goneawayworld | The Bad Idea, or Me Befallen By It?

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The Bad Idea, or Me Befallen By It?

Who: Dan Sagittarius and Guts
What: Sparring and practicing with swords. Homoerotic tension. A truly incredible height difference, too.
Where: Training Area
When: After their conversation on the top deck, but before the night attack on Dave and Wash.
Warnings/Notes: Foul language, firearms.

[Dan has once again, for the second time in about six hours, forsaken the buddy system everyone’s supposed to be operating under, in spirit if not in law. He feels guilty about it, knowing that the others are going to stress out at having an uncooperative flake heading off on his own habitually, but the rig is claustrophobic enough without feeling like he’s being babysat all the time. He was starting to get so worked up he was adding shortness of breath and tinnitus to the residual post-electrocution muscle spasms and jitteriness, so he gave the group the slip, grabbed that Mac guy no one trusts to find his way out of a paper bag, and headed down to the training area.

If the fresh air on the top deck wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, maybe refreshing the skills he may imminently need will help. First is the shooting range. Dan’s carried a firearm since he was six, and not having one on him has been one of the many disorienting and permanently frustrating things about life on the rig. The shooting range here, thankfully, has a nice selection of weapons, and after setting Mac up with over-the-ear protectors and a Nerf gun (he wouldn’t trust that man with a flyswatter), Dan works his way through target practice with a hunting rifle, a handgun and a revolver. He’s always preferred the revolver; something about having to keep careful track of how many shots you fire makes you more thoughtful, more respectful of the fact that you’re wielding a weapon that could end a life in a split second. When you have limited ammunition before a reload, you have to think before you shoot, and it’s always good to think before you shoot.

Following that, he dismantles the guns and cleans them himself for the next person, not because he got them messy or doesn’t trust the cleaning practices here, but because it feels good to take something apart with his hands. And when he’s still feeling strung-out and twitchy, he decides to work on his hand-to-hand combat skills. See if some physical exertion resets his nervous system. He makes sure Mac’s still in eye- and earshot, then sets up some droids.

The training droids are useful, but after about thirty minutes it becomes obvious that they move in a particular pattern and have certain tells before they make a move. As they become predictable, Dan gets in closer, blocking hits and counter-striking until his forearms are bruised and knuckles are bloody. His technique is artless, utilitarian, trained by experience instead of theory, but it’s effective.

He’s still occasionally drooling on himself, but the muscle twitching has significantly receded, so clearly this is working, beating the tar out of a droid to deal with the frustration of being so goddamn helpless while something’s running around torturing kids, of having a monster to hunt and people to protect and absolutely no way to go about doing that, on this stupid craphole of a moving Tonka Truck, under the thumb of a bunch of tie-wearing jackasses who don’t seem to value anything Dan values.

Facing down another droid, he grabs a machete from the rack of weapons.]

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[It's a hell of an impressive vault, but the height means that it gives Dan just enough time to get out of the way and back to the other side of the ladder. He feels skin coming up off his palm and friction burn from the pole down his wrist and forearm, and sweat is matting his hair to his forehead.

This is what feeling good feels like.

He doesn't hide behind the ladder this time, instead keeping momentum so he barely has to put his feet on the ground before grabbing the pole on the far end of the ladder and taking the turn as fast as he can. It gets him enough speed that the ensuing kick is just about face-height for Guts.]

[Enter Saturday, who had innocently come in search of her and Guts' regular combat date, only to see Guts batting at a very small man (still taller than her, dammit) through the bars of a gymnasium, much like a cat trying to get at a mouse.

Then homeboy jumps on a pole, swings himself around, and kicks Guts in the face.

Saturday has no choice but to crack up.]

Hoi! [she cups her hands around her mouth.] Guts! Just pull out the damn monkey bars, they can't be in that deep!

[Well. He can't blame anyone but himself for that. That kick hits him squarely in the face with all the extra momentum provided by the pole.

His lip stings. His teeth had bitten down on something soft in his mouth, sending a matching little dribble of blood dripping down his chin. Rather than wipe it with his hand like a normal goddamn person, he licks his lips to get a bit of a taste. ]

Good job. We can call it even, if you want.

[Saturday is right that ripping out the monkey bars would make it easier... but Dan looks pretty tired. Where's the sport in just slapping someone around on open ground?]

[Dan nods, trying to catch his breath more than speak, with an absolutely elated grin on his face. Whatever tension he brought here, this has thoroughly chased it from the forefront of his mind.

But he is tired. He's been here in the training area for several hours now, and even keeping up with Guts for the less-than-twenty minutes that made up that fight felt like running from a bear. Besides, he should probably go use the training area's first aid kit for the massive blisters using the monkey bars like that put onto his palms.]

