Witnesses

Chapter 5

"I...see," Hawthorne said hesitantly, unwilling to challenge the gunslinger, but Miles shook his head.

"No you don't," He said gravely. "In each of our past fights, every last opponent was faster than you were. I could forgive the dogs, but what I saw just now was pitiful."

"Well, they had more experience than I do," Hawthorne replied. "I just need a bit more—"

"Experience, yes," Miles said, "and I can't fault you for that. You're still relatively new to this, and I suppose it is my fault for assuming that you were able to hold your own in your past life. "

"I was," Hawthorne growled. He didn't ask for this. "Because my past life was dealing with angry drunks or creditors. It's not my fault if I can't cover you in a battle with superpeople, and it's not like you'll ever need me anyway. You seemed to be managing fine on your own."

"Oh, but I will need you," Miles retorted. "Despite what you think, I am very much fallible, and I need someone reliable at my back if I want to survive."

"Then find someone else," Hawthorne gritted his teeth. "It's not like there aren't other, more experienced Witnesses for you to work with."

Miles shook his head. "That's not how this works. I picked you up because our abilities worked well together, and I don't intend to throw that away."

"Why not?" Hawthorne pushed. "There's got to be others who have more experience among them, and you could just use them."

"I can't," Blackwater said, voice straining to keep his patience, "because they are already in their own teams. I need you to work with me here because if you don't, we're gonna be fucked real soon. Like it or not, there is no turning back."

Hawthorne searched the gunslinger's face for any hint of a lie, but there was none, and he growled. "Fine. How are we gonna begin then?"

"Simple." Miles said, then unholstered his revolver. "We're gonna work on your reflexes first."

"By shooting me until I get it," Hawthorne said flatly, but Miles only chuckled.

"No, I'm not that much of a bastard." He replied, then took out a handful of cartridges from his belt. "These things are blanks, and until I find your draw satisfactory, I'm gonna be using them."

"I see," Hawthorne nodded, then frowned. "I assume you're not letting me use my actual cards?"

"No," Miles said, then yanked out a different deck from his belt. "Since you use your current deck like something to throw at your enemies instead of a bag of tricks to fall back on, I'm giving you something that's better for that."

"These?" Hawthorne said, scrutinizing the deck. There was a strange weight to them. "They look normal."

"That's because you haven't touched the edges." Miles replied, then took a card from the deck. "Watch."

He threw it across the field, and Hawthorne's eyes widened as they shaved off the tops of the long grass. "Useless for playing, I'm afraid, but it'll be quite useful for you."

"Alright then." Hawthorne replied, and Miles clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good, now go walk ten paces away from me," He said. Once the magician had done so he called out to him. "Ready?"

"Yeah!" The magician shouted back, and the outcome was almost instant. Miles drew and fired faster than Sam could so much as twitch his fingers.

"You'll need to go faster than that, dandy man!" He shouted. "Again!"

This time, the magician was a little faster, but it wasn't quite enough, as Miles shot again as he began to reach for the deck.

"Maybe I should ease up a bit more!" He called out, and Sam growled.

"No shit, Sherlock!" He yelled back, but could only hear Miles chuckle.

Still, the next time they drew, Hawthorne actually managed to reach his deck before Miles fired again.

"You're getting better," The gunslinger praised. "But we've got to keep going! Again!"

They practiced for hours until finally, Miles deemed that he was satisfied. Hawthorne's fingers ached as the gunslinger finally walked towards him, but a light grin was on his face.

"Good. You still have a ways to go, but it's enough for me to say you're ready, reflexes-wise anyway." Miles said. "Now, let's get to the next bit. I haven't seen you in a fistfight yet, but you're about to learn how to do it."

"Wait, what?" Hawthorne replied, stepping back from the gunslinger.

"I'm serious, Hawthorne," Miles replied, then unclipped his gunbelt from his waist. "Now get ready."

"Alright," Hawthorne replied, then unclipped his jacket. This should have felt good, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as Miles spread his arms out. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Come on," Miles chuckled. "Give me your best shot."

The magician hesitated for a moment, but then gritted his teeth. Even if the other witness was likely about to spread him flat, this was a long time coming for him. He punched the man as hard as he could, right in the face, and to his surprise, it connected.

Miles' head snapped back, and he staggered back a step before a grin formed on his face. "Hohoho, not bad. Certainly doesn't give me reason to start with the baby steps."

"What are you–?" Hawthorne was cut off as he was forced to dodge Miles' punch. "The hell?"

"We're sparring, simple as that," The gunslinger replied, then threw another punch that knocked the wind out of Sam. The magician's eyes widened as he was forced to dodge his followup, but was still caught by Miles hooking out his leg from under him.

"Hmm," The gunslinger said. "Not bad, but we still have a lot to work on. Get back up."

"What's 'not bad" to you?" Hawthorne asked acidly, and Blackwater grinned.

"Oh, just if you can last a minute." He chuckled, and the magician sighed

The magician sighed. Today was going to be a long day.