If the Wife says 'She's Fine' - You're One Step Away from the Doghouse -- (Eighth_Weapon)

:: Dear Diary..... I am looking forward to do another mission. Unlike last time, I need to plan better. The objective of this mission is set with in an undefined timeframe, so I have some leeway to prepare myself and not rush things. Maybe I should grind and raise up my level to somewhere around two or three. That way I could acquire more skills. Or maybe I should focus on my archery stats. Despite having Elven blood, I realize how terrible I was with the old fashion bow and arrow. I would always end up hitting a poor dog or cat that happens to be sitting right behind me. To this day, I still don't know how the arrow reached that far. So looks like I’ll just practice with my crossbow, at least I can shoot straight. ::

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“B-Big Sis. I-I’m scared of this idea. C-could we switch?”

“But if we switched positions, Nello, it would defeat the purpose of my training. Please hold still, like a rock.”

“I-I’m not moving. No-not one bit.”

“Your body may be sitting in the grass, but your noses is shaking. If you keep moving, I won’t be able to hit the target.”

Pastrache was determined to become stronger. 

After spending two days to recover from a certain previous mission, she hoped to improve herself to the point where she can believe that her skills were reliable. As much as she enjoyed solo missions, there will come a time where she had to work with other Adventurers in order to tackle more difficult challenges or job request.

That was why she thought it was very important to spruce up on her sharpshooting skills. With a wooden crossbow in her two hands, she would be able to shoot the enemy from a distance and allow for full movement in case she was pursued. As much as it lacked the range of a traditional longbow (#NotAllElves), the weapon itself had enough spring and impact rivaling to that of a musket.

This was one reason why Pastrache selected this tool as her weapon of choice. It-it wasn’t because she can’t shoot a bow and arrow without the string slapping her cheeks 9/10. No. You’re delusional! (#IsBunnyNarratorATsundere!?).

“Okay, Nello. I’m ready with my crossbow. Are you ready with the target?”

“I-I’m not moving! I’m not moving!”

“…Nello! Your nose is dropping too low! The target is curled up in the grass, hold it up higher!”

“Y-Yes, Big Sis!”

“…Nello! The target is one meter too high. I-I can’t compensate for arrow drop yet. I need to first master my ability to shoot in a straight line, before I start testing complicated skills like leading in front of a moving enemy or distance adjustment! Put it back to the level I asked for!”

“B-but, but, i-isn't this super dangerous? A-are you sure we can’t hang this piece of paper from a tree and let you shoot it there?”

“No, we can’t. The last time I tried, those d*mn Acorn Monkeys ended up stealing the target so it could…do violent stuff that newlywed couples do when bored—Now, hold it up properly!”

“Y-yes, Big Siiiiiiis! (TxT)”

The Half-Elf Girl shoved aside the annoying message window and smiled. She carefully watched her friend the T-34 Soviet Tank sat on the ground several yards from her position and held up its 3 meter long tank barrel at eye level. 

There was a large piece of paper the size of a flip chart she often seen teachers used in school. It was more or less a mediocre cutout of an Orc… Ogre…Cyclops…Whatever it was. Anyways, she tied it around the tank’s barrel with some rope and let it hung under the 76 mm nose.

It was like she was hanging out the laundry to dry, only she had circular bull’s eye marks drawn on the head, stomach, and hands of the Orc…Cylcops…Ogre……Orca…Anyway, it was literally her practice target.

"Nello, are you ready?"

"Meap!"

"...Nello... why are you rolling away?"

"...... I...I slipped."

".........................................."

"...O-okay I'll go back... sob."

Pastrache cleared her throat to focus and slipped on her riding goggles. She spread her legs apart at shoulder width and adjust her body so she was leading with her left side. The Half-Elf let out a long and controlled breath, before she slowly brought up her crossbow to her face. 

With her eyes looking down the crosshair, she adjusted her angle so she she had the tip of the arrow pointed directly at one place of her practice target.

The crotch.

“Um…Big Sis.”

“Sssh. Nello, I’m concentrating. Be a good boy and stay perfectly still.”

“Um. B-Big Sis. Y-You don’t have to work this hard in f-fighting right? I-I’m a tank o-of the Soviet Army. I-I may be useless against a German Tiger T-Tank, but, but I can still beat up and step on bad guys from hurting you.”

“You’re very sweet, Nello, and I appreciate it. But I can’t throw all the combat situations onto you like an irresponsible child. I have to be strong myself. What happens if I’m inside a city and someone wants to grope my @ss? And then some.”

“I-I’ll run through the front gates and come to your rescue!!”

“Good goddess! Please don’t! I-if you do, I would have to pay for the iron gates and I might be sued if you rolled over someone half-dead!! I-I really appreciate the gesture though.”

“S-still…wh-why do I have to hold this floppy target?”

“To practice my marksmanship and raise enough experience points to level up!.”

“I have a machine gun. You could use that. You really don’t need to aim, just shoot and move the gun around too—“

“Sssh. I’m concentrating.”

"Gulp..."

Pastrache was too focused to notice how much the tank called Nello was shaking. 

Despite the fact it had 47 mm worth of iron plating in the front, 40 mm across the sides, 45 mm in the rear, along with the turret’s front-side-rear being 60-52-30 mm each (#NotThreeSizes)… It was shuddering as if worried a stray bullet was going to take his leg off…eer…caterpillar tracks.

