Summary: The Doc successfully leaves the target pristine for the next person to take the lane.
Date: 31 ACH
Related Logs: The 'C' Word

Snatch, despite having been ordered to practice up on her shooting, is not cleared (or classified) to take guns out of the locker. So she paces, arms folded, toward the back of the room, waiting, on the one hand, for her pupil, and on the other hand, for weapons with which to practice. In one direction pacing toward the door, in the other toward the storage lockers.

There was a set time for this shooting lesson, and Quill is punctual. Barely so, as evidenced by both the relentless clock and the footsteps down the corridor — a rapid run that slowed to a walk just before the entryway. Obvious symptoms of time-induced panic. He's slightly winded as he arrives, and the Recruit starts to salute Snatch before remembering she's Enlisted, and it's just a sort of flaily gesture. "Reporting," he greets her.

Snatch chuckles, relaxing a little once Jonah gets there. "Ou-ais, ou-ais, pun'cher flailibits away, Doc," she greets him casually. "Y'ns ain't late, they'ns hain't e'en managed t' git the damn gunbin open. Haydes 'n' Fahr, Ah could right half broke -in- the thang alreaduns," she drawls with a shake of her head. "Whar y'ns spraintin' frum?"

"Sprinting?" Quill echoes. "I wasn't sprinting, I was… engaging in voluntary cardiovascular exercise for the betterment of myself and my service to the Navy." There's a bit of a pause. "Deck 8," he answers the question. "Why won't they let you open the gunbi — weapons locker?"

More footsteps down the hallway herald the arrival of the officer who'd previously agreed to open the locker for Snatch; unlike the recruit, these steps are unhurried.

"Them Lords man kenn't," Snatch shrugs her ignorance on the matter. "A haint ne'er bin ginnin no code, no-wise. "Ente cas— hain't puns min out munch. They'ns gi'n yin a chaince t' shut yer eyes, a-tall?" She looks almost worried for the recruit. They really seem to be putting him through the wringer.

"No," Quill replies to the question of sleep, briefly scrubbing his face with his hands. "Doesn't that just make it extra-exciting that I'll be handling firearms? Just, um… do me a favor, alright? If you for any reason need to hit me in the face with a rifle butt, warn me first." He rubs his jaw briefly, as though saying farewell to the teeth he'd lose if that happened. "It's just something Ensign Novella said, about her basic training with firearms."
He salutes the officer as she enters the room, and within a few moments the weapons locker is undone. Instructions for closing and re-locking the unit are issued, a sympathetic, somewhat schadenfreude look cast to Snatch, and then the officer exits again.

Snatch narrows her eyes. "Whan'd ah fin a thang laik than?" Snatch asks. "Y'ns on mahn side, less Ah looked. That changed, y'd best ought tell min now," she jokes around with him a little, then raises both her eyebrows in a sort of excited look as she actually gets to go -in- to the gunbin rather than have some guns passed off to her. "Wellen, common an' graib yernself a gun. Pick up twin 'r tree… git one's feels nice t' yin." She goes about browsing, herself.

"Well, apparently Novella whacked someone for being a dipshit," Quill explains. "Putting the rest of the people in training in a line of fire, or something. Teeth were lost, training failed, hearts, no doubt, broken. It sounded overall like the kind of thing that would be done by someone who has no idea what they're doing, so do you see where the paranoia enters in here?" He quirks a smile, "But yeah, I'm on your side." For better or for worse.
As to the guns themselves, Quill doesn't seem overly eager to start poking around. "Whatever feels nice? Guns aren't nice. Nice is new guitar strings, nice is the smell of old books." His first reaction is to reach for the smallest weapon there, hovering a moment by the wimpy weapon before moving a couple over and picking a more reasonably sized handgun.

"Yer gun'll be plenny nice t' yin 'fin y'ns got som grille-a-pain bahr'n down on yin. Or iffin yer belly's gromlin hard enough," Snatch points out. "Smellin' books, han? S'at whah y'ns Docs all spen' so munch time in 'em liberries?" She's eager to get her hands on one of the rifles, but settles for a handgun of similar design to the one Quill picked out. May as well be working with the same thing as her student. "An' don' fret yernself o'ermuch. Y'ns ain't gone hit nothin' your first time out, like als not. Jus' don't hit -min- none an' m'a ne git pas yin no grudge."

"I have the creeping suspicion that if a toaster's bearing down on me, I'm done for regardless of whether or not I'm holding a weapon," Quill notes, dryly. "And even that wouldn't happen unless they invade Genesis, and if they got far enough to invade Genesis, we're all more or less doomed anyway." As to the books, he grins. "I don't know. Sniffing books is not done in public. What if someone saw you accidentally inhale a silverfish? It'd be awkward." Speaking of awkward, he's holding the gun so it's pointed at the floor and well away from either of them, as though fearing it's going to start firing of it's own volition at any moment. "Um.. what do I do now?"

