He was hesitating; if that long pause between her question and his response hadn't been sign enough, Amber felt it through her fingers. His stomach drew back, as if all of him were clenching up. But she wasn't worried. This was hard to discuss, especially out of the blue and in the open. He met her gaze straight on when he finally replied, forehead slightly furrowed. "Alright." She liked the openness; was glad with what it meant about willing to explore with her.
Right after he quickly broke away, wrenching himself from her hold. Well. Eric was probably embarrassed that they even had to talk about that, or with his own answer. They'd dealt with the important stuff, Amber wouldn't quibble the details (until they mattered). Anyway, she rolled up her sleeves; the fun part had come.
Amber paid the booth-keeper with a dollar and a smile-- they'd need him once they were done winning the prizes. He brightened considerably; it was probably the first kind look he'd received in the past hour, if not longer. "Thanks," she added, honey in her voice, as he lifted one of the guns for her. Perhaps it was the best of the batch?
She shook it slowly, testing the gun's weight. It was a light deal, made of red plastic that'd break if you banged it against a surface-- or, for that matter, if you looked at it too hard. Between the gun's redness and the duck-targets, something was off with the setup. Leaning towards Eric so that the carnie wouldn't hear, she whispered: "This fair totally fails at Halloween."
Still grinning, Amber tested the gun's sight. The targets were, literally, sitting ducks, which meant the difficulty must be in just how off the guns were calibrated to be. And she wouldn't know how much that was until the first fire. So she homed in on a little yellow duck's chest, calling back on all her years as a radiologist; she knew a thing or two about seeing. With a bang, her shot missed wildly, indenting the booth's plastic sheet upon impact. She took a deep breath. It was okay, of course she'd missed the first one. She just had to remember that the gun favored to the right. Another deep breath, another shot; again she shot to the right, not having compensated enough for the difference. "Fuck," Amber muttered.
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Right after he quickly broke away, wrenching himself from her hold. Well. Eric was probably embarrassed that they even had to talk about that, or with his own answer. They'd dealt with the important stuff, Amber wouldn't quibble the details (until they mattered). Anyway, she rolled up her sleeves; the fun part had come.
Amber paid the booth-keeper with a dollar and a smile-- they'd need him once they were done winning the prizes. He brightened considerably; it was probably the first kind look he'd received in the past hour, if not longer. "Thanks," she added, honey in her voice, as he lifted one of the guns for her. Perhaps it was the best of the batch?
She shook it slowly, testing the gun's weight. It was a light deal, made of red plastic that'd break if you banged it against a surface-- or, for that matter, if you looked at it too hard. Between the gun's redness and the duck-targets, something was off with the setup. Leaning towards Eric so that the carnie wouldn't hear, she whispered: "This fair totally fails at Halloween."
Still grinning, Amber tested the gun's sight. The targets were, literally, sitting ducks, which meant the difficulty must be in just how off the guns were calibrated to be. And she wouldn't know how much that was until the first fire. So she homed in on a little yellow duck's chest, calling back on all her years as a radiologist; she knew a thing or two about seeing. With a bang, her shot missed wildly, indenting the booth's plastic sheet upon impact. She took a deep breath. It was okay, of course she'd missed the first one. She just had to remember that the gun favored to the right. Another deep breath, another shot; again she shot to the right, not having compensated enough for the difference. "Fuck," Amber muttered.