Two and a half hours later, after I had memorized the drills and passed both the written and oral comprehensives (I'm not kidding), Walter finally agreed to let me touch a real gun.
"Very well ." He said, neatly placing my two page essay on the scoring table. "I think you are ready. May I see your hands please Ms. Doyle?"
Curious, I held my hands out feeling a bit like a small child showing her mom she had washed her hands before dinner. He reached out and positioned them between us palms up. He flexed my wrists once or twice then laid two of his fingers across each of my palms. I'm not that ticklish but shivered a bit at the sensation of the soft cotton brushing against my skin. "Close your hands please, making fists." Intrigued, I loosely closed my fingers about his own. "Now squeeze." I squeezed.
"Harder." He ordered. I squeezed harder. "Come now Ms. Doyle, that wouldn't crush a carton of eggs, surely we can do better than that."
"I don't want to hurt you."
He managed to look both offended and amused at the same time. "That is hardly likely Ms. Doyle." He thought a moment. "Perhaps if you were to pretend I was Nurse Pringle?"
My fingers spasmed and I felt bones grinding together.
"That's a bit more like it." He said sounding pleased. "Now hold...and release." He nodded
"Just as I thought." He said. He turned towards a gun locker bearing the Hellsing crest, unlocked it and drew out a small case. "Both hands are reasonably strong and flexible and while your left is clearly dominant, I suspect that, like many left handed persons, you have attempted to develop a certain amount of dexterity in both hands to adapt to your environment. I also suspect that these efforts have often been frustrating and only minimally successful."
"It is a right handed world." I sighed. "Even bread knives hate me."
"The issue Ms. Doyle is deciding when one should adapt to accommodate the environment and when the environment should be adapted to accommodate you. Determining which will give you the best results or better yet, the advantage."
I thought for a moment. "Like with fencing?"
"Very good Ms. Doyle. A left handed fencer does have a slight advantage over a right handed opponent."
I looked down at the case. "But I thought guns were ambidextrous."
"Not really, no. The safety and release are more often than not designed for right hand use. Even the sites and grip are an issue on some models. Rifles are even more problematic."
"Oh dear." I said.
"But this," He said opening the case and lifting out a pistol. "Should help to level the playing field."
"Oooo." I breathed leaning into take a closer look. I know next to nothing about guns but it was sleek and black with a burled wood handle that shone like satin. It looked dangerous and sexy and I wanted to touch it.
"This," Said Walter holding out the pistol. "is a pre-production prototype for the forthcoming Cabot South Paw 1911. It features twenty lpi front strap checkering, rear slide serrations, a skeletonized hammer with chamfers, beavertail grip safety, aluminium skeletonized trigger, a chamfered magazine well, polished feed ramp and an eight round magazine." I tried looking impressed but had really only understood the last bit.
"This weapon" Said Walter happily warming to the subject. "is not just a standard model that has been modified to be ambidextrous or left hand friendly but has been designed and built from the ground up for left handed use. It has a left handed extended thumb safety, left handed slide stop, left handed magazine release and a left handed lowered and flared ejection port. All of its operations and controls are left handed and it is easy to dissemble, clean and maintain." He smiled a bit and said. "I've taken the liberty of customizing the finish and grip and adjusted the sites to account for the astigmatism in your left eye."
"What size round does it shoot?"
".45"
My eyes got big. "I'll break my nose."
"I've made some modifications to reduce the recoil but it still has a bit of a kick. I am confident I can teach you to compensate."
I frowned and nibbled my lip.
"There is no point in giving you a weapon Ms. Doyle that is not capable of stopping a ghoul from a comfortable distance."
"You most definitely have a point Mr. Dollneaz a .45 it is." I reached out and tentatively ran a finger along the grip. It looked perfectly smooth but there was definitely a texture. "Is this rosewood?" I asked.
"Cocobolo." He said. "An unusual specimen I picked up when I was last in South America. I thought it would suit."
