PHD #459: Some Helpful Advice
Some Helpful Advice
Summary: Lunair gives Trask and Evandreus a firearms lesson. In return, Bootstrap gives the marine a bit of marital advice.
Date: 31 May 2042 AE
Related Logs: None, really
Evandreus Lunair Trask 
Shooting Range - Deck 12 - Battlestar Cerberus
This nearly soundproof room has ten shooting booths in a straight line that face the target field. The ranges move out to thirty yards, each booth using its own track to take targets out to the desired distance vial a simple dial at the booth. Behind the firing line is a long bench that runs the width of the room where crewmembers can load magazines and compare targets. At one end is a huge stack of paper targets that has either Cylons or a few different types of human targets on them. A large sign hangs from the ceiling that details out the rules such as wearing eye and ear protection and watching where weapons are pointed at all times.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear
Post-Holocaust Day: #459

Lunair is working with the rangemaster and watching over a few trainees and recruits. One plucky fellow forgets about recoil and nearly pops himself in the face. Lunair quietly moves over to correct his posture and hold. It's not terribly busy but neither is it quiet. There's a few bits of gear issued and exchanged. Things flow remarkably peacefully for a shooting range.

Evan hasn't been exactly at the top of his game, recently. Sure, he shows up to sit his on-call shift and flies his allotted CAP with the hand of a fellow who's flown a few too many, but his off-hours have been more and more withdrawn and quiet, something in him seeming to wither at the social environments in which once upon a time he'd thrived. And so he trails in after Boots with the general mien of one being made to sit detention, metaphorical ears back, eyes half-squinted shut as if the room were offering too much in the way of visual stimulation. But he's here. Because he has to be. So he'll be quiet and listen and get rid of all of his bullets so he can go home again.

For his part, Trask has never been a social butterfly. If anything, he's a worker bee. Whenever he's seen Bunny, it's either been work-related or with Kalli, which means the SL really hasn't noticed the shift in his friend. Running a squadron, planning for Gemenon, copious extra training, and hardcore hitting the PT to return to the flightline ASAP eats up most of the time. Plus, he has his own personal problems that he's patently ignoring, which really doesn't make his already rather emotionally avoidant personality particularly perceptive to poor Evan's plight. "Just… I dunno, Buns. Pretend it's one of those carnival games. Hit the target, win a prize."

And while Lunair finishes up with the Marines, the Airy Fairies go about getting their rubber ammunition and protective gear from the provisions clerk.

Lunair is a strangely diligent teacher. She doesn't hover, instead moving back and forth. Shooting pauses when people move to and fro. Then it picks back up. She looks up to see the Air Wing types and smiles politely in passing. "Hello. There's a couple of targets at the far end still open, sirs," She nods. Her manners are good, though her volume is a bit up - likely due to the earplugs and odd shot. She pauses and looks over. "Pardon me," she steps away to make sure someone isn't going to put an eye out and returns soon enough. "Please feel free to ask if you've any questions." Nod. She's /present/, but oddly inoffensive.

Evandreus gives Boots a wan smile at the advice, eyes crinkling at the corners with a mirthful flavor as he sets his luggage on the prep counter. A mostly-deflated gym bag that had been hanging at his back is unzipped with a marvelously passive-aggressive zipping noise, and a bundle of towel is taken out and unwrapped to reveal a gun case that probably hasn't been opened since it was passed down to him from Sitka's gear. His smile goes crooked and then falters out of existence as he unfastens the case like one disarming a bomb, afraid that it may explode on contact. He looks at Lunair as she offers her assistance, but then just goes back to putting his earplugs in, and goggles, and earphones on top of the earplugs. Thus insulated from… just about anything except the contents of his own skull, he wedges a finger under the handle of the gun, prying it up awkwardly from the fitted casing it's held in in the case.

"Tell you what," Trask precedes to tell Evan, "you hit the bull's-eye and I'll see about finding you a suitable prize." Donning the protective glasses, he turns to catch sight and sound of Lunair. "El-tee!" he calls out over the gunfire, "Thanks for makin' the time to show us how this is supposed to be done." A small, self-deprecating smirk forms, and the ear is drawn on as he starts making his way to the indicated lanes.

A faint smile at all of that. She watches Evan handle the gun, carefully. Lunair nods. She smiles at Trask. "Think nothing of it, sir. I learn a lot from teaching too," she nods. There's a fair amount of respect for the man, at the least. She seems to appreciate it and his smirk, though. She's watchful, helping the rangemaster make sure there's at least no gross safety violations (or lost eyes) and that people perfect their stances and aim. "Please let me know if you'd like any help or advice," she calls to Evan and Trask - though she seems to be making her way down the line to them surely. The Loon will be upon them in mere moments! One fellow's got his feet too close. Another seems to be shooting the wrong lane - good aim, wrong lane! "Oh, your sight's off…" She quietly corrects it alongside the chap, much to the disappointment of someone who thought they were awesome.

