legionworld | bang bang shoot shoot

Entry tags:

bang bang shoot shoot

Who| North and Tucker, later open to others
What| Range time
Where| The shooting range
When| After Resistance is Futile
Warnings/Notes| Firearms, Tucker-standard double entendere cautions

[Closed to Tucker]

After the adrenaline of the mission, North's ready to relax - which, more often than not, means going back to routine as much as he can, as soon as he can. Showing a sim trooper around his rifle is hardly routine, but range time is, and there is something easy and almost nostalgic around the low-pressure act of blowing through ammunition with absolutely nothing on the line but vague intentions to keep improving.

He's there ten minutes before they're due to meet, out of his armor, gear in a long case tucked under his arm. Just enough time to put out some targets and get set up, he imagines.

[Open]

Maybe there's something infectious in the more constructive (or at the very least highly non-competetive) range time with Tucker. North's still there as much as he ever was, keeping sharp, but he's more likely to strike up a conversation, rather than get in, do his practice, and move on to the next item on the daily training schedule. After about a week of this he even puts up a standing notice near the entrance, around the time of his usual afternoon practice, which advertises the time slot as Unranked Marksmanship League. Not that he's actually going to point it out to York, but maybe there's something to his whole 'not everything has to be a competition' theory.

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Carolina's beginning to get used to this place finally. Her training and classes help, even if there's the tiniest bit of frustration at feeling like she's behind the others in terms of where she’s at with her powers.

She can work on not being competitive but it still happens.

But North, she knows she’ll never compare - and so she feels no ire at matching up against him. She’s always been a close range fighter, and while the freelancers as a whole are better snipers than on average, she's still worlds away from North.

Which is what leads to this - Carolina in her kevlar (because of course she's still feeling paranoid) and hair back, setting her rifle down and flicking the safety on after emptying a mag. The spread is sloppy, even for her.

She looks at North, comparing his to hers. It’s still surreal to see him and Theta but…. she’s getting used to it. It's not a bad thing to have to get used to.

North's just finishing his round, plunking deliberate shots into the target, two snug clusters in the head and chest by the time he finishes a few moments later and glances back at Carolina. It's good to see her. Surreal, just in how different the atmosphere is between them, but at the same time . . . it's good. A chance to just be around Carolina as another person was something he'd so naturally assumed he'd never get that it never even occurred to him to feel a certain way about it. But getting that chance? He's grateful for it.

"I might try to set up some shooting-on-the-move drills for next time," he muses, as close to commentary on her shooting as he's going to get for the moment. This is, after all, unranked marksmanship league. A large part of that is resisting the urge to compare, even slightly. "Mix it up a little."

Carolina's spread is in her target, but it's spread across head and upper chest. Not all of them are kill shots, which is where the sloppy work comes from.

She can't say she ever got a chance to just hang with North. Even before, her competitiveness and his often made everything a kind of contest, despite York's best efforts. Not that she ever disliked him for that.

"Snipers again, or choose your own?" She asks him after a moment, still comparing the two spreads with a critical eye. "I feel like I might do better with my rifle."

"Choose your own, absolutely." He rolls back to seated, giving his shoulders a roll and stretch before reloading. Speed is not even close to his top priority right now, and if anything he's intentionally taking it easy, trying to lean into the experiment of intentionally not competing.

He's not sure if he likes it, but he's already come out the other side of a mission alongside the other Freelancers without a points tally waiting for them. Maybe the trick is just getting through to the end. Or maybe it's just harder when he can see Carolina's eyes darting between the targets, tallying the difference the way all of them had learned to.

"Might as well play to your strengths. Unless you have some new passion for the sniper rifle that I'm not aware of."

Competition comes easy to her, although it's markedly different to how she treated it before, and how she treats it now. The fact that North doesn't goad her means her shoulders relax a little bit, and she even gives a little, low chuckle.

