[ Ethanol and company do wonders for the human spirit - entire civilizations have been formed to provide just those things, the earliest settlements showing signs of communal gathering and purposeful fermentation both. War craft has also long been our companion, and when Bella feels the weapon in her hands, there is something fundamentally correct about it; however advanced, however miraculous, the lightning gun is at heart a tool, the sort of thing hands were freed up to use. ]
Okay- [ she says, a brief affirmation as much for her own benefit as for Horse's. Bella's eyes flick nervously from the other woman and her work to the smoldering surroundings, split between her own reactive task and vicarious involvement in Horse's active one. When the drone first appears in her line of sight, there is a moment in which Bella feels a herbivorous panic, a deep seated desire to freeze in place. But these things sense heat, not motion, which means it won't pass over them until they are cold and dead- and that if they are lucky.
There are probably dozen little pointers on how to fire accurately- but in this moment Bella remembers none of them. She just angles the weapon, depresses the trigger, and tenses bodily as lightning arcs from the barrel of the gun to the damaged drone, illuminating it in harsh whites and scorched blacks. The searing crackle of the discharge blots out Bella's battle-cry, a keening, high-pitched noise that issues like steam from between clenched teeth.
Hear heart is still racing as the drone slumps to the ground, the smell of ozone thick in the air. The hands on the rifle, now charging, tremble. Bella gives an uneven giggle.]
no subject
Okay- [ she says, a brief affirmation as much for her own benefit as for Horse's. Bella's eyes flick nervously from the other woman and her work to the smoldering surroundings, split between her own reactive task and vicarious involvement in Horse's active one. When the drone first appears in her line of sight, there is a moment in which Bella feels a herbivorous panic, a deep seated desire to freeze in place. But these things sense heat, not motion, which means it won't pass over them until they are cold and dead- and that if they are lucky.
There are probably dozen little pointers on how to fire accurately- but in this moment Bella remembers none of them. She just angles the weapon, depresses the trigger, and tenses bodily as lightning arcs from the barrel of the gun to the damaged drone, illuminating it in harsh whites and scorched blacks. The searing crackle of the discharge blots out Bella's battle-cry, a keening, high-pitched noise that issues like steam from between clenched teeth.
Hear heart is still racing as the drone slumps to the ground, the smell of ozone thick in the air. The hands on the rifle, now charging, tremble. Bella gives an uneven giggle.]
Nikola Tesla, you beautiful bastard...