noblesentiments (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} noblesentiments) wrote,@ 2007-10-12 03:30:00 |
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The significance of guns in the lives of Bodie and Doyle: Part Two
A few more quotes about guns and the part they play in the life and relationship of Bodie and Doyle. The quotes and their possible significance were kindly provided by other people:
Fromcallistosh65
The gun as confessor/truth teller:
Doyle raised his brows. "What's the wager?" There was something elementally satisfying about a shootout involving cans lined up on a fence.
"Simple enough. Seven cans, farthest fence. You shoot until you miss, then it's my turn."
"And the forfeit?"
Bodie looked at him. "You give me an honest answer to any question I ask."
Doyle narrowed his eyes, but he held Bodie's look. "And what if you miss?"
Bodie grinned and, inevitably, Doyle's stomach turned over. "You get a kiss." There was such absurdly optimistic hope in Bodie's voice that Doyle had to turn away to hide his expression. Daft sod. Playing with fire wasn't the half of it.
I love the scene that then develops, as the gunplay forces to the surface what they want, feel, etc.
Changes Change: PFL
Frommiwahni:
The gun as talisman - symbolic protection against everything the world can throw at them, and not just in their working life.
Ray sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, twinges and aches attesting to the activities of the past hours. He welcomed their presence, since every sensation was overlaid with the spine-softening lethargy of the well-loved. They both had the next day off and Ray had been looking forward to a nice lie-in, but with Bodie running around loose in the flat, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he'd found--and rooted out--the source of Bodie's unease.
The scent of gun oil hit him as he belted his dressing gown but it gave him no insight into the sometimes labyrinthine workings of his partner's mind. Stepping over discarded clothing and still damp towels, he followed his nose until reaching the kitchen threshold, then leaned a shoulder against the door frame to take in the picture before him. Two guns sat glistening in the sickly cast of the overhead light, both of them resting on squares of dull orange chamois. Aluminium rods and stacks of cloth patches were neatly lined up beside bore brushes and a large bottle of Hoppe's, a pile of oily rags cast off to one side. Both guns were Ray's, the larger calibre his usual weapon for the job and the smaller calibre he kept at home for backup.
Barefoot and bare-chested, dressed in a pair of brown cords, Bodie was diligently cleaning Ray's third gun, the .25 he strapped to his ankle on occasion. Ray had cleaned all three guns only the day before, right beside Bodie as he'd cleaned his own, so they both knew there was no reason for Bodie to be so absorbed in the task at 4:00 am.
Bodie's weapons were not to be seen.
Such Different Wants: Veronica
Frombyslantedlight
The gun as substitute for Bodie.
Doyle still looked dubious, but his right hand had already made his mind up for him; these days it was dreaming about holding a gun, feeling the weight and texture for days after the reality had been signed back in. It wanted one of its own, that would never be used by anyone else.
On his next day off, Doyle went into the station and had an interview with the Firearms Officer that was a sociable formality. Tony was gracious in victory the next time they bumped into one another on the range. There was no immediate difference in Doyle’s performance, but there was a satisfaction in ownership he hadn’t expected. Everything about his weapon was beautiful to him, down to the slim, foam-padded aluminium case that he locked conscientiously, and kept in the cover of a gutted dictionary on the bottom shelf of a bookcase - in his extensive experience burglars were rarely that thorough............................
As the shooting competition drew nearer, he started spending nearly all his free time at the range. He hadn’t worked this hard for a very long time. He was getting to know his gun. At times he thought of it as if it were alive; when he caught himself doing this he was amused and not worried. He didn’t give it a name, but he felt real affection for it.
Heat-Trace: Helen Raven
A few more quotes about guns and the part they play in the life and relationship of Bodie and Doyle. The quotes and their possible significance were kindly provided by other people:
From
callistosh65The gun as confessor/truth teller:
Doyle raised his brows. "What's the wager?" There was something elementally satisfying about a shootout involving cans lined up on a fence.
"Simple enough. Seven cans, farthest fence. You shoot until you miss, then it's my turn."
"And the forfeit?"
Bodie looked at him. "You give me an honest answer to any question I ask."
Doyle narrowed his eyes, but he held Bodie's look. "And what if you miss?"
Bodie grinned and, inevitably, Doyle's stomach turned over. "You get a kiss." There was such absurdly optimistic hope in Bodie's voice that Doyle had to turn away to hide his expression. Daft sod. Playing with fire wasn't the half of it.
I love the scene that then develops, as the gunplay forces to the surface what they want, feel, etc.
Changes Change: PFL
From
miwahni:The gun as talisman - symbolic protection against everything the world can throw at them, and not just in their working life.
Ray sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, twinges and aches attesting to the activities of the past hours. He welcomed their presence, since every sensation was overlaid with the spine-softening lethargy of the well-loved. They both had the next day off and Ray had been looking forward to a nice lie-in, but with Bodie running around loose in the flat, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he'd found--and rooted out--the source of Bodie's unease.
The scent of gun oil hit him as he belted his dressing gown but it gave him no insight into the sometimes labyrinthine workings of his partner's mind. Stepping over discarded clothing and still damp towels, he followed his nose until reaching the kitchen threshold, then leaned a shoulder against the door frame to take in the picture before him. Two guns sat glistening in the sickly cast of the overhead light, both of them resting on squares of dull orange chamois. Aluminium rods and stacks of cloth patches were neatly lined up beside bore brushes and a large bottle of Hoppe's, a pile of oily rags cast off to one side. Both guns were Ray's, the larger calibre his usual weapon for the job and the smaller calibre he kept at home for backup.
Barefoot and bare-chested, dressed in a pair of brown cords, Bodie was diligently cleaning Ray's third gun, the .25 he strapped to his ankle on occasion. Ray had cleaned all three guns only the day before, right beside Bodie as he'd cleaned his own, so they both knew there was no reason for Bodie to be so absorbed in the task at 4:00 am.
Bodie's weapons were not to be seen.
Such Different Wants: Veronica
From
byslantedlightThe gun as substitute for Bodie.
Doyle still looked dubious, but his right hand had already made his mind up for him; these days it was dreaming about holding a gun, feeling the weight and texture for days after the reality had been signed back in. It wanted one of its own, that would never be used by anyone else.
On his next day off, Doyle went into the station and had an interview with the Firearms Officer that was a sociable formality. Tony was gracious in victory the next time they bumped into one another on the range. There was no immediate difference in Doyle’s performance, but there was a satisfaction in ownership he hadn’t expected. Everything about his weapon was beautiful to him, down to the slim, foam-padded aluminium case that he locked conscientiously, and kept in the cover of a gutted dictionary on the bottom shelf of a bookcase - in his extensive experience burglars were rarely that thorough............................
As the shooting competition drew nearer, he started spending nearly all his free time at the range. He hadn’t worked this hard for a very long time. He was getting to know his gun. At times he thought of it as if it were alive; when he caught himself doing this he was amused and not worried. He didn’t give it a name, but he felt real affection for it.
Heat-Trace: Helen Raven
