Ch.6) Touching Feeling /k/ edition: Springing into action

Back at home, in front of my computer, I start reaching for a punch. I can never go back to that gun store again; how could I look that clerk in the eyes after he saw me in an intimate embrace and tongue fencing match with a revolver? Sylvie stands over my shoulder, watching my every move. I thought it was out of curiosity with regards to my special gift to her, a tuned spring set, but I was mistaken.

I turn to the computer screen to see where the pin I need to punch out is and Sylvie leans closer to stare at me, expressionless the entire time. A drop of sweat falls down to my eye and I pause the video.  I don’t know why I’m sweating at all really; her glare is as cold as the deep, isolated regions of space. Still, it’s making it hard to actually work on her if I can’t even look up what I need to do. I mean, this video doesn’t even have a weapon spirit in it, just a plain old single action.

Somehow that still doesn’t placate Sylvie.  So between her glaring and my sweating we stand at an impasse. I can’t move forward with her jealousy getting in the way and she refuses to budge. It’s getting late and I really, really want to finish this up and get a decent night’s sleep in.

So I take the initiative.

“Sylvie, sit on the bed.”

She obeys, to my surprise. She walks over to the bed and sits, buck naked like the day she was born. Forged. Made. Whichever. Her grips lie to the left of her frame on my desk. Once I took them off, her crimson dress vanished. That wasn’t a surprise. What did surprise me was her reaction to my putting on this tutorial on my computer. In a flash she had thrown her hands onto the screen and covered up the disassembled revolver I was trying to study. It took a while, but I finally got her to let me see it. Then the staring started.

I take the punch and pop out the pin holding the trigger return spring captive. Immediately I hear a “pomf” sound followed by  a half-hearted “Wah” behind me. Looking back, Sylvie had collapsed on the bed.

“Hey, are you okay?” I get up and rush to her side. She doesn’t move, although the strain on her face says it’s not for lack of trying. Her lips purse and she pulls them from one side of her face to the other, as if her arms will follow their lead. After a few attempts she gives up.

“Can you please hurry and replace that? My nose is itchy, Master.” She intones with the slightest hint of irritation. I feel the tension in me slacken; neither of us is familiar with what will happen to her during this spring replacement. I get up from her side and she resumes her little lip movements from before. Ah, she was trying to scratch it. I reach out and give her nose a light scratch with a fingernail and I can see peace ebbing back into her expression.

Back at my desk, I press play on the video. Now the spring in the mainspring assembly needs to come out. I follow the instructions in the video and finally it comes free. Without looking back I call out to Slyvie, “Hey, how’s that feel?”

And silence calls back. I turn back to face her in my chair and there her body lies. But that isn’t what disturbs me. Without conscious movement I’m by her side.

“Sylvie! Hey, Sylvie!” There’s no light in her eyes anymore; her face has truly gone expressionless. More than that.

Lifeless.

Shit. Shit. Fuck. I shake her and she doesn’t resist, her limp body lies there like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Fuck. I scramble back to the desk. The mainspring. It has to be the mainspring.

I grab the spring I had just taken out and try to put it back into the assembly. It refuses to compress. I push down on it and the metal part it goes on slips, banging my knuckle against the desk.

“God fucking dammit.”

I try again. It keeps slipping. I keep trying and it keeps slipping.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I start the video again and the guy starts droning on about the differences between the old and new spring. Impatiently I start skipping ahead. How the hell do you put this back on? After a few angry clicks I see him using a vice to hold the metal part while he compresses the spring with a fork. Fuming, I rush out towards the kitchen; why didn’t I watch this stupid video before I started working on her?

I pull out the silverware drawer and fumble for a fork. Grabbing one, I scramble back to my room and get back to the desk. I don’t have a vice, why didn’t I get a vice?

Fuck it, I’ll do it live.

I play the video and keep skipping until the dumbass stops talking about forks. Then I follow his advice, sans vice. With one hand I hold the metal piece steady, with the other I try to push the fork down on the spring. It compresses and I try to replace the little end piece on top. The thing slips again on the desk and I slam my fist on the desk. The pain in my hand throbs and I try to think.

How do I stop the slipping? No vice. The wood is too smooth. I need a divot or something on the desk. So how do I…

I grab the punch and slam it down hard against the wood. It leaves a good sized indentation on the cheap Swedish store brand desk. And with that I renew my efforts. This time, it doesn’t slip. With as much force that I can delicately handle, I managed to trap the mainspring into the assembly again with another punch. And as delicately as I can, I drop the mainspring assembly and run back to Sylvie.

“God, are you okay? Sylvie, Sylvie.” I reach up to her face and her eyes look deeply into mine with that stare that I foolishly called emotionless. Now I can really see life in them again and feeling too, the feeling of exasperation.