I think we can assume you might could have had me dead to rights [he pauses to breathe] in a few more minutes.

[He gives Saturday a little wave.] I appreciate that you didn't give him any smart ideas until after I laid one on him. [He grabs a towel from one of the many baskets stacked around and wipes his face off, getting it bloody.] Pardon, have we met?

Edited (what are tenses? we just don't know) 2020-10-15 20:30 (UTC)

We spoke in passing on the boards, I think. You're Dan, right? From one of the vampire hunter kinda worlds.

[Here's a young woman a good six inches shorter then Dan, who stands like she several feet taller, with messy black hair and bright, mischievous eyes. She's torn the sleeves off her jumpsuit, and her right arm is articulated metal covered in engravings. She sticks it out for a handshake. When Dan takes it, it's as warm and responsive as real flesh]

I'm Saturday.

...

[Guts stands behind them like some huge shadow while they introduce themselves. He gives Saturday a familiar little nod in greeting. They'd done their sparring enough times to require no fanfare in their hellos.]

Do you still want this...?

[ He presents Dan with the metal bat he'd bent into a right angle. The interruption is a gentler one, as if the violence had leaked out some of the tense aggression that had been pent up in his body.]

Pleasure, Saturday. [He shakes her hand, and tilts his head a little in surprise at how much like a real human hand it feels like. Then he withdraws, looking a bit sheepish, and grabs another towel for her; she's likely got a little of his blood and a lot of his sweat on her now.] Sorry, ripped up my hands some on the bars. I assume you two know each other?

[He takes the bat from Guts and gives it a loving pat. It tried, the poor thing. It just can't hold up to the one he has back home.]

Sure, I could use a souvenir. Guts, that was an honor.

He's like a force 'a nature, ain't he?

[The crooked grin she flashes to Guts when he nods is warmer, more personal.]

Don't worry about it, ain't the first blood I've had one me. Guts and I got assigned roomies first day here. And we're in the superhuman workout club, so you know. [A cheerful shrug] We get along good.

[Guts grins back at her for a brief moment. A subtle upturned quirk of the mouth, easily missed. He sounds like he’s in a much warmer mood when he turns to Dan.]

No need to be all formal. It was a fun fight. I still owe you a sword lesson, so let me know when you wanna try again.

A force of something. [He taps the bat against his hand.] Look at this damn thing.

[He wipes his hands again and gives Guts a pat on the shoulder, but it's not just for friendliness; secretly, he's snagging a little of that warmth and released tension in case it comes in handy later. He can feel it as if it's hot in his hand, but Guts shouldn't feel a thing. He just isn't going to mention that to anyone.]

If you're going to do me the favor of a sword lesson, I should find something I can teach you. How familiar are you with traditional firearms?

[He asks that question to both Guts and Saturday. They're both invited and welcome.]

Never use 'em. Not my style. [She rubs the back of her neck and sighs.] Probably oughta learn somethin', though. Can't grab the bullets out of the air here, for some reason, maybe local reality won't allow for it. I dunno.

[This confession costs her some dignity; here is a woman who doesn't like admitting to weakness]

I can help you learn swords, too, if Guts doesn't mind. I'm also decent with spear, shield, and bow.

[Guts is oblivious to Dan's power. He just assumes he is getting a friendly shoulder pat!]

I have a cannon, though I've been goin' through a lot of black powder and crossbow bolts as of late....

[Its... technically a firearm? It's attached to his arm. It spits fire when he pulls the chord.]

More knowledge is always better than less knowledge, even if you don't use it none. [Dan gets that some people don't like guns, but some people didn't fire their first pistol when they were still in diapers. He understands it but it still seems alien to him.]

They got more advanced stuff than cannons here. [A lot of the stuff that shoots lasers or whatever is way more advanced than anything Dan's used, either, and he wouldn't say he's comfortable with them. He can use them, and sometimes he practices with them, but anything without gunpowder feels wrong to him.]

Would you be willing to go try some out now, or should we all reschedule for a later date?

Edited 2020-10-15 22:59 (UTC)

I got time, was comin' in here to get a workout anyway.

[Saturday doesn't have anything against guns, really, they're just not her thing. And the best ones have computers in them - at least in her world - which makes it a no go]

They have like those old timey guns without smartlink and stuff, right? 'Cause that shit won't work with me.

[The difference between a computer-assissted gun and a laser gun is nil to Guts. It's all weird magic to him, and some of the magic just doesn't work well for Saturday. A weapon with gunpowder made more sense, though.]

Sure.

[He grips his prosthetic with his flesh hand. It didn't have the grooves his iron one did to mount a crossbow, but he's sure that could be fixed if he asked.]

