Lost (A Rosewood Chronicle fanfic)

9 | only one for him

"Today we'll be practising using firearms." Aron yelled, pacing in front of a line of new recruits. Jamie suppressed himself from sighing in disappointment. He knew this, of course. It was mandatory for Partizan training, but Leviathan liked to test their newbies, providing all sorts of classes from languages to archery.

The trainer, Aron, walked to a large table filled with many guns. He held a small one up.

"Which one of you precious pumpkins can tell me what this is?"

Jamie winced. At times, the name calling hit a little too close to home. Nether the less, he raised his hand immediately.

"Yes, Volk?"

"Pistol, sir."

"Correct."

Jamie heard grumbles from either side of him. He rolled his eyes. Ever since his initiation training had started the day after he accepted, he had been at the top of every class, making him instantly unpopular. He didn't mind. He wasn't there to make friends and go on a picnic framed by a beautiful sunset.

After rambling on about various firearms and what situations they are most useful in, Aron handed out ear plugs and guns. Jamie smirked.

Finally. The fun part.

Aron placed cardboard targets shaped as the human body in front of them, telling them to aim for the chest. Jamie raised his pistol, and pulled the trigger.

Bullseye.

He shot several more times, seeing some fellow students watch him in awe out of the corner of his eye. He smirked. They may have thought he was a show off, but there was no doubt they had respect.

His reputation also helped.

Jamie felt a hand on his shoulder, and lowered his gun, being careful not to place his fingers near the trigger. He turned to Aron.

Aron was a stocky man in his late thirties. His mop of sandy blonde hair was beginning to bald, and his limbs were littered with scars. A particularly long one trailed down his back. He was kind, however prickly, and soon determined Jamie as his favourite.

"And that, pumpkins, is how your shoot. Ever heard the saying; when a student becomes a teacher?" Aron clapped Jamie's shoulder, making him winced slightly. He had bruised it that morning by falling off the bed when he was rudely awoken by Ingrid yelling at the top of her lungs in his ear.

After lecturing the others on a correct stance, Aron pulled Jamie aside.

"You know, for someone of the age of 15-"

"It's 16." Jamie corrected quickly. Aron smiled.

"Right, 16. You've got experience, boy. You're highly advanced, unlike those nicompoops." Aron lowered his voice. "And I personally think you don't need this 'initiation training'. But it is safe for you to continue training to keep your muscles working, understand?"

Jamie nodded.

"Good. Now off ya go. You can have some free time." Aron pushed his shoulder gently, before walking away. Jamie let himself loosen up a bit. It was nice to have someone to talk to. He couldn't remember the last time he was genuinely friendly with anyone apart from his girls.

He stretched his arms out as he walked back to his room. Hearing the joints crack filled him with satisfaction. He was wearing a loose grey tank top, making girls look his way. The girls here were discreet, and although they seemed cold, he knew they liked him.

Opening the door and shutting it, Jamie made his way over to his bed. He flopped down and stared at the ceiling, letting the comfort of the mattress sooth his muscles. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone.