AWD #303: The More Things Change
The More Things Change
Summary: Rourke works on getting re-qualed with his pistol and meets the face behing the voice of Echo 19.
Date: 20 April 2016
Related Logs: None
Rakes Rourke 
Firing Range
With ten different bays, the firing range can accommodate quite a few shooters with about two dozen spectators or trainees behind them. At 25 yards, the targets can be brought forward or pushed back up to the stops before the inclined plating designed to deflect rounds up. The lighting can be dimmed down to nothing for use with night vision or flashlights, also. A large sign overhead denotes the requirement of both eye and ear protection, as well as the prohibition of all ammunition except rubber or frangible. However, there are no firearms stored here. All firearms and ammunition must be checked out from the Marine Armory in the Security Hub.
Sat Nov 05 08:27:32 2005

<FS3> Rourke rolls Firearms: Good Success.

With the influx of pilots and troops from Picon, Command has made it a point to make sure all the new arrivals are requalified with their personal weapons. While not the first one in line to do the requalification, Rourke decided to get it out of the way so that he can get back to something more sedate and boring instead of being a gung-ho Marine or something. Standing in one of the bays, he fires off a crisp shot, striking a bullseye on the Centurion target downrange. Sure, it's just fine. He gets to stand there and aim at a target that's not moving at all.

Corporal Rakes steps into the firing range proper, bobbing her head to an unknown beat. The beat is coming from a pair of earbuds and her eyes are only vaguely taking in the surroundings: people are at the range, firing, coaching firers, or scouring the place as watchful safeties. She ought to do one of these and not talk to those handling the ammunition, but that just forces her to remove the music playing and push up ear-muffed protection on top of her head. Before she tugs them into place, she twists the boom mic out of the way with taped up cords. A tap on the shoulder to someone in the background gets the marine replaced by herself, and she stands at an angle behind Lieutenant Stavros. Just in time to see a round fired. "You keep doing that and I'll be out of a job, sir."

<FS3> Rourke rolls Firearms: Success.

Holding his position for a moment, Rourke draws in a breath, holding it and lightly squeezes the trigger, firing a second round into the target. It's all pretty much textbook for how pilots are trained to use their sidearm. Hearing the voice from beside him, the Raptor jockey safeties the firearm, lowering it to face towards the ground downrange as he chuckles. "I doubt that.." he glances over to take in the young woman beside him and gives a nod, "..Corporal. If you see me on the ground and need me firing at a target, we're pretty much fraked." he points out diplomatically.

"Quite the impressive ship you have yourselves here. Last battlestar I was on showed her age, and while a grand gal, she wasn't as new as this place seems to be. You've been here long?" he asks casually.

Rakes gently leans to the side, canting her head further in order to see where the second round lands. She squints, relaxes her staring, and looks to the officer a second time before holding up her hands, palms skyward, in a shrug. "Everyone gets their moments to be a boot. Just don't ask me to be- like- just about anything around here." She looks away then, in gesturing to the battlestar that surrounds them. With her hands clasped at the small of her back, she steps conversationally forward.

"But, no, I guess that hints at my not being from around here, sir. Couldn't tell you how impressive it is compared to anything else. I like my feet on the ground," unconscious tapping of a boot ensues, "Just got here, from Picon, sir. Borrowed this uniform to fit in… and wash my old ones. I think I'm doing well so far. How about yourself, sir? How grand is it, really?"

"You ain't the only one from Picon, Corporal." Rourke says as he sets down his pistol for the moment as he turns to more fully regard the young woman, an arch of his brow at her reaction. "I just came up with Goose on the latest transfer of personnel." There's a return of her shrug. "Orion's supposed to be the newest best thing in the fleet - considering she's still here, I suppose that alone's the testament of how grand it is, don't you think?"

"A damn site better than nearly a year in a cave, flying a Raptor that was more Centurion lead than Colonial steel. Not that Crandall was much better - Tincans didn't give a damn about working conditions when it was a slave labour camp, but you know, you were there. Preaching to the choir, all that." he says with a small smirk. "Anyway. I don't want to keep you from your practice?" he asks. "Unless you're just here to rib a poor schlub pilot that's looking to get his quals done with so he can return to his bunk and doodle some more."

