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The Range [Early Monday evening]

And Triela had been in such a good mood this morning. By the time she got off work this was no longer the case. She had considered simply going back to her room and moping, but if Amber was around she didn't need a grumpy roommate.

So off to the range it was. She had retrieved all of her gear from storage, which explained the dozen or so gun cases scattered around her feet as she shot her way through a few cases of ammunition.

Ah. Stress relief.

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It wasn't too early in the day to start drinking, not by a long shot, but Algren was, very unfortunately, rationing his whiskey to last him to his first payday. Which meant that, in the meantime, he was going to need distractions.

Distractions came in the way of whatever he could take, and he'd noticed a gun range earlier in the week that he felt compelled to investigate.

He wasn't going to let a little thing like not having his guns on the island stop him. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd have ones there for him to borrow.

There were certainly plenty of guns around. Cases of the things. Some of them were even open, revealing a rather eclectic collection of late twentieth century firearm engineering.

Triela was working with an assault rifle when Algren arrived. It was pretty recognizable as a rifle by the long barrel and the fact that it was shooting many, many holes into very small clusters downrange. Of course it was big enough to make Triela look a even smaller and skinnier than she actually was...

Algren allowed himself a moment to raise an eyebrow at the small girl who was working with the large rifle, and then he directed his attention to the massive collection of firearms nearby.

And then, of course, he asked the obvious question.

"Are these all yours?"

Triela finished firing off her current magazine, studiously ignoring the intruder. Then, once that was finished, she secured her weapon and glanced over.

"Do you see anyone else here?" Unfortunately shooting always reminded her of Hilshire, and so she started treating everyone like she treated him.

And that earned a bit of a wry grin from Algren, and he gave his head a shake.

"No, I suppose I don't." A pause as he looked over the rife she had been working, and then he added, "Do you mind if I look? It appears that rifles have changed somewhat since the Winchester Model 1873."

This was, perhaps, something of an understatement.

"Sure. I'm done with this one anyway." She cleared the chamber again, just in case, and turned and held the rifle out. It was unloaded so he couldn't hurt himself.

"Never used an 1873 myself," she admitted.

"I have a bit of experience with the '73, more with the '66," Algren noted, carefully taking the rifle from her and getting a feel for the weight of it in his hands. "I used to sell the '76 model."

That job hadn't ended well.

"But I'm more than a little behind on where guns have gone in this day and age. The 1876 was new, when I found myself here." A pause. "They don't use lever-action rifles anymore?"

"Nope. The closest we've got is slide-action." She walked over to one of her cases and pulled out a shotgun. "This is a Winchester Model 1897. It's the oldest weapon I work with."

"Slide action," he repeated, following her over to get a better look at what she was pulling out of the case.

And then, after another moment of inspecting both the rifle in his hands and the one in hers, he stated quite evenly, "Show me."

If the future was going to be today, he wanted to figure it out as quickly as possible.

"A lot of the basic principles are the same." Triela pulled out a box of 12-gauge shells. "Smooth-bore, rather than rifled because it's a shotgun. Rounds are bottom-loaded into a tube magazine." She slipped one in to demonstrate.

"And the action is cycled with a slide lever." She pulled it back, once, then again, ejecting the unfired shell on the second cycle and catching it easily.

It was pretty much safe to say, Algren was entranced, here. Best distraction ever.

"I can see why they steered away from the lever-action models," he mused, holding out the rifle that she'd handed him for her to take back. "May I?"

Twenty years in his future was slightly less intimidating than a hundred and thirty. He'd work his way up, perhaps.

Triela hesitated for a moment. Then, very tentatively, she extended the gun.

"Be careful with it." The 1897 was her baby.

"Of course." He took the gun in his hands, taking a moment to get a better look at it, and then put the butt up against his shoulder and looked down the barrel. There was no shell in it, he wasn't looking to fire it, but it was an almost familiar weight in his hands, and he'd settle for that before giving the slide a try.

"It's nice. If I can get my hands on another '76, I'll have to let you see it in action." A pause. A wry sort of smile as he handed the gun back to her. "Like a little piece of history."

The sort of piece of history that could blow a hole in a man six inches wide.

"Sometimes the older designs are the best," Triela pointed out. "Newer weapons tend to be more complex, and that means they're easier to break."

"And a broken gun won't do anyone any good," Algren agreed. And then, after a moment more, he worked his way up to his next question. "I don't suppose you'd let me borrow one while we're here? I'll gladly pay you back for any shots fired."

