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Shooting Range, Friday Late Morning

Hannibal still had some clothes left in the form of an old pair of jeans and a worn long sleeved shirt but he would have worn his pajamas so he wouldn't miss this meeting. He'd gotten down to the shooting range early to get his gun out the weapons locker so he could both clean and load it.

He shot off a few rounds of his own, getting used to the feeling of it again before stopping and reloading. It'd been awhile since he'd practiced. His own fault, really.

After that, he sat down again and waited for Arthur to show up.

[Hannibal's here for that prince dude but the range is totally open!]

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"Quick study," Hannibal said, nodding. "Does it feel unnatural at all? Or just smaller than what you're used to?"

"Smaller," he concluded, twisting it 'round in his hands. He knew enough about projectile weapons not to point the point of exit anywhere vital. "More powerful. Less of a fuss."

"Accurate assessment," Hannibal said, nodding. "If you hit shoot someone, chances are, they're going down or, at least, they're going to hate you in the morning. And, if you're out of bullets, you can always just beat the hell out of someone with the butt of the gun. That's called pistol whipping."

"That's always useful," Arthur said, with clear approval. "You can never have enough bludgeoning tools..." He was a practical man. If there was a broom available, he'd use the bloody broomstick.

He brushed his thumb along the line of the gun. Steel, like a sword, but thicker. Different.

"How good are you with tech?" Hannibal asked, getting an idea. Maybe he was just feeling nice. "I mean, how fast do you learn?"

"I don't want a thing to do with any of this ridiculous 'Tee Vee' nonsense," he said, "Or these 'washers' and 'dryers'. But I'd be remiss if I didn't investigate these weapons further; I've never had any trouble."

That was Arthur's idea of an answer to that. As if his ability to learn fast should even be questioned.

Never mind that he was rather crap at anything outside his realm of interest.

"If you think you can manage not to break my gun, you can take it apart if you want," Hannibal decided. "See how it works. But if you break it, you get me a new one."

At last, that was enough to break some of Arthur's arrogance down. He granted Hannibal a long, considering look.

"You'd loan me your weapon?"

Not that he was exactly a technological genius, but he kept his crossbow going all right. He wouldn't even break it open, but merely get a feel for it.

And how it could be stopped.

"You know what you're doing," Hannibal explained, "and you value weapons for what they are. I'd feel comfortable loaning it to you. You could come down, shoot off a few rounds when you want. Get yourself some practice."

He pursed his lips, then turned his head to look straight back at the target. He nodded.

"This'll be fun," Arthur said in utter deadpan, a few seconds later.

"I thought you'd like it," Hannibal said, pleased. "If anyone would, you would. If you need any ammo, I keep extra clips in the weapons locker."

"Right..." Clips would be the 'gun's version of bolts, then. He frowned thoughtfully, then took aim again, emptying the gun of the last two bullets.

The stance started to feel just a bit more unnatural, and his preliminary awe was starting to wane in favour of determination. Still, only one bullet skimmed the very edges of the target, and that wouldn't do in the long run. The third time, the weapon simply clicked. Empty, then.

He couldn't foresake his other training for it however, and he was rather acutely aware of the need to pick up his sword drills with more regularity. "Thank you," he said, offering him the weapon in return.

He did know how to say it. "Even if it's shaped like a sodding twig." And then there was that.

"Sometimes the best things come in small packages," he said, taking the gun and sliding the clip out. "This...is one of them. And they're not all small. You do some research, you will find some big freaking guns out there. You're welcome though, glad you liked it.

Arthur chuckled once, and shook his head. "Just make sure it doesn't go to your head," he said, "You've got enough boast in there to field a bull just by talking at it." Whether that was hypocritical was irrelevant, because clearly, Arthur could back all of his up.

"And you're not arrogant at all," Hannibal said with a smirk. "Riiiight."

"I'm not arrogant, I'm the prince," Arthur said, pointedly, as he slipped off the ear protectors. "Bear that in mind." He presented them back to Hannibal. "If you need any help sorting out the sword or the staff, you know where to find me. God knows you don't need more lumps on your head."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, hanging up both his and Arthur's ear protectors. "And might take you up on that. Can't ever know too many ways to beat someone's ass."

"We'll see if there's anything worth training about you," he said, idly considering the range again.

Perhaps he could bring his crossbow here, once his arm was healed. Or before, if he felt up for it.

"Anything to spend time with you," Hannibal said airily, fluttering his eyelashes and swooning dramatically. "Or, you know, thanks for the offer. Really."

"Hm," Arthur said, "Learn to watch it," as he ~~flounced~~ stalked towards the exit.

"See you later, Arthur!" Hannibal said, waving as Arthur left.

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Shooting Range, Friday Late Morning

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