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Tony breaths in and then out, his eyes glued on the target with laser-like focus, his arms outstretched, one hand supporting the other which was wrapped around his pistol, and after a few beats he squeezes the trigger three times. He lets his shoulders relax after the shots and then peers at the target, frowning and shaking his head at himself. The board he'd been shooting at had three bull's-eyes drawn on it, and two of the three targets have a hole directly in the middle, but the hole in the third is slightly off center. In magic, focus is essential, Tony hears his father's voice in his head, without focus you are nothing.

He slides his pistol back into its holster, approaching the targets to finger the holes in the board. He's set up his little shooting range down in the bowels of Roddie's ship, near the engines where the sound of gunshots won't bother anyone, and he can focus with no distractions. It's hot down here, though, and Tony wonders if that's what's throwing him off. He knows it's not, though, he knows he's been thrown off by something far less substantial. It's his presence here, on this ship and with these people, and how it's been weeks but he's no less closer to understanding how all of his expectations could have been so wrong. Roddie's like no mage he's ever met, and though he'd approached this assignment with a kind of morbid curiosity, he'd never expected to be so taken with him. It was the fact that he wanted to be so comfortable and, well, happy that was throwning him off, and throwing his aim off, and no matter how many of his father's magic lessons he repeated to himself, he couldn't seem to find his footing again.

He sighs and runs his hands back through his hair, then switches out the board for a new one and sets up to start shooting again.

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Roddie hadn't seen Tony for upwards of a couple hours, and he can't help but feel a little concerned. From the moment Tony had set foot on his ship, he'd worked himself near exhaustion nearly every day, and Roddie had found it concerning and alarming even in the earlier stages of their relationship, when he hadn't yet even considered him a friend. Now, it troubled him enough for him to scour the ship for him, and when he finally finds him deep under the deck of the ship, shooting target practice and looking as stressed as he'd ever seen him, he can feel his heart sink a little.

"Hey!" he says casually, despite the slight tightness in his chest, touching the top of the doorframe as he makes his way into the room, "I've been looking for you, what are you up to down here?"

Tony stiffens at the sound of Roddie's voice, but only allows himself a moment to be surprised before he carries through with his shots, shooting three more times and once again missing just one of the targets by a fraction of an inch. He grimaces and shakes his head, holstering his pistol again before he turns to look at Roddie.

"Practicing," he says, realizing as he says it that his expression is much more severe than he meant it to be, and he makes a conscious effort to relax, "Did you need something?"

He pulls out his pistol and flips open the barrel, inspecting the gun before reaching for a nearby box of lightweight bullets meant for target practice and starting to reload. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with Roddie's careful attention and kindness, he was always seeking Tony out just to talk or goad Tony into participating in some kind of activity. Tony had never met anyone like Roddie before and he found himself treating him coldly or passively despite his warm opinion of Roddie, solely because he wasn't sure how to act around him.

"Oh, yeah, as usual I guess," Roddie says, laughing lightly and scratching a spot behind his ear. He looks at the target, where just about every bullet has hit its mark perfectly.

"Wow," he says, stepping forward to get a better look at it, "You're a good shot. Hey, can I try?"

He reaches for the holster at his hip which holds his pistol, spinning it around his finger a few time. He didn't use it often, preferring to stick to his magic and his daggers, but he was a decent shot. Not as good as Tony, though, by a long shot.

"You ever play Horse?" he asks, "One person calls a shot, and if they make it, the next person's gotta do it. If you mess up, you get an H. Next time you mess up, you get an O. Whoever spells Horse first has to buy the winner a drink. It's fun, me and Boscha play all the time. But, uh, we throw a ball in a hoop instead of shoot at stuff, I don't really trust her at playing a game involving guns."

He leans against a barrel in the corner, and checks the gun's clip.

"You wanna play me?" he asks, shooting him a grin.

Tony chuckles a little, surprising himself with the sound, imagining the large norn woman on the crew handling a gun. He's still not sure what Roddie means by challenging him to a shooting contest, and Tony considers refusing but then he thinks that it won't matter if he's still aiming at targets either way.

"All right," he says after a long pause, giving Roddie a considering look, "Here-- I've got something we can use." He moves over to the stack of boards he'd painted targets on, and pulls out one with five different targets, two on the top, two on the bottom and on in the middle. He hangs up the board and then steps back, glancing at Roddie before he raises his gun.

"Top left target," he says, breathing carefully and lining up his shot, "Dead center." He gives himself a moment to breath and relax before he pulls the trigger, shooting exactly where he'd said.

"No, no, not like that," Roddie laughs, "I mean, all right, I'll do it, but that's not how you play."

He moves into the spot Tony had been standing before and takes the shot, hitting the target but not hitting the exact mark.

"Is that an H for me? Whatever," he laughs, then takes a few steps backwards, then turns to the side, aiming at the target with the gun behind his back.

"Okay, ready? I'm gonna take two shots and hit the edges of the middle one."

He takes the shot, hitting where he'd said he would, then steps aside for Tony to take his place.

