When last we spent time with Isabelle and Edgar, they had finally wrapped up cleaning the armory and themselves. You can catch up with Part XIV here. Does this, perhaps, bring them closer to leaving the Manor? Will they ever comb through the wreckage inside the Manor? Who knows! We do know they’re still getting ready to go out. Let’s see where they’re at in the process →
They returned to the armory, where Edgar gathered his pistols and sword from closet. He walked to the aisle where the rifles were stowed with Isabelle in tow, strapping his holsters and scabbard as they went. He finished securing these while standing in front of the rifles, then unlocked the rack, removed a rifle, and handed it to Isabelle, indicating she set it down on a nearby table.
"This shit is ancient," said Isabelle, handling the weapon with some awkwardness. As a child, her older brother had introduced her to one of the service pistols he used as a guerrilla in their city's militia. The thing was more computer than anything else. A digital scope was attached to the side of the barrel and sent out a red laser it used to lock onto a target. Once the gun had a target, its projectiles would home in, whether the weapon remained pointed at the target or not. There was no skill involved in its use. The rifle she carried now was far removed from such automation. From what she could see, there was no lock and fire mechanism and no advanced targeting system. This thing probably didn't use homing bullets either.
Edgar removed another rifle from the rack and followed after Isabelle, setting his down next to hers. He returned to the columns and flipped a switch on a different one. This caused the columns to shift, closing the aisles with the rifles and opening aisles with a different set of weapons: pistols. He considered her remark as he gestured to her to join him.
"I've been asleep for quite some time. Doubt there are newer weapons since I was last conscious on this plane. Newer is not always better, however. In a pinch, the weapon you know will always be preferable to the weapon you don't; we are in a pinch, and this is what I know." Edgar indicated the rifles and the handguns. He gave Isabelle a hard look. "Are you proficient in modern weaponry?"
Isabelle scrunched her face as she returned his glare. She was not proficient with modern weaponry. She was not proficient with anything save a knife. Edgar continued.
"I thought so." He stepped into the aisle and withdrew two pistols, taking them through the motions he had made with the rifles on their first entry. These he handed to Isabelle, saying "No proficiency means easy learning as you don't already have bad habits." He indicated to her to set the pistols on the table with the rifles. He flipped the switch to return the columns to their original position.
Edgar walked across the hall and retrieved a number of supplies from a cabinet whose door lay flush with the wall. Isabelle watched as he tapped the wall at a specific point, causing the cabinet to crack open. She would never have found it, had he sent her looking for it. He returned to the table and unburdened himself of a number of brushes, fuzzy wires, cloths, small cans of oil.
"Here's what we do," said Edgar, and began to explain field stripping to Isabelle, using his own revolvers as examples and cleaning them in the process.
Over the next few hours, they cleaned all the weapons before them. When finished, Edgar brought over a long and lean case, hard-shelled and lined with padding. It was just large enough to house a single rifle and two pistols. He placed a rifle and one pistol into the case and passed the other pistol to Isabelle, gesturing for her to take up the case as well. He then placed his revolvers into their holsters--one at his hip, one at his side--then hefted the other rifle over his shoulder. He met Isabelle's expectant gaze.
"You know how to clean them. Now you will learn how to use them."
Isabelle lit up with excitement. These weapons might be ancient, but she'd always wanted to shoot one. Their situation being less than ideal, here was something in which she could find joy. Edgar noted her excitement and did nothing to curb it. He would discover in time whether he ought to be concerned, or if this would transmute itself into a healthy respect for the weapons. Whatever the case, there would be little time to foster the latter. He hoped he was not arming a maniac, though he had his doubts.
Continued after the break
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Isabelle followed Edgar to the front of the armory where he once again ducked behind the counter to browse the key boxes. He shifted through a few of them before pulling out another set of keys. Standing, he gestured to Isabelle to follow and moved to another hidden cabinet at the far end of the hall, close to the entrance to the shooting range. Inside was a steel door, locked. Edgar used the keys to undo three bolts, after which he pulled open the door. There was a sucking noise as he did so; Edgar frowned and nodded in satisfaction.
"The dust seals hold. That's good."
Inside was a small room lined with shelves, each packed with compact boxes. Edgar stepped in, retrieved a single box each from two shelves, and stepped out again. He shut the steel door, then closed the wall behind it. He turned to find Isabelle looking at him with a curious expression.
"Ammunition."
"Okay. But only two boxes?"
"One box for the rifle, one for the pistol."
"Is that going to be enough?"
"A horita, si." For now, yes. He started moving toward the entrance to the shooting range. "If things are as bad out there as I fear they are, we'll need to conserve what we have."
Isabelle pursed her lips, shrugged, and followed.
Edgar placed the boxes of bullets on the first counter and removed the clip from the rifle before setting it down as well. Isabelle followed suit with the pistol, and the two spent the afternoon loading the clips and working their way through the ammunition.
"We are already killers." Edgar stood behind her and a little off to the side as he supervised her form and her focus. "We transmute that instinct from flesh to powder."
Between shots, Isabelle said, "What if I would rather just rip their throats out?"
"This isn't about victory. This is about the illusion of force."
"Right, I force myself on them, rip their throats out, and they're disillusioned."
Edgar moved forward and placed his hand with ease on her raised forearm. Isabelle lowered her pistol.
"This isn't a game. We cannot always depend on our abilities, especially when our abilities may draw unwanted attention."
She looked at the paper target she had emptied most of the clip into. There was a tiny red "x" placed at the center of the throat of the human bust-shaped silhouette. In the low light, a human would not be able to make out even the paper target. With her preternatural sight, she not only saw the paper and its silhouette clearly, she saw the little red "x", along with all the marks she had made in the paper, dancing around the little red "x".
She growled. "Wouldn't shooting someone draw unwanted attention?"
Edgar glared at Isabelle. "There's a difference between what I'm describing and what you're describing. What is it?"
Isabelle frowned but gave the question some serious thought. She'd been harangued enough already when she either replied to his questions with snark, or refused to answer them at all.
"Anyone who hears the shot will know I'm there. Anyone who sees me bite will know I'm a vampire."
Edgar held out his hand. Isabelle engaged the safety and deposited the pistol into it.
"Good. Keep your name to yourself and let your weapons' reports do the talking for you." Edgar released the clip and counted two remaining bullets. He snapped the clip back into place, switched the safety off, and raised the pistol with both hands. "And never underestimate the advantage of being able to take down an adversary from afar."
Aiming down the sights, he took a deep breath in and fired on his exhale. The two watched as the bullet flew through the paper, clean beneath the little red "x," grazing it at the bottom. He went through the motions once again hit the little red "x" dead center on the second shot, making it disappear.
Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You're practiced."
"Yes, I am. This display is not one of showmanship, but rather that it can be done." Edgar released the clip and set it on the counter, laying the pistol down next to it. "But you don't have to be a crack shot. You're consistently close, and that's all you need to be dangerous."
Isabelle looked at the target, then turned to Edgar and growled.
"I don't feel dangerous with this thing." She picked up the pistol and turned it over in her hands. "I can dismember and disembowel a human with my bare hands and teeth, but I can't manage to hit a non-moving target with this thing."
"It will come with time and practice, if we can find the time to practice. For now, reload the clip. We're almost done here."
Isabelle growled again and picked up the clip with an aggressive swipe.
Still not out of the manor, I see. But what it is they’re preparing for? What does Edgar expect to find outside? Why the immediate fallback to violent precautions?
I suppose violence is just their modus operandi, being vampires and all. But is this sufficient an explanation? Only one way to find out! Come back next week!
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