Crash and Burn Date
Crash and Burn
Summary: Eve wants to learn how to shoot and Micah ends up in the brig.
Date: 8 ACH
Related Logs: None

Small Arms Range Genesis - Deck 14
8 ACH 6735 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.
-----< Condition Two - Duty Area >----——
Contents: Eve Farkas Micah Wireless 432
Exits: [O] Corridor

Can't exactly say this is a place that Eve frequents, and likely she had to stop and ask for directions at least a half dozen times before she eventually found it. But the retort of gunfire means she's at least in the right place, and now she's walking up the line of booths until she finds the right one. There's a bit of hesitation as she stands in the doorway, "Ensign." She greets, with a lump rising in her throat.

Farkas is doing his rounds, checking the vunerable points and security risks aboard the Genesis. The shooting range itself earns only a brief moment of his time, before he steers his course over to the weapon locker. Seven soft beeps can be heard as he taps in the code and then opens it up, and takes out a the manifest that is attached to the door of the locket.

Micah looks up and over his shoulder purely out of habit before the psyche even begins speaking; never let someone sneak up behind you, after all. "Sir," he responds briskly in kind, dropping his attention back to the weapon whose clip he's sliding back in and locking. The sidearm is handled like a familiar thing, the safety checked before he hands it over to Eve. "You having second thoughts?" The manifest, of course, has a couple of firearms signed off to an Officer, one 'Ensign Micah St. Germain'.

Eve frowns pointedly at Micah as she steps into the booth, tugging up the zipper on her gray jacket. "I took an oath to do no harm. This seems in direct contrary." Her jaw sets as she reaches for the ear protection, slinging them around her neck. "Moral conflict, not second thoughts." She clarifies. "But I did forget the coffee." She amends, with a vague attempt at smiling. Eve is definitely out of her element, and its daring to show.

Farkas glances over towards the couple, by the firing range and narrows his eyes but after a moment he goes back to his inventory list. Each item in the locker is checked and bucked off the list.

"You're not going to do any harm," the pilot points out quietly, tugging the ear muffs over his own head as well as the goggles, and fetching the second sidearm in order to perform the same checks on the weapon. "Unless you count the training dummy, in which case.." The magazine is snapped into place, and he turns to shoot her a roguish grin. "I think you can be forgiven for putting a few holes in a sheet of plywood, doc. You ready?"

Eve fills her lungs with air through her nose, letting the breath out through slightly pursed lips. Its one of those silly breathing exercises they teach you to calm nerves or give birth the babies. Her hands clasp into fists and relax again, pumping them like that a few times as if her fingers have gone numb. At least she doesn't look like she's going to pass out like she did last night. After the blood drive, she's been mercilessly nicknamed 'Fainter' to her fellow doctors and medical staff. "If the reason I was having to make sure I'm certified was in the eventuality we would be attacked by a legion of plywood, perhaps this would be easier." One more pause. "Alright. Give that here." She makes the universally accepted hand gesture for gimme gimme.

Once the inventory is completed, Farkas closes the locker and locks it before he turns to study the shooting practise with a little annoyance lingering over his features. Now as he has his hands free, he brings them in behind his back to be at ease.

Micah is actually remarkably patient, despite the impression he tends to give to the contrary. Of course, impatience in the cockpit will get you killed. "Just think of it like a part of your body. Like a hand or a foot, an extension of your fingers.." The weapon is placed against Eve's palm, and he goes so far as to close her fingers around it, letting the touch linger a moment before it's withdrawn. "You know the drill. Take the safety off before you pull the trigger." He turns away to jab the button set into the wall, to drop the first target.

Eve looks to the weapon in her hand as if were a snake coiled around her fingers that might bite at any moment. "Been a while." Is all she murmurs, before she's forceably lifting her gaze again. Its then, that she sees Farkas out of the corner of her eyes, and she twists in that direction. Of course, the muzzle of the weapon is swept in all sorts of uncomfortable directions as she turns. "Sheriff." She greets.

Any Marine would have had his legs cut at the knees, for acting like the gun waving Lieutenant, if Farkas had caught them in the act. But for the moment the Sheriff remains where he is, his face more or less blank as he simply nods his head towards Eve as she greets him and then fixes his gaze upon Micah. The eyes are slightly narrowed and his right eyebrow arched just a little, its as if the old man was expecting something.

"You might want to lower the frakking weapon, Lieutenant," Micah chastises, a bit sharply, as Eve's attention is dragged away by the Master Sergeant standing nearby. His hands are planted on his hips now, and Farkas' stare is returned pound for pound by the young pilot; it's aggressive, no doubt about it, he's no wilting violet.

Eve practically jumps out of her skin at the reprimand. "Oh!" A flush coming to her cheeks. "Right. Sorry." She aims the barrel back down the weapons range, holding her free hand out palm towards Farkas then sweeping it to Micah. "Sorry." She repeats, a bit of a sheepish laugh bubbling off her lips. At least the safety was still on. "I'm concentrating, I'm concentrating." She squares her stance in front of the counter, lifting the weapon to level it off once more. The grip of her right hand adjusts around the sidearm, before she folds her left over the top. A thumb clicks off the safety.

It is not so much that Farkas looks aggressive or even hostile, the old Marine is just plain ol mean and most likely has the scars to prove it. "-IF- you intend to tutor anyone in the ways of killing, I suggest you frak'ing look at her instead of me boy…" he growls and then with his hands still behind his back look over towards Eve once again. "Thats your first error, Lieutenant..Do not think, do…" he adds in a slightly kinder mutter.

Farkas' remark draws a smirk from the kid, and a flash of teeth before he turns back to Eve; the master sergeant may just be mean, but Micah looks like the sort who'll throw a punch at the slightest provocation. "Shoulders down," he murmurs, touching the Lieutenant's arms surprisingly gentle, and easing them into a more relaxed position. He leans in closer to add, "If you've got any tension in you, it'll frak up your aim. The ol' bastard's right."

Eve angles her head back slightly, if only to turn and look at Micah without bumping noses from his proximity. "And just how am I supposed to relax, when I'm staring at a Cylon," Her voice gets louder to include Farkas in her debate about symantics, "And how am I supposed to rely on instinct, when my instinct would just be to flee?" She sighs, and tries again, squaring up her stance again, but at least this time forcing her shoulders down so their not bunched up near her ears.

"First advice, is to consult someone who actually knows how to handle guns proper..Second advice is, the seven T's." Farkas grunts as he still lingers over by the weapons locker with his hands behind his back. "Everyone feels fear, Lieutenant..How one handles it, differs the civilians from the Marines..A Marine, lets his training guide his actions."

Micah waits until Eve is steady again — shoulders down, eyes focused — before removing his hands from her shoulders and stepping back to give her breathing space. There's a small smirk at Farkas' first comment, but for once he doesn't rise to the bait; it could be due to the fact that there's a woman with a gun not three feet away from him. "There's a saying that one of my trainers in OCS had," he mentions, eyes upon Eve, though he remains aware of the Marine behind them, "Courage isn't the absence of fear." He licks his lips slowly. "Fear's pretty universal. Sometimes, even good." His voice drops lower, "Aren't you supposed to be the shrink here?"

Instead of taking the shot, Evelyn shifts her thumb again, re-engaging the safety before she lays the gun down on the bit of counter in front of her. "I think I've had enough for today." She says quietly, dragging the ear protection from around her neck and letting it join the gun with a clatter. Next come the safety goggles.

Farkas keeps silent for the moment, content to simply watch how the Navy handles the weapons.

Micah doesn't pressure the woman. If she says she's had enough, she's had enough. Checking to ensure the safety's off first, he unloads the clip from the weapon, and moves toward the wall once more to jam the green button with his knuckle that hoists the target away. His own protective gear is stripped off then, mussing up his hair in a fashion that he doesn't seem much to care about. "You still want that coffee?" he mutters, trying to sound casual about it.