She smiles, it is a decent testament: the Orion's survival. "They were good times," eventually responds Rakes. She's bottling up a lot in those four words - - a lot more could easily be said about fighting in the resistance on Picon - - but the here and now seems to be a terrible enough place. They were both there. They have seen some things. He points that out easily enough and she refocuses, offering an apologetic smile. There's a long look down at the target. She points both her index fingers in its direction and turns back to him. She clicks her tongue.

"You're right. I should probably be doing my job and, say, help couch you if you need it. I always just end up making small talk in the process. It's both a boon and a curse. All right," she nods, "Let's get you up and qualed then. You already know the tables, right? I did interrupt you in the middle of them, obviously- ah- which bus was yours? I might've sat in the back. I was one of those with all the radio equipment, relaying back and forth. Hi, I'm Corporal Rakes, Echo-One-Niner."

There is much they both could say; and with them both only recently from Picon, they haven't had that chance to decompress. To them, the war was everyday. Up here, in the cozy confines of the Battlestar? The war is a million light years away, figuratuvely if not literally. "It had it's moments." he responds to the remark about it being good time, a casualness to his smile that is tattled on in his eyes, the lines of them pulled tight as he nods. "Yeah, that's what I was working on when you sauntered over to my booth and invited yourself without even asking for a drink first, Corporal." There's a slight tease in his tone, as he addresses the question at hand.

"The Jallopie." he responds, "At least that's what it was called behind my back. First day of the war, my ECO station was torn to hell on a strafing run. Spent the rest of the resistance running medevacs and combat missions without being able to go trans-atmo." he responds. Taking up the pistol again, he pops the magazine to check how many rounds he has left before slapping it back home and chambering a fresh round. "Lieutenant Stavros. Shaft." he responds. "I remember hearing your voice on comms often, nice to see that my imagination wasn't far off." It's not quite fraternization, but it's teasing the line - but on Picon, those rules were far more relaxed. Time to get used to being regular army again.

Not that she is getting arrested all of a sudden, but the good Corporal holds up her hands and takes a few languid steps in retreat to where she is almost back to standing where she was moments before. Now she's somewhere in the middle, just behind Rourke. It's the professional thing to do, in spite of her grinning back at the teasing. "Oh, yeah? Don't mind me, sir. We all know us enlisted can drink the higher-ups under the table. After all, it's how we cope with you guys." Pause, "But the Jallopie, huh? The hunk-of-junk. Now I get to put faces on the people that helped keep me safe? I can get used to that."

She adjusts her ear protection again, using her offhand to gesture at the target downrange. "It is a nice voice though."

<FS3> Rourke rolls Firearms: Good Success.

"It is dangerous to mess with the voice that tells you where to drop your bombs, Corporal." Apparently Rourke didn't take too much offense to her closeness and then stepping back. "As far as drinking me under the table?" Clicking off the safety, he aims the pistol downrange again to prepare to aim and fire. "Goose came up with us too, though if they're pulling the Captain, they may be short on leadership." he points out, considering the reasons why capable officers are being pulled from Picon.

Firing again, he gets another good bullseye, the pilot smirking slightly as he glances over his shoulder at the JTAC before he returns his attention to the target. "I suppose this is where you start to make things difficult for me, I assume?" he asks as he repositions himself.

Rakes laughs. "Still, you guys were on point with those grids. I'm just a voice asking for a little help. You get to turn that into a nice, big frakstorm for our shiny friends down there. So I'm appreciating it," but she refrains from commenting further because he happens to be taking aim. She turns her gaze to the target and folds her arms loosely at her chest. "Now I really hope I run into her too. Sucks though, for their losses, but it makes sense to pull everyone up here that the colony can spare. We'll have big, bloodied shoes to fill. That's war for you."

She trails off in thought and blinks, shudders really, at the firing. It does bring her back to metaphorical earth though and the Corporal turns to the Raptor pilot. "I mean, I could. But you've got your quick reaction drills at seven yards, and then the sustained fire with a magazine change at fifteen yards. That's altogether, what, forty shots total. With the way you're going, sir, you're bound to hit expert easily. You just want to show off, don't you?"

<FS3> Rourke rolls Firearms: Good Success.