Snatch picks up a couple of spare clips and then stands perfectly still, any forthcoming reply cut short by a resounding, "Haw!" as she takes in Quill holding the gun. "Yer safety's on. In hain't gone bite yin." She holds her own rather more casually than your average militarily-minded person. She doesn't go so far as to twirl the thing, but it wouldn't particularly be inappropriate to the way she totes it toward the firing lanes. She sets the extra rounds on the little shelf on the wall between where she'll stand and the spot she indicates to him with a casual jerk of her head. She demonstrates how to unload the clip, holding it up to show him. "Make sure y'ns kennin out how many bults y'ns got. Keep a reck'nin whilst yer fahr'n, ou-ais?"

"Oh," Quill says, once learning the safety's on. His demeanour towards the gun doesn't actually change at all though, and in fact he eyes it suspiciously as though wondering what other nefarious tricks (settings) it has that he doesn't know about. He listens and nods as he follows her over to the firing lanes, heading to the spot she indicated. "Count shots, got it. So, uh…. I take the safety off before I load it? Or is that not related? How many shots does this thing have?"

Snatch takes a moment to count the shots in the clip she's holding before shoving it back into the gun. "Thin's un got twailf. Git yern own out an' reck'n 'ems up. Ah spects in's same-als, may che ne pas…" she admits her ignorance. "Comme ca," she repeats the 'trick' of getting the clip to release, in case he missed how it was done the first time.

Quill, being both an engineer and an engineer who wants to prolong having to fire this thing as long as possible, studies the gun before doing anything else. Eyeing all those little details, wheels in his head churning away as he decides what they're for. Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, he unloads the clip and counts the shots therein. "Twelve," the Recruit confirms, before loading the weapon again. "Now it's fire away?"

"Ou-ais," Snatch allows. "Git in yern box thar an' take off them safety. Lahn up yer sights 'pon whan y'ns wan' fahr at… then squeeze yer trigger. In'll star' off easeful, then whan in stars t' push at'cher, get braced fer th' kick. Than's whan's gone pull off yer aim, most-wise. Y'ns don' e'en feel yer arm move, may't do. Ye'll figger in out. Jus' take in easeful an' don' fret 'fin y'ns cain't hit nothin'. Ye'll git in, gi'n time."

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

Click, off goes Quill's safety. He eyes the gun a moment longer, then raises it, sort of aims, and shoots.


It would have been helpful if he kept his eyes open, but they reflexively closed at the noise and the kick. Or perhaps even pre-emptively. A mark far to the right of the target suggests that Quill's imaginary attacker is well and truly unharmed. Eyes squeezed shut a moment after the shot, he opens one, peering, then the other, before lowering the gun and assessing. "That wall's definitely not going to frack with me again."

"Ahs, Doc," Snatch suggests. "Y'ns got t' bin lookin' whar yer fahr'n at. Now ans lest y'ns kennin' out how't kicks. G'awn," she goads a little, sounding encouraging rather than impatient.

"Show me how it's done," Quill suggests instead, gesturing with the non-gun-holding hand at Snatch and her weapon. "You shoot, I'll watch. You're more keen on this sort've thing than I am anyway. Ou-ais?"

"Ou-ais… than y'ain't gone git no keener watchin' from the bench," Snatch warns in reply, "Pun'cher safety back on a'fore y'ns cam out yer box," she adds, stepping into her own and releasing her own weapon's safety. It's more or less impossible to look straight from one into the other, so he'll have to come out if he wants to watch. She reaches to the wall and sends the target back, watching it as it flaps to a stillness, raising her weapon and using her other hand to brace her wrist as she watches it through the sights, standing there still for a long moment as if in a stare-off with the target. A moment of stillness and silence.

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Good (4).

BANG! Looks like we're having paper-target stew for supper.

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Good (4).

BANG! If it wasn't dead before, it probably is now.

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Great (5).

BANG! No, really, she can stop now. She lowers the gun ten or so degrees and turns her head to look back at Quill. "See? Easy-as."

Quill resets the safety quickly and sets the gun down as carefully as though he didn't just put the safety on, stepping out of his box to a better vantage point. Snatch's first shot gets that eyes-closed wince again; at the second two he manages to only flinch. The civilian instinct that shots = panic and run for cover is tough to overcome, what can we say. "Easy as, sure," Quill scoffs with a grin, after she's finished making that target good and sorry. "Easy as hours and hours of practice over the last twenty years, right?"

Snatch chuckles. "Ou-ais, Doc. An' yourn ahrs and ahrs on practice? They'ns starrin' now. Son finish out than clip. Gin y'nself an feel fer'n. See 'fin ye cain't put un onna paper," she sets him a reasonable challenge, then lifts her gun again, that long pause… as if waiting for him to start up again. He may as well get used to shooting with the sound of other people shooting around him.

"I don't like guns," Quill confesses. Gee, never would have guessed. He does return to his box, though, and keeps talking regardless of whether or not Snatch can hear him. "It's hard to get your head around using something that's made for the sole intent of killing people." The Recruit clicks the safety off. "Or things… I suppose we use them to kill 'things' now." With that toasterly thought in his head, Jonah raises the gun in an approximation of the stance Snatch used, and tries again.

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible (-1).

BANG! Ceiling.

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible (-1).