"It's lovely." I said. "I never thought I would use the word elegant to describe a gun but it really is beautiful." I blushed a bit. I never thought I would find myself gushing over a gun but Walter's enthusiasm was infectious and it really was terribly attractive in a dangerous, instrument of death sort of way.
"Very kind of you to say."
I glanced up at Walter who had the same proud yet self-effacing look that a parent gets when someone complements their child. Although the wire had apparently always been his weapon of choice in battle, Walter was an accomplished gunsmith. There wasn't a revolver, pistol or rifle used by the household staff that he had not built or customized for Hellsing's singular needs. He had even designed Seras' beloved Harkonnen cannon to suit her special talents and if Alucard had actually been capable of loving anything it would probably be his custom Jackal. I ducked my head back down and ran my fingers lightly over the gun.
"I take it you approve of my selection Ms. Doyle?" He asked.
"Oh yes Mr. Dollneaz." I agreed.
"Shall we try it out then?"
"Absolutely." I enthused. "Just one question though."
"Yes Ms. Doyle?"
"What's a chamfer?"
********
So after we got the terminology straightened out (just Google the bits you don't know I'm tired), Walter led me over to the lanes and showed me how to load and fire the weapon.
Walter's approach to teaching was professional but not un-enjoyable. He was patient and never yelled at me even after repeatedly having to remind me not to squeeze my eyes shut while pulling the trigger. I in turn, tried bravely not to flinch or scream slightly every time I saw that lovely sleek, weapon flying at my face from the recoil.
It seemed an impossible task but when I volunteered that perhaps some people, especially left handed with poor fine motor skills and a slight astigmatism kind of people, were never really meant to handle firearms, Walter firmly told me that he had taught far more hopeless pupils than me and wasn't about to allow the word failure to enter his vocabulary. I offered to fetch a dictionary. He did not reply, he simply employed his patented evil butler super-powered disapproving stare until I meekly turned back to my target and squared off for the next shot.
Walter's instructional methods were also, of course, not so nearly as "hands on" as Marks' had been. For the most part he would demonstrate each point followed by verbal instruction, only occasionally stepping in to correct my grip or stance.
After a few near disasters, I finally managed to grasp the concept of absorbing the recoil into my body instead of trying to stop it entirely with my wrists and forearms. With this threat to my poor, beleaguered nose nullified, I actually began to relax and enjoy myself. My aim was still atrocious mind you but, as Walter pointed out, at least the screaming had stopped.
"Not," He said. "that your squeaks of terror aren't absolutely charming but our goal here is to shoot ghouls, not serenade them."
I humphed and lined up another shot.
"Unless your goal is, in fact, to entertain in which case your insistence on closing one eye and squinting like a pirate in a pantomime when you aim makes a great deal of sense. If not, I can but emphasise the advantages of binocular vision and depth perception."
"Yar!" I growled but tried harder to keep both eyes open.
I fired off a few more rounds enthusiastically blowing chunks off of my paper target. One of them actually even hit the silhouetted figure. "Oh look!" I cried happily. "I think I clipped his elbow."
"Very effective Ms. Doyle, were he a professional tennis player but a shot like that won't even slow a ghoul down. Have you tried actually looking at the target before pulling the trigger?"
"Snarkey comments will not help to improve my aim." I snapped, then fired off the last round in the clip. It hit dead center in the belly.
"That, was a fluke!" I insisted as I loaded a fresh clip. "It means nothing."
He ignored my comments and switched back to instructor mode. "Your stance is still off center" He said. "and your grip not quite right." He strolled up behind me and made a slight adjustment to my shoulders. "Feet a bit further apart." He intoned. "Now, raise the gun a little higher but keep it on the center line. Better," He said. "but your grip is still off Ms. Doyle."
I moved my fingers around a bit.
"No, Ms. Doyle. Hold it as I demonstrated earlier."
"I am." I protested.
"No. Not quite." He said and reached around to adjust my fingers.
