Feb 21 04:00:55 106 PA
From Chronicles
A very large facility designed for weaponry of all shapes and sizes, the Kingsdale Firing Range is actually owned and run by the city's military. In all actuality, calling it a single facility is a misnomer. It is actually a collection of three. The first of these is an indoor firing range, complete with moving targets that is designed for light to heavy hand-held firearms. Everything from 9mm handguns on up to heavy military plasma ejectors, this range can handle them in an indoor, 'controlled' environment. There is even a special range for railguns. The disadvantage of this particular facility is hat it is only useful for relatively short ranges -- about two hundred feet. For anything else, one must visit one of the two outdoor ranges. The second 'facility' is located outdoors and must be rented by the hour. This is due to the fact that the 'targets' are placed in series about a thousand feet apart and one must generally use a vehicle to check them. Four 'steps' of targets provide a range of four thousand feet -- something to challenge even most high powered railguns and sniping rifles. This range is almost constantly in use by mercenaries and one must generally book at least a couple of days ahead. The last range is designed for heavy robots, power armor and vehicles. It is a two mile (about 11,000 feet) stretch of open field that looks like it was once grassy. It has been churned to open and dry brown earth by the machines that march over it. It is covered with craters and scars and like the previous range is almost always in use. There are a few bleachers at the very back 'safe' end of the range too, as it is not uncommon for a few observers to sit and watch these mighty machines going to town on their targets. Speaking of which, the targets themselves are a little bit unorthodox. Although there are a few 'standard' targets for precision weaponry the bulk of the shooting is directed towards eight shot-up, rusted old hulks of tanks. Some of them are so full of holes that one can literally see right through them but they do provide a bit more of a realistic target. Any weaponry is permitted here except for explosive and missile weapons. One must purchase training rounds filled with paint for these for about 100 credits a missile (Providing you return the empty canisters, much much more expensive if you do not) as the military wants to get as much life out of their targets as they can. Costs are modest: 10 credits an hour for the first range, 100 credits an hour for the second and third.
Caliopa is here early, for once. The earlier hours suited both of them to meet, before work, before the labours of the day made them tired. A few others are here, but all absorbed in their own practice, and indeed Caliopa gets some practice of her own in. Dressed for work, the ancient coveralls resting on her hips, an ancient t-shirt, stained with oil and grease, covers the rest of her torso. Her hair is tied back, the ponytail high and bouncy.
As it turns out, Rasputin:arrives a little later than normal. He comes in with his range bag and dressed in fatigues, as opposed to his usual suit. He hums a soft song to himself as he walks, "Great Mornink to you Miss Caliopa. Da! Mornink." He tugs his beard, as he sets down his range bag, "How beink you dis mornik?"
Caliopa lowers the pistol she is practicing with, a matte black Pterodactyl with a plate on the side that reads 'Mickey'. "Mornin', Rasputin. Ain't a bad one, is it?" The flakes of snow don't seem too bad this morning, and her smile is sunny and bright. "I'm alright. You? Did you do anything' for Valentines?"
Rasputin smiles and then tugs his beard, "Net, Valentines dat, dis not mine day. But dime doink well, da." He smiles as he pulls of his jacket and lays it down. Then puts on a holster for the large six-shooter he has been using during the lessons. "I be never noticink the namink of your gun, net. Doink you having it named always?"
She turns, clicking on the safety, before she places it on the table. "You don't celebrate it?" She asks softly, before glancing at the gun. "I didn't name it, girl that gave it to me, she did. Other one, it is called 'Ricky'." She gives him a quick smile, turning towards him.
Rasputin shakes his head, his smile is very thin, very, forced perhaps? "Net, net. Dat justink a day. Da?" He says as he loads up the pistol, "Mickey and Ricky, da? Da, being cute names, da. For weapon?" He tugs his beard, the smile totally fading away, "Da, what will you beink teaching mink today?"
Caliopa wrinkles her nose, the inevitable blush rising in her cheeks. "She was a real nice girl." The comment is soft before she turns, all business. "Reckon more practicin'. Only real way to learn." She turns towards her target, pointing at the cluster of her shots. "Aim for them."
Rasputin nods, "Da. I will trink." He takes aim at the cluster of shots, pulls back the hammer, aims again. Takes in a small breath, then slowly squeezes the trigger. The large caliber pistol rings out over the previously quiet range. Rasputin, of course hits the paper, but not really near the cluster. He mutters to himself, "Net." He pulls the hammer back again, takes a small breath, aims and fires again. He gets closer to the cluster.