BANG! Floor.

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible* (-2).

BANG BANG BANG! Recruit on the loose! Three shots follow in rapid succession, wildly peppering everything in the range that is not Quill's paper target. With half the clip empty now, he pauses, sets the gun down, and backs out of the box. "I um," he addresses Snatch, "I'll practice."

Snatch tries to drown out the worrisome clinkage from the next aisle over, focusing on her own target and having some sort of faith that she's not actually about to get shot by her new colleague. She stares down the paper. "An' scraips on paper. Ain't no profit in 'an," she complains a little before silencing herself to wait for that perfect moment when the prey's still and just poised for flight.

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Great (5).

<Trait Roll> Snatch rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7).

BANG! BANG! BANG! Three steady shots in a somewhat arced procession toward the center of the target. She lowers her weapon, switches on the safety, and goes to peek at the target in the next lane over. "Ah think y'ns hit mahn, un. Ah cain't reckon than'll -count,- though. Y'ns -shaill- practice? Y'ns pratissin' now. Git on an' finish yer clip. Y'ns got an whole other waitin' on yin," she reminds him. This time she stays out of her box, evidently actually going to watch and see if she can offer advice.

Having stepped out of his box at the disastrous conclusion of his own firing, Quill's in a position to catch Snatch's final shot. "Ou-ais," the recruit grins, having adopted her affirmative. "Did I mention I'm on your side? Did I mention I'm glad I'm on your side? If not, consider it mentioned. In the event that Engineering is ever overrun, I feel slightly less doomed." When she informs him that practice time isn't over yet, though, Quill looks somewhat chagrined and returns to his box. A doleful eye is cast on the weapon, then he raises it and tries again, using pretty much the same technique (or lack thereof) that he has been.

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible (-1).

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

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible* (-2).

It's appalling, it really is, the level of pathos that starts to get towards funny. Quill empties the clip, and over the course of his twelve shots from start to end, has hit floor, ceiling, and walls. A lovely pattern that looks almost like the symbol for Aquaria has developed from the marks left by the bad shots, and one rogue beyond-terrible firing has neared the center of Snatch's target a lane away. Quill looks over his shoulder at Snatch and appears slightly worried. "You don't think they'll kick me back to Carina for this, do you?"

Snatch shakes her head, gnawing on the inside of her lower lip to supress the urge to laugh. She steps back into her box long enough to put her weapon on the shelf, and then she's out again. "They'ns ain't payin' yin t' fahr a gun. They'ns jus' want yin to ken out how so to do… jus' in case. Ah telled yin not to fret. How minny pun-shups cin you fin?" she asks him. Why, look, a non-sequitur! Or is it?

"No, they're not," Quill agrees about what he's signed up for, somewhat more cheerful now that the weapon is unloaded and Snatch has turned his brains to thoughts of engineering. He steps out of the box and puts the safety on, despite there being no rounds left. "I've been thinking. Scandalous, I know, shouldn't think till I've got pins and probably not even then, but I believe there may be a way to use FTL technology as — what?" Quill stares at Snatch a second, then warily answers her question. "…Several."

Snatch nods her head at the answer, wrinkling up her nose to one side like a thoughtful little bunny while glancing at his arms. Not that she can tell anything underneath the garb. "Y'ns ought to look t' than," she comments. "Y'alf need t' git som mossel in 'hind thar. In's… In's laik als y've got a leaksy car'n valve, an y'ns got them roun'-claimp on't, bun in jus' keep on bockin'. Y'ns gon -brace- agin' thar valve. Gon git som -arm- behin' thar gun. Taim in. Kenny?"

Quill relaxes visibly when Snatch doesn't actually /ask/ him to do pushups, which as a trainer is well within her power to do. "Right," he nods, ejecting the empty clip and putting the gun back in the weapons locker. "Right. Of course. Elementary physics, right? Equal resistance to the opposing force. For an academic though, hey, I'm in pretty good shape." He grins, "Have you seen the norm? People molded into the shape of their chairs? I'm ahead of that curve, you people are just using a different grading scale." He briefly steps towards the box to take one last look at the chaos surrounding his pristine paper target, shakes his head, and returns towards Snatch. "It ought to be immortalized. An epic poem, maybe, to encompass that level of failure. Only have a few more minutes before I've got to go be tested on what I know about conditions and protocols, but.." Quill extends a hand. "Thank you. For this, engineering, all of it."

"Han, shore," Snatch replies, stepping to to take his hand and give it a firm shake. "Hain't nothin'. Y'ns a good man, joinin' up an' doin' right by y'nself. Y'ns a hard worker. Y'ns ain't pitchin' fuss, whan thar's plenny fer pitchin' fuss o'er. Makes yin a good egg in manh jumment, better'n mos'. M'a be proud t' serve wit'chers. An' jus' keep at than thar gunnin'. Y'ns ought should gin in, soon-likes."

"Maybe," Quill grins wryly, on the topic of improving the shooting. "Maybe not. But we'll see. Take care of yourself, alright?" The recruit heads out, walks a few steps, and the rest of the receding footsteps are paced at a run. Late again.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License