Armed and Not Dangerous
Armed and Not Dangerous
Summary: Melia and Shem's firearms practice gets interrupted by Leandros and an experiment.
Date: 102 ACH
Related Logs: None.

Small Arms Range Genesis - Deck 14
102 ACH 23787 Souls

The shooting range can hold up to a dozen personnel that are working on their firearms skills. Each booth has a scorecard. Buttons in the booth sends the target down a runner and brings the target back. A locker holds some weaponry and is code locked for Officers and marine NCO's only. Ear and eye gear hang within the booths for protection.

NOTE: Rubber bullets are all that is used here. They are not accurate.

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Superb (6). *CRITICAL SUCCESS*

Melia dips her head and takes her time in studying the target. For a moment, she glances back to her hand and adjusts her hold, then it's back to her quarry, that elusive paper at the end of the lane. With a slow squeeze, she pulls the shot off. This one actually goes right where it's supposed to. "Mmmm," she murmurs. "Now I just need to do that over and over again until I get it right." Oh, yes. She seems rather stubborn about it.

Shem is standing behind and to the right of Melia. His holster is unbuttoned, for some reason. "You ever shot at somebody in anger?" he asks, looking from the paper to her.

Leandros makes his way into the range, carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder. As it hits his leg with each step, something metallic makes dull clanks. Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, he stops at the check-out station to ask a question of the Marines manning the place. They look at each other and then one points towards Shem.

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Melia shakes her head, still studying the target. She pulls off another shot, this one a little more quickly than the last. Unfortunately, same results as her first shot. The rubber bullet makes a lovely pinging sound down there. "No Sir, I haven't," she replies, her back to the S2. "In fact, I've never shot anyone, period. I've killed a few targets, but medical tends to encourage its people to take bullets out, not put them back in."

Shem grunts. He suddenly pulls his weapon out of its holster. "Try it with live ammo." He makes sure the safety is on before handing it out to Melia. "Goes where you want it to go, then you can figure out if it's the bullets." He continues, dryly, "Or you."

Leandros happens to hear Shem's comment to Melia as he approaches the shooting stalls, the metallic sounds stopping as he does. The enlisted watches the two for a moment before he speaks up. Quickly, before Melia shoots. "Lieutenant, sir." A salute's raised as he interrupts. "If you're about to be shooting live ammo, you mind if I adjust your target?" His thumb hooks into the mysterious duffle strap.

Melia looks over her shoulder at Shem and his weapon, eyes going huge. "I…Yes, Sir," she says quietly. The safety on her weapon is thumbed on and she very carefully, gingerly even, takes the weapon from the S2. Given her body language, either she's a little afraid of him or a lot afraid of him. Either way, there's that sense of very healthy respect. She glances to Leandros, but doesn't answer - looking, instead, to Shem as the Man in Charge.

Shem returns the salute reflexively. His eyes slide to Leandros. Then, they flick to the man's collars. He says over his shoulder, "Hold on." To Leandros, he asks, "What sort of adjustments, chief?"

"Hold on" clearly means the safety on Shem's gun remains on. With a careful grip, Mellie points the weapon down and down range, well away from the two men. She dips her head to Leandros and offers a quick smile, though remains silent - something which may seem like a very unusual state for her.

Leandros gives a little nod to Melia, then looks back at Shem, waiting till the LT drops salute before lowering his arm. "Engineering wants to run some tests on enemy metal with live rounds, sir." He pats the duffle. Clank. "Got a couple plates with me to hook up, with ricochet guards. Won't take but a minute to hitch."

Shem raises his voice and calls, "Cease fire, cease fire!" A bell rings, and an red light illuminates overhead each lane. The range marine who's typically around calls back, "Range is clear!" The lieutenant nods to Leandros. "Have at it." He returns his attention to Melia. "You ever shot an M58 before?"

Mellie steps back from the line slightly as the cease fire call is given. Her eyes had been on the clanking duffle, filled with a clear, simple curiosity. Shem's question draws her attention back and she nods. "Once or twice, Sir," she answers. "Sucked with it, too."

"'Preciated, sir." Leandros pulls the long strap off his shoulder and dumps the duffle on the floor, crouching down to unzip it. From inside he pulls a rather large plate of metal, hammered very thin. The colour and sheen of it clearly isn't steel or anything else used on this Battlestar. Or indeed anywhere in the fleet or back in the Colonies. Melia and Shem's faces reflect briefly in the flat surface, distorted in waves as the Chief stands back up, reaching up for the target's clips. He tugs off the paper, laying it down on the floor, and tugs a large power tool from the bag. The whirring is loud as he attaches a larger clasp to the top of the runner's frame.

