~~~~Eggnog Shots~~~~
"Enough training for today, you're gaining good consistency."
Marlowe placed his hand on my shoulder at the end of my last hundred round set for the day. This was a surprise, as my current regiment still dictated sound-only training, as well as normal exercise and partnered meditation with my shard. I turned to face him.
"Christmas Eve, kid. Take a load off, I've got a present for you."
"Yes, Sir."
I nodded briefly and holstered my weapon, before turning to face him and standing still to await orders.
"Jeez Zel, I know you're all about the formal and the military, but when I said take a load off, I meant it."
He turned around and walked out of the 360 Range, and I followed, doing my best not to match my step to his. My name was Zelvin, and him shortening it reminded me (for probably the hundredth time that year) that I should try to break my Army habits.
"Sorry about that S- …Marlowe."
The man only grunted, and led me through our suite of the Diamondback complex to the straightaway range, a part I hadn't been to in a long time due to escalating difficulty of training. On the table rested a shotglass, two mugs, and what looked to be a Dollar Store carton of eggnog. This was unusual, but not unusually so. Marlowe was always coming up with eccentric (and horrendously difficult) challenges for me to complete. So much for taking a load off.
"Alright kid. I said I have a gift for you, and I do mean it, but you know by now you have to earn these things. So we're doing a challenge."
He picked up the shotglass and carton and walked down the range to another similar table in front of the targets, explaining as he moved.
"You're gonna shoot the glass, and I want to see how many drops you can tag before the splatter finishes hitting the ground."
As he spoke, he poured a generous helping of eggnog into the glass, and set it on the table. I stood in stunned silence.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked incredulously. "The glass I can hit from anywhere, but… WHAT?"
"You heard me. Shoot the drops. Out of the air. The number you hit determines how good your present is. Oh, and double points for glass shards."
So much for taking a load off, indeed. But I knew from experience that Marlowe was absolutely serious, so there was no point questioning him further when the challenge was clear. I also knew that he wouldn't assign it if he didn't think it was a challenge I could at least approach in difficulty, so perhaps I was underestimating myself. Even so, the thought of hitting even one drop by actually aiming for it, and not simply spraying and praying, was extremely daunting. At least he was letting me choose when to start instead of shooting the glass himself.
"…Alright, here goes."
I took the most comfortable stance I could, aiming with both hands and breathing deep, stalling. I had to use my head for this one. How could I remove luck and guarantee hits on at least a few drops. Pre-fire and predict where they would fly? Pause, watch the arc, and see where they would come down? If only I could simply think and aim faster than I could now. That's what I was training to increase, but it was a process and I wasn't there yet.
"Planning on waiting to scare off the reindeer, Zel?"
Ugh, fine. Clearly he wanted me to just go for it, so I did. The first shot was the easiest I'd taken in six months, a shotglass at a hundred feet. It shattered into glittering glass and creamy white globules, going all directions. A large portion of the drops went upwards, and I decided to focus on those. I picked a large one that was about to reach it's apex and fired…
And time seemed to slow down. I'd remember later that it actually did slow down, but in the moment all I registered was that I could see the bullet on its way to its mark. Carving through the air, but before it hit I managed to aim and fire at eleven more droplets which, compared to the bullets, were hanging in the air and practically waiting for me to shoot them down. Once the first bullet hit its drop, exploding it into eggnog mist, time returned to normal and the rest of the mess hit the floor.
"Twelve, huh? That's a damn good number. And more importantly, congratulations on unlocking your ability. You were moving so fast I couldn't track your hands there for a moment, though it was a very short moment from my perspective. We'll hash out the details later. And guess what? I lied! I've actually got two gifts for ya."
As I stood stock still, trying to process what I had just accomplished and what Marlowe was saying, he produced from somewhere a cowboy hat, just like his, and placed it on my head. I knew what this meant, and it only served to send me further into shock. Twelve? Had I hit twelve drops out of the air from a hundred feet away? My ability? I had my hat? It was all moving so fast.
"Aww that look on your face brings me some serious memories. That's right son. You're a Diamondback now. And as for your other gift… I have here twelve very special bullets, yours to keep. Fire one off and it'll zip you right back here, or to the Library if that's what you're thinkin' about. Twelve bullets for twelve drops, pretty good deal, huh?"
He opened and showed me the inside of a leather pouch, inside of which jingled twelve revolver rounds, shimmering with more colors than the rainbow. I accepted it wordlessly, mechanically, the wonderous reality only just starting to sink in. While I attatched the pouch to my belt, he retrieved the eggnog and filled the two mugs from earlier before handing me one.
"Merry Christmas, Zelvin. Cheers?"
"…Cheers!"