deux: it must be done

[untamedantinous]

Enjolras has not held a musket since the barricades. However, there's no time like the present. Through trial and error and various annoyed thoughts directed to the closet in his rooms, he has found one that will suffice. It feels ...strange, to have one in his hands again, to know that not so long ago he had held one and killed more than once with it. But he is pushing aside any lingering apprehensions he may have and heading outside to the shooting range some helpful person had set up in the recent past. Perhaps no one will bother him here, he hopes, it is fairly far afield; and the whole purpose he has will make it difficult to have any conversations.

The slight tension in his shoulders may belie his earlier anxiety, but it has not affected his aim as of yet. Should anyone follow the sounds of gunfire, they will find Enjolras as well, loading, firing, and reloading his musket with some determination.

Comments

[untamedantinous]

"Of course." Enjolras, too, is brief with his words sometimes, and Galahad's quiet appreciation is clear enough. "There, good, now just tamp it down all together, and fire."

[onthewillowsthere]

So he does. If Enjolras doesn't object, there's a real chance that they will just be standing around shooting for the next few hours; he tends to hyperfocus on new projects, just as he did with Grantaire and the billiards.

[untamedantinous]

Of course he doesn't. If Galahad is willing, he will offer pointers and tips where he can, until Galahad is satisfied with his new knowledge. (It is a mercy that Galahad picks things up quickly, as Enjolras has never been one for patience.)

[onthewillowsthere]

By the end of it, he actually can hit his targets fairly well, and he looks over at Enjolras for approval in a way that, even with his often blank affect, is obvious.

[untamedantinous]

Which he will get, in the form of a pleased smile and nod. "You are a very quick learner, monsieur. I do not think that I picked it up nearly as well as you have, my first time shooting."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Really?" with a flush of gladness -- he didn't know how to do that before, he had to try.

[untamedantinous]

“Yes, I could not hit the targets nearly so well as you have.” There’s a bit of a wry twist to his smile. “I was quite impatient when I was younger.”

[onthewillowsthere]

"When did you start?" He's not sure how old Enjolras is, but they seem close in age.

[untamedantinous]

“Oh—before I came to Paris, but only just. So when I was 17, I think? It was five years ago, perhaps nearly six.”

[onthewillowsthere]

At seventeen he was already in Camelot. "Who taught you?" he asks.

[untamedantinous]

“My father. I imagine he thought I would go hunting or some such thing.”

[onthewillowsthere]

"For hunting?" The very idea seems faintly ridiculous -- Galahad had looked at the musket and decided immediately that it was a weapon for battle.

[untamedantinous]

He shrugs. "A common enough pastime in the country. I doubt he expected me to use his lessons as I have."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Thank you for teaching me."

[untamedantinous]

"You are most welcome. If you would ever like some more, you need only find me."

[onthewillowsthere]

That's a more generous offer than he had expected. "Thank you," he says again, and then, "My name is Galahad."

[untamedantinous]

Well, it is not as though he has anything better to do, and as previously stated, Galahad is a fast learner. His impatience matters little here. "You are welcome, I am called Enjolras."