The trio went outside to get Jack accustomed to Wilson's hand cannon at the range. He was a little nervous about firing such a strong gun, given his experience with Wilson's shotgun. But now he knows what to expect when it comes to more powerful firearms, and in a life or death situation, it probably wouldn't matter that much if he enjoyed shooting it.
Jack was just happy Cleo was on her feet and capable of following him. The worst was over for her after she purged herself in the wilderness and got some clean meat to snack on. She was still dealing with residual sickness, and rest was the smarter thing, but curiosity was getting the better of her. Cleo wanted to tag along with Jack to learn more about his behavior; she would catch up on rest later, just as long as she didn't need to chase down a Buneary or something. On top of it, she could see if these weapons were all that they were cracked up to be, with their explosions and sheer destructive power.
Figuring out the strange cylindrical crunching under her feet would also be nice.
The hunters and the Sharp Claw Pokémon looped around to Wilson's firing range, still set up with the same targets Jack plinked at in the past. Wilson approached the table and opened one of the boxes of ammunition, pulling out one of the cartridges to show to his son. It looked about an inch and a half in length with a dark gray bullet sticking out of the casing.
"One of the good things about a stronger revolver is that you can often shoot lower-power ammo in it. I'll let you start with some more mild rounds, some forty-five long, so you get a better feel for the gun. When you're comfortable, we'll move up to the rounds the gun was made for. Load as many as you want, but don't point it at me."
Jack pulled out Wilson's revolver and swung open the cylinder, grabbing a handful of the mild ammo, dropping them one by one into the chambers. Now fully loaded and ready to go, Jack snapped it shut and took aim at one of the Stantler targets. He opted to pull the hammer back for a crisp single-action shot with mild ammo. Both hands gripped it tightly, took aim, and gave the trigger a good squeeze with his right index finger.
*PAAWWP*
It felt pretty slick in the hand to Jack despite the muzzle kicking a couple inches in the air.
Cleo, on the other hand, didn't like the sound of the gun at all. The sonic booms hurt her highly sensitive ears and dissipating gunpowder cloud agitated her sensitive nose. Not to mention the microsecond of light from the muzzle confirming the rumors she heard about the weapons the humans used. Cleo suddenly started to regret following the human that helped her outside as it shot guns, wishing to go back and snuggle on that comfortable cloud of a bed instead of having her senses irritated while still half-sick.
Jack was too busy aiming downrange to notice the Pokémon's plight. He gave two more single action shots in quick session. Out went two more very manageable *PAAWWP*'s from the six-shooter. Now down to three at the range, Jack decided to just pull it normally to try the double action. The trigger still felt wonderfully smooth, but had much more resistance, biting into the accuracy a little more. Yet another *PAAWWP* came out, kicking the muzzle a few inches into the air and being brought back to a straight level. The last two bullets followed the first four, soon making hollow clicks from the gun now being out of ammo. All Jack thought to describe it was smooth.
The shooter opened the cylinder and poked out all of the empty casings with the built-in ejector rod. Cleo looked up with relief that the next trigger pull didn't make any more smoke clouds or loud noises. She perked up at sound of brass falling and colliding with other cartridges already expended. The Weavile cautiously approached Jack's feet, trying to get a better look at the cartridges. The Weavile picked on up and twisted it around, seeing nothing inside the hollow, metallic cylinder. Jack plucked a bullet from the box of ammo and showed it to Cleo, pointing at the small gray dome absent from the one she had. Cleowonderfully eyed the empty casing, amused by the logistics of the weapon even if it required such a loud racket every time it wanted to be used. It seemed clever to her, and wondered why these humans were the only ones capable of thinking and making something like this.
"Shall we check out what you hit?" asked Wilson, still obviously not happy about the presence of the Weavile. Jack nodded and secured the six-shooter.
They walked down and inspected the fake Stantler Jack shot at. Jack inspected the Stantler target he shot with the revolver using mild ammunition. Holes about the size of his pinky finger's nail made a narrow strip from the neck to the top of the right shoulder, with only one of the six holes straying a few inches to the left from the group. It was a remarkable showing of results, going almost exactly where Jack wanted. The shooter was a little giddy at seeing the pattern of bullets. Wilson approved of it.
"Not bad," he complimented, "but are you ready for the next one?"
"Yeah, may as well get it done," Jack answered as he ran his hand over the pattern of forty-five long bullets with a short-lived thumbs up.
