Firearms, cylon reproduction and pudding. In that order.
Location: Firing Range
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1516
It was a month ago that the Wolves first lost a pilot on Sagittaron. Two, technically, but one was killed instantly; the other was Emrys. In searching for him a Raptor and its crew also went missing. It had been a sobering reminder of the terrors of being downed behind enemy lines -- at least for Ines, for whom that hypothetical scenario holds particular, personal horrors. In the time since then she's been committing some of what free time she has to putting a polish on her skill with firearms, sadly degraded in the time since earning her wings.
Standing at one of the lanes, her pistol is holstered at the moment as she pages through a series of targets full of holes, examining her own grouping with a faint frown. She has heavy ear protection on, and a pair of ballistics glasses, as required.
True fact; Irene sometimes sneaks down here to shoot at stuff. So far, she hasn't been caught by any of the regulars, or the marines. It's almost as if she's sneakily figured out everyone's schedules and thus how to avoid having grunts telling her how wrong her stance is or how she ought to do this or that, when really, she just wants to shoot at the things with the pew pewer. She has all the requisite gear too, ear protectors, glasses, and the pew pewer once she's convinced the locker guard to give her one for the duration. She checks it over as one should, then strolls down the lane only to slow behind Ines to peer at the damage she's done to her paper target. She makes a pretend shocked face. Like, 'you murderer! That paper had a family.'
In one of the other lanes is Faye, by contrast she's standing in front of a rifle with her fingers wiggling. It's currently completely disassembled and sitting in front of her with the magazine off to the side. She's standing there, wiggle-wiggle, then... GO! Her hands reach out and she starts trying to put it together as quickly as she can. This piece there, that piece there, and then... Wait, was that Irene? Sproing! GODS DAMN IT!
Faye turns on the spot and starts off toward the spring that's making a break for the seats behind saying "No-no-no-no! Stop rolling!" It bounces off the wall before she's able to snag it and run back. She's also wearing the googles and ear-thingies.
The moment Ines senses someone behind her, she lifts her bowed head and stares downrange, eyes lidding and expression flattening. "It's like you follow m-" But whatever she was going to say, she loses the thread as she half-turns, dragging her ear protection down to hang around her neck, and finds Irene standing there instead. "Oh, Iris!" Brightening, visibly. Until she gets a look at that expression on the blonde's face, at which point her brows slide together and she drops her eyes down to the targets she's holding, uncertain. "I know," she admits. "It's not very good."
Behind Irene she spots sudden movement and tilts over on an angle, looking around the side of the Raptor pilot as though she were a doorframe. She watches for some few moments as Faye chases the spring, and then says, presumably to Irene, "It's Bingo."
If nobody is shooting, Irene pushes the ear protectors up so they're protecting her hair, more than her ears and she can like, hear people talk. "Kestrel! That does look a little teeny weeny bit tragic. Luckily, I'm here and I'm an honorary half-marine... and they love when I tell people that." She smiles, because apparently she likes when marines are unhappy. Maybe that's the sole reason she drives a bus, just so she can enjoy seeing all the marines crammed uncomfortably in the back. Anyway. She promptly sticks her finger in one of the holes Kes has put in the target and grins, "That guy won't be having children."
Then, distraction, thy name is Faye. The Virgan pulls her finger free and lifts her hand, greetings. "Bingo. You are doing things. Hi!"
"THINGS AND STUFF!" Bingo says, louder than she intended as she's back over at her firing lane. She's reassembling the rifle and after only another few seconds, she has the last of it together, slaps the magazine in, chambers a round, ejects the magazine, racks the slide and charges the magazine. A sigh. Heavy, fulfilled in a way.
"I suck at this now." She says wistfully, turning to look at the other two finally. She leans far enough to the side to see what Irene had been poking at before, "Ooof. That's a no-kid situation right there."
Even a little teeny weeny bit of tragedy seems to be a great deal for Ines, because Irene's agreement provokes a long, deep sigh. She straightens out of her lean to watch Faye and looks down at the small stack of targets again. "That guy," she says, tone dry, "Is a toaster. I don't think that's how it works." Pause. "I hope that's not how it works." Pause. "...If it is, I probably owe Rooper an apology."
She shakes her head twice, as though that could dislodge a sub-optimal train of thought, and then finds a smile for the other two. "Well, if you're offering advice, I'm not too proud to take it." She tosses the targets down on the ledge, then leans forward to affix a new one to the line, and sends it back out mid-range. "Last time I was in here it was full of marines. And Wagner." She looks briefly pained. "Gods, so uncomfortable."
