Ann and Ryuji menaced the garden stump for the remainder of the hour. The strength of the electrical blasts decreasing with fatigue and the fire blasts increasing with control and confidence. Ryuji managed eight spells (for the lack of a better word), while Ann managed fifteen. How much of that disparity was due to personal stamina or difference in spellpower? Makoto was unsure.

But Makoto was sure that the Sakamotos needed alternate forms of defense and offense. Even this brief bit of practice had Ann breathless; spread-eagled on the lawn; dozing with her long, red skirt modestly stretched flat between her ankles. Ryuji was sitting against the shed, head drooped, on the verge of sleep.

"Amateurs," said Morgana.

Ren shook out his left wrist.

"Ack! Hey!"

Makoto privately agreed with Morgana, but one could not expect Ann and Ryuji to master their vampiric abilities instantly. If- if it was even a good idea to be doing this at all...

No. No more doubts about this.

If the Sakamotos used their abilities to protect people, there was no way their use of vampire magic could be considered evil, right? Surely, no one would be so single-minded as to disagree with that!

The image of Sae briefly flashed through Makoto's mind, but she tossed it right back out.

Eyes were upon her. Makoto raised her head and realized she'd been lost in her own thoughts. Ren was watching her. Their eyes met. His expression was unreadable to Makoto, but she felt a bit warm, her cheeks a bit hot, her heart picked up its pace. A moment ago, Ren stepped between Makoto and the exploding stump, protecting her from wood splinters. It was the second time Ren had used his body to protect her, though this instance was much less serious than the first. With Ren gazing at her, Makoto wanted to say something to this person who- who- looked out for her, unlike anyone except Yoshida.

The words would not come.

Say something! Makoto's mind sputtered like Johanna's engine on a cold morning. She was simmering in a sudden stew of emotions: gratitude, comfort, trust, anxiety… and that strange, smoldering want that was entirely confusing. How does one vocalize all of that? And should she vocalize any of it?! Well, surely letting Ren know she felt gratitude towards him was not a bad-

Ren's eyes shifted away from Makoto's. He was looking at something behind her. Makoto turned to follow his gaze. One of the house stewards was striding across the back lawn in his black uniform, a water pitcher and a tray of glasses in his hands. Makoto was grateful for the distraction, hurriedly pushing that strange emotional soup into the back of her mind- though another part of herself, a deeper thing, surged in faint frustration.

But in the few moments it took for the steward to reach them, bow slightly, and set his tray upon a convenient work table- Makoto managed to focus her mind back upon the business at hand. And she suddenly realized the obvious thing the Sakamoto's needed:

"Mr. Matsuo?"

"Yes, Lady Niijima?"

"Please bring me the blue case from the office? The one with the lock."

"Yes."

"Oh, don't mind the pouring. I'll do that."

"Ye- yes, Lady Niijima."

Mr. Matsuo offered the pitcher of water to Makoto like he was a tree just now discovering it could move its limbs. His face revealed his struggle with the entirely alien concept of giving his assigned work over to the Lady herself. But then Makoto took the pitcher from him and, with a final worried frown, Mr. Matsuo turned and strode quickly back towards the house.

Makoto filled the glasses with mild frustration. She did not need to be sheltered from basic tasks! She could pour her guests some water! And she could make sure every glass was filled exactly the same amount! (Oh, that one still needed a little more… oh, now that's two much, I'll need to add more to the others now...) And that no drops spilled! And that the droplets remaining on the pitcher were wiped away!...

She set the lightened pitcher beside four immaculately-filled glasses, finally satisfied with the quality and equalization of the four water levels. See? She could pour water! And she could do it perfectly. No one could find fault with any of these glasses.

Makoto looked up to find everyone watching her. Ren's face was blank, except.. Was that a tiny, tiny smirk? Meanwhile, Ryuji's forehead was wrinkled in confusion. And Ann was standing and trying to hide concern behind a bright smile. When had Ann stood up, anyway? She was on the ground just a second ago, wasn't she? And what was with the looks? Was it that strange Makoto poured water?

Unsure of what was happening, Makoto felt her cheeks heat up. "Well, here is some water if you're thirsty."

Ann and Ryuji came for their glasses. Ryuji guzzled his glass, neck straight out, pushing his face towards the glass he was holding in his hand. Ann attempted a more refined sort of guzzle by arching her neck and keeping a pinky in the air, but... a guzzle was a guzzle. Makoto noted their thirst and resolved to include canteens in the team's equipment. Water was heavy, but it seemed persona-use would require it. A hanging canteen wouldn't work, though. A leather pouch flopping around the chest. No, no. Perhaps something to hang from the belt?