"Next time do something crazy. Like. I dunno. Make me stand on one foot or something."

Tony flushes a little at Roddie's correction, feeling stupid for not understand the rules of the game.

"Sorry," he says, glancing away, "I've never played it before."

He watches carefully as Roddie explains and demonstrates, not wanting to make an ass of himself or let Roddie know how out of place he felt doing things like this. He hears his father's commentary again, claiming that trick shots were for peasants who hung out in taverns, a sentiment he'd never agreed with but he'd still never practiced trick shooting, either. He positions himself carefully, the way Roddie had, his hand behind his back, and he takes a minute or two glancing between the hand behind his back and the target. When he makes his shots he widens the holes Roddie had made by a fraction, and he straightens with his shoulders back, not quite smiling but not frowning, either.

"Um," he says, as he realizes now it's his turn to come up with something more interesting than 'shoot there', and looks around the small room for inspiration, "All right, here." He backs up a little, and then climbs up on top of a nearby machine, sitting down on it and then flipping upside down, hooking his legs around a pipe and hanging down from it.

"Three shots, down the middle of the second target," he says, and then makes the shot and flips back down to the ground, landing on his feet.

Roddie beams, and heads over to the pipe and easily flips himself upside down.

"Yeah, this is more like it. See? You get it," he says, smiling at him from upside down as the blood rushes to his head. He takes the shot, hitting very close to where Tony's bullets had landed, though it takes him twice as long to line up the shots, and he flips himself back rightside up to inspect the target.

"Is that good enough, or are you gonna give me another letter?" he asks, laughing a little as he inspects where his bullets had just missed Tony's. He takes a step backwards and takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he says, limbering up like he was about to run a mile, "This time, you gotta say the alphabet backwards, then hit the target with your eyes closed. If either of us says the wrong letter it's an out."

He does just that, correctly reciting the alphabet backwards at a remarkable speed, then closes his eyes and takes the shot, hitting off to the left of the target.

"Yeah," he says smugly, spinning his gun around his finger and blowing on the top, "Top that one."

Tony laughs a little at Roddie's enthusiasm, still feeling out of his depth but starting to enjoy himself. He's impressed by Roddie's shots, and his eyebrows go up when Roddie makes the shot with his eyes closed.

He mimics Roddie's actions, saying the alphabet slower and more carefully, ensuring that he doesn't miss any, and then sets his feet carefully and closes his eyes. He takes a long time setting up his shot, picturing the target in front of him and breathing carefully before he shoots. When he opens his eyes the hole from Roddie's shot has widened a little, just enough that the evidence of his own shot is visible. The corner of his mouth quirks up and he looks over at Roddie, raising one eyebrow.

"Ah, my turn," he says, frowning as he tries to think of something more challenging, then smirks as he reaches into his pocket, pulling a small mirror out of his pocket. He turns around, holding up the mirror with his left hand while he rests the heel of his right hand on his opposite shoulder, holding his pistol.

"Bottom left," he says, taking his shot, and when he turns around there's a hole in the target, and he gives Roddie a triumphant grin.

"You dick," Roddie laughs, snatching the mirror out of Tony's hand. He's severely disoriented by the use of the mirror, and after struggling for a long moment to align his shot he resigns himself and fires. He doesn't even hit the board, and he whips around fast and covers his mouth when he hears the clang of the bullet hitting metal.

"Oh shit," he says through his fingers, before bursting into laughter, "Well. Nailed it. Am I on O or S? Whatever. I'm gonna make you get at least one letter before we're done here."

They continue on like this for around an hour, playing several more games, during which roddie fails to score even one point on him, despite pulling several ridiculous maneuvers including taking a shot in midair. He's sweating a little by the end of it, when he's spelled Horse for the third time in a row, and he sits down on a barrel in the corner to catch his breath, a wide grin on his face despite his multiple losses.

"Screw you, man," he laughs, grabbing a drink out of the cooler he kept below deck and taking a long swig, "I'm gonna get you sometime. Just not...right now."

Tony chuckles, grabbing a bottle for himself and sitting down next to Roddie.

"It's good to set your sights on unattainable goals," he says, smirking, "Keeps you sharp." He takes a drink of his bottle and then swipes a hand through his damp hair, pushing it away from his face. He loosens the collar of his shirt as well, a lighter, looser material than the complicated suits he usually wears.

He feels strangely good and less bone-deep exhausted than he usually does after practicing. He feels tired, sure, but oddly... elated, as well. Though that kind of practice would never earn the approval of his father. That thought makes his smile falter a little, and he realizes he can't make this a regular thing. Maybe tomorrow he'll add an extra hour to make up for today's deficit. Maybe two.

Tony looks away from Roddie, the smile falling off his face as he hears his father scolding him in his head.

Roddie laughs, slapping him lightly on his shoulder.

"Now you're just being mean," he chuckles, but his smile fades when he sees the look on Tony's face, and he lowers his drink from his mouth.