Irene looks completely undecided, if not mildly confused about how Cylons actually reproduce. If it's mechanical sexy times she's going to have nightmares later or something. For now, she brushes it aside with a quick shake of her head. "Gods. That would be so wrong. But," Refocus, Irene, "Did you know that Bingo was a Libran marine? She probably has better tips and tricks." She cedes the tutorship to her bunkmate with a sweeping gesture of her arm, stepping back to make room for the former marine as she does. "And yes, some of the marines can be complete weirdos. Apparently pilots aren't supposed to be able to shoot, or run or climb or do anything outside of their boats."
Oh Gods, the grinding gears and metal. It would sound like a car going through a thresher... And how exactly would that work? Maybe it's like a praying mantis, where the female robots eat the male ones and out pops another cylon. Which ones are the fe-"What?" Bingo is jarred out of her thoughts, ones that would almost definitely give her nightmares too, at the sound of her name.
"Yeah!" She motions toward the rifle next to her, "I mean, I'm rusty at it - it's been a good few years - but I can definitely try." She gives a wide grin and turns to pick up her own stuff. Rifle slung over her shoulder after a quick check of the chamber, and then the magazine in a hand.
"Want me to try?" She gives an arch of her eyebrows.
"Really?" Both of Ines' brows shoot up as she turns to look at Faye, one corner of her mouth turning upward. "I didn't know. What made you decide to fly instead?" She sinks back against the winged partition between her lane and the next one over, the better to give Faye room, and gestures at the lane itself. "Please!" The way she's watching, it's probably easy to tell she's trying to picture Faye wearing a Marine's full battle dress, crouching in the bushes somewhere, doing things that marines do and talking about things that marines talk about.
She glances sidelong at Irene. "Wagner was nice about it, but...it's like...a nightmare. Hm? To have a sniper looking over your shoulder while you sterilize imaginary toasters, even though you were aiming for the head?"
"Well, no pressure." Irene smiles as she steps back out of the way and slides the protectors down over her ears. "You can do it, Bingo!" She cheesily adds, bringing her hands together beneath her chin and turning the fawning adulation up to eleven. "You're the best!" Grin. Definitely just being a silly now, that or making some less than subtle commentary about the fragile egos of marines.
"Yeah! I was in for a full tour." Faye says with a toss of her head to the side and a wide grin. Faye stops at the partition next to Ines' first, dropping off the rifle and what not. "Truthfully? I, uh, was kind of seeing a pilot and he took me for a ride in a trainer." She gives a shrug of her shoulders, "I loved it, so I went ahead and filled out my paperwork for the Academy. Had my CO give a recommendation and - bam - ended up switching branches and becoming an officer."
Bingo sweeps a hand up but stops short of pushing her hair back as the ear protection was in the way. She glances down at what Ines has in her lane, then hears what Irene says and she starts to laugh. Her hand reaches out and she picks up the pistol, mag in, racks it and waits for Ines to pull on her ear protection.
"Thanks, Iris! I don't know what I'd do without a cheer squad!"
"That's two pilots I know of now who used to be marines." Jigger, of course. That's not any kind of secret. "The way marines talk about pilots, though, I'm surprised anyone ever makes the switch. You'd think that most of them would detonate in a shower of shame the moment they set foot in a cockpit." Ines says this in good humor, but rolls her eyes, too. It's a moment before she realizes she still doesn't have her earmuffs on, and she drags them back up over her ears sheepishly. Thumbs-up!
Once Irene is out of the way, that's where she stays. Smiling, still, even if she's turned it down a notch or three. She just lapses into a serene state of defocus there, watching, smiling, smiling and watching. There's no judgement there. No loud tongue clucking over some perceived violation of the how-to-shoot-stuff-properly rules. She's just quiet and pleasantly so as she waits for all the pow-pows to be powed.
Ines watches Faye with the kind of attentiveness that says she was probably a Good Student in the Beforetime, when that kind of thing actually mattered. She doesn't go so far as to clap over the performance -- they're all still soldiers and some measure of competence is to be expected, and gods forbid a marine catch pilots clapping for one another at the range like it was some sort of parlor play -- but she flashes a wider smile all the same, and slides the ear cups back off of her ears again. "I'm a chronic over-thinker. Sort of like...I know all of these things individually, about form and -- yes? But then I focus on one thing so much that I think the rest of it falls apart."
She glances at Irene, and gestures at the lane shelf with one arching brow, her invitation silent and implicit: your turn?