Ren reached for a water glass, interrupting Makoto's internal analysis. She watched him raise the clear liquid and drink calmly. Ren drank plain water. So, he was not sustained on blood alone, which meant his body must work similarly to any human's, on the inside, anyway. All living things needed the Sustaining Trinity: food, water, sky- for Ren certainly breathed.

Then his eyes flickered to meet Makoto's stare. Ren lowered his glass and frowned slightly.

Makoto interpreted that frown as a question, so she blurted out: "So you need to drink water, too."

Ren's eyes narrowed. "Obviously."

Makoto was taken aback, realizing from Ren's tone that she was toeing the line of something touchy. She regretted following her own logic chain this time. But before she could find an escape for herself:

"For real?" said Ryuji. "Dead things need to drink, too?"

Makoto blushed at Ryuji's question. It was exactly what she herself had been considering. And Ren's slow sneer prompted Ryuji to take a step backwards.

"Mr. Amamiya isn't dead," hissed Ann, "you moron!"

"How do you know?"

"Because he breathes! All these times we've seen him, you never noticed?"

"Uh- but the stories-" said Ryuji.

"Are just that," said Ren, his voice silencing the Sakamotos. "Stories from when people feared more and knew less. Vampires are not dead things. Neither am I."

That was an interesting statement. Vampires are not dead things. Meaning his mother's people. None of the fables regarding them being the living dead, or some sort of evil resurrection, or any of that- none of it was accurate. 'Neither am I', Ren said. Which was a negative sort of inclusion, wasn't it? Meaning Ren was claiming similarities with his heredity. Which meant:

"So without water or air," said Makoto, "A vampire will die just the same as a human?"

Now, Ren was taken aback. Makoto saw that expression of reticence cross Ren's features: the way he looked when he was trying to think of a way to not answer a question. Makoto was tired of that look, but with the Sakamotos nearby, Ren had regained some of his past reluctance.

Finally, Ren said: "It would probably take a lot longer, but yes, they would die… Though I doubt they would stay that way."

"What? What does that mean?" said Makoto.

Ren gave her a look of mild exasperation. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, stopped, his eyes looking into the distance over Makoto's head. Makoto turned once again to see a man walking across the lawn. It was no Matsuo, but Yoshida himself carrying Father's locked blue box.

That was fast! Didn't the servant just leave a second ago?

"I decided I would assist with these items, Lady Niijima," said Yoshida, as he set the blue box onto the table. He then withdrew a key ring from a jacket pocket and searched calmly through dozens of brass keys. "Here we are."

Yoshida opened the box and then turned it to face Makoto and the others. Inside, three small revolvers sat in orderly restraints, surrounded by neat boxes of ammunition.

"Whoa," said Ryuji. "Guns!"

Ann simply bit her lip slightly and looked a little concerned. Ren, having a gun of his own, simply stood quietly as Makoto reached into the box and withdrew one of the revolvers. She checked the cylinder and confirmed it was empty.

"Thank you, Mr. Yoshida," said Makoto, a little embarrassed as Yoshida took up an attentive stance that indicated he was not planning on leaving anytime soon. Well, if he wanted to watch, that was that. Makoto could dismiss any of the other servants.. but Yoshida wasn't exactly the same.

"So: Ann. Ryuji." Makoto held up the revolver so they could examine it. "These are the revolvers that I learned to shoot with. They are small caliber, but that makes them easier to use."

"Caliber?" said Ann.

"The size of the bullet," said Ryuji. "These shoot small bullets, is what Makoto means."

Ryuji's knowledge surprised Makoto slightly, but then again, he used to be a city guard. Some guards were outfitted with rifles- not Ryuji, likely, but he had probably been around guns and gun talk. Meanwhile, Ann was like most citizens of Tock-Yo- unlikely to know anything about expensive items they could never hope to afford.

"Exactly, Ryuji," said Makoto, giving credit where it was due. "These do shoot smaller bullets, which means they… bounce less when you fire them. That helps a lot, especially when you are learning."

Setting the first gun down, Makoto withdrew a second and checked it quickly to make sure it, too, was empty. She then turned both guns in her hands and held them out to Ann and Ryuji, grip first. Both of the Sakamotos looked at the offered weapons in wonder, and then their slightly bulging eyes looked back at Makoto.

Makoto felt a sudden rush of eureka through her mind, realizing she herself had probably looked like Ann as Father handed her a revolver the first time. It was like she was in her Father's shoes now. A thrilling and bizarre thought, which Makoto shoved aside as Ann and Ryuji reached for the offered weapons.

