| Take Aim |
| Summary: | Lysander attempts to help Crewman Lagana with her target practice. Each has a purpose. |
| Date: | 21 Feb 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Home on the Range |
| Players: |
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| Shooting Range |
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| 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. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #360 |
It's the shooting range. Given that he has nothing better to do other than be a nuisance, Sergeant Lysander has placed himself within one of the lanes in order to think and shoot, and do some more thinking. The man has even invited Circe along. Garret is currently in the middle of sliding false rounds into a magazine and after a glance to the checked out sidearm next to him he looks around. It's easy for him to hear at least, ear protection around the back of his neck.
After finishing up and changing, she has taken that invitation - given how poorly she did at the shooting practice the previous day. Dressed once more in her sweats, her hair is damp yet from her quick shower and pulled back. Drying strands curl in about her face and she passes the hatchway, gazing towards the lanes and then her hazel eyes take note of the Sargeant.
She starts his way, staying back some as he looks prepared to fire off some rounds. Her hands fold before her and she waits patiently before she decides to voice her arrival. "Hey." She says, a smile winding its way up to her lips.
"You're a whole… two an' a half minutes late, does that mean you're also fashionable?" Lysander looks up from his work as he sets the box of ammunition and partially-loaded magazine down. At least he wasn't completely oblivious to her arrival. Even better, he's stepping forward and turning around in order to lean his weight against the lane's counter. Circe is given a casual smile and he reaches up with his right hand to push up his safety glasses in order to have them rest at the front of his hair. "Check in, grab your gear, an' let's begin, shall we?"
"Not sure sweats are fashionable this time of year, but I would like to think I am at least comfortable." Circe remarks. At his orders, she nods her head, "Of course, sir." She turns then, moving to sign herself in, marking down the lane next to his as the one she will use. The medic sets down the pen and moves to take up a set of the safety gear. Glasses perch atop her drying hair and the ear gear is threaded around her neck. She gives a tug her sweatshirt and does the characteristic tie of sleeves about her waist.
Lysander takes a moment in order to appraise this idea of comfort over fashion, which just means giving the woman an idle once over, but whether or not he approves is cast to the winds. There are more important things to do, like focus on their conversation. "A gun, presumably, at a target, hopefully," but he's just being facetious at this point. After clearing his throat he points out what they shall be using, the Picon Five-seveN. He finishes reloading his own and looks downrange. He's already had the papery version of Cylons provided and prepared.
That alone causes her to press her lips into a rueful smile. "Next time remind me to bring some sedative for your sarastic nature." Circe says. She checks out a Five-SeveN and a few magazines of practice rounds. With both in hand, gun pointed down and safety on, she moves to set up in the lane next to him. As each is laid down, she lifts her hands up first to the safety glasses, pulling them down and then the eargear is brought up, affixing them. The medic goes about inspecting the gun first.
"Maybe, maybe not," either way, Lysander lifts his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug before he lowers his sidearm for the time being and places it at his lane. He then departs from it in order to approach the next one over, Circe's, so that he may stand and properly observe a short distance away. While doing this, he begins to fold his arms over his chest. "There's no real quick-fix to accuracy, so we'll do with practice makes perfect. How does that sound?"
His voice is muffled but she can grasp what he is saying, she lowers the gun, pointing it at an angle towards the floor as she nods to him, casting a glance over her shoulder. "Alright, give me a shot to call. I will do what we did in training the other day." Circe says. She shifts on her feet, adjusting her stance as her right slides back a bit further. She lifts her gun, clicking off the safety as she sights down it. Waiting for the called shot, she tilts her head to get a better view.
Lysander looks to the side of Circe's head and then leans forward in order to look over her shoulder at a new vantage point, one mimicking her line of sight. He squints a bit and then begins to call out shots for her to take, starting with the center of the torso and radiating outward. There's nothing wrong with doing things simply, since there are easier ways to take out a Cylon beyond a headshot.