“The next time this happens, Master, could I please ask you to install the new springs instead?”



About 5 minutes later and Sylvie is back on her feet, clad in that red lace that she wears so well. She had been apologizing the entire time since finished installing the new mainspring. Apparently she had been feeling this odd tension in her emotions all this time until I replaced it. With the new one in place, her expression seems to have lightened up and now a faint smile adorns the lips that she used to keep tightened into a neutral, blank look.

I lie on the bed and admire her, her curves, the way the light shines off her, the way she feels as I pull her hammer back and, with the light press of the trigger, ease it forward. With her weapon form in my hand, I can really feel how the springs changed the way she used to be. There’s no more of that gritty stubbornness that made me need both hands to cock her back, nor is there anymore of that unnatural friction that made her trigger pull impossible to use. It’s mesmerizing really, the mechanical symphony as I work her action, each piece moving in precise harmony in accordance with my own movement. I lose both track of time and myself in her, swapping her between my left and right hands, cocking back the hammer, aiming down her sights at a speck on the ceiling, feeling her trigger as it breaks smoothly, evenly, as internal mechanisms dance inside her.

I finally let my right hand drop, holding on to her tightly, back onto the bed. With my left hand I reach for the holster. During this spring swap, I had checked her internals for rust. Finding none, I made a mental note to double check every week. I don’t have the funds to reblue her, so I’ll need to keep constantly vigilant until I can be completely confident she won’t rust again. Grabbing the holster, I try to fit her inside it.

“Ahem.”

Just before I can put her away, Sylvie calls for my attention by politely clearing her throat.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

“Oy, didn’t I just finish giving you about a good while of my time? Remember, springs and all that? Hell, I dropped a good chunk of today’s pay on the holster. You know I’m hourly, right?”

“Of course, I am most grateful for your gift. I just wanted to discuss the payment of my reward.” She emphasized those two words, highlighting the difference she wanted to make clear. “My wonderful master, who I was willing to stay all alone for hours in that evil thing for, promised me something and I intend to hold him to it.”

Oh god. Right now?

“Sylvie, it’s late. There’s no way in hell I can shoot you tonight. It’ll have to wait.”

“Oh, I would never dare to even think of demanding you keep your promise to me in a timely manner. Even though I suffered for so long at your desire, with nothing but your vow to me keeping me sane in that wretched place, I would never call to question your punctuality with regards to holding to your word. But, if I could make one suggestion…” Sylvie brings a gloved finger to her chin and looks up innocently, as if a thought had just come up to mind.

“What’s the suggestion?” I sigh and give up. She slides up to me smoothly and pulls up a colored piece of paper, seemingly from nowhere.

“I just thought it would be so dull for my dear master to shoot for the first time at an ordinary range. You know I think only of you and I won’t abide the thought of your first time being wasted on plinking at paper. Then, I see this. Isn’t this wonderful? My master, dressed as a gunslinger, with me at his side as we dance for the first time in front of all.” She hugs herself and loses herself in thought.

My mouth goes dry. That was the cowboy action event paper the guy at the gun store gave me. The event full of people who shop at that store. People who would likely be told in graphic detail about that weirdo who tried to get down and dirty with his revolver. I can feel my cheeks glow with an awesome amount of shame, its burning capillaries telling me to stop her. I square up against Sylvie, still in her little fantasy. ‘Take this Sylvie, my shame, my anger, and all of my sorrow.” I draw in a deep breath and close my eyes.

“There is no chance of me going to that thing. Forget it.” That’s right. Lay down the law. Remind her about who owns who. I peek at her with one eye.

Somehow, without a sound, she had slumped down on the ground. Oh no. ‘Please Sylvie, don’t do this’ I mentally beg. My pleas go unanswered as she gives me the saddest puppy dog look that I never thought could even be possible. Her clear blue eyes water, her full cherry lips tremble, and she’s the perfect picture of a woman in despair. She hiccups ever so slightly, as if she’s failing at holding back sobs that came unbidden. I can only bear so much, even knowing how easily she’s manipulating me into this.

Inside me, a war wages. At this point, I know I’m going to give in, but is there any way of doing this without losing even more of my dignity as her so-called owner? I rub my eyes and think, but even after a moment’s thought I get nothing. So facing Sylvie, I start to compromise.

“Sylvie, look. I know this means a lot to you and I… what the hell are you doing?” Sylvie doesn’t look up at me; she’s preoccupied herself with squatting in a most unladylike manner and just keeps drawing in the sand with her stick. Which obviously begs the questions: why is there sand on the floor and where did she get that stick? “Okay, fuck this whole shooting thing right now, how the hell do you keep pulling these things off without me even seeing it?”

