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Captain John Watson demonstrated yet again, amusing the public gathered around him, that firearms were no trifling matter and of the greatest use in the war currently happening three thousand miles away. Or in any wars since belligerence was one of the traits humanity could be relied upon to have.
Of course, shooting clay and dummies was not… as thrilling as being on the battlefield had been, the sound and the fury surrounding him notwithstanding.
It was an occupation he had found after he had been invalided home from the war following a gunshot wound in the shoulder which had rendered his utility as a surgeon void.
The tremor of his hand disappeared when he had a pistol in hand and he still was more than a fair shot – but Her Majesty’s Army had deemed him insufficiently balanced for the battlefield and sent him back to England.
After letting his spirits take him down for a few weeks and spending his days in a bleak room, he came across a poster advertising for marksmen: hardly an impressive occupation, but it seemed to provide a decent pay and an escape of the city as the company would tour the continent.
John Watson had been enrolled in the company immediately – a soldier from Her Majesty’s Army was a sure way of attracting crowds, regardless of the country they were in.
They had started moving along the costs before moving to the nearest countries and everywhere they stopped John showed the ladies a different talent of his which he had already displayed on the Asian and African continent.
Despite the sense of danger it undoubtedly brought upon and his inclination towards his own sex, he did not pursue men in that regard preferring letting them approach him – and approach him they did although on a less frequent basis as the fair sex did.
The crowd gathered around him was denser and more varied – men and women clearly from somewhat genteel backgrounds were in attendance as well as commoners who had evidently saved money to be able to see him perform.
The company he was employed in undoubtedly had acquired a solid reputation due to his name and performance. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the figure of a man dressed in a black attire and harbouring a disdainful look.
Why in the world has he come here if he despises the show?
John Watson proceeded to shoot with the same deadly accuracy he had during the war after he’d requested the targets to be rearranged and placed farther away. The audience should not be bored.
He finished his demonstration with a flourish, shooting a feather off a gentlewoman’s hat.
The crowd applauded him more fervently for that.
John Watson was sitting at a table in a somewhat derelict public house, drinking his wages away: he had no other object for them, why should he refrain himself on that account?
He downed a glass of whiskey and poured another from the bottle he had requested at the counter.
The man he had noticed earlier came in and stopped in the doorframe, overtly examining him.
He was undeniably a man of means as his demeanour showed with even less doubt in the starkly rough and common atmosphere of the public house.
He sat down across from him and offered no greetings, evidently uncaring for politeness.
‘You’ve been in Afghanistan, I perceive,’ he declared.
Of course, shooting clay and dummies was not… as thrilling as being on the battlefield had been, the sound and the fury surrounding him notwithstanding.
It was an occupation he had found after he had been invalided home from the war following a gunshot wound in the shoulder which had rendered his utility as a surgeon void.
The tremor of his hand disappeared when he had a pistol in hand and he still was more than a fair shot – but Her Majesty’s Army had deemed him insufficiently balanced for the battlefield and sent him back to England.
After letting his spirits take him down for a few weeks and spending his days in a bleak room, he came across a poster advertising for marksmen: hardly an impressive occupation, but it seemed to provide a decent pay and an escape of the city as the company would tour the continent.
John Watson had been enrolled in the company immediately – a soldier from Her Majesty’s Army was a sure way of attracting crowds, regardless of the country they were in.
They had started moving along the costs before moving to the nearest countries and everywhere they stopped John showed the ladies a different talent of his which he had already displayed on the Asian and African continent.
Despite the sense of danger it undoubtedly brought upon and his inclination towards his own sex, he did not pursue men in that regard preferring letting them approach him – and approach him they did although on a less frequent basis as the fair sex did.
The crowd gathered around him was denser and more varied – men and women clearly from somewhat genteel backgrounds were in attendance as well as commoners who had evidently saved money to be able to see him perform.
The company he was employed in undoubtedly had acquired a solid reputation due to his name and performance. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the figure of a man dressed in a black attire and harbouring a disdainful look.
Why in the world has he come here if he despises the show?
John Watson proceeded to shoot with the same deadly accuracy he had during the war after he’d requested the targets to be rearranged and placed farther away. The audience should not be bored.
He finished his demonstration with a flourish, shooting a feather off a gentlewoman’s hat.
The crowd applauded him more fervently for that.
John Watson was sitting at a table in a somewhat derelict public house, drinking his wages away: he had no other object for them, why should he refrain himself on that account?
He downed a glass of whiskey and poured another from the bottle he had requested at the counter.
The man he had noticed earlier came in and stopped in the doorframe, overtly examining him.
He was undeniably a man of means as his demeanour showed with even less doubt in the starkly rough and common atmosphere of the public house.
He sat down across from him and offered no greetings, evidently uncaring for politeness.
‘You’ve been in Afghanistan, I perceive,’ he declared.