Evandreus turns the thing upside-down, making sure that it is securely in the 'off' position before he gets the allotment of rubber bullets and counts them once before putting them into the thing. "I think being finished with the whole thing will be prize enough, thanks," he murmurs, though it's unclear whether loud enough for Boots to hear. His voice sounds loud to -him,- at least, trapped inside his own ears as it is. So he kind of mumbles, not wanting to shout, and, taking the gun by two fingers, making sure once more that there's no way it could accidentally go off even should he drop the thing, he totes it along and goes to chill in the next lane after Boots.

*CLACK* Bootstrap slides in the first of many 10-round magazines into his Five-seveN. Checking the gun, he makes any necessary adjustments, then goes about tacking up his target. With the flip of a switch, the sheet starts to reel towards the end of his lane. Glancing over the metal partition between him and Evan, he observes the pilot's progression of preparation. "Is that… /dust/?" Peer. Blink-blink. "Have you even used that thing since it was issued to you?"

Evandreus surely notes Bootstrap getting his attention, and he looks between the man and the gun, pointing to the latter with his free hand, brows lowered in confusion. "I don't -think- it has any rust?" he answers back, then turns his attention to the thing, squinting at it as he turns it over in his hands. It certainly hasn't had a chance to get any dust on it, since it's been in its air-tight case all this time.

Lunair is alert, despite her indirect hovering. She furrows her brows, patting someone on the shoulder encouragingly. No longer is their sight off! She walks down the line, inspecting people here and there. She makes her way to the end and pauses. "… ah. Do you need to borrow a pistol, or I can show you how to clean it?" She seems unsure if the dust thing is a joke, but it never hurts to check right? "It's a bit intimidating and unpleasant at first, but you'll take to it in no time," she offers. "Have you held it and tried a shooting stance?" Likely, she's worried about him busting his wrist or popping himself in the face. She looks to Trask too, an equal opportunity hoverer - like a strange, curly haired UFO.

"Shit, Buns." Eloquent, isn't he? When Lunair pipes up, Trask concurs, "You should definitely dismantle it and give it a look-over." Something the SL had to do the other day, after his own gun jammed when he angrily and forcefully shoved a cartridge in there. Even as his target locks into place, eyes are still on Evandreus.

Evandreus goes a little wide-eyed, "Alright, alright," he murmurs, yielding. This part, at least, is pretty easy. Evan's always had something of the tinkerer in him, and so figuring out the whats and wherefores of a gun was about the only part of his gun training that was ever of any interest to him. And so he removes the rubbers from the gun and heads back over to the table in the back, looking one way and then the other before he crosses the space. He'll pick it apart over there.

Lunair's a gentle teacher and does offer out a rag to clean it out with if he wishes. Otherwise, she tends to believe in a largely hands-off sort of teaching. Much easier when one's not being sat upon right? She looks to Trask and then Evandreus. Her attention is momentarily pulled as she calls out to someone to stop pointing their gun at their buddy while they talk. "Sorry for yelling there," She murmurs. The rangemaster is likely alerted at that and peering at the offender. Marines rove! She does peer to Trask, watching his stance and how he holds the gun. "Be careful of your wrist," She offers. "It's wise to support the pistol with the center of your palm. Sometimes aligning both your thumbs to the target brings your wrist in line too and helps ease the pressure and steady your aim." Hands are important to pilots and ECOs after all. Her tone is gentle and concerned.

Bootstrap lets Bunny hop away without so much as a glance. Everyone in Air Wing is qualified to maintain their sidearm, so he trusts that the pilot will be able to handle the matter. At Lunair's prompting, the ECO seeks to do as instructed. "Like this?" The double-thumb trick appears to be working.

Evandreus doesn't hurry much about the task, at any rate. Either wanting to be thorough and careful or else simply putting off the inevitable. He forces nothing, jars nothing, but, with the correct application of the most gentle-looking of gestures the weapon seems simply to fall to pieces under his caress. And for a moment he seems greatly content to leave it like that, cleaning each piece, even though each piece is already pristine from having been cleaned when it was turned in after Sitka's death.

Lunair doesn't pester Evandreus, though she seems concerned. She nods at the ECO. "That's right. Good job." She seems pleased. She keeps a dutiful watch over the range, looking to Evandreus and Trask every so often. "Today we're mostly working on still targets. Likely will for at least a few more days." This noted likely in case there are folks curious.

<FS3> Trask rolls Firearms *CASUAL*: Success.

Ten (10) rounds go off. Ten (10) rounds hit the target. The groupings aren't particularly tight, but each lands within the desired area. "Moving targets?" Trask asks. "Like those paintball drills I hear you guys do?" 'You guys' being the CMC. With a flip, the silhouette is retracted while the man loads a new magazine.