Cleo was rather uninterested since it was a fake Stantler, and didn't think there would be much of a point trying out their firearms on something so inanimate, something so lifeless and unresponsive. But then it reminded her of the berry tree she scratched up, and how it too was inanimate. She did it for largely the same reason as the humans were doing. It was to experiment, hone skills, and even relieve stress, judging from all the cracks and tiny holes put in it over time.
Cleo realized that she had gotten herself roped up with brutal, if not cunning creatures, sort of like her and the other Sharp Claw Pokémon. And with similar, distant personalities relatable to the ones she had to interact with before breaking off from her pack.
Maybe the right thing to do was stay with them. Or at least stick around long enough to see where it would go, hopefully to more action.
In any case, the trio went back to the shooting table. Wilson cracked open the second box of ammunition with different colors, and pulled out another cartridge. It was almost identical in size, but the bullet was a robust copper color and there was a small, circular cutout on top of the bullet with four tiny slices around the bullet.
"Now this is a four-fifty-four round, designed to be fired out of that Casull," Wilson explained while twisting the bullet so Jack could get a better look, "this is what you call a round. You'll be carrying this in the gun if you go outside by yourself, and it's way hotter than the forty-five long."
"Is it that bad?"
"Well, there's a reason I don't shoot it much. But it'll save your ass out there if you're gonna take that Pokémon with you instead of me. Load it up and give it a good squeeze."
Jack tucked his lip in and loaded one of the chambers with the .454 magnum round. It slid in perfectly with a muddled cling. Jack figured he would be fine with just firing one round for now and snapped the cylinder back into place with the hilt of his palm. He loosened up his shoulders and slowly thumbed the hammer back, taking aim at the Stantler's heart. His hands clenched the black rubber grips as tight as he could, bracing himself for the incoming blast.
Jack pulled the trigger, instantly feeling the power of the hand cannon.
*BOOOOOOOEEEERRRUUUUMMG*
Jack's arm was lifted up from the recoil, tilting the muzzling almost a full ninety degrees upwards towards the gray sea of clouds above as energy pulsed through his arm, almost ripping the gun out of his grasp. Cleo instantly whined and covered her sensitive ears from the sound of the blast. It was way worse than the six booms before, and can easily imagine what would happen if it was pointed at something made of flesh. Now Jack both knew what it was like firing it. Wilson didn't lie about it being worse to shoot than his shotgun.
The shooter sucked frigid air through his clenched teeth and held the gun in his left hand. He shook his sore right hand from the blast, somewhat regretting firing it. Merely firing it felt like punishment enough.
"Sssssttth aaaah! Fuck, man! It kicks like a Hitmonlee!" whined the startled man while trying to flex his right hand as the last sound waves died down in the distance. "No wonder you don't shoot this thing much!"
Wilson shrugged, slightly amused by his grandson's reaction to firing a "real" gun for once.
Jack walked back to the Stantler, trying to figure out where he hit the target. He aimed at his heart, but the amount of recoil he had told him it went somewhere else. Realistically, if he was to be attacked by an Ursaring, he would be firing at a much larger target, and probably at a much closer distance. To him, accuracy wouldn't be that big of an issue, as long as he could hit in a moderately weak or vital spot, the gun should work just fine. He also wondered if he really was going to carry more than one of the hot loads in the cylinder. The mild stuff was pretty good for him, but it probably wouldn't be that effective against a larger Pokémon.
"Bah, whatever. Let's just see how accurate this one was."
Jack inspected the Stantler for a second time, finding a much more obvious hole in the Stantler dummy's stomach, a foot to the left of the heart. The hole itself was about the size of his pinky finger's nail again, but the rim of it was much more deep, detailed, and ruffled, showing it tear and puncture more material than the mild load.
And that wasn't taking into effect the damage it could do versus organic material or a real Stantler. Or even multiple shots in quick session.
When put into the light of self-defense, Jack suddenly gave much more respect to the hand cannon, for all that it was worth.
Wilson approached his grandson from behind, still holding the shotgun over his shoulders.
"Feel protected now?"
"I guess."
Wilson turned towards Cleo, who was starting to get fed up with the racket Jack was making. He sighed and addressed his grandson once more,
"You'll have to rely on that way more than that Pokemon if you wanna take her 'stead of me."
"To tell you the truth, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. But still, damn. Let's hope I don't actually have to use it."