Shem's attention is drawn by the piece of Cylon metal. "Well, three things. Make sure you're not set to full auto, and keep your grip firm. The trigger's lighter. Don't let it surprise you." He raises his voice to ask Leandros down the range, "Where'd that come from?"

The "oh, shit" expression finds its way onto Mellie's face at Shem's instructions. Rather than shy away from them, though, they seem to only strengthen her resolve. Her shoulders go back and she looks down range to Leandros and where he's working, her jaw set, gaze curious. And curiously stubborn.

"Piece of a Centurion, sir," Leandros doesn't turn around as he talks, rotating his shoulder to help drive the power drill into its target. "From their little boarding party up on 13." Whirrrrrrrrr goes the drill a few more times before he tests the hanging sheet of metal's stability, and nods. It's got an extra few pieces built on to keep ricochets from flying back at the shooting area. He clicks the drill off and steps back, nodding to the two of them. "She's good to go."

"Alright, just stand behind the line." Shem makes a gesture to the rangemaster, who shouts, "Ready on the firing line!" The rangemaster performs a cursory check, then shouts, "Commence fire!" Another bell, and the red lights flick off.

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Poor (1).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Poor (1).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).

Melia looks up at Shem and nods, taking this as her cue to step up to the line. She takes careful aim again, clicking the safety off after she checks the weapon. This time, she doesn't just stop with one shot. She goes for three. Each one is as bad, or worse, than the last. After the third shot, she lowers the weapon, clicks the safety on, and gives Shem a somewhat baleful look. "It's me."

Leandros maintains his distance, though he hasn't bothered to put on the safety goggles that he was handed up front. They hang around his neck. The tall engineer just watches the sheet of metal as Melia pings it. From the front pocket of his fatigues jacket he pulls a little notebook and a broken pencil with teethmarks all over it, making a couple scribbled notes.

Shem nods. "Looks like it," he confirms. No mincing words with him. "Try again."

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Again she seems surprised - probably a natural state for the little medic. She nods, once, to Shem and offers a quiet, "Yes, Sir" before she turns back to the line. This time she takes a little more time with her shots - probably an utterly maddening amount of time for most Marines. Three shots again, slightly better than last time. Still nowhere near good.

Leandros looks up from the notebook as more shots hit the metal. More notes jotted down, something circled.

For his part, Shem doesn't react to Melia's shots. He calls, "That enough data for you, chief?"

Melia looks over to Leandros then to Shem. "Shouldn't I keep shooting until I actually hit it where I'm supposed to," she asks in a somewhat small, quiet voice.

Leandros glances at Melia, then the S2. "Could do with as much as you're willing to give me, sir. If you're done, you're done. If you're still shootin', I'll stay."

"Alright," Shem answers. He nods to Melia. "Empty the clip, please. Take your time." He adds, in typical ambiguous Marine officership, "But I don't want to be here all day."

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Poor (1).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Great (5).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).
<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Melia just gives Shem A Look - only for a moment. She IS afraid of him after all. "Aye, Sir," she murmurs and turns back around. She takes her time in firing, though does pick up the pace a little. The last eleven shots are pulled off. Six of the shots aren't so good. Three of the shots actually cluster right where they should. The last two are near the cluster, but not part of it. She smiles a bit and glances over her shoulder at Shem again, waiting.

Leandros braces a foot against the wall behind him, watching. The three shots near the centre get his attention - not for her skill but for what they do to the sheet of metal. "Money shot," he mutters under his breath, quickly scribbling something on the paper. He looks pleased.

"Decent attempt, but every Marine on this deck would love you as the enemy," Shem admonishes plainly. He reaches out for his weapon, calling out to Leandros, "You want more, I can get people in here with rifles."

The medic clicks the safety on and hands it over to Shem, stepping off the line and gathering up her other weapon. She doesn't quite slink away, but she certainly gets out of the way of business. "I'll remind them of that when I'm pouring rubbing alcohol into their wounds to clean them out," she murmurs, somewhat under her breath. The protection gets put away and she settles in to clean her practice weapon.

"Tell you what, sir." Leandros finishes scribbling on the paper and jams the notebook back into his front pocket. "Gonna run this data tonight, melt her down and do my adjustments on the thickness. If you got some boys around with rifles tomorrow night round same time, I'll take em." He looks over at Melia and tips his chin up, remarking briefly, "Thanks."

