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all i wanna do ( bang bang bang bang )

CHARACTERS: Wichita and YOU.
LOCATION: an unused REC ROOM.
WARNINGS: GUNS! ..yeah that's it. people will likely hear gunshots from the hallway, but nobody's getting hurt or anything.
SUMMARY: Wichita is having a little target practice of her own, because it's better than sitting around waiting for the next Horrible Thing to happen, heh.
NOTES: here is the accompanying network post. safety first! it really is OTA, if anybody just wants to tag around with Wichita I'm cool with that too. come one and all!

[ it took a while to set the whole thing up, but Wichita's managed to turn one of the recreation rooms into a bonafide shooting range. maybe not so much 'bonafide' as it is 'makeshift'. it's just like home! kind of. not like there were shooting ranges they could safely practice at in Zombieland, so they had to make due with what they had. abandoned barns, warehouses, sometimes big houses. any place with enough room to shoot and not worry about getting hit with debris. and this place does the trick!

she's got a few mats propped up against the back wall for stray bullets with enough buffer room to avoid putting dents in the hull, set up behind her intended targets, which are plates and cups and random things from a couple of the kitchens on the upper floors. things they've got enough of on the floors that actually have people living on them. that's her justification anyway; they'll be fine without a few plates.

it's been about twenty minutes since she finished the room and sent out her transmission, but she hasn't actually fired any shots yet. instead she's just leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of her targets, checking over her gun for the first time in a while. she almost always carries it on her, but actually firing it? it's been a while. like, not once since she got here. weird. but whatever, that's why she set this all up, so she could practice, get comfortable using it again. like hell was she going to get brainwashed or whatever because she couldn't defend herself. no, nobody would be getting the better of her like that again.

it's not long before she's lining up her first shot, not aiming for a target, but just a spot on one of those mats. it feels weirdly natural, holding her gun again. like now that she's doing it, it doesn't feel like it was that long ago that she was back home, running for her life and shooting down zombies. going for the headshot, sometimes actually hitting it, though mostly ended up getting them in the chest. whatever. whatever. she'd get better now, that's what this was about. so she breathes. and shoots.

blam, blam, blam.

yeah, she'll be fine. ]

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[ she just shrugs, because it's easier than explaining that yeah, now it's pretty natural. back then she was different, she wasn't- she had everything. her childhood wasn't rough, she was never left wanting anything. well, not anything she needed. she was selfish, and maybe she still is now, but back then it was different. back then she did a lot of things just because she could, instead of doing it because she needed to. going to the range with her dad was just another act of rebellion, another level to just how far she'd go to piss off her mother. it's a whole stupid web of things, all of it irrelevant and strange to think about, because she lost it all before the virus even hit.

so yeah, shrugging is easier. ]

How about you? Have you ever shot a guy before? [ more movie dialogue, and honestly, she's just waiting for him to finish it off with something like I've only fired my gun when I had to or I try not to think about it. and okay, maybe she's cheating because he is from that kinda world, the worlds where saying stuff like that isn't a movie quote, but. well. ]

[He might not be aware of the implications of her shrug, but her question - as simple and innocuous as it is, that throws him for a moment. As a cop, before everything - the kids at St Swithins' would ask him that sometimes. It was pretty common. And yeah, he usually did have some kind of canned response, but.

Not anymore.]

Yes. [He says it flatly, turning to study his gun, so he's not looking at her. An explanation is obviously not forthcoming, but he feels like it would be dishonest to say the same stupid line he used to toss out.]

[ he looks away and she's stuck just watching him, waiting for more. she's caught kinda staring because he surprised her, which isn't- it shouldn't be all that big of a deal, but in a way, it is. people are often so predictable, they follow certain cues and tricks without even realizing that they're being lead. it's what being a con artist is all about. that's the key. so when someone doesn't follow their cue, she's always left a little bit stunned.

so, to break the silence, she lifts her gun and shatters another two plates from where she stands. and okay maybe it was cheating a little bit - the angle she's standing at made it easy to hit two birds with one stone and she only shot once for one plate, but she'll take it. ]

I'm the last person that can judge anybody for anything they've done, John. So, I mean. [ another shrug, this time it's just a flick of her wrist, a gesture with the gun. ] And I kinda only asked to see what you'd say.

[By the time she's done firing, John's back is straight again, and he's aiming at a target as well. His shot is clean and hits the plate right where he aimed it.]

Does my answer give you some insight into my character? Besides, it's not your judgment I'm worried about.