As the shots are called she moves the pistol to aim and shoot. Aim - shoot. It goes on til he stops giving her called shots. She breathes deeply, keeping it even as her gaze narrows, focusing on her distant target. Paper though it is, it represents more than that. As she ends, the gun is lowered slowly, her muscles tight and hands feeling the reverb of the gun in a soft tingling. Leaning forward and away from him, she hits the line to return. She waits, watching it zing forward as she sets down the gun - safety click - on. Her hands lift to the eargear and it is brought down to her neck.
Lysander makes a thoughtful noise at the resultant shots and now that he has stopped calling they are able to take a good, long moment in simple review. He swivels about the lane in order to stand at her opposite side. "Good, horrible, good, great, an' I wonder how you're able to pull off shots in general like this when all I see you do is swing a scalpel about." He glances over in her direction. "Convenient though, you can shoot the toasters that shoot at me - an' patch me up afterwards."
Gazing over the strikes that made the paper, she frowns a little as she puts her finger through a whole on the white of the paper. She presses her lips firmly together as he calls them out and then she looks over at him. "Yes well, consistency is the best bet..if I can't place a shot when its needed, you are in trouble. And well.." She smiles faintly. "The less I have to patch you up the better. And I won't be this good in combat…I can tell you that." She says faintly. "I am nervous now and I am not even really shooting at cylon."
"The fates allow me only so much benefit when it comes to dodging bullets. The physics will eventually catch up to my luck and grace." Lysander explains such offhandedly as he begins to step away from her and back towards his lane. He does continue to speak up and listen to her though, if only because the conversation happens to be rather engaging: that's reason enough, right? "I think I like seeing nervous over fear. I'm always nervous. The anxiety, it's what makes me think of ways to win, to survive, make sure me an' those around me come back. Just, sometimes, be ready with that patching." He grins.
That causes her to laugh and she reloads the gun and replaces her target paper. Its clipped into place and she sends it back down. "Well that is one thing I am always ready for." She says warmly. Circe gives a roll to her neck and then lifts her ear gear. Clamping it back down over her ears, all sounds are muffled and with Lysander no longer near her, the conversation comes to a still. Circe lifts her gun once more, clicking off the safety and remembering the round of called shots he gave her before. "Firing!" She says loudly and then waits for a breath or two before unloading again.
Lysander looks over towards Circe after sliding on his safety gear, eyes before ears, and her response results in a light, appreciative grin. It would really be nice to not run into an unprepared doctoring-type. She turns to the firing range and then so does he. The slide of his gun is cocked into place, safety off, properly reloaded he takes it into both hands in order to steady himself and begins firing downrange when she does. He doesn't stop until having fully unloaded the sidearm. "I come here to think." It's randomly called out.
Her arm feels the tingle now as the successive shots makes her hand a bit sore. She turns her head slightly at the words, catching sight of his gun and how he holds it. She adjusts her hold, looking between them a moment. "Here? I don't see how." She says to be heard. "It makes me think of the ground engagements - being here. I really haven't shot a gun since medical school." She offers. She was blatantly bad when it came to soldiers, but good compared to the untrained. She hits the button, stringing her 'cylon' back to herself. Hazel eyes look over the shots and she is a bit more steady this time. Her head turns, looking to see his results.
Lysander finishes dropping his ear protection to resting around his neck. He glances over before reaching out to depress a button and recall his target. "No worries if you want to call me weird for saying it, but yeah. The fates give me solace in shooting at targets, gives me something to do, an' when I'm at peace it's easier for me to think." The Sergeant trails off momentarily in order to spy upon his results as well. There's a handful of body shots, a far close-miss to the right and then one placed between the collar bones. "For example, why do you think we're the last to remain and not anyone else? Is it some random chance or predestined plot?"
His explanation is taken in and she nods, partially understanding. Circe rubs a hand along her jawline and flexes the fingers of her right hand to ease the tingling still there. It his last comment that has the medic pausing. He had been thinking. The woman parts her lips, considering his question for a silent span longer before she gazes at her own target paper. "If I knew that…then perhaps I would know what to do with myself as well. But.." She says, drawing another long breath as she pulls down the target paper with a distinctive rustle of paper. "I am not so sure it's predestined…I think how we get to where we will need to be is still ultimately ours." She explains. "Minor things like who lives and dies does not play out..we just fill space. As long as the human species as a whole gets to the point they are supposed to achieve, then we are serving a purpose." She explains. "I do not feel that I was chosen for anything specific, I was just lucky. A number among a lesser few."