"Well, you let whoever in the marine office know," Shem says to Leandros. He pops out the empty clip from his pistol and chunks it in the recycling chute before sliding the empty gun back into the holster. He advises Melia as he does, "If you're serious about it, you practice some more, but you always gotta be aware of where you are absolutely."

Melia looks up as Leandros comments to her and offers him a smile and a dip of her head. "You're welcome. Sorry I wasn't more help, Sir," she calls quietly. Then her attention pulls to Shem and she nods. "As soon as I've finished the section of study I'm on, I'll likely be in here a little more often Sir. Thank you for the help tonight."

"Will do, sir." Leandros reaches up and hits the button to bring the target forward on its runner. He leans down to grab the power drill on the floor and nods to Melia as he straightens up. "You hit it. Helped plenty, don't worry about it." He gets to taking the sheet of metal down with the whine and whirr of the drill.

Shem nods to Melia. "If you want a tutor, I bet we got some sort of cross-training policy arranged." He clips his holster. "Anyways. Take it easy." He reaches up and tugs out his earplugs as he turns for the hatch.

Melia watches Shem go, clearly a little baffled by the Marine. Ok, a lot baffled by the Marine. "I…thank you, Sir," she calls after him before looking back to Leandros. "I hit it with about half the shots, you mean," she says with a wry little smile. "Anytime you need someone to beat on it ineffectually, please don't hesitate to poke me."

Leandros pushes his hand into the back of the drill as it backs a screw out of the extra clasp he installed on the top. The screw clatters on the ground by Melia's foot. "Half the shots are better 'n none. Least you didn't put a hole through the ceiling. Didn't bring my kit to patch that up." His deep voice has a touch of humour, despite the lack of smile. "What's your name?"

Her cheeks pinken a little, though she manages a laugh and a wry smile. "Not today, Sir. Not today. And I'm sorry - my manners seem to have gone the way of my shooting. Petty Officer Third Class Melia Sullivan, Sir. Medic. Which likely explains why I'm such a piss-poor shot. Medical urges its folks to take the bullets out, not put them in."

"Sir? I ain't an officer, P.O." Leandros shoves the drill onto the side table and grabs the piece of metal off the runner frame, setting it down on the floor against the wall. "Chief Jacob Leandros. Call me one of those three, whatever you want. Medic, huh? Nice to meet you." He extends a calloused hand.

Melia slides off her stool and stands - though she's still damned short - and takes the offered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Chief," she says, smile widening, lighting up her face. It's easy enough that one might even think it's her natural state. "People usually call me Mel, Mellie, Hey You, Terrier or "Ow, that hurt." I pretty much answer to anything." Her hand is soft and warm, the callouses fewer in number than on his hands. Of course, now, she also smells like gun oil and cleaning solution.

At 6'1", Leandros probably towers over the little medic. He doesn't tilt his chin down when he talks to her, though. "Too bad you're not a dentist. We could've shared drill jokes." He gives a nod to the range. "Wouldn't have expected medics up here."

Yeah, he towers. She's about 5'2 and 107 lbs. In other words, she's a tiny little thing. "Well, normally I wouldn't be," she admits, settling back down on her stool and picking up weapon pieces to clean. "But I needed some stress relief after studying, and had utterly no desire to go for a run. So I figured I'd practice something useful." She grins up at him, impish. "Oh, we can still share drill jokes. You'll just have to tell me which end goes where and what trigger to pull."

"Think I saw that in the Marine training handbook," Leandros crouches down, pulling the heavy piece of metal off the wall and tucking it back into the duffle bag. Ziiiiip. "Not stepping on their toes. They get pretty cranky, let me tell you."

Melia chuckles quietly. "Marines are very easy to deal with when they think they're getting their toes stepped on. Generally, all you have to do is smile a little, soothe ruffled feathers back into place, and give them something to hit. That generally takes care of the issue. Or were you talking about something else?" She watches him as she works, curious, openly so.

"No, sounds like you got it down pat." Leandros stands back up, sliding the drill into its spot on the sturdy toolbelt around his waist. "You run around with a lot of Marines?"

She gives him a wry little grin, though it's tinged with sadness. "One of the best people I've ever known was a Marine. She died recently," the little woman replies, then goes back to cleaning. It's as though the conversation needs to continue, but she's clearly aware she wears her heart on her sleeve. "I'm friends with several, friendly with others. They're a wonderful group of folks. Of course, I'm also friends with Navy folk, too. So it's about half and half. How about you?"