Eve ticks a piece of hair off her forehead with an frazzled sort of gesture. "Some other time, Ensign." Its not a dismissal of the thought, by any means, which is clarified, when she further adds. "I just need a moment to myself, and then I have to start seeing patients again. Thank you for your time, I do hope you won't think it was wasted. Maybe after the Jump, we'll secure some time again."

Maybe, just maybe, Eve's words cause a brief flash of disappointment to appear in the Ensign's eyes. Maybe. But it's smothered immediately with a careless lift of broad shoulders, and a grunt of assent as he steps out of the booth to return the equipment. "Take care 'f yourself, doc."

It is with a neutral expression on his face that the Sheriff watches the two navy personel discuss the matter of coffee, with live ammunition in their presence. As Eve makes a dismissal, he nods his head in her direction. "Lieutenant." he mutters, before his attention returns to the equipment.

Eve murmurs, "I shall." To Micah as she steps out of the booth just behind him, the nod returned to Farkas with a similar mutter of his rank. "Master Sergeant." And then she's vacating the range to disappear in the bowels of the Genesis.

Eve leaves for Corridor 14C [O].
Eve has left.

Micah returns the sidearm first, along with its clip, each filed away in a different locker with his signature ticked off on the sheet to make it clear that everything's accounted for. The protective gear is tossed into a bin next, and his jacket fetched from where it had been hung with a few others. "You done supervising, mate?" is muttered to the MS.

Farkas stretches the corner of his mouth as he fixes his hard brown eyes upon the Navy ensign. "I'm sorry if my duties, ruined you..whats the phrase, A-o-A boy..But keep your flirting away from my gods damn firing range, we train soldiers here."

Micah tugs his jacket on and straightens the cuffs and collar while Farkas speaks, eyes darting sidelong to the man with a sharp glitter. "So it's your duty to spy on frakking lieutenants now?"

"No my duty is the security of this Ship." Farkas mutters, still not betraying any real emotions as he stands there unflinching.

"Really?" the Ensign retorts, jamming his hands into the pockets of his baggy trousers and sauntering up closer to the Marine. Not -too- close, but he's certainly getting near that personal space everyone has. "Because I could've sworn it was tryin' to rile up officers for no other reason than to be a prick." Says the pot to the kettle.

And now, Farkas moves. The old sergeant adjusts and one of his hands comes to rest upon the nightstick attached to his belt. "I strongly suggest, you back the frak down boy..or you'll end up bleeding in the brig." the mere tone of his voice, indicates that ending up bleeding in the brig would be the least of the troubles coming from further actions of this sort.

"That a fact?" retorts the young pilot, voice a low rumble an inch away from a growl. He doesn't step in any closer, but nor does he back away. He's a big boy, though not as big as the Marine.

Farkas simply stretches the corner of his mouth once again. "Do you want me to explain to you what is about to happen here, Ensign?" he arches an eyebrow as he looks down upon the pilot before him.

Micah is clearly itching for a fight. It's practically spelled out in the way he stands, shoulders hunched forward, jaw set, hands bunched into fists in the pockets of his trousers. Then again, viper jocks are a pretty socially maladjusted bunch in general. "I want you to frakking lay off me, sarge," he mutters.

Farkas simply stands there, watching with one hand idly taping the nightstick at his belt and a slight arch of one of his eyebrows. "What would you do, talk me to death?"

Micah stares back at the Marine for several moments longer, then finally moves, shouldering his way past if Farkas doesn't step aside quickly enough. "Frak this," he grunts beneath his breath, intending to exit the firing range.

Farkas has no intention of backing away, or sidestepping. The old Sergeant remains where he is, and he has been in enough bar fights to see intent where its written so he braces himself, shifting his shoulder just enough and bending his elbow that little extra inch outwards. When the shouldering occurs, he applies some preasure of his own to the shoulder soo they meet head on and at the same time juts his elbow into the midrif of the Ensign, aiming to draw the breath out of the younger man.

Micah wasn't -quite- expecting the elbow to jam into his sternum, and so it does succeed in briefly knocking the breath out of him. Maybe it's enough time for Farkas to follow it up, and maybe it isn't; regardless, once the young officer recovers, he's attempting to drive the heel of his palm against the man's shoulder, and shove him hard against the wall in order to step past him.

