used the gun. Strangely the thought didn't make his stomach turn the way it once had, though something in his chest did tighten a little as he let himself remember all the pain that had come from that day, and all the damage that had been done. To him, Veronica, Neil, Joe... Picking up the gun, he slipped it into the band of his jeans, not caring how many times he'd been told not to do that. A beat later and he was slipping the spare bullets into his pocket as he made his way out of the hut.
He wasn't in the mood for careful, if he had been, he wouldn't have made plans to meet up with Jack of all people.
Finding a secluded spot, he pulled out the gun, aiming the way Dick's father had taught him. Arms level but loose enough to handle the recoil. Cocking the hammer he squeezed off a shot, his heart pounding in a familiar way as he settled into it. He wasn't the best shot, but he wasn't bad, and he almost smiled as he lowered the gun to admire his work.
After stopping for a shower and a shave, Logan had made his way home.
The box that held the revolver and the bullets was more than a little dusty, and he cleaned it off with the back of his sleeve as he pulled it down off the shelf Joe had built for him before sitting down on the bed to open it. He spun the chambers once, then checked to make sure they were all empty before pointing the gun at the wall and cocking the hammer. Pulling the trigger, the gun clicked and Logan opened the chamber once more, this time to load it. Six bullets were slipped into the chambers and a few more were carefully tossed into a pouch to take with him, and he sat them down on the bed as he got up and got changed.
Pulling on a pair of clean jeans and a t-shirt he hadn't stretched to shit, Logan couldn't help but think of the last time he'd used the gun. Strangely the thought didn't make his stomach turn the way it once had, though something in his chest did tighten a little as he let himself remember all the pain that had come from that day, and all the damage that had been done. To him, Veronica, Neil, Joe... Picking up the gun, he slipped it into the band of his jeans, not caring how many times he'd been told not to do that. A beat later and he was slipping the spare bullets into his pocket as he made his way out of the hut.
He wasn't in the mood for careful, if he had been, he wouldn't have made plans to meet up with Jack of all people.
Finding a secluded spot, he pulled out the gun, aiming the way Dick's father had taught him. Arms level but loose enough to handle the recoil. Cocking the hammer he squeezed off a shot, his heart pounding in a familiar way as he settled into it. He wasn't the best shot, but he wasn't bad, and he almost smiled as he lowered the gun to admire his work.