He would. Just as soon as he got paid. She could bill him.

"I don't even know you," she lifted an eyebrow, more amused than anything.

Oh yes, introductions.

"I'm Captain Nathan Algren. I'm teaching American History at the school this semester alongside Mr. Durden."

See? Introduced. And Algren was somewhat amused, as well.

"Your turn."

"Triela," she offered, extending a slim gloved hand. "Student here. A sophomore."

"Good to meet you, Triela." And, after a moment of hesitation, he accepted the handshake. Customs and manners had changed a great deal since his own time. He was going to have to get over it. "And my apologies for being so forward on the subject of your guns. If you don't mind, I can content myself with watching."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm in charge of the gun club around here anyway, so I'm always loaning them out anyway."

"Just don't break them. Some of these are a huge pain to replace." She knew because she'd broken a few in her time.

"I'm not in the habit of breaking other people's firearms unless they're being used against me," Algren replied, giving her a bit of a thin smile and a thankful sort of nod. "There's a gun club here, is there?"

Intriguing.

"There is. In search of a new adviser. Again." She sighed.

"Adviser?" He hadn't been around for long. The whole 'extracurricular activities need teacher advisers' thing was still news to him. "What happened to the old one?"

"I'm not sure. I'm assuming Mr. Bond had to return to his previous job."

"And each club must be run by student, but requires a teacher to act as adviser." She grinned, "To remind us not to issue flame throwers to club members."

"A worthy cause," Algren agreed, and now he was smiling again. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for in a teacher adviser, exactly?"

"Experience with firearms. Ability to meet once a week for the club." She shrugged. "There aren't significant demands."

She cocked her head at the shotgun. "You want to take a few shots with that thing?"

Seemed like the sort of extracurricular activity that Algren would be interested in, actually.

"I would love to."

It was a nice gun. He'd be an idiot if he said no, really.

"Here." Triela held out the shell she'd caught earlier. "12-gauge buckshot. One of the best close-range combat rounds ever made."

Algren accepted the shell and loaded the gun the way she'd done it, barely missing a beat to account for the somewhat unfamiliar slide lever. And then, brow knit slightly in concentration, he took a shot at one of the targets provided.

Bullseye.

"Not bad."

He was definitely going to have to come back, once he'd replaced the guns he had so brilliantly left behind.

"It's even better in real action." Triela held out a hand to recover the gun. So she can demonstrate.

Algren was always ready to learn, and so he handed the gun over again, crossing his arms over his chest to watch.

Triela slotted five shells into the tube magazine with the practiced ease of someone who did it all the time. Then she jacked open the chamber and slid a sixth shell in.

"One of the great things about the 1897 is that there's no trigger disconnect. You can fire as fast as you can work the slide." She settled herself, took aim, and held down the trigger while smoothly working the action.

Six rounds wing downrange, leaving the target completely shredded.

"Useful," Algren noted as he surveyed the damage to the target.

All the better for winning wars with, he mused.

"You need a teacher sponsor for this gun club of yours, do you?"

"Yep. Every moment counts, and in a real fight it can save your life."

"And, yeah, that's what the administration tells me."

Algren knew all about real fights and the importance of timing. All too well. And, while he didn't need some teenage girl with ponytails preaching to him about the usefulness of a gun that fired when you wanted it to, he smiled nevertheless.

"I'll do it, if you still need one by the time your club starts again."

"Yeah?" Triela lowered her shotgun and looked over, eyes serious.

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing," he replied, glancing at the range again. "It keeps me busy. It sounds like a worthwhile club to keep running. I thought I would offer."

She didn't have to take it, really. He could spend his weeknights doing more important things, like drinking and sleeping and pretending he knew what the hell he was talking about while preparing a History lesson.

"Fair enough." Triela's lip twitched upward slightly. "Paranoia's an occupational hazard, sorry."

She stuck her hand out again. "Thanks."

He eyed her hand skeptically for a moment, and then nodded and accepted it for another shake.

He was half positive that one of these days, somebody was going to ask him what the hell he was doing, and then they were going to tell him that people stopped shaking hands decades ago and he was doing it wrong.

"Keep me informed, then, as to the dates and times of your meetings."

"I will." She took a deep breath. "Thanks."

She flashed a quick grin. "You want to try some of these others out?"

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The Range [Early Monday evening]

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