How to Beat Fried Worms
Disclaimer: Worm is owned by Wildbow, and he's welcome to keep it.
-----
Chapter 6: Character Creation
Interlude: Victor
-----
Nathanial Bauerdick had an eye for talent. People who had it, people that could develop it, people that... squandered it.
His own talents were prodigious, he was among the best of the best in a number of fields. A fact that he was quietly but thoroughly proud of. But, well... making his way to the pinnacle of skill and talent had left Nathan with an issue.
He'd run out of challenges. He'd run out of peers.
It left the usual day to day drudgery feeling rather... frustrating. He'd picked up the talent of self-control, certainly, but spending an afternoon confirming paperwork for his boss, Max Anders, was a waste of his time.
Thankfully, as odd as it may sound, practical skills actually needed practice to stay properly sharp and honed. A fact that had led to Nathan taking out a membership at a gym that hosted proper fighting lessons, which were more often a practice in control than practicing his full capabilities.
And, it had led him to becoming a regular at the local, the only indoor gun range in Brockton Bay.
Guns, -legal guns-, were extremely regulated in Massachusetts. A sad fact that meant they had far too few people who enjoyed shooting as a hobby and not a... job requirement.
Nathan knew all of the regulars at the Shock and Awe Shooting Range by name.
Jordan Moss, favored a .308. The man's wife was an absolute battleaxe but the guy could just go on and on about his daughter. Little Lacey would be at ballet, today.
Nancy Drew, with her little .38 special. There was an anger in the woman that just ruined her aim but she kept coming back, week after week.
Michael McGee, poor man couldn't understand why nobody was willing to shoot within two lanes of him. The fact that he liked to practice with a 12 gauge may have had a lot to do with that.
Alec Mist... Alec Mist was new. And he wasn't part of the same social circle as everyone else. Nathan had paid special attention as the man paid the lane fee during his initial visit.
Alec had brought two things with him. A rifle in a cloth carry bag and a large ammo box. From the ammo can he'd extracted a multitude of objects and set them on the small table he was supposed to use. A box of 9mm ammunition, target rounds, a bright yellow quick loader and, finally, a gun bag from which he'd extracted a handgun.
Brand new, to Nathan's eyes.
He'd expected the man to be some yuppie, given the conditions of his guns. Everything was new, likely hadn't been fired since being manufactured. Nathan had been expecting the guy to drop the pistol on his first shot!
Instead, Nathan's curiosity had been piqued when Alec took up a proper shooting stance, slotted a magazine into the pistol, chambered it, turned off the safety and began to fire at a distant target. The shot went wide, hitting the outermost ring of the bulls-eye target, and Alec subtly adjusted his position and grip before firing again.
Still off, but much closer.
Nathan had paid close attention as Alec switched off between guns every time he ran through a magazine. Throughout his time, Alec became significantly more accurate and showed that he actually knew what he was doing when he cleared a misfire that'd jammed his gun almost on reflex alone.
That wasn't some new talent. That was skill. That was practice. That...
Was valuable.
Nathan hadn't approached on that first day. Nor had he approached on the second. He'd observed, instead, as some of the personable members of the club finally got around to talking to the man that was breaking in his guns.
He'd listened. Jordan had wasted no time in pulling a picture out of his wallet to show off his little girl. Alec had listened, made vague agreeable noises, then asked if Jordan planned on teaching her how to shoot.
"Oh, no!" Jordan had said with a hearty laugh. "She's never been interested. She just wants to do ballet and dance!"
Instead of arguing, Alec had just nodded along and listened.
He was a quiet man, agreeable and overall pleasant. He didn't make a mess, waited patiently until a lane had actually opened up instead of trying to muscle in and steal one and actually policed his brass. He'd even been willing to share his lunch when Nancy had mentioned it smelling good and Nathan had been forced to agree after enjoying a small square of moist, sweet banana bread.
Really, Alec only stood out from everyone else for the simple fact that he wasn't a part of the same social club as the others. Because he was an outsider.
Keeping an eye on the man as Alec began to put away his equipment, Nathan came to a decision. Good, talented marksmen were actually rather rare and he'd watched as Alec worked his way up to consistently managing to hit around the bulls-eye of his targets.
That kind of talent was hard to come across. It was a skill that was often considered too expensive or wasteful to cultivate. Most people in Nathan's social club just weren't willing to invest that kind of time in themselves, not when they could just sit on the couch and watch the television instead.
So, when Alec was in the process of breaking down his gear for transport? Nathan simply holstered his own pistol, a .357 magnum, and headed for the door that led back out to the store floor. The man 'tsk'ed at the gun prices but, at least, the idiots passing the laws in Massachusetts hadn't worked too hard to restrict the ammunition. They'd put a blanket ban on green-tips, armor piercing ammunition, but those were already enough of a hassle to get to begin with that very few people had even really noticed.
Nathan took off his earmuffs and stepped outside, into the dreary light of winter, and waited.
He wasn't stuck waiting long before Alec stepped out, ambling towards a large, off-white step van with chipped, faded paint.
"Alec!" Nathan called, drawing his target to a halt. "I was hoping to talk with you. Are you in a hurry?"
Communicating was a skill, like many others. It covered a broad swathe of things, from correctly conveying a concept using the least amount of words, up to directing a listener to think and feel as the orator wants.
It was, among many other things, a skill that Nathan had long, long since mastered.
"...No, not really," Alec answered after a second of hesitation where he'd adjusted his rifle bag from where it'd been slipping under his arm. "What's up?"
"I've noticed you've been spending more time at the range these last few days," Nathan explained, not mentioning that he'd been fed that information by one of the clerks who knew of Nathan's position. "Is something wrong?"
"My boss had a heart attack during a state audit," Alec explained, though he rolled his eyes when he mentioned the audit. "I'm on administrative leave until they decide on what happened. I've got a few job applications out but, well, I've also got a lot of free time."
"Ah. You expect they'll find a reason to fire you." Nathan wasn't especially surprised. He hadn't run a background check on Alec, there likely wasn't much point, so he hadn't known the man's living conditions or employment status. "That just makes my offer all the more important!"
"...And that is?"
"I would like to invite you to dinner with myself and my wife," Nathan offered, a smug smile on his face that dipped a bit at Alec's lack of surprise at Nathan's marital status. Most people seemed envious when it was brought up... "I'd like to discuss some... opportunities with you, that you might consider going forward."
"Such as?"
"Security," Nathan quickly supplied. "I work at Medhall and our security team could always use a bit of extra oomph. I was thinking I'd discuss the details with you over dinner, see if it'd be worth my time to pass the suggestion to my own boss."
"Alright," Alec agreed. He opened the door of his van and set his equipment on the seat before leaning in and grabbing a notepad. "What's the address?"
Nathan quickly gave Alec his home address and declared a date and time, just a few days away.
Watching the marksman drive away, Nathan felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Max would hire him, that wouldn't be an issue. And, once Alec had gotten dependent on being paid regularly by Medhall?
Well...
Victor had always been a good judge of talent.
www.leatherman.com
*vows revenge*