"No. I'm still pretty much a fists kind of girl," she notes with a wry tone. "Rifle's just the second-preferred firearm." The first being the magnum, of course. She's still not blessed with the patience to work as a marksman or a sniper.

Edited 2017-08-31 05:15 (UTC)

"Hey, why mess with success." He reaches for the panel on his lane to dismiss the target, mulling over which new one to put up. ('Clay pigeons'? Are those even still a thing this far in the future?)

"Have you found any good sparring partners around here yet?" There are some impressive fighters around here, and he knows that she loves a challenge.

"You're still doing good," she notes as his target disappears. "Theta been helping you out at all?"

There's no jealousy, or judgement, in her tone about it. She'd relied on Epsilon to make her calculations as well, so she wouldn't think North odd for doing so. It's hard to explain, though, without admitting about Epsilon and what exactly happened to Eta and Iota. And she's kept some of that from North so far.

"Found a couple willing ones, and they're not bad."

Edited 2017-09-02 04:22 (UTC)

"I try not to monopolize him for basic target practice, but yeah. He's still great for missions and the more complicated training sims." He decides he might as well try the clay pigeon option, and rolls into a kneeling position, ready as the lane queues up his targets and counts down. "It's pretty amazing, actually. He's really coming into his own here. I guess there's a lot less to be scared of."

"That doesn't surprise me. All the monsters are real monsters and right in front of us."

It's the closest she'll admit right now that something was happening to the AI back in Freelancer. She doesn't know what North knows, if Connie's told him anything about what was going on - why the AI were so anxious.

She's a little amused at the roll, too. Why so extra, North?

Tucker was on actually time, which just goes to show how serious he was taking this whole thing. Armor was gone in place civvies, something easy, nothing fancy, but easily the brightest thing on him was a broad smile that stretched ear to ear. He was going to get to play with a sniper rifle. No begging. No bargaining. No bitching. Just a gun he could slowly, carefully settle into his hands and squeeze until it fired. Bow chicka bow wow.

He couldn't wait to rub it in Church's face when they got home and found him after that distress call Dylan brought them. What's better than the Alpha AI refusing to let him touch that precious sniper rifle? A Freelancer who actually took the time to show him how to fucking use it. He'd be so pissed and Tucker would laugh and... it'd be like normal.

Fuck, he missed normal after all the weirdness here.

Tucker arrived when North was finishing up setting the targets, brown eyes glittering in excitement. "You're only putting them that far back? Come on; make it hard at least." Said the guy who fired a sniper rifle and shot Tex in the ass. Sure.

Tucker's approach is hard to miss, and North can't help smiling to himself at the Christmas morning glee he brings into the room with him. Knowing every last one of them has an inexplicable, basically-magic superpower just makes that kind of delight charming, and for his own part, rifles have just been part of his job for so long that it's easy to forget the entire Cool Factor some folks surround them with.

"Don't worry, I'll make it hard when I know you're ready for it." He's seated easily on the ground, just taking his rifle out of his case and loading it. He doesn't look up as he works, and his voice is even enough to pull off the conceit that, no, he's definitely not crafting deliberate double entendres. "But if I make it hard any sooner we're both just going to get frustrated."

Sniper rifles are cool. Maybe the fact that it was forbidden fruit for so long helped with that, this treat that he was denied like a dessert after dinner, but hell if that didn’t make Tucker want it more. The sentimental value? Totally not even there. Really. Not…not at all.

Shut up.

“…bow chicka bow wow.” Come on, North, you were asking for that one. He watched him unpack the gun, watched him load it, watched where everything went, how to load it even if he would forget in a few. Cool. Cool. And seriously, North, he’s starting to think you’re a lot more like him than he thought.

“You’d be surprised how quick I can be.” Wait. Fuck. “ I didn’t mean it like that!”

Dammit.

“Have you always been a sniper?”

Tucker gets a quirk of a grin at the expected commentary, one that makes it all the way to a snort when the repartee breaks down entirely. Even with much higher day-to-day stakes than they get in the Legion, he's always had a weak spot for a certain amount of jackassery. It's just . . . normal. Probably abnormally normal, considering this is also a sim trooper who somehow managed to wrangle himself an alien sword.