Wonder if they got anything I could mount on this...

I don't know what the shit a smartlink is, and I know guns, so...yes? [Dan makes an exaggerated shrugging motion.

He gives Guts' arm a look, running through his mind what he knows about the armory here.] I reckon they can. If you're already using a cannon you're already a professional handling the kickback.

[For corporate security reasons, getting any of the firearms requires even more check-ins and waiting around than getting the sword would have taken Guts, but that gives time for Dan to walk the two through their options while absentmindedly treating his blisters. He gets a revolver and holds it out to Saturday, but doesn't quite give it to her yet.]

I can guarantee this one doesn't have a smartwhatever in it. But safety first, [Dan recites the rules his mother taught him when he was only about three years old,] Never load it until you're ready to shoot it. Never point it at anything you don't mind killing. Use a holster. When you ain't pointing it at a target, the safety goes on, the chamber's empty, and you're pointing it at the ground.

[He demonstrates to both of them how to flip the safety.]

I swear, bless their hearts, but some of the people here are complete fucking idiots with their firearms.

Smartlink's an aim-assist program. I can't use anything with a computer in it safely, it's basically kind of a curse.

[She says this without self-consciousness; curses are a normal thing for her. When Dan starts to recites the Gun Safety Creed, she grins, and then recites it with him.]

I don't use guns, but pops made sure I knew the rules for any weapon I might end up handling. Never seen a gun that old before, though.

[Guts knows absolutely nothing about modern firearms, and had little reason to learn so far. He'll be over here, listening to Saturday and Dan speak with each other, looking up when his attention is needed.

His hands are kept occupied curiously examining an unloaded handgun like one might look over an intricate watch. It was just so compact and puny compared to any portable ranged weapon he's used before. Even smaller crossbows were fairly large to allow a good amount of penetrating power. Maybe it was just the size of his own hands.

He wonders what possible thing could get the little metal pellets to move so quickly. Rickert would love all of this.]

I...don't know what an aim-assist program is either, but this don't have one. And it's not old, it's classic. [He cares about the revolver's reputation! He gets a similar one for himself, and to demonstrate, he dismantles it to see if it's nice and crud-free. It isn't, so he rolls his eyes and starts cleaning it. Either way - no computers or chips.]

Guts, this one's probably more fitting for you. Same rules though, point down, not at anything you mind killing, unloaded until we get to the targets.[Dan gets Guts a carbine, beckoning for the handgun back from Guts because it...well, it just looks comical.] I'd try it by hand before trying to get it stuck to your arm. Just to see how it feels.

[Dan's having a great time, here in his element, still drenched in sweat from the sparring match, feeling useful as he imparts the novices with, if nothing else, some ground rules on how to not shoot their own feet off.]

Edited 2020-10-16 01:22 (UTC)

It's a program you can get installed on your 'port or in a cybereye. [she gestures to her temple, then her eyes] Give you a little target marker an' a headsup so you shoot better. Most everything where I'm from's got a computer in it, including people. Not my thing, personally; tech hates me an' I don't like the idea of like, going blind because an update failed or some shit. 'Sides, you need a SIN for the good stuff, and I wouldn't get one even if I could.

[She leans over and watches the breakdown and cleaning very carefully. It's important to care for your weapons. She keeps her hands clasped behind her back while she does] Oh, neat. Huh. Wow, you could just build one of those yourself with a decent 3d printer, huh?

[He hands back the pistol to Dan.]

Some of the machines here get all moody if she touches 'em. Seems like this'll be okay, though.

[Guts is pretty lost in terms of the computer tech the two of them were talking about, but it's fine. He is used to it and opts to simply enjoy the company. It's not like the cryptic screeds of the Skull Knight were that much more comphrehensible.

Instead, he focuses on the carbine in his hands. The length and stock of the weapon made it feel more like a crossbow. A bit more familiar. Fishing around screwholes and switches on the gun, he puzzles out how to loosen some bands and locks to remove the barrel from the body.

This... was a lot of tiny parts. Some bits looked like the repeater mechanism Rickert built into his bow.]

Edited 2020-10-16 05:43 (UTC)

[Dan nods, but he still doesn't understand about half of what Saturday said. What he does get is that she's giving him context for her world and her world's take on weapons, which doesn't transfer to the weapons Dan's working with. He takes the notes but directs them to the firing range, handing them ear covers as he does. He puts the revolver back together swiftly. Then he demonstrates to Guts how to put his back together.]

I don't know what a 3D printer is, but probably. [He's missed that particular news item. He's starting to suspect that the three of them are from a longer bandwidth of times that he assumed.

He brings Saturday to one of the firing strips, talking to both her and Guts.]