Something strange happened just then. It was as if the axis of my internal world had suddenly shifted. Everything remained the same on the surface but somehow, in that moment, I became very aware of Walter...as a man.
I mean of course I've known for over two months now that Walter is a man. I just hadn't been particularity "aware" of the fact. I know it sounds ridiculous but I guess I'd spent so much time trying to untangle the who of Walter the uberbutler (jailer, babysitter, protector, friend?), that I had failed to pay attention to the what. But in that moment, with him standing so very close I was experiencing an acute awareness of his being quite male.
His height of, approximately, 6'4" belied broad shoulders and long arms which easily wrapped around to encompass me. I am 5' 6" and even with the weight I've lost, still a big girl but he suddenly made me feel small and fragile and acutely female.
'Oh dear.' I thought. 'Oh, dear.'
Now? My hormones decide to kick in again now, in the middle of a shooting lesson! I berated myself. But no, this was different wasn't it? This wasn't the same giggly girlish adolescent flutter I experienced around Sargent Marks. This wasn't that awkward combination of pleasure and dread I knew so well. This was....I'm not sure what it was but it wasn't that.
In my distraction I allowed my gun to dip downward and Walter, who had begun to step away, reached back out to correct it. Definitely different, I thought as that singular awareness washed back though me. Something else too. Relief. My body was relieved to have him back. It wanted him near. Craved the quiet strength of his frame and the physical warmth I could feel radiating from him all along my back.
I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. Oh my but he smelled good. Like fresh linen and spray starch and...Walter. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I had to lock my muscles to keep from shivering with pleasure.
Oh my God, I thought. This is it. My hormones have finally pushed me over the edge. It was all I could do not collapse back into him and wallow in his heat. To throw myself into his arms and bury my nose into his neck right where his shirt collar met his throat and....
Walter stepped back and frowned at me. I was bereft. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. I felt disoriented and a bit dizzy and my fingers tingled. Strange I thought. It was almost like the time when... I snapped my eyes shut and cast about suspiciously but could find no trace of the supernatural.
"Ms. Doyle." Asked Walter. "Are you quite well?"
I blinked up at him to clear my vision. I shook my head, then nodded, then shook my head. "I don't know." I whispered. "I think I have a headache." I evaded, then realized I wasn't lying.
He gave me a long assessing look. "We've covered a great deal this evening, perhaps this would be a good place to stop."
I chewed my lip with indecision. My body really, really wanted to stay and figure this thing out but my mind really, really, really thought this was a bad idea and that we should leave before making a total cake of ourselves. I cast the deciding vote in my brain's favour and forced myself to nod in agreement.
I turned without prompting to unload and clean my pistol. Walter gave me an approving look then began tending to his weapon as well.
We continued our tasks in companionable silence and oddly enough, even though I remained acutely aware of Walter's masculinity, I felt neither awkward nor uncomfortable. Quite the opposite actually. Even when he came near to inspect my work, I just felt a bit of a happy buzz.
It wasn't until he handed me a glass of water and some pills and had turned away to secure the cases in the gun locker that it occurred to me that the very fact that I wasn't flustered or panicking despite my new found appreciation of Walter the male was in and of itself a suspicious anomaly to my general reaction to the gender bordering on the, dare I say, unnatural.
I sighed and looked over at him. He was very handsome and not just in an uptight English butler sort of way. Perhaps it was the accent I've always found British accents quite sexy. But then again, I was hardly pining over Stewart now was I? Perhaps cultured English accents... I thought but became pleasantly derailed when he turned to me with a look of kind concern and I turned into a puddle of goo.
Must exit the situation I thought, giving myself a mental shake. I popped the pills and swallowed down a big gulp of water. I made my apologies and fled as quickly as possible. Declining his offer to escort me back to the main house.
I had to think about this. No brownies tonight, no party, not even Seras. I had to be alone for awhile. I had to think. And if I found out Alucard's tinkering was behind this, I would...I would...well that was something I would have to think on as well.
