“I did.”
“And?” He doesn’t answer me and I can’t help jutting out my lower lip in a pout to put any spoiled prince to shame. “Oh come on. I’ve been here in a foreign land learning about you and your customs. At least give me something to imagine.”
“It was overwhelming.”
I grin, “Accurate.”
“There were people everywhere. So many noises. Displays. Colors. And a bullseye painted on the front.”
I blink.
“…Yes?”
Caziel stares at me, baffled. “Why use a target if the store sells no weapons?”
I choke on my own laughter. George startles and bats at my chin.
“Wait, wait—you thought it was an armory?!”
“It was a reasonable assumption. The symbol indicated combat.”
“Oh my god.”
“And yet they offered soap. Tinsel. Inflatable furniture.”
“And tampons.”
“Eventually. Yes.”
He sounds… offended. Personally affronted by the bait-and-switch of American retail.
“You know what’s worse?” I say, grinning. “You can get weapons. Just not there.”
He frowns. “You mean in a separate shop?”
“No, I mean like. Walmart. A pawn shop. Online. In your neighbor’s sock drawer.”
Caziel goes very still.
“You allow untrained civilians access to weapons?”
“Yes.”
“Freely?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“I assume because humans have terrible judgment and no ability to self-regulate.”
He stares at me, something new flickering behind his eyes. Horror, I think. Or revulsion. Or maybe it’s just the bone-deep disappointment of a logical creature in a lawless world.
“That is deeply irresponsible,” he says flatly.
“I’m aware.”
“You have no required combat training.”
