Okay, Jack was getting more respect from her. Circe usually had clients flustered or janky with THAT instructive method. But Jack? Just focus. Props for a Summer focused upon battle training. Good.
"Crawl, walk, run," Circe blithely says, "I did not get good overnight. Practice...well, it makes you less shit, oh ho ho ho!" Circe is amused at the prospect. "And I," she places a hand upon her chest, "Was once," then a thumbs up, "An extremely annoying little shit. Not so little now. Try, uh, taking longer with the aiming. Don't matter if you start taking a literal minute to aim in practice. Whittle down the time later."
"Oh, years," Circe blutntly responds to the mundy in answer. "Safety handling is important, but actual shooting experience helps a lot. More bullets, more experience, more skill." The matter of knowledge however? She had an excellent excuse for that. "And I will take props on my knowledge, and get paid for it. As well as giving them. Never got to work with one of the miniguns though," Circe shrugs. "There's only 5 of them that can be used in movies legally, so they're kind of rare."
Which was actually true. She looked it up for a drug lord with a lot of money. And no common sense, the military keeps a close eye on those things and thousands of bullets a minute adds up in cost quite fast.
Getting a bit bored, Circe spins around and walks off. She gets 45 rounds for her own revolver. Maybe some demonstration.
4 successes
"Bang."
Then takes a full minute to line up the shot.
8 successes
"Aiming plus shot, equal better bang. Or you just go for dakka, but that don't HAVE that here, oh ho ho ho."
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