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[FIC] Reborn!: Perfect Aim
1) This comm is incredibly addictive
2) I am posting this at work, lawl
3) I CAN WRITE OTHER PEOPLE OTHER THAN HIBARI KYOUYA. REALLY. SEE: PROOF.
Perfect Aim
Characters/Pairings: Reborn, Colonello
Rating: PG
Words: 558
Summary:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days prompt: October 22 – “the killer in me”. Assassins had never been particularly good at saying goodbye, even premature ones.
Click.
Click
Click.
Snap.
He slams the cartridge into the pistol and takes aim. Presses on the trigger.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Thirty-two seconds,” a voice says on his right, a blond head leaning against a door, a smile that is almost friendly adorning his lips. “You’re slowing down, Reborn. Kora.”
Reborn ignores him; does not even take a glance. Takes aim. Shoots. Reload.
Shoots again.
Colonello walks over and leans against the table of the shooting range, whistles under his breath at the perfect hole through the paper target’s head, right in the very centre. Nine bullets gone and only one hole; perfectly shaped, perfectly sized.
Reborn does not miss.
There is gunpowder on his hands, sharp as knives to his senses and just as familiar. The weight and shape of the gun is heavy on his hand, but manageable. It fits well against his long fingers and wide palm – it fits perfectly, now. After this, it will be far too big, awkward, but he will manage just fine. He always had, really, and he always will.
The sound of gunshots echo throughout the range, but neither of the occupants wince. They are used to it. It is as a familiar a sound as the daily church bells, tolling and making announcements of death. There is a smile on Colonello’s face, an upward curve speaking volumes of nostalgia. He backs up, and moves towards the wall of guns at the side of the range. His feet go tap-tap-tap-tap, like a four-beat tango, and it is elegant like the rifle he takes from the wall.
“It must be nice,” Colonello drawls, his syllables slow like thick honey drawn out of a honeycomb. He slings the rifle across his shoulders. “You get to retire and only teach. There’s no need for you to kill anymore, kora.” His eyes turn away, and he is thinking of dark blue hair and brown eyes, and a shot gun, cold and black, slung on a slim shoulder.
Reborn snorts, “You’re too sentimental.” The empty cartridge slips out of the gun and clatters onto the floor. He slides the next one back in, smooth and slow like a lover.
He aims, and shoots.
Colonello doesn’t even flinch when he feels the bullet coming towards him, merely closing his eyes. It breezes past his skin, hot air against his cheek. The skin splits, barely, and he can feel his blood welling up – just a line.
“I pity your students in the future, kora,” he merely laughs, genuinely amused. He turns to Reborn, and there are decades of memories woven in his next sentence.
“After you become a baby, I’ll be the best hitman in the world, kora,” but there is none of the usual taunt in his voice, only something that almost approaches a goodbye.
Reborn snorts. He cocks the hammer of his gun back, and fires. A new hole appears on the paper target. Colonello smiles, just so slightly, even as Reborn turns to him.
“Don’t be stupid,” Reborn glares, but that is just playacting; just like the entire conversation is. “I’ll always be the best.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, kora,” Colonello counters, and he is out of the door, a fading spectre of green and gold.
Reborn picks up his pistol and aims again. Bang, bang, bang.
His aim is perfect, as always.
End
2) I am posting this at work, lawl
3) I CAN WRITE OTHER PEOPLE OTHER THAN HIBARI KYOUYA. REALLY. SEE: PROOF.
Perfect Aim
Characters/Pairings: Reborn, Colonello
Rating: PG
Words: 558
Summary:
31_days prompt: October 22 – “the killer in me”. Assassins had never been particularly good at saying goodbye, even premature ones.Click.
Click
Click.
Snap.
He slams the cartridge into the pistol and takes aim. Presses on the trigger.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Thirty-two seconds,” a voice says on his right, a blond head leaning against a door, a smile that is almost friendly adorning his lips. “You’re slowing down, Reborn. Kora.”
Reborn ignores him; does not even take a glance. Takes aim. Shoots. Reload.
Shoots again.
Colonello walks over and leans against the table of the shooting range, whistles under his breath at the perfect hole through the paper target’s head, right in the very centre. Nine bullets gone and only one hole; perfectly shaped, perfectly sized.
Reborn does not miss.
There is gunpowder on his hands, sharp as knives to his senses and just as familiar. The weight and shape of the gun is heavy on his hand, but manageable. It fits well against his long fingers and wide palm – it fits perfectly, now. After this, it will be far too big, awkward, but he will manage just fine. He always had, really, and he always will.
The sound of gunshots echo throughout the range, but neither of the occupants wince. They are used to it. It is as a familiar a sound as the daily church bells, tolling and making announcements of death. There is a smile on Colonello’s face, an upward curve speaking volumes of nostalgia. He backs up, and moves towards the wall of guns at the side of the range. His feet go tap-tap-tap-tap, like a four-beat tango, and it is elegant like the rifle he takes from the wall.
“It must be nice,” Colonello drawls, his syllables slow like thick honey drawn out of a honeycomb. He slings the rifle across his shoulders. “You get to retire and only teach. There’s no need for you to kill anymore, kora.” His eyes turn away, and he is thinking of dark blue hair and brown eyes, and a shot gun, cold and black, slung on a slim shoulder.
Reborn snorts, “You’re too sentimental.” The empty cartridge slips out of the gun and clatters onto the floor. He slides the next one back in, smooth and slow like a lover.
He aims, and shoots.
Colonello doesn’t even flinch when he feels the bullet coming towards him, merely closing his eyes. It breezes past his skin, hot air against his cheek. The skin splits, barely, and he can feel his blood welling up – just a line.
“I pity your students in the future, kora,” he merely laughs, genuinely amused. He turns to Reborn, and there are decades of memories woven in his next sentence.
“After you become a baby, I’ll be the best hitman in the world, kora,” but there is none of the usual taunt in his voice, only something that almost approaches a goodbye.
Reborn snorts. He cocks the hammer of his gun back, and fires. A new hole appears on the paper target. Colonello smiles, just so slightly, even as Reborn turns to him.
“Don’t be stupid,” Reborn glares, but that is just playacting; just like the entire conversation is. “I’ll always be the best.”
“Just keep telling yourself that, kora,” Colonello counters, and he is out of the door, a fading spectre of green and gold.
Reborn picks up his pistol and aims again. Bang, bang, bang.
His aim is perfect, as always.
End