Wilson was forced to accept Jack's response of wanting to take Cleo with him the next time he was going hunting. The grandfather still disapproved of the aspect of taking a Weavile as a hunting companion out in the bleak wilderness. Jack asked him what he was going to do with his shotgun since something was still wrong with it.
"I'll have it to take it back and get it looked at," Wilson explained, "I'll do it as soon as I'm done putting away the other stuff I bought."
Jack was already walking towards Cleo with the gun in its holster to pick her up and take her back inside. It prompted Wilson's attention,
"Are you sure you still want to take that Pokémon with you? Do you even know what can happen out there when you're alone?"
Jack gave a half-offended response to his grandfather as he knelt down to the Weavile and cradled her in his arms, fully conscious and awake,
"You know what I'm going to say."
Wilson gave another sigh and walked back to his truck with the shotgun in tow. Jack was alone on the range with Cleo in his arms, liking the warmth of his body. She looked at him with her sweet, red eyes of a killer, still craving to get rest, but looking much livelier than before.
"Sorry about making you follow me out here. I didn't know the guns bothered you that much. And you still are a little sick. But you heal fast, huh? Let's get you inside so you can get some rest more rest and venison. Don't worry about him; we'll have some fun tomorrow when you're feeling better, alright?"
Cleo gave a happy little mewl in Jack's arms, "Weave~!"
The next morning was a joyous one for both Jack and Cleo. Cleo made a speedy recovery from her food poisoning and was now able to fully function on her feet just as well as before she got sick. That meant that Jack could take her with him for hunting the common game of the region. It seemed that this past week was full of surprises for the budding outdoorsman, from trying out new, "real man" firearms with permission from his grandfather to finding and befriending a sick Weavile, much to his grandfather's chagrin. Again and again, he passive-aggressively tried to coax him into giving up the Pokémon and going with his grandfather.
Jack didn't budge one bit. He saw it as a challenge to himself and Wilson; he would largely be at his own wits with the experience and communication barrier, and Wilson would have to see how long he could endure the presence of the Sharp Claw Pokémon, or better yet, overcome his hatred for them. It was fair of him to assume that much since he was the rookie out of the three.
Cleo was the last one to wake up, catching as must rest as she wanted as Jack woke up at the first crack of dawn. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, partially forgetting the Pokémon curled in a ball and sleeping on top of him, being soothed by being in his presence. For a Pokémon with such a killer reputation, she was quite sweet. Maybe she was just playing along to stab him in the back like Wilson suggested. Or she was smart enough to know that she was in better company, and it was worth playing nice and staying by him. What he really wanted to know is how Cleo would fare at his side during the expedition compared to Wilson.
She looked quite peaceful in that ball of hers. Cleo was in such a deep slumber that she didn't mind the flickering fire going to warm the cabin against the bitter outside air. Jack almost didn't want to wake her up. Partially because he wanted to let her sleep, and partially because she wasn't fully domesticated yet. The last thing either of the humans wanted to deal with right now was stitching up Jack's hand from a reflexive slash from the Sharp Claw Pokémon being rudely awoken.
Wilson was at the table, fully clothed in his hunting uniform and about to fry up some backstraps. He fiddled with the sizzling meat as he turned towards Jack,
"Today's gonna be a big day."
Jack awkwardly nodding in agreement as his hunger rose up from smelling the always-delicious cooking venison. Cleo started to stir in Jack's lap from the scent of roasting meat.
"I still hope you know what you're doing. It's not welcoming out there, and I'm not sure if a Pokémon is your best guide. You can't even speak the same language…"
"Wilson, please don't worry about it," pleaded Jack, slipping his legs out from underneath Cleo and getting out of bed, "Let me try it a few times, at least. There's no way to know for certain unless I do this. And if it allows me to bag some good game, that means that I have the right idea, doesn't it?"
The Sharp Claw Pokémon finally woke up, feeling refreshed and healthy from additional rest. And feeling hungry, thanks to the smell of cooking meat. And also feeling quite… warm. An unpleasant, itchy warmth under her fur from the heat of the fireplace. Heat didn't agree with her for the most part, especially as Wilson chucked on another thick, long-burned log into the firepit to make the venison cook faster.
"[Why is it so hot]"? Cleo groggily complained in her native tongue. Both of the humans didn't understand exactly what she said, but knew she was talking about the fireplace and how warm the cabin was compared to the outside. The sooner she could eat a clean, filling meal and dance around outside in more comfortable temperatures to her, the better. Wilson tried to ignore the fact there was an uninvited, still probably sick Pokémon in his house after he explicitly told his grandson not to bring one in.
