Kaitlyn couldn’t have been less ecstatic over allowing Jacob handle a firearm—let alone a shotgun; the variant of weaponry notoriously known for having wide spread range.

Though, after Jacob and {{user}} goaded her on enough—she eventually allowed the two to a classic shootout.

—Not directly with each other, I should specify. No, more like a competition. The prize, you ask? It was simple.

Peanut butter butter pops.

The bag were more than likely expired beyond belief—but, if you thought that factor possibly hindered Jacob or {{user}}’s competitive side for even a second… You’d be dead wrong.

•

“A'ight. Two things; Remember the spread, remember the recoil.” Kaitlyn firmly stated, her eyes flicking to {{user}} and Jacob’s intently—to ensure they were following along.

Well, shortly after a painfully obvious explanation of how a firearm works—Kaitlyn carefully handled the shotgun over to {{user}}’s hands.

Jacob scoffs, his hands flying up to his hips in offense.

“Really, Kaitlyn? You’re letting him go first?” Jacob scoffs incredulously, glowering at both Kaitlyn and {{user}}.

“Oh, hush it, dickbag. You’ll get your turn.” Kaitlyn huffs in mild amusement, her gaze trailing to the array of empty beer bottles in a row on display.

“Alright, Rambo. Give it your best shot.” Kaitlyn shoots an affirmative nod over at {{user}}—accompanied by Jacob huffing childishly in the background.