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[Millitimed to the afternoon]
Gun-toting!Tom
re_mybrains wrote in milliways_bar
Tom finally has bullets. Which means finally -- finally -- he can get in some target practice without worrying about wasting ammunition.

"Hey, Bar? I need some targets. For shooting practice." Beat. "Shooting with a gun. I mean, with bullets."

What? It's Milliways. Maybe people go out back and target practice with beams they shoot from their eyes.

Bar, exuding amusement, provides several life-size cardboard cutouts. Tom stares a little. "Thanks. I think."

Outside, he sets up well away from the bar, takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that some instincts don't disappear even if they're not used for a year.

BANG BANG BANG.



". . . Crap. I'm dead."

Aim, apparently, isn't one of them.

[ooc: Here for about two hours Going, going, gone; slowtimes welcome! Man, could this post futz around with time any more?]

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"I'd just," he starts, "I'd rather not be that guy in the movie who, like, stops being a person to be a cool badass. Y'know?"

"Yeah."

There's a pause.



Tom rubs a hand across his face. "Look, you can tell me to fuck off, but -- what happened to you? How'd it end? 'Cause you seem -- not that fucked up."

Even if he does keep his zombie best friend around.

He's close to saying he doesn't want to talk about it, that he can't talk about it...


But then he tells him.

When he finishes, Tom's not looking at him.




"Your mom?"

"Jesus Christ," hushed. "I'm sorry."

"S'alright."

It isn't, of course, but it's not like there's anything either of them can do about it.

"You know, this's the first time I've told that to anyone."

"Yeah. I can get that."

It's not like he's been real forthcoming with all the details of his own story.

"Yeah."

It's not quite a question, but there's some curiosity behind it.

"I mean, I didn't have to -- we were stuck in a mall. It doesn't make for great conversation material."

"Jesus... for how long?"

"A couple weeks? Maybe three? I know it took a week for the shamble to break in."

He looks down at the gun, then lets out a gust of breath, flicks on the safety, and holsters it in the back of his pants. "Less than a month, anyway. Didn't have enough food to last longer than that."

"I think," he says after some consideration, "that we could both use a very large drink."

"I think that's the best idea I've heard all day."

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