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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ You know. Since you will lose and all. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ He does exactly that, watching her as she takes the second target. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
You said it, sweetheart, not me.
[ He disassembles the weapon, and eyes her curiously. ]
Where'd you learn to shoot?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
Ain't that. Country folks either go huntin' or to the range, and you ain't the hunting type.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ Drawled, as he opens the door for her. ]
no subject
[She gives him a smile as he opens the door, and they step together out into the fading light.]