"Very well ." He said, neatly placing my two page essay on the scoring table. "I think you are ready. May I see your hands please Ms. Doyle?"
Curious, I held my hands out feeling a bit like a small child showing her mom she had washed her hands before dinner. He reached out and positioned them between us palms up. He flexed my wrists once or twice then laid two of his fingers across each of my palms. I'm not that ticklish but shivered a bit at the sensation of the soft cotton brushing against my skin. "Close your hands please, making fists." Intrigued, I loosely closed my fingers about his own. "Now squeeze." I squeezed.
"Harder." He ordered. I squeezed harder. "Come now Ms. Doyle, that wouldn't crush a carton of eggs, surely we can do better than that."
"I don't want to hurt you."
He managed to look both offended and amused at the same time. "That is hardly likely Ms. Doyle." He thought a moment. "Perhaps if you were to pretend I was Nurse Pringle?"
My fingers spasmed and I felt bones grinding together.
"That's a bit more like it." He said sounding pleased. "Now hold...and release." He nodded
"Just as I thought." He said. He turned towards a gun locker bearing the Hellsing crest, unlocked it and drew out a small case. "Both hands are reasonably strong and flexible and while your left is clearly dominant, I suspect that, like many left handed persons, you have attempted to develop a certain amount of dexterity in both hands to adapt to your environment. I also suspect that these efforts have often been frustrating and only minimally successful."
"It is a right handed world." I sighed. "Even bread knives hate me."
"The issue Ms. Doyle is deciding when one should adapt to accommodate the environment and when the environment should be adapted to accommodate you. Determining which will give you the best results or better yet, the advantage."
I thought for a moment. "Like with fencing?"
"Very good Ms. Doyle. A left handed fencer does have a slight advantage over a right handed opponent."
I looked down at the case. "But I thought guns were ambidextrous."
"Not really, no. The safety and release are more often than not designed for right hand use. Even the sites and grip are an issue on some models. Rifles are even more problematic."
"Oh dear." I said.
"But this," He said opening the case and lifting out a pistol. "Should help to level the playing field."
"Oooo." I breathed leaning into take a closer look. I know next to nothing about guns but it was sleek and black with a burled wood handle that shone like satin. It looked dangerous and sexy and I wanted to touch it.
"This," Said Walter holding out the pistol. "is a pre-production prototype for the forthcoming Cabot South Paw 1911. It features twenty lpi front strap checkering, rear slide serrations, a skeletonized hammer with chamfers, beavertail grip safety, aluminium skeletonized trigger, a chamfered magazine well, polished feed ramp and an eight round magazine." I tried looking impressed but had really only understood the last bit.
"This weapon" Said Walter happily warming to the subject. "is not just a standard model that has been modified to be ambidextrous or left hand friendly but has been designed and built from the ground up for left handed use. It has a left handed extended thumb safety, left handed slide stop, left handed magazine release and a left handed lowered and flared ejection port. All of its operations and controls are left handed and it is easy to dissemble, clean and maintain." He smiled a bit and said. "I've taken the liberty of customizing the finish and grip and adjusted the sites to account for the astigmatism in your left eye."
"What size round does it shoot?"
".45"
My eyes got big. "I'll break my nose."
"I've made some modifications to reduce the recoil but it still has a bit of a kick. I am confident I can teach you to compensate."
I frowned and nibbled my lip.
"There is no point in giving you a weapon Ms. Doyle that is not capable of stopping a ghoul from a comfortable distance."
"You most definitely have a point Mr. Dollneaz a .45 it is." I reached out and tentatively ran a finger along the grip. It looked perfectly smooth but there was definitely a texture. "Is this rosewood?" I asked.
"Cocobolo." He said. "An unusual specimen I picked up when I was last in South America. I thought it would suit."