The shove comes to push so to speak, and lands with enough impact to do leave a bruise. But where the young Pilot has the edge in agility and thus the speed and initiative now, Farkas has about 30 years of experience under his belt of handling rowdy marines.
The Master Sergeant, takes the punch just enough to give him that extra addition as he rolls with it and ends up along side the young Pilot. The hand that lingered upon his nighstick suddenly finds itself up between Micah's shoulderblades to add onto his own momentum and send him into the bulkhead, atleast that was the plan. "I said backdown.." he growls.

There's a scuffle of booted feet and a loud -clang- as pilot meets bulkhead; undoubtedly there's going to be a few bruises apiece, when all of this is said and done. "Get the frak away from me, you frakking arsewipe-" There's no skill in the way he 'fights', if it could even be called that, unlike the veteran Marine. He simply thrashes, drawing the attention of a couple of people in the firing range as he tries to twist around and deck the man.

Right fist comes trashing and Farkas takes half a step forth and brings up his own left hand to block the incoming blow. There is one thing to note and that is to fight an ineperienced fighter can be hard at times, cause they fight without logic. First blow is blocked, so is the second but when by all acounts the third should come low it comes high once again and hits Farkas over his shoulder. "That's frak'ing it!" he growls.

Especially when that inexperienced fighter is some thirty or fourty years younger than you, a kid by all accounts, and weighs nearly as much. At this point, it's not so much a fight as a releasing of aggression; he just wants to hurt someone, and Farkas makes a nice target.

Farkas shakes his head for a moment, to clear his mind and vision as he continues to block the incoming blows. Most of them are blocked or evaded but now and then a blow finds its mark and the Sheriff grunts. Then finaly, he has had enough and puts use to his experience of forty years of warmaking. A well aimed blow towards his head, is deflected as instead of blocking or evading he steps in, closing the distance between himself and the pilot. The blow, skids off his shoulder just as the Master Sergeant brings his elbow up towards the pilots face, hoping to put him on the ground.

If anything, the Ensign seems more frantic when Farkas moves in closer, breath coming audibly now as he continues to vent anger with each swing. It doesn't matter whether they're blocked, it's the feeling of striking something that appears to sate his frustrations. It's probably not even anything to do with the Marine, at this point. Unsurprisingly, the elbow to his face connects solidly with a crack that might or might not be something breaking, and lays the pilot out in a momentarily stunned heap on the floor.

Farkas watchse the pilot on the ground and wipes some sweat of his forehead, before he moves over to the comm unit and presses the button. A quick message, before he moves over to Micah and unclips his cuffs from his belt. "You put up a fight son..But never lay a hand on me again, I'll skin you alive…It wont be long til the CAG gets you out."

[Tac1] Farkas says, "All avail MP's to the Firing range at deck 14, this is the Master at Arms, I say again..all avail MP's to the Firing range deck 14."

Eli comes in from Corridor 14C.
Eli has arrived.

By now, the marines who were training their weapons a few booths over, have stopped and turned to see what the hubbub's about. It's a pretty satisfying sight, after all, to see one of those smartass pilots laid out on the floor by the bulkhead, growling and clutching at his jaw, even if the old Marine that took him down is sporting a bruise or two of his own. He has nothing to say to the Master Sergeant at the moment, but simply bores holes into his skull with the levity of his stare.

Eli makes her way in, frowning and in uniform all polished and proper as usual and frowning with a hand on 'Betty' the nightstick. Trying to get an idea of what's going on.

Farkas has a set of cuffs in his hand, but hands them over to Eli as she/he makes entry to the firing range. "Sergeant, cuff this menace and throw him in the brig..Keep him away from Mercer and Doss." he mutters as he rubs his shoulder. "Charges, assault of the MA.."

Eli opens her mouth and shuts it and then opening it much like a fish with really pretty eyes. "…yes sir…" Is muttered as she makes her way over to Micah, eyebrows shooting up as she studies the individual. "Sir? I'm going to have to cuff you now." Yep, manhandling goes here.

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