tinker tailor winter soldier. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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driftfleet2015-09-21 10:55 pm
redactions) wrote in driftfleet2015-09-21 10:55 pm
002 ✪ audio + action
Who: Jim Barnes
Broadcast: Fleetwide audio.
Action: On the moon.
When: Sept. 20th.
Good morning. This is Captain James Barnes. By now we've assessed the damage to the ships — seems like it only slowed us down some, and whoever the enemy was they don't seem to have followed us. That's not why I'm here.
[ a half-beat of pause, then, ]
We can't guarantee there'll always be shields or weapons aboard our ships at any given time. That doesn't mean we can't work out a system to make sure we're covering for each other in a fight. If we can form groups of two or three ships, at least one with weapons, and coordinate a few flying formations, we stand a much better chance.
As for communications, if they're taken offline like that again we are going to need a solution. We used manual signalling in my War; I'm open to options that don't have us scrambling blind during a crisis like that.
[ a beat ]
We got lucky, this time. We might not be again.
Barnes out.
→ shooting range
[ You know. This is simple. The pistols take getting used to, but it's a matter of practice. Assembly. Disassembly. Ready, aim, fire. One end of the shooting range is devoted entirely to Jim trying out all the variants he can get his hands on. They are laid on the table in front of him neatly. ]
[ All the shots hit the centre ring of the target, if not, damned closed. He's not concentrating too hard or scowling, just seems perfectly placid, and steady. When he feels eyes on him, ]
Sorry, did you want [ gesturing to the row of pistols ] one a'these?
→ some seedy bar
[ This alcohol is completely algae-free and that might be the entire reason he's even bothering with it. This place doesn't look quite as ripe for sudden violence either; but there's still murmuring in the background and a card game that looks like it might be heating up. ]
[ He's sitting alone, in the corner, nursing a glass. Another one sits beside him, completely untouched. It's always been for Steve. ]
Broadcast: Fleetwide audio.
Action: On the moon.
When: Sept. 20th.
Good morning. This is Captain James Barnes. By now we've assessed the damage to the ships — seems like it only slowed us down some, and whoever the enemy was they don't seem to have followed us. That's not why I'm here.
[ a half-beat of pause, then, ]
We can't guarantee there'll always be shields or weapons aboard our ships at any given time. That doesn't mean we can't work out a system to make sure we're covering for each other in a fight. If we can form groups of two or three ships, at least one with weapons, and coordinate a few flying formations, we stand a much better chance.
As for communications, if they're taken offline like that again we are going to need a solution. We used manual signalling in my War; I'm open to options that don't have us scrambling blind during a crisis like that.
[ a beat ]
We got lucky, this time. We might not be again.
Barnes out.
→ shooting range
[ You know. This is simple. The pistols take getting used to, but it's a matter of practice. Assembly. Disassembly. Ready, aim, fire. One end of the shooting range is devoted entirely to Jim trying out all the variants he can get his hands on. They are laid on the table in front of him neatly. ]
[ All the shots hit the centre ring of the target, if not, damned closed. He's not concentrating too hard or scowling, just seems perfectly placid, and steady. When he feels eyes on him, ]
Sorry, did you want [ gesturing to the row of pistols ] one a'these?
→ some seedy bar
[ This alcohol is completely algae-free and that might be the entire reason he's even bothering with it. This place doesn't look quite as ripe for sudden violence either; but there's still murmuring in the background and a card game that looks like it might be heating up. ]
[ He's sitting alone, in the corner, nursing a glass. Another one sits beside him, completely untouched. It's always been for Steve. ]
/greedily takes
Rogue doesn't normally like guns. In fact, she was about to just tell him that. But this gun was so old... it was really kind of cool, just because of how it was made.]
Must be pretty big ones too - this gun's heavy.
[A quick laugh.] Might be better off just usin' the butt as a bludgeon.
[She does know how to hold it, though, fingers safely away from the trigger, a certain familiarity in the way it fits in her hand. She doesn't like guns, not anymore. But she does know how to use them.]
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It'd pack a mean blow, too. You wanna try a few shots?
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All the same, she lifts up the one she's holding in the direction of the targets, carefully siting down the barrel before lowering it back down.]
Seems a shame not ta have at least one go, though. [Quick smile.] Let someone else test it out for ya.
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Ya go an' say somethin' like that as though it doesn't mean I'm gonna tell ya ta pick up a gun an' pick your target.
[Rogue doesn't like losing, but she likes being dismissed even less. Losing she can deal with. She has no claim at being the best at what she does. Just good enough to do what's necessary.
So a playful dramatic pause and a tilt of her lips later:] Go on, pick your gun an' your target.
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[ Okay, no, but he can't resist the teasing. She draws it out of him as easily as she commands his smile or his laughter. ]
This one, and target's over there, last but one down the lane.
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I'd try an' twirl it like a cool cowboy, but I'm scared it'd fall on my foot an' break my toe.
[Heavy gun is... well, not that heavy, but certainly more what she's been used to. She moves along to where he's indicated.]
Same target, takin' turns?
[Or was that another target for her down the way?]