A tiny bit. It's not exactly insightful of me to assume that you, as a cop, have shot someone. But I didn't expect you to say it outright, no. [ but yeahyeahyeah that's not the point. ] What are you worried about, then?

[Blake shrugs vaguely.] Myself. [It's more or less true. He shoots another plate.] What did you expect me to say?

[ but she's squinting ] I'm not sure I follow. [ she's even lowering her gun again, locks it, lets it dangle from her ring finger as she puts her hands on her hips. she's l i s t e n i n g ]

[ he doesn't—

give a shit,
care about her,
worry that she'll shoot her own eye out because that's not fresh out of a crackerack box, pops

—know what the fuck he's doing here.

he pulls a face that he has to establish it, to himself, within the safety of his own mind. and drags himself out of his bedroom with five o'clock shadow and hair that's messy and growing out but somehow still manages not to look fluffy, although, it's also nowhere close to flawless. unacceptable, to be frank. he hasn't even bothered to dress up, jeans and a shirt. but. he is making an appearance in the first place and anyone that knows Brian Kinney knows that he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, come hell or high water. he makes it high on his priorities not to meddle in the lives of his employees but with a fist on the door she's shooting rounds off in, he's pissing that away. namely because it doesn't sit well. guns. practicing for self-defense. or worse. he's not sure which it is, with Wichita but he knows it makes him uncomfortable for more than one reason.

it's her business, of course, to do whatever the fuck she wants. just not at the expense of being a loose canon, and maybe that's it. why he's here, why he's rolling his lips in his mouth and staring up at what he supposes classifies as a ceiling, waiting for the go ahead to enter. ballsy as he may be, he prefers his face not split open. ]

[Blake busies himself with setting up a couple more targets.] I'm worried about whether I'll be able to forgive myself. [His voice is quiet, but firm. Enough to carry.]

[ Wichita's actually sitting on the floor across from that row of plates, all broken up under the bench, save two, and she's too damn lazy to go pick them up or stack up more. her head kinda tips when she hears the door knock, cocks her gun back so it's not so obvious she was taking shots from the floor. yeah, super safe. ]

It's open!

[ he strolls in like he wasn't waiting on her call, her permission, or anyone else's cue. he surveys the room first; criticizes the mats, the dishes, whatever she's currently calling targets. Brian tries to pull something from it, something about her. failing that, the silent but not necessarily cold gaze turns on her finally. ]

You crazy kids and your hobbies. [ hello, next time, might also be suitable. he moves, winds over her legs where she's seated, hip pressing into the wall because he hasn't decided if he's staying. if he ought to sit on the floor with her. ]

For- shooting somebody? [ no, she doesn't get it. ] Kinda comes with the territory, doesn't it? Bad guys doing bad things. What happened? I mean, I know you don't wanna talk about it, but. Tell me? [ WHAT ARE BOUNDARIES? ]

I know, I know. [ like she's at all bashful or ashamed of the fact that she's comfortable handling a gun. she peeks up at him through her bangs, scrunches her nose ] Pop a squat, bossman. The floor's clean enough.

[Blake hesitates, because she's right - he doesn't want to talk about it. It happened months ago, but he still thinks about it. Still dreams about it. He thinks about the man who killed his father, and thinks about those two men. He doesn't even know who they were, if they were Bane's true believers, or just a couple of guys down on their luck who needed some money. He doesn't know, and it still gnaws at his insides.]

I killed two men. I never had before. I was a cop, not a soldier. [Was. Is? Maybe, maybe not. He's not sure anymore.]

[okay, he had to laugh a bit too hearing that impression as he entered further inside]

Hey. I didn't think that you were— [there's a pause as he looks at the set up of the room with all the targets around] So how is your practicing going?

[ he'd scrunch his nose in return but wrinkles, Wichita, you don't understand. there are not enough moisturizers in his medicine cabinet at home to prepare him for the climate here, and anyway, even if there was they still aren't accessible to him. making a show of sweeping the floor with one of his Prada boots, solely for the spectacle, he settles beside her. the line of fire doesn't look different from this low, no matter how he stares or tilts his head.

his fingers itch for a cigarette, and he wants to comment on how stupid it is, if she's been sitting down shooting but he doesn't get one and then doesn't do the other. ] So, what's with the target practice?

[ it's not computing, not really. maybe it's because she just remembers how cops kind of were just like military once the virus hit, when things got bad. maybe she assumed the same for Gotham after the terrorist attack. so she's just kind of browfurrowing at the floor, like he's speaking a different language and she has to sort through it.