They each took hold of their respective revolver grips, but Makoto didn't immediately let go.

"These are tools made for killing," said Makoto, her Father's words emerging from her mouth. "They serve no other purpose. Respect them. And never- Never point them at anything you don't want to shoot. That is the first and most important rule of guns. Do you understand?"

The Sakamotos gave her wide-eyed nods, and since they seemed appropriately impressed, Makoto released the weapons to them. She was satisfied to see both of them gingerly handling the guns, keeping their noses very carefully pointed at the ground. That was a good start.

Makoto then took out the third revolver, checked it for bullets, and then walked the Sakamotos through the parts of the gun, how to hold it safely at rest, how to aim it, and how to properly fire it.

"The second rule of guns: your finger only touches the trigger when you intend to shoot. The rest of the time, your finger is here: see?"

The Sakamotos saw. So Makoto showed them how to load the revolvers, and walked them through loading their own guns.

"What's the first rule, again?"

"Never point at things I don't want to shoot."

"Good," said Makoto, satisfied with the Sakamoto chorus. "Let's head for the shooting range. It's just over here."

A short walk brought them to a secluded gully which dead-ended against a small hillock. A cratered wood board leaned against the hill. Circles were painted on it, faded with time and weather. A few rusty cans were half buried in dirt and sand- the fallen enemies of Makoto's childhood training. She retrieved them and returned them to active service.

"Okay, who wants to go first?"

"Me!" said Ryuji.

Makoto walked Ryuji through aiming and firing again. "Got it?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, then-"

POP!... POP! POP! POP! POP!... POP! Click! Click!

"Wow, Ryuji," said Ann. "You didn't even get close."

"Shut up! Let me try again!"

"No! It's my turn! Makoto? Can you show me the aiming thing again?"

Makoto showed her, then stepped back as Ann raised the revolver and aimed down range. A little bit of her tongue was sticking out as she concentrated.

POP!

"Whoa," said Ann. Then she aimed again.

POP!... POP! Clang!

"Good, Ann!" said Makoto.

POP!... POP! Clang! POP! Clang! Click!

"You did better than my first try," said Makoto. She'd only hit one can as a child. Meanwhile, Sae had hit all of them. Of course. But Makoto pushed that memory aside: "Well done, Ann."

"Lemmie try again!" said Ryuji.

Makoto helped him load the gun again, and walked him through how to aim his shots. She then stepped back and watched Ryuji quickly miss every shot.

"I'll get it this next time."

He didn't. Not one.

Yoshida left them, presumably in disgust. Meanwhile, Ryuji was getting fast and accurate at loading the gun, at least. Then, he proceeded to waste all the bullets yet again. That was twenty-four rounds. No hits. Makoto began to be dismayed at the waste of ammunition. Each cartridge was hand-made. They were not cheap. Should she even let Ryuji reload a fifth time, or call it a lost cause? This wasn't just a lack of experience. To not hit a single shot meant something was fundamentally wrong, right? Perhaps with the boy's brain, even.

Yoshida returned with a larger, stockier gun with a wide, funnel-like muzzle. Makoto recognized it. It was the oldest gun on the estate- a beat-up old muzzle-loader that would literally shoot anything. Pour a little power, press it way down inside, then add some metal bits or even some gravel down the muzzle... Yoshida offered the gun to Ryuji.

"Sir? Perhaps the blunderbuss is more your weapon. Watch your finger. It's already loaded."

Before Ryuji could object, Yoshida had the revolver out of Ryuji's hands and then pushed the blunderbuss into Ryuji's chest so he had to grab it. Yoshida turned to Makoto and raised his eyebrows in exasperation, offering her the reclaimed revolver. Makoto took it, and unloaded it without thinking. Meanwhile, Yoshida turned back to Ryuji to instruct him on the new weapon.

"Sir, stand like this. Plant your feet. Put the stock here. Good. Brace yourself, as this weapon kicks like a horse, do you understand? Very well. Aim. And fire."

KOOM!

Smoke and fire burst from the blunderbuss, entirely obscuring the shooting range and the targets. There was a cacophony of metallic clangs, splintering wood, and the thud of projectiles striking sand and soft earth. Ryuji staggered back, but impressively, he didn't fall. The young man had posture, Makoto gave him that.

The smoke cleared, revealing destruction. The cans were now on the ground, all in multiple pieces. A portion of the wooden backdrop had been blown away.

"Ha!" said Ryuji, self-satisfaction ringing in his voice. "Good shot, right?!"