Alright, you should both start by firing with both hands. You see the horns? [He gestures at the nubs defining the sight at the end of the revolver barrel and the carbine's muzzle, and then he shows them the proper grip and angle.]

You want to shoot through those, a tiny hair lower than it's telling you. And use both hands. You shouldn't use one hand unless you're practicing to use one hand, and you shouldn't do that unless your other hand is trapped or injured, because one hand can't absorb the firing so well and ain't gonna aim true. And you may see folk might try and shoot it sideways, but ignore them. A sideways gun has no real aim.

[He sets up, aiming at the target. slowing his gestures down to demonstrate. The Jorgmund remains ludicrous, but Dan can't tell; the human-shaped foam caricature has a sign reading "UNION LEADER".]

Brace yourself for the kickback, even a small gun's going to send a bolt up your wrist if you don't get your shoulders anticipating it. Shoot on the inhale, even though it feels wrong.

[Dan uses his revolver, makes sure they're not only beside but slightly behind him, and shoots six targets right in the bullseye. When he was a kid his dad would make him and his siblings do twenty perfect shots consecutively each before they were allowed to go home for dinner at the end of a day on the range. Dan wonders if he could do this in his sleep.]

Your turn, Saturday. But just so you know, whatever advice I can give, a good eighty percent comes down to rote practice.

[It's not that he wishes failure on either of them, but he does, somehow, hope that both struggle, just to amplify their respect for the art. Beginner's luck, in sharpshooting, is worse than early failure.]

Edited (a million edits???? THE EDITS NEVER END) 2020-10-16 06:43 (UTC)

I'm probably from like, a future relative to you - you're from an Earth, right? I'm in 2070. Anyway, 3d printers are basically what they sound like, they're printers but they can make stuff, not just pictures, you know? Outta plastic, mostly.

[She settles in and watches carefully, with the intent to remember. She does whistle appreciatively at his bullseyes, however.]

[When she steps up, her body language shifts, going sleek and cool and sharp. Even her eyes change, the brightness in them turning to something more like white phosphorous. She raises the revolver in a perfect physical imitation of Dan, and fires off six shots that - well, at least she's hitting the target.]

Heck.

[Years of melee training are working against her, now; she keeps starting to dart forward as she fires, wanting to close with the opponent. Which means the gun moves, which means the bullet doesn't go where she pointed.]

[She scowls, taking that personally.]

Sorry about that, Jimmy Hoffa.

[This is addressed to the dummy. Apparently Saturday's one of those people who talks to equipment.]

[Guts waits for her to finish before starting his own rounds. The dummies here were a little outside the range he was used to fighting at, but no overly so. It's when things are further out that he notices the black fuzz of his missing eye a bit more than usual.

He holds the carbine to his shoulder - this, at least, was a very familiar position - though he's never had to really worry about recoil much once he reached a certain age. He aims for the invisible heart in the larger area of the dummy's body, paying no attention to the bullseye.

His priority was trying to get a cluster of holes close together near an easier target. Consistency more than pure aim. It's the same way one might try out new equipment an archery range to get a sense of the weapon's weight and kick, or the quirks of the projectiles. Arrows and bolts could be finicky, and you needed to account for the arc and the wind.

Guts looks a bit surprised when he finishes. The first couple of shots wandered as he adjusted the iron sights, but the latter half were starting to form a tighter cluster. The recoil was greater than a crossbow's, but he can't deny it was more reliable. More accurate, too. He pulls the earmuffs off his head.]

It's loud.

[Dan’s beaming like a lighthouse at the two of them, watching both very closely for all the little tells and details of their body language, extrapolating what he sees both in terms of ways to coach their shooting and in what idea he had of them as people. Truthfully, demonstrating things he can do for others and then giving his opinion is the closest he usually gets to revealing anything about himself; in a way, the sparring match and now this is the most of “Dan’s” life he’s let anyone see on the rig.]

Not bad, not bad at all, either of you. Real good, actually. [Guts especially is learning and self-correcting quickly - although shooting for the heart always makes Dan squeamish - and Saturday seems well aware what her stumbling block is. Dan names it anyway, just to assure her he’s paid attention.] This is just practice, Saturday. You want to get it perfect in practice so that when you do use it in a fight it’s as natural as blinking. Think about shooting on the inhale. Bring all your attention inward. It’s counterintuitive, but when you focus on your body you focus on your steadiness in a way you can’t if you’re focused on the target.

[He nods at Guts.] Very loud. I got [he gestures a hand around his right ear] some hard of hearing from using them in fights too much. I’ll see about asking the brass to make sure we always got silencers whenever we use these in the field. I heard they didn’t equip them last time.

[He doesn’t reload his weapon, instead standing back up watch the two of them.]

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