“A lady has her secrets you know.” She still doodles on, not even looking me in the eyes. “You can’t expect her to give them up for free.”

I feel my eye twitch just right to match the madness I’m dealing with. I open my mouth and promptly close it. Screaming at her won’t do a thing, I know. It’ll just make me feel like human trash. Again, I try to talk and my mouth just moves like a fish out of water. Wow, I am quite literally speechless. I can’t help but facepalm; somehow the gesture slaps my brain back into gear. Okay, so she wants to negotiate, right? Perfect. I was looking for a good way to agree to this stupid cowboy event and now I really need to know what kind of magic bullshit lets her pull off this and the whole “country music before you know it” radio ninja thing.

With my hand just barely coming off my face I make a deal, “Alright. If you tell me your little secret we’ll do the cowboy shoot how you want it.” I face her and am honestly beyond petty emotions like surprise when I see that the sand has been cleaned up, her face no longer has any hallmarks of past tears, she’s no longer in that disgraceful squatting position and she substituted the stick for her fan. She flutters it open and hides her face behind it. Still, I can see it in her eyes, how she’s smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, my dear master, I’m the fastest gun in the west.”



After being thoroughly defeated by the biggest cheater in the east, I plan out my upcoming weeks before my shooting cherry is popped by Sylvie. The event is in about two weeks, a grand total of 16 days. I still am not quite sure what I’m getting myself into; they didn’t have a website for their little association, not even a garishly ugly one made back in the late 90s. So it meant I either could go in blind or cold-call the number listed there and get more info. Either way, I wasn’t going to get to it soon so I called it a night.

I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. Sylvie was pretty stoked about the whole thing; she was twirling along to some music in her head, fluttering her dress as if she were the queen of the ball. It was honestly quite lovely to see. If I wasn’t so bitter I would have enjoyed it more. Still, after all that I got into bed and felt Sylvie invite herself in as well. She snuggled up right in front of me in movements more limber than I’ve seen from her before. If I were a petty man I would have tried to ignore her. If I were a petty, gay man I would have pushed her away. Luckily, I’m neither, so despite the hard feelings I had with regards to my poor bargaining skills, I pull her to me like a hug pillow and within moments the heat from her body lulls me away.

After what felt like only a moment’s rest, the daybreaks and I wake up to an empty bed. The sound of something sizzling out in the kitchen is deafening this early in the morning. But it’s too early. I pull the covers back over me and I can feel my body falling back asleep. Breakfast can wait, sleep time is now. Maddeningly though, sleep remains on the tip of my finger; my body is all too willing to give in, but somewhere in my mind I resist. I wish I knew where in my brain I was fighting back slumber if only so I could shoot it. Sylvie would probably get mad for breaking my promise to her.

Speak of the devil. With quick, light steps, I hear Sylvie walk into the room. With great care, her footsteps trail closer and closer until I can tell underneath the covers that she is at my side of the bed. Without a sound, she grabs the covers.

‘Please Sylvie,’ I moan in my head. ’10 more minutes.’

I expected her to fling the blanket off me, exposing me to the morning chill in an all too dutiful manner of waking me up. Instead, before I can react, she lifts up the cover and slides into bed before the comforter billows back down into place. She immediately seeks me out in a quick embrace, her hands squirming to touch my bear skin.

Fuck her hands are cold. I instinctively try to recoil away from the frozen icicles that forced their way onto my back, but it only leads me further into her embrace where she can wrap her icy arms around me even more like tendrils of metal ivy. Sylvie lets out a satisfied sigh, warming herself with my body heat.

I’m glad one of us is enjoying this.

A few minutes pass and by now her hands are no longer robbing me of precious heat. Instead, I’m feeling pretty warm where our bodies meet. By the time I get comfortable and start drifting back asleep though, Sylvie flings the covers off both of us and I hiss at the sudden light and chilly air.

“Ah, master, breakfast is getting cold. Hurry.” She’s off the bed and pulling me up by my arm in a split second. I stumble at the force she’s using to drag me around and without a chance to complain I’m brought to the table. On said table, in front of where she quite firmly sat me, there is a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, with a cup of coffee nearby. Sylvie puts a fork in my hand, wraps my fingers around it, and steps back to stand at attention at my right hand side. At this point I’m stunned; less than 15 seconds passed before she forced me out of bed. Did that new spring really change her this much? Bringing up a loaded fork to my mouth, I ponder.

Maybe this is the real Sylvie I’m seeing for the first time.

The plate is finished in a flash; the scrambled eggs had a healthy dose of cheddar melted in and was nicely salted. She held off on the pepper, just how I like it. As soon as I put the fork down she clears the table. I scarcely turn my head and she’s at the sink, washing the plate. I take the handle of the coffee mug and take a swig.