Either he was mistaking a medieval crossbow to be on equal terms as a LAW Rocket, or – he was just that naturally anxious.

......Then suddenly - the enemy target sprung to life and LUNGED!

“…Nello!”

“GYAAAAH! I-I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! I-IT WAS THE WIND’S FAULT! I-I DIDN’T MOVE A TRACTOR!”

“Tch. Now look at it, it’s flipped over the other side! Now I can only see the target’s @ss waving at me. I believe it’s mocking me!”

Pastrache cursed under her breath and broke her shooter’s stance. She marched across the grass and manually flipped the large piece of cut-out paper that represented an Orc… Ogre…Orca…Octopus…Whatever. 

Once she fixed it, and even straightened the legs to wrinkle out the crotch area, she marched back to where she left her boot print in the ground and returned to her shooter stance.

Legs apart. Back straight. Chest puffed out. Left leg leading, then lean.

“……………………………”

“…………………………..”

“………………………….”

“………………………. Big Sis. Did you shoot already? I-I didn’t hear the gunpowder exploding.”

“Th-this isn’t a musket or an Arquebus. Th-those weapons are only reserved for Tier 1 Ranger Class Adventurers, not this novice who barely has 15 gold coins in her pocket! Besides, getting the license for them and renewing it every year is a pain. So—STOP MOVING!”

“YEEEEEEEES!”

“……………………………………………………………..”

“……………………………………………………………..”

“……………………………………………………………..Did you shoot yet Big sis?”

“F**K!”

The Half-Elf Girl shrieked as she lowered her weapon from ready stance. She didn’t suffer a technical malfunction, more like an emotional malfunction. Somehow, she can’t seem to get her aim set just about right. 

She was aiming for the head, but the more she tried to steady her hand, the point of the arrow kept going down to where the target’s crotch was. Every time she shook her head to aim somewhere else, her eyes would always gravitate to the crotch.

The crotch. The crotch. The crotch.

“D*mn it, is it because I’m frustrated as h*ll that my subconscious is affecting my judgement?”

“…What did you say, Big Sis? I can’t hear you from this distance if you speak so low.”

“NELLO! BE A GOOD BOY AND BE QUIET SO BIG SISTER CAN SHOOT YOU!”

“GEEEH!? N-NOT ME BIG SIS! THE TARGET! THE TARGET!”

“EXACTLY! SO PLEASE DON’T DISTRACT ME!”

Nello looked like he sat on the epicenter of a category 8 Earthquake. Even with his engine off, his entire iron frame was chattering harder than teeth in a cold storm. Regardless if the character was a tank from the former Soviet Army and born in the middle of the Battle of Stalingrad, the voice residing inside of its body was still that of a young child.

To stand in front of a gun, be it real, toy, or a medieval crossbow, was nerve racking. So Nello had every justification to be shaking like a maraca.

“……………..M...my nose itches...uuuh.”

“… Neeeeeelllooooooooooo.”

“I-I’m sorry Big Sis! Please don’t hit meeeeeeee (TxT).”

The voice of a child now sounded like a hamster with a fever.

“…Okay. I’m ready. I’m going to shoot. Brace yourself Nello! Right between the eyes!”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh!”

With a short and confident nod, Pastrache adjusted her riding goggles… and pulled the trigger of her weapon.

*PISHUUUUUUU—THOCK*

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! M-MY EYYYYYYE!”

“…Ah.”

The Half-Elf's vision was blocked by this wall of mystical warning screens and she heard this weird sound, like that of a horse screaming bloody murder. After she punched close all those bothersome warning screens from her face and wiped the fog off her goggles caused by her raised body heat, she could clearly see where she shot at.

The arrow from her crossbolt was supposed to hit the crotch of her target, which was hanging off from the tank barrel like flapping laundry. 

Also, it was about 1.5 meter away from Nello’s body so there shouldn’t be any chance of hitting her dear friend even from misfire. Think about it, people who post videos on the Ethereal Net Drive all shoot guns with the camera right in front of them for face-value action... how come they're still intact!?.

Yet somehow, the Half-Elf Girl found the end of her crossbow bolt sticking out from a hole.

The barrel of Nello’s 7.62 mm DT Machine Gun peeking out of from his turret head. 

The part he called 'an eye' wiggled violently right now.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAGGGGG! AAAAAAAAGH! G-GET IT OUT! I-IT’S BURNING! IT’S BURNING MY CIRCUITS! GAAAAAA AAAAGH! M-MY EYE! FOR TSAR’S SAKE SOMEONE CALL A MEDIIIIIIIIC! MEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!”

“……………………………………………I…I’m so, so sorry Nello.”

In the end, Pastrache cried. 10% because she shot her dear friend in the eye (machine gun muzzle), but 90% because she realized — she is a terrible shooter. 

Her Elven Ancestors were frowning upon her, no doubt.

“…I’m a disappointment…Sorry mother…Sorry father…Sob.”

“PLEASE STOP CRYING AND GET THE ARROW OUT OF MY EYE, BIG SIIIIIIIS! GYYYAAAAAAAGH!”

Is there a mechanic in this Honeyfeed?...Anyone?