"If you're being technical, I've never been a sniper. Freelancer picked me up as a marksman." Rifle set up, he looks up, patting the ground directly behind the weapon. "Down here, Quickshot, prone position."

"Yeah, but isn't that like the same thing?" He made a face; this sounded like semantics at best, particulars at worst. There's a shot, you hit it, and it's a helluva lot easier to hit it with a sniper rifle than a pistol. That was just logic, right?

(Oh, Tucker, you had much to learn.)

He moved down, stretching out across the ground next to North. It was less "position" and more "lying around", but it was lack of knowledge more than a lack of effort; the sparkling wonder of this experience still hadn't left him.

"So, Church usually just carried it around like it was a regular rifle," he said, kicking his legs out. "Then again, I don't think he actually hit a single target with it."

It feels damn good to have a rifle in his hands again.

Not that he doesn't appreciate his new bag of tricks, but they're not the old friend a sniper rifle is. They don't give the same satisfaction as seeing a moving target a klick away, and knowing he can hit it.

That certainty and the skill behind it is a point of justified pride. They took two decades of hard work to build, and at the risk of sounding conceited, there aren't many people who can do what he can do at long range.

The rifle he's picked out is a little awkward - unfamiliar and more tailored to human arms than turian ones. Using it though, that's as natural as breathing. The first shot is a little off center - not wide enough to miss, but not in the middle of the head like he'd hoped.

He takes a breath, adjusts, and hefts the rifle again.

The rest of the clip hammers into the target in a tight grouping - one after the other, right between the eyes.

Edited 2017-08-30 20:09 (UTC)

North knows that his own self-inflicted rules discourage competition. And that comparison leads to competition very, very easily. Still, he gives a long, low whistle once the last round whiffs through the punched-thin point in the target, pausing on his way back to his own lane.

"All that and an insightful film critic," he comments wryly, eyeballing the distance of the target with a faint lift of his eyebrows. Damn.

Garrus lays down the rifle and turns, offering North what's probably a smile. Hard to tell.

"The last one is more of a hobby," he replies, the jovial tone clear in his voice.

If Widowmaker was one to clap and applaud the efforts of others (and mean it honestly), she would have after Garrus finished. Instead, she watched and nodded to herself. She'd already known he was an excellent shot, but seeing it in person was more enlightening. Video footage limited what she could see, things such as stance, breathing and any pull.

When the turian collected his target and replaced it with a fresh one, he'd find her with her arms resting on the rail, chin pillowed on them, observing him. She didn't have Widow's Kiss with her, but that's because she wasn't there to shoot. Why take the sport out of this for the others?

If she'd said that out loud, the non-competitive aspect of this little get together probably would have gone out of the window. It'd be friendly competition, of course, but Garrus has a reputation to uphold.

He wasn't that surprised to see her there. He hadn't exactly expected it, but he certainly wasn't surprised by it. Nor was he particularly surprised at fact that cool, amber eyes seemed to clock everything about him - weighing, measuring, dissecting. It was slightly unsettling - a running theme with a lot of things about her, really - but he expected it.

"Not joining in on the fun?" He asks, walking back towards her.

It wasn't really fun without live targets, but Widowmaker kept that thought to herself. Instead she simple shook her head, her hair loosely braided back instead of in a rigid ponytail. She almost looked like a normal girl, if not for her skin tone and those piercing cold eyes of hers.

"Some things are better left as mysteries," she replied.

He arches an eyebrow and chuckles as he lifts one leg over the railing, and then the other.

"Well. Now I really want to see what you can do." He says, picking up his rifle. He doesn't quite offer it, but he doesn't immediately shoulder it. He lingers, giving her an opportunity to say something, to reach out and take it, whatever.

"Perhaps some day you will," she said with a smile. "But not today. It would ruin the spirit of this little club."

