John Casey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sugarbear) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2012-12-30 05:23 pm
sugarbear) wrote in ataraxionlogs2012-12-30 05:23 pm
Entry tags:
Open - out of the doorway the bullets rip
CHARACTERS: John Casey and anyone else
LOCATION: Shooting range or shuttle bay
WARNINGS: None come to mind except for Casey being Casey.
SUMMARY: Casey isn't getting on so well with his broken arm.
NOTES: Action or third person is fine. If you want a different scenario let me know. Specify a date, otherwise we can just assume it happened between the fifteenth and the thirtieth at some point.
[ Casey was used to getting along with injuries. In this case, however, everything seemed determined to throw him for a loop. His arm had been broken in three places, and now it was a case of trying to keep it still so the bones could knit together.
That should have been easy, right?
Not so for John Casey, a man of action, even if there wasn't actually much happening. John Casey, the man of action, was tired of resting, needed to keep himself in shape, keep his eye on the ball, and more importantly he was in the dog house with Carolyn thanks to firing live ammunition in the shuttle bay. Hah! He'd been a big damn hero, and this was what he got repaid with! ]
Shooting range
[ If you're fortunate to be headed that way, you will find John Casey at the shooting range, trying to recharge the handgun he'd been leant from the armoury. It was difficult but not impossible, but it didn't make Casey feel particularly manly. Guns needed two hands, and his instinct was to use his other hand--his hand was fine, after all. The muscles he'd need to hold down on the muzzle, though, they would move around his broken bones, the deep bruises in the flesh around them. It would be agonising.
Casey scowled and put the gun down for a moment, wiping his hand across his brow. What he wouldn't give to be healed enough to just carry on as normal... ]
Shuttle bay
[ The alternative is to run into Casey at his other haunt. The shuttle bay was busy compared to some of the other places on board. Most of the people who worked here were awake, which made a huge difference to the environment.
Casey huffed as he sunk carefully onto one of the mattresses. It wasn't like he liked the calm quiet of the shuttle bay, the smell of welding and ozone, and the company of other people. No way, not at all. It wasn't like it brought him any kind of comfort or sense of safety.
Not even a little bit.
Okay, that was a lie. He liked it here. It was a good place to sleep, a good place to work, and he was quickly beginning to think of everyone he worked with as friends, able to identify and accept their quirks, even live with them. Dangerous stuff, settling down, getting attached--all of it could only lead to trouble. ]
LOCATION: Shooting range or shuttle bay
WARNINGS: None come to mind except for Casey being Casey.
SUMMARY: Casey isn't getting on so well with his broken arm.
NOTES: Action or third person is fine. If you want a different scenario let me know. Specify a date, otherwise we can just assume it happened between the fifteenth and the thirtieth at some point.
[ Casey was used to getting along with injuries. In this case, however, everything seemed determined to throw him for a loop. His arm had been broken in three places, and now it was a case of trying to keep it still so the bones could knit together.
That should have been easy, right?
Not so for John Casey, a man of action, even if there wasn't actually much happening. John Casey, the man of action, was tired of resting, needed to keep himself in shape, keep his eye on the ball, and more importantly he was in the dog house with Carolyn thanks to firing live ammunition in the shuttle bay. Hah! He'd been a big damn hero, and this was what he got repaid with! ]
Shooting range
[ If you're fortunate to be headed that way, you will find John Casey at the shooting range, trying to recharge the handgun he'd been leant from the armoury. It was difficult but not impossible, but it didn't make Casey feel particularly manly. Guns needed two hands, and his instinct was to use his other hand--his hand was fine, after all. The muscles he'd need to hold down on the muzzle, though, they would move around his broken bones, the deep bruises in the flesh around them. It would be agonising.
Casey scowled and put the gun down for a moment, wiping his hand across his brow. What he wouldn't give to be healed enough to just carry on as normal... ]
Shuttle bay
[ The alternative is to run into Casey at his other haunt. The shuttle bay was busy compared to some of the other places on board. Most of the people who worked here were awake, which made a huge difference to the environment.
Casey huffed as he sunk carefully onto one of the mattresses. It wasn't like he liked the calm quiet of the shuttle bay, the smell of welding and ozone, and the company of other people. No way, not at all. It wasn't like it brought him any kind of comfort or sense of safety.
Not even a little bit.
Okay, that was a lie. He liked it here. It was a good place to sleep, a good place to work, and he was quickly beginning to think of everyone he worked with as friends, able to identify and accept their quirks, even live with them. Dangerous stuff, settling down, getting attached--all of it could only lead to trouble. ]