Irene lifts an ear piece and holds it there so she can better follow the conversation. She did totally golf clap a little bit first, but it's a very sedate and polite affair. Rather like how the queen of Virgon might applaud a rather good show. Marines be damned! At the end of the exchange, she smiles and offers a solution, "Don't think. I mean, that's what you practice for... so it becomes natural enough that you don't have to analyze anything, right? Like breathing. You don't normally have to remember to breath, you just do it." So there. She taps her nose. Then reading the brow arch as the invitation that it is, she moves to the line as it were and unholsters her pistol. "I should have went before Bingo, now I'll look bad no matter what." Fake sigh. Ear protector back in place. Check surroundings. Ready.
There's a curtsy, not one, not two, but three, with a circling of Faye's hand in a partial bow at the bottom toward her numerous applauding fans. A stand up, and a grand kiss tossed the way of her biggest one! Irene! The others are clapping too, but they're all the size of ants. Very hard to see. Irene is the clear winner on biggest.
"Thank you, thank you, my adoring fans." She steps to the side, crowding Ines for a moment and then stepping away. She reaches for the round and starts the charge up the spent magazine.
"Like Iris said. Practice and - well - don't. At some point you have to let go, just do, then correct yourself after." She flicks her eyes up, seeing Irene moving, and pulls the headphones back down over her ears, mussing up her hair yet more.
Charisma Bunk, is what Ines' expression says, watching this concluding performance. Her exasperation always seems rooted in affection, though, whether it's for pilots or marines. She shifts aside just enough to keep Faye from having to squeeze past her, then settles in again in the spot Irene just abandoned, arms folding loosely to watch once her ear protection is back on. "'Just do' is a philosophy I can get behind, I think."
As Iris turns back around, Faye looks over the other's shoulder and then starts to cheer! Both arms flung in the air "WOO!" She says, fist pump, and then applause to the curtsy. She doesn't stop until Irene starts talking and even then, it's a slow dying clap and a wide grin. She offers the now loaded magazine off to Ines as she turns her head to look at the other Viper pilot. Her free hand reaches up, pulling the ears off of one, "Okay. C'mon Kestrel, you're up. Show us that no-mind mentality."
"Right. Pudding." She reaches out to take the magazine from Faye, and then flicks her gaze uncertainly back and forth between the two of them. "You did see my targets, ladies?" Her brows knit, skepticism writ plain over open features. "Are you sure this is how you want to spend your precious free time? You're not just hanging around to see how terrible it is?" At least she seems to know her way around the equipment. She's confident in her handling of the firearm even if she's not very confident about her ability to use it to her own standards. "At least with Tomak and Wagner I could be sure."
It's not terrible, in the end. It's not great -- she's no marine -- but none of her shots fail to hit the target, anyway, though one of them is awfully wide.
That's deserving of a tiny round of queenly applause, so Irene provides it, palms stuck together with just her fingertips really making much contact and sound. It's probably a bit too soft for the firing range, but it's the gesture that counts. "Well done. See? No thought, only shoot." She smiles widely, "You'll get the hang of it. I have full confidence, Kestrel." And she seems to mean it too, she's not being jokey at all. She doesn't even offer any 'helpful' corrections or tips, beyond the practice until you don't have to think thing and whatever she might have gleaned from the example shooting. What she says to Faye is less serious, "I do want some pudding though."
Faye stands off to the side, looking down range as the woman takes aim and starts to fire. After the shooting is done, she gives a polite golf clap of her hands, even a little look-down-the-nose action before a smile streaks across her face like a fire running up a hill. "Way to go Kestrel! See?" She gestures with index fingers toward Irene.
"She's got that right! No mind! Works wonders." Her eyes flick over toward Irene, "So says the brainless pudding head." A stick of her tongue out, "What flavor? I think it's butterscotch in the mess today. Or is it double fudge?" Her eyes roam up and to the side as she starts over toward the firearm she checked out. She really wasn't planning on shooting it right now anyway.
Ines isn't really the blushing type -- strange as that is, given all of her givens -- but she does look properly bashful when she drags her earcups down again, and secures the pistol in the holster at her thigh. "Now I just need the two of you there any time I have to fire a pistol. So, if I crash, you've got to crash with me, alright? Just...you know. Even if you're not crashing..." She planes her hand in the air, nosedives it deliberately. "For moral support."
She ejects the spent magazine and collects the few boxes remaining. She'd been planning to stay a while, but... "You said double fudge?"
Fire superiority: chocolate.