Because it was impossible for Widowmaker to not be competitive. It had always been a part of her, from the rigors of ballet to her training with Talon to her ascension as a sniper. She knew she was the best - unless someone was assisted by superpowers like Locus was - and she didn't need to prove that to anyone.

And she'd learned her lesson about showing off thanks to a still-living Ana Amari.

He shrugs, casual but clearly disappointed as he takes a knee and shoulders the rifle.

"I'm going to hold you to that," He replies without looking away from his scope. Then, he squeezes the trigger and puts another round into the center of the target. He can play nice, but she's not the only one with a competitive streak. Just like her, the things he can do with a rifle in his hands are something he takes a lot of pride in. He's damn good. He knows he's one of the best out there, and he loves the opportunity to prove that.

It isn't often he has someone who presents a challenge, and he'd hate to get lazy.

"I would suggest paying attention during missions, but really, you should not be focused on my shooting at that time."

There was no consideration to keep quiet while Garrus took his shot. Any sniper worth their salt could maintain accuracy during casual conversation. "But maybe I will be nice and let you take a look at Widow's Kiss. Not shoot it, of course, but get to take a look. Do you have conversion rifles in your world?"

Edited (whoops) 2017-09-21 04:44 (UTC)

"I'd need details." Garrus snaps off another shot. "Most of the weapons back home are collapsible. Let's every soldier carry almost any tool they might need to get the job done in a combat zone."

Another shot into the tight grouping.

"If that's what you mean by conversion, yes. Otherwise ..." Fill in the blanks and he can give you a more precise answer.

Collapsible weaponry. That would be useful. Sure, her world had some tech that was getting there with special storage methods, but it was still limited. She had a special means of hooking her rifle to her back when it was in assault mode to allow her hands to be free. Even then, it was still bulky and had to be accounted for.

"That is not the same. I mean a rifle that is capable of switching from one kind to another through an internal mechanism. Widow's Kiss can be either an assault rifle or a sniper rifle. As needed."

That actually gets him to pause momentarily.

"No," Garrus replies. "But that does sound useful."

"No weighting issues? No drop in stopping power?" His eyes are still downrange, but you've definitely piqued his interest.

"Non. It is constructed with a high tech polymer - strong and lightweight. As a sniper rifle it is better than a Kinamura rifle," she replied, quite proud of her chosen weapon. "It does suffer from accuracy while in assault mode, as do most assault rifles." And it chewed through ammo like that. "But it is quite effective."

"Interesting." Garrus looked away from his scope to nod approvingly. His eyes are unfocused, elsewhere as he tries to assemble the rifle in his mind and picture how it works. Then, they focus on her.

"We'll have to compare notes some time."

Perhaps. Talon secrets were not for non-Talon ears, but she wasn't entirely sure if her rifle was a custom Talon model. It could be, for all she knew, but it was hers. But the odds of Garrus causing problems for Talon were low.

"What is your personal rifle like?"

"Ironically, the model was called the Black Widow." He says, mandibles twitching in what could be read as a grin before he sights his rifle again. "Human-made, so the grip was a little awkward, but it packed more than enough punch to make up for that."

He slams another shot into the target.

"Only held three shots before you needed to reload, but one round could cut through almost any shielding a target could have without losing enough velocity to make the shot non-lethal."

"Good taste in names," she replied with a chuckle. "You should see my back tattoo." Her glorious ink wasn't as on display as it used to be since she switched to an older style that didn't expose her back. Usually, only her forearm tattoo was visible.

"How was the rate of fire?" Three rounds and that much power? Widowmaker couldn't imagine it being particularly fast, even for an energy weapon.

He'll pause for a moment, flash her an arched, oh really eyebrow and settle back behind the scope of his rifle.

"Semi-automatic." Another crack of his rifle. "Nothing amazing, but better than the heavier, single-shot variant."

She's here because of North - plain and simple. Even she needs a break, though, from all these ghosts of her past, and so she wanders down the range, observing the other people here.