Evandreus waves his hand over the gun as if summoning the pieces back together, and with a gentle positioning of his fingers and a light pressure of a shifting thumb he begins to slide bit into bit, beginning to speak to himself as he does, some prayer or other soothing sentiment, "Adon o Adonai, Anax Adonis, meron odonti leucoi leukon odonti, Adon o Adonai, Anax Adonis." And, as if the magic spell caused the gun to appear on its own, Evan suddenly seems to realize that it's whole and entire again, and, holding it cautiously at the requisite downward angle, but in both hands, he betakes himself back to where he left the rubberbits over at his aisle. Cubby. Thing.

Lunair watches, nodding. She doesn't interrupt Evandreus at all, perhaps thoughtful enough to leave people to their rituals and quirks. She nods at Trask. "Sort of. Except we can move these along the racks. I should host another paint ball game perhaps sometime." She considers it with a faint smile. "Though I don't know what incentive I'd have this time. I'd have to check." She is, at least, fair enough to offer prizes for one's time and practice. "Good shooting, sir," she nods. She seems happy with it. For now then, she resumes hovering. Not in the literal sense, mind. Though that would be far more entertaining on the range.

"Incentive?" That's a mingling of wryness and bemusement, followed with a non-nonsense tone, "Shit, El-tee. Honing one's chops should be incentive enough. " For the smartass is also a hardass and not in the least bit a lazyass. "Skittering targets here would be good, though. BUT," a new target is attached and sent reeling back, "if you have available spots and won't mind an Airy Fairy, I'd be game for that paintball thing." Never mind that Kal's never played paintball even in a recreational manner.

Evandreus comes to the line, and for a moment he actually stares down at his own feet, shuffling them further apart and then closer together as he thinks quite a bit too hard about how far apart his shoulders are (since that's how far apart his feet are meant to be). Once he's settled on a distance, he moves his right just a smidge back, knee bent, no, not that much, up on the ball of his foot. It's nothing one doesn't learn in the first few weeks of How To Shoot A Gun; it's as though the Bunny were going through some sort of mental checklist of proper procedure, a pre-flight for firing a weapon.

Lunair smiles at that. "Oh, I understand that. But sometimes it's nice to put out a lure to encourage people to get into it too," She nods. She is at least understanding of his view. "We're mostly starting with still targets so people can master their hold and get a feel for aiming. I think the CAG would be displeased if I sent several of hers and yours back all sprained and unhappy. In a couple of days, perhaps if things go well, we can move on to skittering targets." She looks to Evandreus, making sure he's alright, perhaps. She glances back to Trask and nods. "I will let you know then," She promises. "We could probably get something going."

"Well, if you're in need of incentive," for her Marines, "I can compensate you with some porn for all this instruction time you're generously donating." From the infamous EPIC pr0n collection he inherited from one Marvin "Prince" Albert. "Speakin' of which, Marko won the right to claim somethin' from the collection." Yes, Trask is actually divulging this to aforementioned junior ECO's wife. "He's yet to redeem the offer, though. If you wanna pick somethin' out on his behalf, I'm fine with that." And then, just as nonchalantly, another ten (10) rounds are discharged.

<FS3> Evandreus rolls Firearms *CASUAL*: Success.

Bartering for prawns goes straight over (or around) Evan's head through those two layers of soundproofing he's got on, plus the inner monologue of steps to be taken in the doing of it. Gun up, elbows loose, take a deep breath, steady.

One foot in front of the other. Just like back at school. He still can't quite stop himself from closing his eyes, but the wince of his chin toward his shoulder is near to imperceptible as the gun starts making a racket in his hands. And the stance sees him through, though he has to pause to reset it after nearly every shot, making sure his feet are in the right place, making sure his hands are in the right place, making sure nothing is too loose or too tight. Give him five minutes to prepare himself on a battlefield before taking a shot and he might acquit himself admirably, from all the times he hit the bloody target.

Lunair pauses. Her face twists in amusement. "That … would be quite a prize. I do not know if I am worried or flattered my husband turned some of it down," she admits wryly. "I appreciate the offer and will consider it." From her tone, it sounds like it will get fair consideration. Definitely a bit of amusement. She looks to Evandreus, smiling. "Good shooting," She offers. She seems to prefer more positive reinforcement than negative.

<FS3> Trask rolls Firearms: Success.

The second time around, Trask rapid-fired as would be expected on the field of battle. In the end, he fared no better but also no worse than when he took his sweet time. The most recently ruined target sheet now held in his hands, he outright but (amiably enough) asks Lunair, "So, what can I do to get tighter groupings?"

As for the pr0n, he tacks on, "Well, just lemme know what you think your peeps would like, an' I'll put together an assortment you can dole out as you see fit." This the military, after all. Anyone in the service who is offended by the notion of pornography really is some kind of freak of nature, for such titillating tidbits are part and parcel of Fleet life.