Something is afoot. I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t kosher here. I look for my phone; I didn’t hear my alarm go off this morning. It should be back in my room. I push the chair back as I rise and without stopping her hands Sylvie stops me.

“It’s 6 o’ clock right now.”

Ah, that’s what was bothering me. The sunlight is coming off dimmer than normal. I frown as I try to think of a polite way to ask Sylvie why in God’s green earth she would wake me up so early? Did I do something to her that deserved this punishment? Anything earlier than 8 o’ clock is forbidden territory, beyond the understanding of mere mortals.

“Sylvie, did I hurt you somehow?”

She finishes putting away the plate and elegantly flows towards me. There is no other way to describe her movements; everything about her was fluid, practiced. She takes my hands in hers and holds them.

“I was thinking how little time we have to prepare. So I decided to take it upon myself to have us practice before your morning classes.”

My mind processes what she said and I can’t help but feel irritated at her forceful ways. Before I can respond, however, she pushes a few items into my hands and hurries me towards the bedroom. I take stock of what she gave me; the packages of snap caps. Before I realize it, I’m in front of my desk where she lies in front of me, chambers bare. I turn to face her and see her looking at me expectantly.

I can put two and two together. I start by tearing open the packaging of the snap caps before putting them in my pocket. Then I grab her by the grip, open her loading gate, and start fumbling for a snap cap. I get purchase on one and try to jam it into the open chamber. After wiggling it into the opening, I shove it in. My hand is a shaking mess as I try to finally get the cylinder to cycle to the right spot. Then, my finger is on the trigger and I’m aiming down at nothing. I turn to Sylvie, who has brought up the back of her hand to her forehead in spectacular fashion, exasperation oozing out of her. Then, in a flash she is beaming at me with a gentle, motherly smile.

“Master, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to get you to an acceptable level before we debut. But first…” She steps up to me and takes me by the right hand, her hand pressing against mine despite the gun being in its path. I look again and I can no longer see the revolver, no, somehow I can tell in my bones that she is the revolver in my hand. With the lightest touch, she moves my hand to the level of my eyes, palm facing toward her. She takes a mirror position to mine and slowly clasps my hand while circling around to my right.

“Follow my steps, please.” With that, I shake out of my stupor. In comparison to her sure, confident movements my feet fumble around in a mockery of hers. Her steps are perfectly on time, mine stutter and stop. Her back is perfectly straight like an aristocrat; mine slouches and overextends as I try to imitate hers. Round and around and around we go, her the perfect picture of poise and me the absolute buffoon.

“I’ve seen how those other girls just shake their bodies like animals, without the smallest hint of dignity. Perhaps you don’t see it, master, the way I do. But I can tell that they have never danced the way this dance is meant to be.” Sylvie breaks the silence as I try to watch my feet to avoid stepping on her. “There are rules. One, two, three and four, five, six. Just like that. Now as a turn, one, two, three. Four, five, six.”

My mind spins as I focus on the muscle memory. “Sylvie, this is great and all, but I don’t see how this will help in shooting you.”

She tightens her grip on my hand and directs me how to turn. “You have to remember, you’re not dancing with a human girl. When you hold me in your hands, ready to fire…” She slides up to me, our bodies entwining in the steady staccato, “This is what I see. This is what I feel when you pull my trigger.” She suddenly picks up the pace and I panic to keep up. After a while, she dances in my arms with the speed and force of a hurricane and with the grace of a queen and I can’t even keep up as I clod along after her. We dance to the fury of the music in her mind and for a moment I can hear the fringes of it: a terrible clash of storm and fire resounding across a dusty plain. Each step is a rumbling of a thundercloud, yet the lightning never comes.

As suddenly as that absent lightning, she stops and I trip on top of her. The bed caught the both of us and we stay clinging together, breathing heavy as we try to separate ourselves from the spell that bound us in the lost music. After what felt to be an eternity, she lets go of my hand and there her true form lies again.

“Try again.” She gasps between breaths, her face wild and flushed. I struggle too, but the weight in my hand feels more familiar than it did earlier. I try again, loading and unloading. It’s still slow, unsteady, but somehow my hands move closer to how I envision them while reloading. I load her up, albeit slowly, and work the hammer as I pull the trigger six times. Then, before I know it, I have her loading gate open and I’m ejecting the snap caps. I turn to her.


“How?” I can’t think of anything else to ask, everything else seems trivial.

Sylvie pulls me back onto the bed and snuggles up to my chest. In turn, I hold her tight and we stay together for a moment. Again, I ask and she looks up to me with those clear blue eyes alight with the flame of life and a spoonful of loving.

“Do you believe in magic?”