all i wanna do ( bang bang bang bang )

[cons]

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. ]

Comments

[heterophobe]

[ 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?

[cons]

[ 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.

[heterophobe]

[ 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. ]

[cons]

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.

[heterophobe]

[ he notices. he always notices. and then pretends he doesn't. that's his trademark. look away. scarcely smile. don't expect anything. never make anyone significant. ] At least you made it out of bed. Justin and I— [ he trails off with this sort of mmhph sound like the name's a dirty word, as though he never meant to say it. it's a headache. the light's in his eyes, that's how he'll play it off. he works his jaw, unsatisfied with everything Strela wrought on him and he hadn't even gone down or out to see it. ] From the looks of things, you probably couldn't suck at shooting unless you were trying to miss.

[ most of the targets are shattered, kid, in case you haven't noticed. ] Did something else happen, something recent?

[ he asks not as a boss but as the guy that doesn't want her fucking her life up. ]

[cons]

[ she doesn't mean to, but her eyes flick sideways again when he mentions Justin, honestly a little surprised. but he stops himself, and she stops looking, because it was obviously a slip and she's not about to pursue it. she looks at her gun again, turns it over like it's truly a fascinating thing. ]

No, nothing recently. But that's kinda why I'm getting nervous. Calm before the storm, all that. I won't get caught again.

[ which is why, after a second, she's bracing her hand on the wall behind her and pushing herself up off the floor, holding out her hand for him to take. ]

C'mon. I'm gonna show you how to shoot. [ she's ready for a crack about the difficulty behind pulling a trigger, but that doesn't mean she's going to give it up too easily. ]

late forever late

[heterophobe]

[ Justin is a sore spot, has always been from the moment Brian found him in his bed the morning after he fucked him. he couldn't shake him, couldn't harass him or bully him, break him down until a million pieces until he disappeared. he kept coming back and going and coming back again; it's a pattern he understands, if nothing else. except that here he can't keep an eye on him from a distance while pretending he no longer gives a shit. she fidgets with her gun and he's grateful for her silence.

she's an incredibly sharp girl and her edges slice like his own; he knows this from working alongside her, from supervising, from drinking with Wichita or watching her with her interesting array of friends.

he laughs the noise that one expects from Brian Kinney, a depraved, entirely mature laugh. ] I haven't heard that since I was thirteen.

[ but witness him getting up and pointedly not saying anything ungraceful like ugh, my back while he takes her hand. ] I'm not interested. Crazy as this place gets, I don't want to add to it with a firearm.

it's okie! /reeeaches

[cons]

Ugh, you're gross. [ pretending to be SO offended by his sense of humor, even as she helps him up. she does quirk her brow a little bit at his refusal, not exactly shocked by it, but it's interesting. she knows he's not dumb, it's not a lack of commonsense. he did just say he realizes how crazy the place is, crazy meaning dangerous as hell, but it's a... moral thing, maybe. which is the weird part: Brian's morality making an appearance. rare! ]

You sure? [ and then she's looking a little solemn, leveling her eyes with his. ] I'm not always going to be there to protect you, Brian. Someday, maybe a week from now, maybe ten years from now, some evil alien life form might take me out. And I won't be able to rest easy until I know you'll be able to pry my gun from my cold, dead hand, and kill the bastard responsible for my untimely demise.

[heterophobe]

[ careful, Wichita, he might think you really are one of those heterosexual freaks of nature that are only out for themselves if you mention the absence of morality. his values are subtle and he toes the edge constantly. varied as they are, he does have a sense of right and wrong. but it is his sense; no straight man can spoon-feed him those beliefs.

she's skilled, there's no doubting that but he inspects her like an insect, stripping her down. she's a scrap of a thing, really. ] If you're holding out on my turning into Hamlet on your behalf, I almost feel sorry for you. [ he claps a hand on her shoulder consolingly. death is death. unfortunate but the clock doesn't rewind. he doesn't feel sorry for anyone. ] And since when are you patrolling the halls near my bedroom and fighting off otherworldly aliens that crawl through the vents or the floorboards, or that ooze through the fucking walls, anyway? You're on the gunnery, not out playing fucking Batman with tits - I hope.

[ have a squint though, in the event that she is. ]