"It helps to impress a girl." Rourke says with a little smirk as he squeezes off another round. "It's not much different that sighting bombs, really, Rakes." At least he didn't call her Corporal this time. "And yeah - I figured it's not going to be fun. It's like trying to replace a puppy with a cat. They don't really want us, but they need us. I figured that we'll have some training missions, maybe a brawl or two, eventually figure it out. Heard there was a bar planetside. I was a fair barkeep back on Picon, wouldn't mind giving it another shot now that I'll have the chance." he comments as he squeezes off another shot.

"Actually, what I want to qualify for." he admits as he finishes off the magazine and moves to change them. " Medevac Officer. And don't give me the bunk about Picon already being enough of a proving ground for that." There's a raised shrug in his shoulders, as he even keeps his attention downrange. "I ain't looking for a promotion or anything, but figure if we're stuck in this for the long haul, I should start learning. You have survival teaching by any chance with that JTAC package?"

Rakes bobs her head into a light nod. Agreement, that's what that is. A hand comes up to rub at the back of her head, wincing more from the idea of really having to fit in with the crew and personnel around here than the act of absentmindedly teasing her hair. It's getting a little long. She should do something about that. For now though, she's back to the conversation. "Lieutenant Stavros, mixologist extraordinaire. How the Gods shined upon him, gracing us survivors with another who knows how to make a drink. Turns out, he also wants to go medevac. Won't even let me talk about how frakked up Picon was at times."

She hasn't answered the question though. She should probably do that, sooner than later. "I could help out, sir. A lot of my on-hand knowledge," and experience, "Is ground-based but give me a little bit and I could modify it to include- ah- space… things? What's it take to qual for that role, anyways? Not that you should stop shooting on my account, either."

"Sorry, Rakes, I'm a crate pilot, not a shrink. You want to pay for my services, get me a bar, have me load you up on drinks, and I'll lean on the counter with my elbows and pretend to care about the troubles of Picon all your little heart wants to spill on the matter." Rourke says thoughtfully, locking the safety in place and steps back after making sure the chamber of the pistol is clear to return it to his holster, before he realizes it's not there. Something else he's not used to yet - no open carry on the ship. After nearly a year of having a weapon near his side at all times, having to surrender the pistol is an odd habit to get used to. About the same as sleeping in a bunk instead of the Raptor in case an alert came up.

"Well, if you have the quals to train a broke back pilot on how to stay alive a few days longer, I wouldn't mind learning. Otherwise, I can seek out the survival officer and see what or who they recommend." he offers with a chuckle. "Space survival is easy. Stay with the ship. If your suit punctures, you're dead. If you float too far away, you're dead. Pray your radio works, or you're.. you guessed it, dead."

Corporal Rakes wags a finger with a shake of the head, "Mm-nn. Oh no, not on my paycheck are you getting a bar." She could easily keep going too, but she's already looking down at his hip to where he tries to holster it. The tip of her tongue disappears from betwixt her lips and she lifts her eyebrows to the officer, still listening. "That's about five different reasons why I don't like space. At least when I get shot, I might survive. There's a chance. But. Give me some time, sir, and we'll see what I can teach you on the side. Everyone loves a little SERE-based training."

"Well, find me a bar, and you can pay for your own therapy." Rourke offers with a chuckle as he turns the pistol around to pass it off to the range officer as he dusts off his hands. "We're back in the Regulars now, Corporal. I suppose we better get darn used to the rank and file again. But if you ever want to talk about the bad old times? Come knock on the bunk, I don't wander about much." the pilot offers with a grin. "Unless it's after a mission and I'm trying to sleep, I might throw something at you."

"Better yet, drop me a line. Might be safer." he course corrects with a small chuckle. "I'll let you get to shooting things, as you said, I already handled my qualifications. Maybe you'll make it a challenge next time." With that, he starts for the door of the firing range to head back into the main corridor.

"Don't go throwing things at me! I don't like getting hit." Which is a more literal translation than Rourke was intending, but she's smiling throughout. "I can see about that, too. I get to split my time between here and downstairs dirt-side so we're bound to run into each other either way."

Rakes only grows quiet because it feels like interrupting the other marine standing next to them. She looks to him and he returns the look, and then she turns her attention back to the pilot before someone else comes up to fill the vacant bay. The corporal removes her ear protection fully and lets it rest at her hip, held in the hand there. Her other hand gets used to wave at Rourke's departure. "Don't go teasing me with a good time shooting things, but yes, sir. Maybe I will."

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