Troy Qualifies
Troy Qualifies
Summary: Troy has some quality time with a gun
Date: 14 BCH
Related Logs: None

Troy can be seen loading rounds into an empty clip. It looks like he may have been here for a while by now. Plenty of empty casings rolling around his feet and he has a decent stack of paper targets stacked up next to him as well. His shooter glasses drop down as he slides the clip home and flips the switch to send the new target down.

Doesn't it figure? You get all set for a nice round of semi-anonymous shooting and what happens? Someone you know claims the booth next to you. D'Artanion approaches from the weapons locker, but does not go into the empty booth immediately. Rather, she flickers a glance into your booth, then pauses for a longer look. A faint smile graces her lips and she murmurs, "Hey, Southpaw," just before ducking behind the partitian. Before setting up the target, she takes the time to go over the rifle in case the last person who used it didn't.

Troy looks up at the name and leans around the partition, giving a mock sigh of 'oh no'. "Not you again. Come to embarrass me some more?" He's grinning though. He sets his gun down on the counter and massages his fingers and hands as he talks to her. "So what - did you know I was up here or something? You stalking me now?" He laughs.

D'Artanion looks up and her laughter is easy and relaxed, "Now, now. I can't control your emotions. That's your job." Looking back down, she finishes cleaning the rifle and begins loading it, while she adds, "I can only provide opportunity." Darting a glance up, she winks, then sobers a little, "But, when did I embarass you? I would have thought I'd remember something that momentous. You Navy guys are supposed to be immune." Her tone is light, her eyes sparkling, "By the way. I didn't see you at the party last night. Didn't think you'd miss it."

Troy folds his arms and leans a thick shoulder against the partition between his firing lane and D'Artanion's, grinning. "Trust me, I really didn't want to. But I'm the new guy as far as the CAG is concerned - I pull the weirdest duty rosters, believe you me." Troy laughs and shakes his head. There's a pistol sitting, looking ready to go on the counter in his lane, and a lot of empty shells rolling around at his feet. D'art's lane is clean, she may have just gotten here.

D'Artanion finishes loading the rifle she carries and sets it on the counter. Looking up at Troy, one brow rises slightly, "So, that's why you didn't make the party? That sucks… It turned out to be a lot of fun." Standing, she draws her own pistol from it's holster and begins checking it as well, "Doesn't answer the first question, though. Or were you talking about when you'n Reeves were in Sickbay?" She looks at the other southpaw from the corner of her eyes, "Cause that was his fault, not mine."

The doorway to the Small Arms Range slides open and in pops the head of Craven. Eyes dart around the range for a moment before he hrmp's softly and actually moves through the doors, letting them close behind him. Hands lift, tugging slightly and smoothing upon the front of his shirt as he moves further into the range and then off to the side. He seems a touch nervous, as to whether it's being in this particular room, or being out of his normal medic's garb, it's hard to say.

<Trait Roll> Troy rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Fair (3).
<Trait Roll> Troy rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Good (4).
<Trait Roll> Troy rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).
<Trait Roll> Troy rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Fair (3).
<Trait Roll> Troy rolls Firearms and achieves a degree of Good (4).

Troy rolls his eyes at the memory but shakes his head, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the PO coming in. "No no, I'm talking about you murdering the paper in the next lane while I'm struggling over here." He laughs and turns back to his lane. Shooter glasses are straightened and earplugs and pushed in a bit tighter. "Lets see how embarrassed I am today. Better be decent for the amount of practice I've been putting in." He takes a breath as he raises the weapon and sights down it. He doesn't fire the shots off in very rapid succession though, just one at a time, half a breath between each one, really trying to focus and stay under control. And when the paper comes back? What do you know, all five shots are in scoring rings of the target!

D'Artanion laughs at that, "Oh. Well… I'm a Marine, I'd better be able to shoot. Besides, sometimes the only way to save a life is to end the enemy trying to end it." Shaking her head, she glances over her shoulder and notes Craven, "Hey, Stitch. Come on over. There're goggles and ear plugs in the booths." Her gaze returns to Troy as he shoots and her brows lift slightly as the target is wheeled back, "Nice, Lieutenant. Want me to send the target to Captain Gaelan?"

There's a brief nod as Troy glances over and then another D when she notices him, but Craven doesn't move forward yet. Waiting and then watching as Troy fires down the range, he simply cants his head ever so slightly. Once the Pilot has finished, a slight smile crosses his lips as he begins to move towards one of the empty booths, "Lieutenant. Blondie. Trust you are both well enough today?" When the booth is reached, ear plugs are the first thing that he sets himself to doing.

Troy whistles as he looks at the target and immediately pulls it off. "Well hot damn… I'd appreciate it if you would, Sergeant. I won't rank in the actual competition, but I ain't afraid to lose, either." He holds the paper up just before handing it to D. "Craven - watcha think of that? Yes sir, I'm pretty happy with that. I better close up before I jinx it." He laughs, but he also goes about cleaning up too.

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