She pauses when she sees Garrus - somewhat familiar to her, she remembers him from before the mission to the other worlds - and she folds her arms, watching him line up his shots.

The first one is good. The rest are even better. When he's finished?

She gives a little whistle and a couple claps of her hand.

He's pretty satisfied with his handiwork himself. Content, but always open to having an audience.

He glances over his shoulder, nods appreciatively, and lays down his rifle.

"I feel like I've seen you around."

Though, he'd be the first to admit, he has juuuust a little bit of difficulty telling humans apart ... He could be wrong.

Carolina smirks a little bit.

"You were with Shepard. The redhead from the Public Relations tour, but you decided to stay back."

Which is Carolina for: that's where she's seen you from. But, she offers a little wave of her hand.

"Carolina."

"Garrus." He replies, turning around to face Carolina and leaning back on the rail.

"How did that go, by the way?"

"About as well as a public relations tour in a bunch of alien galaxies with a looming universal threat is wont to go," she notes with a wry tone. "That is - someone wasn't happy."

She waves a hand around, as if that kind of thing is normal.

For him at least? It actually is.

"A lot of people wearing plastic smiles and polishing gizzard in the hopes that they get what they want out of the deal." He nods, sounding just disgusted enough to suggest he's been around that particular block a few times.

"Yeah, exactly - though there wasn't any gizzards involved as far as I know," she says, a hint of amusement in her tone.

"Don't think miss Director really thought of it that way."

"Sucking up, then." He replies with a chuckle. At least he thinks that's the human expression. "Though, now I'm curious about how she thought of it."

"Oh, lot of schmoozing and schmaltzing. I was there to look intimidating," she teases. "As for her - she seemed okay. Didn't like the tiff we got involved in at the end I think."

"Because nothing can ever just go smoothly." There's a wry edge to the joking complaint, and it's followed by an expectant pause. You gonna tell him what happened or does he have to dig through the after-mission report?

~~Hey, look, Garrus: here’s a target now.~~

Tucker strolled in without a gun, without much of anything, really; the armor was left behind for some civilian clothes because shooting would be a lot easier without it, right? The sword, deactivated, was at his hip, just a hilt that wasn’t on and wouldn’t look like much of anything. A smile crossed his lips as he eyed up and down the range; someone had to be here, firing. All Tucker needed to do was go and harass them enough to let him shoot their gun, too.

Someday, this practice would get old, boring, would become work. There was going to be a time when it wasn’t a warm bitter reminder of Church, that twisted his heart up painfully and warm.

Today wasn’t going to be that day.

Tucker walked up to Garrus, tried not to think about the similarities and differences that he had with the aliens he was all-too-accustomed with, and leaned against the wall.

“You missed,” he chided with a smirk on the first shot. Granted, the smirk fell and his eyes widened as he watched all of the clip’s remainder hit home; those words were sour as he swallowed them back down.

“Um…yeah, nevermind.”

There's an amused twitch of his mandibles as Tucker pipes in after the first shot, and that grin only grows as shot after shot slams into the center of the target's head.

"Don't feel too bad," Garrus says over his shoulder before laying down the rifle against the railing and turning to face Tucker. "This was most of what I did on a day-to-day basis at home."

He pauses before adding, "Granted the targets were usually moving and shooting back, but ... details."

Put enough people in one place using longarms (spoiler: two will do it) and a spider will eventually show up. Whether it was word being spread around Legion World or an honest coincidence of being in the area of the firing range, Widowmaker joined those partaking in target practice. She didn't have her own rifle with her nor did she pick up any that were readily available. Instead, she simply leaned against the divider between the safe and unsafe zones at an open area, chin propped up on a hand, and watched.

She followed every shot, cataloging them with her own analysis. What rifle was used, the shooter's stance and firing motion. If not for the way her pale eyes keenly darted about, taking it all in, one might think she was bored with the lack of expression on her face.

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bang bang shoot shoot

unranked marksmanship

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