"Hey, man, is something wrong?" he asks, sliding down a little closer to him, "What's the matter? Did I, uh, was it something I said?"

Tony startles a little when Roddie so easily reads the change in his expression, not used to people paying him that close of attention. He looks over at Roddie, surprised and unsure what to say.

"Ah-- no, sorry, I'm fine," he says, shrugging, and he's about to leave it at that and brush off Roddie's concern but there's something honest and compelling in his expression that pulls more of an explanation out of his mouth, "That's just--not my usual practice. I'll have to go back to it tomorrow." He feels guilty just having allowed Roddie to interrupt his concentration, but part of him felt starved for the easy companionship he felt in Roddie's presence.

"Oh," Roddie says, blinking a few times, "Sorry, I, uh...didn't mean to mess you up or anything, just -- you're always down here by yourself, and you seem so tired and stressed when you're done, I thought maybe you could...use some company."

He shrugs off his jacket and crosses his legs, and his knee touches Tony's thigh as he does.

"Is, uh...is there a reason you're practicing so much?" he asks curiously, "You do like, contests or something? Cause you're really good. Like, the best I've ever seen I'm pretty sure."

Tony's touched by Roddie's concern and he looks away, swallowing thickly, and he shifts away when Roddie accidentally touches him.

"...No," Tony says, after a long, thoughtful pause, "Nothing like that. I've just... always done it." Tony could easily leave his explanation there, keep some distance between them, but once again he finds himself compelled to speak.

"My family is full of powerful and gifted mages. From... A young age I was trained to become one of them, and before I was the age when magic usually surfaces I trained with nonmagic targeting, with the understanding that my bow and arrow would be replaced by a staff or scepter. Then the magic didn't surface when it should have, so I trained harder, and by the time all hope of magical ability was lost it... was just easier to go on training, I suppose. I have to work hard. To..." To make up for my failings, he almost says, but catches himself before he does, not wanting to complain.

"Oh...man," Roddie says, sitting quietly for a minute as he ponders what to say.

"That...kind of sucks," he says, a little uncertainly, not wanting to offend or come off as rude, "I mean, not everyone's cut out for magic, it's just not everyone's thing. It's not like magic is any better than what you can do with a gun, either."

Tony looks sharply over at Roddie, trying to gauge whether or not he's being serious, and is surprised when he sees nothing but honesty and kindness on Roddie's face. Nobody's ever said that to him-- the few times he had expressed his history with magic he'd received sympathy and apologies, nobody had ever told him not being magical was all right too. He's not sure how to reply, and for a long moment he just stares at Roddie.

"I... know a few people who would disagree with you, there," he says finally, his voice quiet and subdued, his expression a little haunted. He's listened to many a lecture by his father on how magic and magic users are superior in every way to any other kind of weapon.

"I don't see why," Roddie says, scratching his ear, "You can't do magic, but I can't shoot like you, or fix machines like you do, or build robots, or any of that shit. And I mean, it gets the same job done, right? I can throw fire at stuff that needs fire thrown at it, and you can shoot bullets at stuff that needs bullets thrown at it. It's the same in the end, right? Whatever it is still breaks or dies or explodes in the end. Just 'cause you do it a different way doesn't mean it's not as good, you know?"

He takes another long drink, wondering if he's making any sense at all.

"And, I mean, just so you know," he says, a little bashfully this time, "I think it's cool how hard you work to get stuff done. Even if I think you work too hard sometimes, you're really driven, and you're good at what you do. I know I tease you and stuff, but you're a good guy. I really like y-- uh, having you on the ship, actually."

Tony flushes darkly, quickly going from touched by Roddie's words to embarrassed by the rush of affection his words inspire in Tony. He looks over at Roddie, wide-eyed and blushing, then forces himself to look down into his lap.

"I... thank you," he says finally, still blushing crimson, "I like... being on your ship too." His voice is uncharacteristically quiet and almost shy, as he's unused to this kind of warmth and affection.

Roddie smiles over at him sheepishly, and for a split second he thinks about reaching out to hold his hand, or even leaning over to kiss him on the mouth, but puts the thought out of his mind, opting to give his shoulder an affectionate squeeze instead.

"You, uh...you want to come up and see everyone?" he asks, clearing his throat, "I think we were talking about playing cards or something." He does his best not to sound too hopeful, not wanting to pressure him to shirk anything he felt he needed to do, but he can't quite keep the want for Tony's company out of his voice.

Tony sees something intent and kind of terrifying pass over Roddie's face, but it's gone in an instant and Tony's left wondering what, if anything, he saw there.

"I, ah," Tony starts to refuse, but the expression on Roddie's face is so gentle and hopeful that he can't quite summon a refusal,, no matter how dangerous it feel, "...Yeah, all right. That... sounds like fun." He gives Roddie a small smile, nodding, and as he glances back at the used target boards he wonders if maybe he doesn't need to extend tomorrow's practice, after all.

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hi welcome to chilis

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roddie leaves to fuck henry lovett

tony /cry

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