"It's lovely." I said. "I never thought I would use the word elegant to describe a gun but it really is beautiful." I blushed a bit. I never thought I would find myself gushing over a gun but Walter's enthusiasm was infectious and it really was terribly attractive in a dangerous, instrument of death sort of way.
"Very kind of you to say."
I glanced up at Walter who had the same proud yet self-effacing look that a parent gets when someone complements their child. Although the wire had apparently always been his weapon of choice in battle, Walter was an accomplished gunsmith. There wasn't a revolver, pistol or rifle used by the household staff that he had not built or customized for Hellsing's singular needs. He had even designed Seras' beloved Harkonnen cannon to suit her special talents and if Alucard had actually been capable of loving anything it would probably be his custom Jackal. I ducked my head back down and ran my fingers lightly over the gun.
"I take it you approve of my selection Ms. Doyle?" He asked.
"Oh yes Mr. Dollneaz." I agreed.
"Shall we try it out then?"
"Absolutely." I enthused. "Just one question though."
"Yes Ms. Doyle?"
"What's a chamfer?"
********
So after we got the terminology straightened out (just Google the bits you don't know I'm tired), Walter led me over to the lanes and showed me how to load and fire the weapon.
Walter's approach to teaching was professional but not un-enjoyable. He was patient and never yelled at me even after repeatedly having to remind me not to squeeze my eyes shut while pulling the trigger. I in turn, tried bravely not to flinch or scream slightly every time I saw that lovely sleek, weapon flying at my face from the recoil.
It seemed an impossible task but when I volunteered that perhaps some people, especially left handed with poor fine motor skills and a slight astigmatism kind of people, were never really meant to handle firearms, Walter firmly told me that he had taught far more hopeless pupils than me and wasn't about to allow the word failure to enter his vocabulary. I offered to fetch a dictionary. He did not reply, he simply employed his patented evil butler super-powered disapproving stare until I meekly turned back to my target and squared off for the next shot.
Walter's instructional methods were also, of course, not so nearly as "hands on" as Marks' had been. For the most part he would demonstrate each point followed by verbal instruction, only occasionally stepping in to correct my grip or stance.
After a few near disasters, I finally managed to grasp the concept of absorbing the recoil into my body instead of trying to stop it entirely with my wrists and forearms. With this threat to my poor, beleaguered nose nullified, I actually began to relax and enjoy myself. My aim was still atrocious mind you but, as Walter pointed out, at least the screaming had stopped.
"Not," He said. "that your squeaks of terror aren't absolutely charming but our goal here is to shoot ghouls, not serenade them."
I humphed and lined up another shot.
"Unless your goal is, in fact, to entertain in which case your insistence on closing one eye and squinting like a pirate in a pantomime when you aim makes a great deal of sense. If not, I can but emphasise the advantages of binocular vision and depth perception."
"Yar!" I growled but tried harder to keep both eyes open.
I fired off a few more rounds enthusiastically blowing chunks off of my paper target. One of them actually even hit the silhouetted figure. "Oh look!" I cried happily. "I think I clipped his elbow."
"Very effective Ms. Doyle, were he a professional tennis player but a shot like that won't even slow a ghoul down. Have you tried actually looking at the target before pulling the trigger?"
"Snarkey comments will not help to improve my aim." I snapped, then fired off the last round in the clip. It hit dead center in the belly.
"That, was a fluke!" I insisted as I loaded a fresh clip. "It means nothing."
He ignored my comments and switched back to instructor mode. "Your stance is still off center" He said. "and your grip not quite right." He strolled up behind me and made a slight adjustment to my shoulders. "Feet a bit further apart." He intoned. "Now, raise the gun a little higher but keep it on the center line. Better," He said. "but your grip is still off Ms. Doyle."
I moved my fingers around a bit.
"No, Ms. Doyle. Hold it as I demonstrated earlier."
"I am." I protested.
"No. Not quite." He said and reached around to adjust my fingers.
