Scottfield Model 3 Precision
SCOTTFIELD MODEL 3 PRECISION. (See also, SCOTTFIELD MODEL 3) The Scottfield Model 3 Precision is a typical break-action handgun with a sturdy pistol stock. This allows it to be supported in the crook of the shoulder and guarantees much greater stability and accuracy
Journal of Lulu Bassett
Lightly worn, brown leather with gold filigree 5" x 7"
Date Unknown
1 could write a damn sonnet about all the things I want to do with this woman. Anyone who dies to the bullets from her gun are lucky that she's the last thing they see. Even watching her take a swig from a flask by the fire is enough to make my heart race and by hell's fire she knows it. She catches me staring, I can't help it, and the left side of her mouth moves up ever so slightly. If she'd let me, I would kiss that smirk right off her beautiful face.
1 joke with her that we're married, we took the vow to join the Hunt together after all, and that she'll never be rid of me. I think she gets the idea of what I'm saying, and she just holds my chin in her fingers and looks at me for a while. It drives me mad. When the hell is she just gonna kiss me? When can I take her to the bed and do more than sleep? I want to see that stoic silent face scream for me. I wish I knew enough of her language to tell her how she makes me feel, I wish I could tell her how much I need her.
Sofia saved me again today. My angel and moon and stars. She was away from me for a moment, that's all it took, when that bastard Billy and his crew caught sight of me. Thought that they could get a taste right in the middle of the damn Hunt. I thought I could talk my way out of it like usual, but Billy is a special breed. Before I knew it, one of his friends had taken the stock of his Scottfield to the back of my head and my arms were pinned to the ground. I could barely make out anything in the black except for Billy getting on top of me. He had the butt of that gun to my neck, but then like an angel of death, she was right there behind him. Didn't even see her slice his greasy throat as I came to my senses and grabbed the Scottfield. The one who was holding my hands ran and I buried the muzzle of their gun deep down the throat of the last one alive. His eyes begged for mercy, but I granted him none.
That night by the campfire, I opened my arms to ask Sofia to let me hold her. I was shaken, out of anger, out of what could have been. She walked over to me and let me hold her. She was shaking too, for what reason I don't know why, but when she put her ear to my chest the shaking stopped. Maybe she needs me too.
