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It's your boy.
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“Instead we’ll have two people who will know how to fire a rifle while riding a scooter instead.” He remarked, little humour showed on his expression and it seemed to be laced with something akin to bitterness. At the very least once he had the manual back in hand he seemed to grow quiet. Leafing through the pages a little, it seemed a little daunting to one uninitiated to the use of firearms, but the rifle itself was relatively simple to understand in theory if one could digest the instructions. However, the actual hands on experience would have been much more valuable. He folded up the book, and slid it into his pants pocket.

"Let me find the map in my bag –."

Corin had considered giving her his sweater as she complained of the cold, as his fan service costume seemed to be relatively good for the weather. As such he did not particularly mind wearing the jacket. He was not able to make such an offer however, nor continue in that vein of thought. As Corin heard a familiar voice, it seemed almost as though it cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. Corin visibly flinched upon hearing it, and resumed his shaking. His body turned to face the voice very suddenly, it was quite jarring. He seemed to move to place himself just in front of Bunny, though this could have easily been because he was the one being addressed.

He raised the rifle to point towards him, to gesture that there was a personal space that should be maintained. The barrel seemed to jitter in intense motions as it pointed towards Forrest. Corin did not support the gun properly in the space between the shoulder and chest, and as such some of the shaking may have been attributed to the weight of the weapon and the possibly uncomfortable way that he seemed to be supporting it. And although he had been quick to raise the rifle, no shot followed soon after. His finger however was dangerously close the trigger, but it was not a conscious choice.

“Forrest.” Corin responded after a brief time, voice sounding strained, strange and unfriendly. As he pushed the first syllable out saliva escaped his mouth and trailed down his chin, but he didn’t dare wipe it. Usually, when Corin greeted Forrest his tone of voice was much more kind and amiable. The way that Corin was speaking now was antisocial, and though the boy was shy, it seemed to juxtapose with his cordial self. It was probably because for the first time in a while, Corin did not seem glad to see Forrest.

“Forrest, He-eeeey.” His eyes seemed to survey him with a wild expression, and the greeting was far too drawn out to be comfortable. He’d almost not realised that the other boy was concealing one hand, despite taking in his appearance and surveying him. The last thing he wanted was a conflict of any sort at the moment, particularly with someone who he held in kind regard.

After a time he collected enough words, “I’m going – I’m going to have ask you to put your hands in the air. An-and show your team colour.” He finally stammered out, suspecting that he was concealing a weapon behind his back. “Don’t step closer, Sorry. You can talk from over there.” He added, looking visibly distressed. He very much hoped to see another silver bandanna; he really did, because he was unsure of how he would conduct himself otherwise. He knew however, that with the rifle in hand he should be able to control the flow of the conversation.
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Ones Who Fly Twos Who Die · The Orchard
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