I'm worried about whether I'll be able to forgive myself for it

but what's there to forgive? ]

Yeah, but you wouldn't have shot those guys unless you had to. That's your thing. [ like she knows him that well, knows the situation. ] They probably would have hurt somebody else, if you hadn't stopped them. Or hell, they would have shot you instead. That's no better.

[ huh! she's actually kind of surprised he's sitting with her. means he might stick around for a while. and she's just kind of watching him looking over at the targets, trying to figure out what he's going to choose to get all nitpicky about. because that's what he does, he picks at shit. finds something to dig into and digs into it. but she does the same thing, sometimes. it's more fun than just small talk, at least. ]

What's with it? Well. [ her eyes move from his face to the gun in her hands, and she pulls her knees up just so she can rest her arms on them, holds the gun in both hands. ] Being good at shooting things, as you might know, requires some accuracy. Target practice is how you get better at it. [ but she knows that's not what he meant, she's just being a smartass. ] I haven't practiced in a while, and I guess I just wanted to make sure I didn't lose my sight after being here not shooting for so long.

My thing. [Blake looks at her skeptically, because yeah, no, she doesn't know the circumstances at all. He can't be sure if she's honestly confused or if she's just trying to make him feel better, or a mix of both, but does it matter?]

I don't know. I don't even remember if they were armed. [Now he's looking at her directly, not avoiding her gaze. It's probably not fair that he's dumping this on her, but, well. She did ask.] I remember being in a hurry. I remember acting on instinct, to get them off me as quickly as I could. Then they were dead.

You must be very good at surviving. Where did the virus come from? Do you think it's a threat here?

Yeah, your thing. You're one of the good guys. Kittens in trees, remember? [ yeah, she did ask. mostly because these are the things that make him real, to her, little details she can't just make up in her head as reasons to write him off or whatever. and if he's going to look at her, she won't look away. they're not close enough for the eye contact to feel too weird, so. ]

Okay, okay. So. Do you trust your instinct? Every other time, every other thing, do you trust your gut?

[Blake just shakes his head a little.] In an investigation, sometimes I act on a hunch. But this is different. I have no frame of reference for it.

Maybe it's my thing to feel remorse about ending a life, whether it was the right decision or not.

[ he thought about shooting her down just to see her face crumble. pros and cons weighed, he might have more fun watching her lose an eye. that's the thing of it, skipping the bullshit. he could ask how she's doing, who she's seeing, what she ate for lunch but the truth of the matter is he won't listen or care, or offer any of his own. it's pointless chatter. he'd rather say what he means and be done with it.

in a perfect world, everyone would function that way.

Brian doesn't smile or glare any harder, he shows nothing, gives her nothing to absorb. her smart mouth is a source of entertainment to him but his eyes are hard and his lips remain straight. he waits her out because he knows Wichita's aware that he has more than a rock in his skull, bouncing around. ] Funny, I've never heard that.

[ he tries to remember things he's seen on the network, anything she's said while on shift and he's drinking himself into oblivion. he can't. ] You mean you never shot one of those flesh-eating whatever the fuck they were supposed to be in the maze? Or.. the pod people? [ it's wrong to be condescending of the two most alarming events he's aware of, has been here for but if he doesn't pour salt in those memories, she won't see the truth. people don't just do shit because they want to stay on top of it. they do it because there's a fire under their ass, of some kind, and he wants to know what it is. wants to make sure she does. ]

Nah. [ is that a tiny mood drop? why yes it is. a very obvious one, judging by the way the corners of her mouth dip down just a bit. ] I got smurf fever pretty bad, only managed to stick around the maze for a couple hours before I had to go back. And Strela was a shit show. [ guess who got caught and mind-mushed? this guy! ] Even more of a shit show than the maze was. I can't really remember most of it. [ sigh ] But that's why I'm shooting around now. I'm not gonna leave my gun behind anymore, not after all that crap. --Plus I'm on gunnery, so I should probably not suck at shooting.

Ehh. [ not the dismissive kind of ehh, but she's trying to think ] I think there's a difference between... feeling remorse and not being able to forgive yourself for something. Of course you should feel like crap about it, but not forgiving yourself is like asking to be weighed down by it for longer than you probably should be. [ she's scratching the back of her head now while she talks, and yep that's definitely an awful habit she picked up from Brendan, so she cuts it out immediately. ] To me it's like one of those things you gotta kinda... take in and deal with and not move on from, but. There's a word for it, uh. Carp- Compartmentalize! What if something like that happens again? You can't be worried about- You can't hesitate. [ uh oooh, somebody's worrying over you, Robbie ]

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