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[ He stands a little distance away, curious and excited as to how she shoots. ]
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[Seeing as you're all... over there and all.
...well, she might as well enjoy this while she can. It might be the last time she got to fire a gun or use any kind of weapon without the security augment in her head. She wasn't looking forward to that change.
Rogue turns to site her target and her posture shifts subtly, going more steady as behooves a standing shot. She raises the gun, pointing the direction with her feet and squeezes the trigger gently. The retort sways her back slightly, but not one shot's gone but that she smoothly takes another, and another, until all six cartridges are spent.
It's a fair showing, overall. Her target is certainly dead, all shots hitting in the trunk, one close to the bulls-eye, most surrounding it. The strength of her shooting seems to be the ease with which she fires multiple shots that wind up in a similar area. It'd be easy for him to see how she improved with each shot, getting a better sense of the gun, its weight, the size and speed of the bullet and what needed to be done to hit what she was shooting.]
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[ Not in everyone's experience and he thinks not in hers, certainly, but he can't help being a bit cheeky. It's Rogue, she'll push back with equal playfulness. ]
[ She's practiced with a gun, but not enough to hide the signs of tension. This isn't her preferred weapon. Firearms aren't intuitive, no matter how much Jim might feel they are. ]
Good shots.
[ Not perfect, but she didn't need to be. This'd slow him down at the least: shots to the chest. ]
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She playfully blows the smoke from the barrel and bows out, leaving plenty of space for him to step up with the range.]
Thanks. Ya know what they say - 'beauty before age.' [She gave him an impish look.] You know - generally.
[Yeah, pushing back with playfulness.]
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Oh, ha ha. Fossil one next, please.
[ He makes an exaggeratedly offended face, and then steps up to the lane, waits for her to be at a safe distance before he squeezes off six shots. He was born to handle a gun, often felt like. No fear, no distraction, complete focus. ]
[ All hit the bullseye. Show off. ]
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And she's seen a lot of things.]
Not bad, for a fossil.
[Grin. Because. You DID ask, Jim. And far be it from Rogue to encourage a swelled head.]
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[ You know. Since you will lose and all. ]
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Casually, Rogue opens up the chamber and empties it.]
Pass over the bullets. Let's go again.
[Don't you hand her a challenge like that, you know she won't back down from it. Bring it.]
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[ He does exactly that, watching her as she takes the second target. ]
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Don't sound so skeptical. Life's no fun if it's all foregone conclusions.
[She spreads her feet a little wider this time, makes use of the fact that she is standing to achieve a natural and sturdy balance. Rogue exhales, and does her best to let her awareness of anything but the target slip away.
It is hard with him Staring At Her. (Oh yes, she definitely sees the resemblance now between Jim and Sir Stares-a-Lot.)
Still, she raises the gun and this time aims for the target's head. When it strikes off-center, she is struck with a wild notion, and will use her five remaining shots to do her best to shoot a smiley face onto the thing.
It's not all even, but all six shots do end on the head in a rough... smiley shape, if you count the one off the the left as a dimple or something and allow for a very crooked smile.]
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Except this is one. I'm the best shot there is.
[ If anything, Jim doesn't sound proud. Just. It's the truth. Best sniper in the Army, Steve used to boast proudly, when he refused to lend his sniper to other units ("Where he goes, I go"). Best shot even after he woke up, because firearms hadn't changed much and he needed an outlet for the anger that could go nowhere else. ]
Nice. My turn.
[ He steps up, and fires one bullet each into every hole she's made in that smiley face. ]
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Rogue shook her head.]
You'd think bein' hit by an expert would at least improve his appearance. But that is one ugly son of a gun.
[Alright, she can cede victory graciously enough. She could do nothing but practice shooting day and night, and she wouldn't have that kind of smooth accuracy. And frankly, she didn't want to do nothing but practice shooting day and night. So. Tip of her head to you, Jim, well played.]
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You said it, sweetheart, not me.
[ He disassembles the weapon, and eyes her curiously. ]
Where'd you learn to shoot?
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Aw, ya know how it is. I'm a country girl. Went ta the range between Pioneer Girls an' gymnastics.
[The X-Men did not teach shooting. The X-Men did not believe in killing. She'd never been a perfect fit there, no matter how much she wanted to be.]
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Ah, thought so.
[ Finally he puts all the parts on the shelf. ]
You wanna go for a walk outside? We can enjoy the fresh air then head back to the ships. It's getting dark.
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You thought so? [Eyebrows up, even as she moves to help him put the parts away.] What, people shootin' on the range have some kinda tell?
[And the answer will be yes, of course, but first... he thought so? It was already a little annoying to see the skill gap between them, but Rogue was used to not coming up roses. Still, it did make her itchy for his assessment since, well, his opinion was one she respected. She wouldn't have cared otherwise.]
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Ain't that. Country folks either go huntin' or to the range, and you ain't the hunting type.
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Says the city boy.
[She doesn't ask him where he learned to shoot. She doesn't think she needs to, and it doesn't matter. It's weaved into him now, as integral as his arm... perhaps more so.]
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