And since the door is already open, Bootstrap waltzes right on through and comments about Marko, "As long as he's still doin' what he's supposed to be doin'," in the sack (or anywhere else the couple may frak), "I think he's probably okay. 'course, since you seem into the idea of takin' somethin' home, you might wanna tip him off that you're into that kinda thing, just in case he's unaware. Most men have this weird thing of viewing their wives as pristine, even if those very same wives were all freaky deaky before gettin' hitched."

Evandreus gives Lunair a shy sort of glance in thanks, a grim tugging at the corners of his mouth while he prepares the next batch of rubberbits. Either he's unable to hear the conversation around him or is just generally numbed to such talk, being not only a pilot but also a Leontinian.

Lunair seems pleased. "Good job. And people tend to get tighter groupings with more practice. Some find rapid fire works best because you don't overthink each shot or fire in the moment your vision goes a little fuzzy from focusing. It's only a second but I'm sure you've noticed the gun moves in a figure 8 as your heart beats," she notes quietly. "Depending on the calibre of weapon, recoil might be inevitable. Some guns will fight you practically. I don't think that applies so much to a pistol," she admits. "In the end, it's mostly practice so you can have less time between shots and get a feel for the weapon. I wish I could give you more," she admits.

The pr0n definitely amuses Lunair. She nods. She's hardly offended, likely long used to it. "I am sure whomever wins it would be suitably impressed." She considers it, though. Lunair doesn't seem offended by talk about her husband. She quirks a brow. She blushes and laughs softly. "We'll see. I'll let him know. I also don't want him to hold back on keeping some because he doesn't want to offend me. It seems selfish," she admits. "He's a good person and I am lucky. I didn't even have to use a bear trap to catch this one." That is a joke. "Thank you for reminding me, though. I don't know it would go over well bringing a stack of it by out of nowhere." She does seem grateful for the insight, smiling. Her dark eyes are bright with amusement and thought.

Lunair smiles back at Evandreus. She nods. "You're doing well. Let me know if you need anything." She turns up the volume a bit so he catches it.

"What was that?" Quiet speech gets lost in the staccato of gunfire, which means nothing about repetition and recall is really heard. Trask catches some of what is said about Marko, though, and nods. "Yeah. Flasher's a good kid." It's spoken somewhat fondly. Five-seveN reloaded and re-checked, another target is sent off to impending perforation. "Got any more stance suggestions, El-tee?"

Evandreus bobbles his head yes, but is otherwise engaged in following his checklist once again. One more turn and he can probably beg off. Just get the rubber things out of the metal thing. He shakes his head as distracting thoughts keep bothering him, nose wrinkling up before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Adon o Adonai, Anax Adonis. Right eye wincing shut pre-emptively, he raises the weapon into place again, measuring the angle of his elbows and taking a hiss of breath to hold while he finishes it out.

<FS3> Evandreus rolls Firearms *CASUAL*: Bad Failure.

Evan will evidently never have to worry about hitting himself in the face with his gun. Because at the last minute his nerves take hold and he turns his entire head away from the weapon, grimacing horribly at the noise and ruckus it makes, misaligning everything he'd so carefully set up and sending rubberbits boinging down the aisle, nowhere near the target itself.

The fond comment makes Lunair smile. Oh dear. Lunair replies, "Close grouping is a matter of practice and being able to shoot rapidly. Often, people focus so hard their eyes go a bit blurry. We ALL get nervous shooting honestly. I'm sure you've noticed that your gun moves in a figure 8 as your heart beats - even if you hold your breath." She pauses and looks between the two. "Just be steady for now and feel how the recoil moves you a bit. It's not much in a pistol, but it does affect things. You've got it pretty well. Granted, should it come down to shooting, you're more worried about not breaking your hand or being shot," she notes.

She pauses, noticing Evandreus' trouble. "Your feet seem to be fine. Too many people exaggerate it and flop all over." Like fishes with guns! She looks to Evandreus. "Here, let me help. We'll try a shot together, alright?" She's offering help if he wants it.

<FS3> Trask rolls Firearms: Success.

"Gotcha." This time, Trask heard the spiel. A sidelong glance is cast at the Bunny, but Lunair seems to have it in hand, so no reason for the SL to tarry in his own practicing. Another magazine is unloaded, each bullet hitting the desired mark, even if not as tightly grouped as the man would like.

Evandreus's jaw tightens a little bit as Lunair comes to show him how it's done. He knows how it's done. He knows all the steps. It's just a matter of pulling the trigger. But he doesn't complain, or puff up in any show of masculine ego, but he hands himself over to Lunair like so much putty, letting her do as she likes and sort of blanking out as he mindlessly follows instructions through the rest of the exercise.


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