"I think you were chosen to live out of so many for a reason, same as my meeting you. I wish I could be as matter-of-fact about what the reason is, or why, that part is as elusive as ever, but." The corners of Lysander's mouth tighten and lift upwards into a brief and quick smile that soon has him directing his attention back forward. Though he prepares another target and begins to reload his sidearm, the activities do not keep him from speaking up further. "Histories have a way of repeating themselves, no matter the choices. I will admit the will we exert, well, it's rather beautiful in a way - but I like the way you think."
A smile echoes his as she meets his gaze. "I didn't realize you were a religious man.." She says in observation. Circe touches the medallions at her neck. "We are all here, whether not specifically we must give ourselves reasons, purposes. The Gods can not do that for us, Lysander." She says softly, looking at the paper and then smiles faintly. "We must adjust to these challenging times, we must put forth new goals and adapt. That is our purpose overall. It is to survive and adapt." She lifts her head then, moving to place one more target paper up and send it back. "right now, your purpose is get me to shoot more true and I think right now, I am here mostly to support you through the meaning and reason behind events that are happening to us. If you call that fate..then so be it. We made our fate and I am adapting so that I can offer you something. Never before have we as beings had to try to offer something to others in such a…meaningful way. But we all need each other."
"Oh, I'm not." The marine casually admits it. Lysander doesn't focus on that admittance though and instead holds up the pistol in his right hand and keeps it aloft, aimed in the direction of the near target. His free hand begins to send it back down to the other end of the range and with ignoring the mechanical grind of it being walked down he listens to Circe. "An' here I thought my purpose was to make you feel better about yourself, figure out what to do with yourself," like she stated moments prior, and he trails off for a short beat. He lets it grow pregnant before birthing any further response. "Get you to talk," he says. "Whether the Gods play with us or not, we've all each other. I, for one, just want to know why."
Her smile softens and she nods her head. Circe gazes down the line, "I meant right at this moment…but yes. You have…and you do do that for me." She explains and draws her hands from the amulets. She releaes the empty magazine and moves to put in her last clip of bullets. The medic expells a breath and then states, "There is no why, everything is. It is because we have made it so. The Gods protect us when they see fit, but now." She explains. "This is a test of our will…our will to aid each other. To to overcome this and survive." She says. "I for one do not wish to lose. And I do not wish to lose those around me. Not again." She states and then lifts up her hand, shooting with just one as she grips the gun. Rapid fire, trying to keep the length of her arm steady as she does so.
Lysander looks over to Circe and then turns his gaze back forward. The handgun is tilted to the side at a rakish angle. It's almost as if he was living so many years back into his past; yet, that thought doesn't detract his attention from her speaking up. He even looks like he has a retort or at least would care to speak up in reply. In the end, he doesn't though. The marine of apparent little faith in the Lords silently returns to shooting the targets, and while using the proper, militaristic form.
The tingle is in her wrist and all along her arm before she lowers it slowly. She had clicked a few rounds past empty before stopping. Circe sets the gun down and hits the button. She leans against the rail and bows her head a moment. Her head turns to look over towards him, not saying anything. Her hazel eyes linger long on him. Her eyes go distant but its obvious she still sees him. The medic smiles faintly and then seems to refocus, turning to look at her target. She missed quite a few more times with less control, but the ones she did land are close together. "You should come to the chapel with me." She says softly.
The Sergeant drops his hand and then the gun itself, back to the counter in order to hold his right hand with his left and look down at them so joined. He doesn't readily respond to her words though they do manage to ring through his thoughts and filter to the forefront of his mind. "Why's that?" It's such an uninspiring tone to use given the situation, and in reflecting over that he clears his throat and turns to face her. Curious, he asks in idle jest: "Is it because I should pray to the Lords more often, for their guidance, to divine some hope I can't create myself? I don't know, honestly. I think you'll have to twist my arm on that one. What do you say?"