"Can't say I know many folks yet. Not been on board too long." Leandros leans down and snags the screw that fell before, sliding it into his pocket. "What was her name? Your friend there."

Melia watches the screw for a moment. "Meris Hughes," she says quietly, finally looking back up at him. "She was an amazing woman. Tough as nails, but she'd have your back in an instant." Her mouth quirks at the corner a little and she looks back down to the gun in her hands, though not before he spots the telltale gleam in her eyes. "Though, now she's where she wanted to be. Back with her fella and her family. She missed him something fierce, though she never wavered in her belief that she'd see her family home again."

"Meris Hughes, huh?" Leandros repeats the syllables before giving a satisfied nod. "Good name. Sounds like you were pretty close to her."

Mellie reaches up to brush at her cheek before nodding. "Fairly, yes," she says quietly. "She kept me out of trouble, most of the time." Another grin and she looks up at the Chief, somewhat impishly. The effect is only slightly awkward because of the tears. "Of course, the rest of the time we were getting -into- trouble, so. I guess it evened out. Where do you come to us from, Chief?"

"Girls and trouble, hand in hand." Leandros' naturally somber face briefly lights into a smirk. "Came on from the Carina. Me and my wife, we were in the service before. Decided to come on back. Maybe you've bumped into her, Chief Rebecca Leandros."

Melia cocks her head to the side, then shakes it. "Not yet, no," she says with a warm smile. "Glad you decided to come back. We can use good folks. I look forward to meeting her. How are you settling in? Do you all need anything?"

Leandros gives an idle look around the shooting range. "No, we're just getting re-adjusted. Navy's its own wild animal even when you been in the cage before." His chin moves indicating her firearm. "You'd like Becca, I'd bet. She's in Weapons. Loves teaching folks how to use their guns right."

Melia grins and nods. "Most likely I'll try to track her down one evening when she's not busy," the medic promises. "I know how to hold the gun, it's just the shooting part that I haven't quite gotten down yet."

Leandros makes a grunt that sounds amused. "Well, you know what cops say. Look like enough of a badass while you're holding it and half the time you won't even need to fire."

The little medic glances down at herself for a moment, pointedly, then looks up at Leandros with a brow quirked ever so slightly. It's rather likely that she really doesn't need to say anything at all. The wry smirk on her lips does the talking for her.

"Oh come on." Leandros gestures out with one hand. "What, you never heard that it's the little ones you gotta be afraid of? It's true." He has an accent that comes and goes, a tensing of certain vowels and a tendency to turn some t's into d's. Lower class Tauron, for those that know it.

Melia pfffts quietly and shakes her head. "That's only because we go for kneecaps and ankles," she tells him. "Of course, I DID earn the callsign Terrier fair and square." She grins, broadly, eyes twinkling again. "I have a tendancy to dart from place to place and have been known to trip up taller crewmates. For some reason, they're afraid of stepping on me." Her accent is barely there, though hints at Gemenon.

"Yeah, well." Leandros gives her a friendly wink. "Be sure and punch the everlovin' lights out of anyone who says it's cause they yap, alright?"

Melia snickers softly and shakes her head. "I can usually manage a decent punch or head butt to the right place," she says with a sage nod, affirming his words.

"There you go." Leandros nods approvingly. "No shin is safe, I can see that right now."

"And, well, most of them know that I'm usually the first person they're going to see when it comes to medical care, so…Rather like not pissing off the engineers, they don't piss off the medics. Those bedpans can be rough as hell, you know." The smile is utterly beatific.

Leandros holds up a calloused hand. "Not even going there, Sullivan. Cleaned enough sewage drains in my day, don't want to hear about it when it's fresh."

"Oh, I don't worry much about that part," she says, shaking her head so that her curls bounce. "But those bedpans can have some mighty rough edges. Scratchy plastic, bare behinds…it all comes out in the…" She stops herself before she can say what she was going to and substitutes a slightly weaker "wash."

"Must be plenty left over, for all it ends up on noses." Leandros smirks a little bit, and leans down to pick up the duffle strap. It gets hefted up onto his shoulder, the metal inside clanking. "Alright, Sullivan. I reckon we've both got work to get back to. Nice to meet you again. Sure I'll be seeing you around somewhere."

Melia sketches a salute and offers him a warm smile. "Welcome aboard, Chief. Don't let the craziness get you down. Have a good evening."

Leandros shifts the bag strap. "Put that down, Shorty. Save the salutes for officers. You take care of yourself, now." He checks the drill to be sure it's strapped in and won't fall on his way downstairs, and heads for the hatch.

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