Something strange happened just then. It was as if the axis of my internal world had suddenly shifted. Everything remained the same on the surface but somehow, in that moment, I became very aware of Walter...as a man.
I mean of course I've known for over two months now that Walter is a man. I just hadn't been particularity "aware" of the fact. I know it sounds ridiculous but I guess I'd spent so much time trying to untangle the who of Walter the uberbutler (jailer, babysitter, protector, friend?), that I had failed to pay attention to the what. But in that moment, with him standing so very close I was experiencing an acute awareness of his being quite male.
His height of, approximately, 6'4" belied broad shoulders and long arms which easily wrapped around to encompass me. I am 5' 6" and even with the weight I've lost, still a big girl but he suddenly made me feel small and fragile and acutely female.
'Oh dear.' I thought. 'Oh, dear.'
Now? My hormones decide to kick in again now, in the middle of a shooting lesson! I berated myself. But no, this was different wasn't it? This wasn't the same giggly girlish adolescent flutter I experienced around Sargent Marks. This wasn't that awkward combination of pleasure and dread I knew so well. This was....I'm not sure what it was but it wasn't that.
In my distraction I allowed my gun to dip downward and Walter, who had begun to step away, reached back out to correct it. Definitely different, I thought as that singular awareness washed back though me. Something else too. Relief. My body was relieved to have him back. It wanted him near. Craved the quiet strength of his frame and the physical warmth I could feel radiating from him all along my back.
I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. Oh my but he smelled good. Like fresh linen and spray starch and...Walter. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I had to lock my muscles to keep from shivering with pleasure.
Oh my God, I thought. This is it. My hormones have finally pushed me over the edge. It was all I could do not collapse back into him and wallow in his heat. To throw myself into his arms and bury my nose into his neck right where his shirt collar met his throat and....
Walter stepped back and frowned at me. I was bereft. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. I felt disoriented and a bit dizzy and my fingers tingled. Strange I thought. It was almost like the time when... I snapped my eyes shut and cast about suspiciously but could find no trace of the supernatural.
"Ms. Doyle." Asked Walter. "Are you quite well?"
I blinked up at him to clear my vision. I shook my head, then nodded, then shook my head. "I don't know." I whispered. "I think I have a headache." I evaded, then realized I wasn't lying.
He gave me a long assessing look. "We've covered a great deal this evening, perhaps this would be a good place to stop."
I chewed my lip with indecision. My body really, really wanted to stay and figure this thing out but my mind really, really, really thought this was a bad idea and that we should leave before making a total cake of ourselves. I cast the deciding vote in my brain's favour and forced myself to nod in agreement.
I turned without prompting to unload and clean my pistol. Walter gave me an approving look then began tending to his weapon as well.
We continued our tasks in companionable silence and oddly enough, even though I remained acutely aware of Walter's masculinity, I felt neither awkward nor uncomfortable. Quite the opposite actually. Even when he came near to inspect my work, I just felt a bit of a happy buzz.
It wasn't until he handed me a glass of water and some pills and had turned away to secure the cases in the gun locker that it occurred to me that the very fact that I wasn't flustered or panicking despite my new found appreciation of Walter the male was in and of itself a suspicious anomaly to my general reaction to the gender bordering on the, dare I say, unnatural.
I sighed and looked over at him. He was very handsome and not just in an uptight English butler sort of way. Perhaps it was the accent I've always found British accents quite sexy. But then again, I was hardly pining over Stewart now was I? Perhaps cultured English accents... I thought but became pleasantly derailed when he turned to me with a look of kind concern and I turned into a puddle of goo.
Must exit the situation I thought, giving myself a mental shake. I popped the pills and swallowed down a big gulp of water. I made my apologies and fled as quickly as possible. Declining his offer to escort me back to the main house.
I had to think about this. No brownies tonight, no party, not even Seras. I had to be alone for awhile. I had to think. And if I found out Alucard's tinkering was behind this, I would...I would...well that was something I would have to think on as well.
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