She releases the paper target and tilts her head to look at him slightly sidelong. A faint turn of her lips but her face is otherwise expressionless. Circe draws the earcovers off and lets them hang from the back of her neck. At his question, she turns back to her counter and doesn't answer quite yet. It is then after his ammendment that she steps back and starts around the small divider. She slows before him and then motions to his arm. "I will take you quite literally. And its not so much for guidance..but for hope. That is what the Gods offer." She explains, seemingly ready to twist his arm in her slender hands.
After turning back to his things and not hearing her respond, the marine takes a half-step back and glances sidelong in her direction to make sure everything is okay. He finds himself facing her, for the most part, and lifting his eyebrows emphatically to her words. It's a surprise. Rather than admit to one thing or another, again, he simply holds out his right arm for her to take while focusing on her gaze. "They offer death, destruction, an' despair in their other hand and are quick to shake with either one."
She knows this well, the dangers the gods give and the gifts as well. She reaches her hands out and with a faint smile, pretends to turn lightly for a moment. As she has a firmer grip, she pushes his hand forward in order to start the process of curling it back and following it through under so that she can twist his arm up against his back. "They offer many things…" She breathes. "But you must step forward to receive their blessings..you can not stand back and expect them when they come. YOu will be passed over." She pauses and then says while releasing him and stepping back, now partially in the corner of his line. "You must seize the moment."
Lysander doesn't budge too much but when he is it is to facilitate Circe's efforts in a slow-motion grapple. He further pivots in place so that he can face a portion of the firing lane's partitions as she speaks up behind him. He leans his head back and tilts it to the side in order to look over his left shoulder to her. "I spent nine months surviving without their hope and just their death, and their things worse than death. I'm sure I can continue doing it." He then begins to look back forward. "But," he quietly adds, "There are very, very few people I would put aside my pride for and do what they offer. You happen to be one of those people. So consider me seizing this moment." By the time he has finished, he is looking at the ground.
She stands there, unmoving as she lets him speak. Letting much of what he keeps to himself wash over her. Circe looks empathetic but there is a nod of her head as well. His back to her, she then speaks up softly. "I do not want you to set aside your pride for me..pride does not stand in the chapel..it falls. When you step through those doors is when you need to humble for no one else, but yourself." She says. The medic draws up slowly, moving to place a hand at his arm lightly. "It's easy to quantify what happens to yourself on a battlefield….but is not so within your soul. I know what I am asking of you. And for that..I think you brave." She says.
"Yeah, well," he doesn't have much of a reply and she challenges him to produce one that's meaningful for the both of them, "Thanks, for your vote of confidence." Though quiet, his usual of confidence is still there and he even manages a small, appreciative smile as he reflects over their conversation. After a suddenly loud inhale, he reclaims his arm and rubs at his right forearm offhandedly. "Considering your first lesson a success, then? Though it wasn't much of a lesson, I'm apparently distracted."
"It's a success." She intones and moves around him back to her lane. She lifts her hands to the eyewear and draws them down to fold with her hands. "But if you need more arm twisting, I will make you go with me right now." She starts to draw out the empty magazing and set it back to the counter. Circe rubs her fingers into her hair with a sigh. She draws the tie out of her hair to let it down. The medic sighs and rubs her hand up and in at the base of her skull. Her hair is still drying in certain areas and beginning to curl in others. She leaves the tie around her wrist and cleans up her empty magazines, tossing them into a waiting receptacle. Her gun is lifted, checked over and then she starts to make her way back to turn it all back in.
With far less sighing and much more aimless smiling, Lysander takes his time in cleaning up his area of play. There's not a lot, thankfully, and he contents himself in following Circe's lead and signing off of things upon that. When it dawns on him that now clearly means now, the man's smile begins to fade and he looks all the more serious about things. He steps forward in order to walk beside her, gesturing with his far hand to the incoming exit. "Let's do this then."
Looking up at him, Circe smiles as he realizes the length at which she wishes him to go. He accepts and her smile grows some more. "Very well." She intones. With that the medic leads the way, familiar with the chapel's location and where to go. She offers little in talk but then it is best to hold back and offer what one could to the Gods. Her dreams were clear in that, but she doesn't speak of those. One thing at a time. On thing. Her hazel eyes do watch him though as they make their way.