(Damn thing doesn't even like the fire I made for it.)
A few minutes passed and breakfast was served for the trio holed up in the cabin. The sky was blue and the winds were calm to their delight. Jack sat down and helped himself to a large pan of backstrap meat.
Jack had a little conversation as he munched on the cooked meat. "So… what should I bring? I'm still going with her, and there's plenty of Sawsbuck in the area, right?"
Wilson stared at his plate, answering with his mouth half-full,
"Your Encore and the Casull. Bring those since I won't be going with you today."
Jack looked a little worried and glanced at the gun cabinet. There it was sitting on top of the chest holster fitted to snuggly rest on top of his hip.
"Like I said, this area has a lot of Sawsbuck, Stantler, and the like. And that's good, since nobody ever has a qualm about shooting 'em. But it's still common to find stuff like Ursaring literally anywhere up here. And that's why one of us always needs to carry something like that." Jack exhaled and nodded in agreement. Shooting it wasn't that bad, and he certainly wouldn't hesitate on pulling the trigger for self-defense. Jack at least hoped so, and that he wouldn't get locked up and unable to use it effectively.
"But just remember this, Jack: not every day is successful. Hunting is a sport of patience. The one I shot the other day doesn't happen every day, or even every season, sad to say. But it makes the one you do get in the end all that much better."
Wilson earnestly exhaled and looked up at his grandson in a much more serious tone,
"Don't make me regret this, Hotchkiss."
Jack was a little startled at hearing the outdoorsman refer to him by their family's last name. He could tell that he still genuinely cared for his safety, and did hope for the best for his success. Going out there alone is risky enough, let alone a person at his age. Jack then asked,
"Do you think there's enough to go around that I'll eventually get one?"
"Truthfully, no."
Jack rested his cheek on his knuckle, suddenly feeling foolish and discouraged from the pressure. He forgot that hunters rarely bag game every day of the season, and it's common, if not standard, to come up empty handed. He started to seriously wonder if this would work with his handicap.
Meanwhile, Jack felt a pair of mischievous, acute claws prod at his thigh. He looked down and saw Cleo staring up, hungrily peaking up from under the table and chair, expecting food like she was some common house Delcatty.
"[Hey, come on! I need to eat too!]"
Jack cleaned off his plate and got up to go for seconds with it in his hands. Wilson looked up with arched eyebrows at seeing his grandson go for more food. To his delight, there was still a lot left in the pan.
"Boy, you must be hungry! That's fine. Eat up, but not too much so you'll start crampin'."
Jack scooped the rest of the cooked meat from the pan to his plate, loading it up with even the tiniest scraps. He turned and saw Cleo follow him to the stove, silently begging him even more now she was aware of the large plate of vittles. The young man placed the full plate onto the ground for the Weavile to enjoy. She stepped back and caught a whiff the hot, smoky vittles, sharply increasing her hunger.
"Here you go," Jack said as he handed Cleo some food.
Cleo tried a piece of the cooked, darkened meat, very interested in seeing what it tasted like. The Pokémon popped the piece of cooked meat in its mouth and chewed. It was much tougher than the raw meat, but the flavor?
Oh, so good. The flames drew out every bit of flavor left in the juices. It tasted even better than how it smelled to her.
She readily scarfed down the rest of it, making audible, rude and gross lip smacking sounds. It was a good thing Jack ate his share before since Pokémon didn't have any table manners. Even Jack was now a little concerned about the Weavile. Wilson looked behind to see Cleo eating the rest of the vittles cooked up, and was also glad he finished his share before she did. Jack haphazardly raised his hand and tried to get the Weavile's attention.
"I think you enjoy eating a little too much."
The Pokémon stopped munching and turned to Jack with a piece of Pokémon backstrap between her fangs, looking at him with her head tilted back and up with silent, wide, playful red eyes and a stained mouth. Cleo then slurped it into her mouth with her tongue, gave it a few chomps, then swallowed it in a loud *GULP* complete with a small lump quickly traveling down her throat and into her belly. He couldn't help but awkwardly chuckle, entertained at her lack of table manners. She was a meat-eater after all, and her lack of table etiquette combined with her playful demeanor made her oddly appealing to the young outdoorsman.
"Well, I can't say you don't have an appetite."