Caliopa watches him, making tiny hints for changes in posture, in position, her voice softly spoken. "That ain't bad..." She encourages him softly, giving him a smile. She stands behind him, reaching around to make a tiny adjustment to his arms.
Even though used to your adjustments, Rasputin always goes ridged at your initial touch, but he has grown easier with your subtle adjustments to his posture and performance. He even puts the flex back in his arms and knees. He pulls the hammer back, breaths in a small breath, and pulls the trigger. This time, first out of the three, it hits right in the grouping, "Da!" Rasputin explains very happy with himself.
Caliopa steps back, aware of the tension, and gives him a warm smile as she gives him a quiet word of praise. "That is real good, Rasputin." She leans against the table, giving him a little space, watching him closely.
Rasputin nods, "I beink firink last three now, da?" He waits a moment, pulls back the hammer. And fires one after the other, three shots loud, crisp, and well aimed. Actually, the first two are well aimed, the last one drops a little to the left. But the first two were in the cluster. Rasputin chuckles, "Fifty - Fifty, net badink, da?" He flips open the cylinder, ejects the brass and begins to load the pistol.
"Da..." Caliopa repeats, "I mean, yeah." She nods firmly, giving him a quick smile of approval. "Ain't bad at all. You jus' got to keep practicin'..." She settles on the table, swinging her legs as she watches him.
Rasputin nods as he holsters the pistol. He checks the firing line, and seeing it is empty. He walks over and resets the target. He even puts up a few small reactive dots on the new one. Rasputin walks back and smiles, "Da. Nowink, I shall beink shooting the entire wheel, da?" Slowly, he breaths in and takes aim, pulls back the hammer, re-aims and begins to fire off. One after the other, firing 6 clear shots, with only a few moments in between shots. He actually shoots 4 out of the 6 rounds in a fairly good group around one of the reactive dots. He smiles and nod, "Could beink worse, da?" He empties the revolver and begins to reload again.
Caliopa watches carefully and nods at the question, her face serious as she considers. "There, you got it. It is real good." The sunny smile returns briefly as she is struck by a though. "Enough to see of some folks comin' for your sandwiches..." She wrinkles her nose as she grins up at him, swinging her legs
Rasputin tugs his beard and turns around, "Net? Comink for mine sandwich?" He shakes his head, "Da, you be makink a joke da?" He chuckles and tugs his beard again. He turns back and fires another six shots, slow and steady. Sure, they aren't tight, but they are all about in the same spot. "Somink I should beink shooting good, da?" He chuckles, "How often are youink practicink here? I mean, when you are not teachink someone.
Caliopa smiles at him, her eyes warm and friendly. "I'm makin' a joke." She watches the shooting, thoughtfully, her eyes warm. "I practice a couple a times a week, keep my hand in. Ain't no tellin' when you ain't got to use it." She looks thoughtful, frowning slightly. "Seems I don't use it when I ought sometimes neither."
Rasputin nods slowly, "These little things," he hods up a bullet and looks at it, "They do get spendy, da?" He puts another into the pistol, "But is less expensink than mine e-clips, da." He tugs his beard as he slides the last into the cylinder. He chuckles, "Do you preferink energy or da, bullets?"
"They cost a real load, but it ain't bad." She shrugs lightly, glancing at her weapons. "I don't like either, but I use the energy ones, 'cause them is the ones I got." Her grammar slips a little. "I don't real like fightin', see. Me, I'd be happy, left in my garage, fixin' stuff..." Caliopa shakes her head, dismissing her blues with a quick smile.
Rasputin chuckles and tugs his beard, "Da, I would be agreeink with you, da. I am better at makink sandwich, soup, and good meats." He chuckles loudly, "Speaink of which, perhapsink I should be headink back to the cafe to help the cookinks with breakfast." He shakes his head, "Net, I will be shootink for a bit longer." And with that he begins to shoot another six rounds down range.
"Reckon the world needs them that ain't fighters, and them that fix 'n' feed them that are fighters." Caliopa offers softly, sliding from the table to turn, cleaning and putting her weapons away neatly. "I ought to get back to the garage. Garage don't open, I don't eat." She gives him the warm smile. "Reckon if I weren't eatin', your profits'd drop 'n' all."
Rasputin chuckles, "Da, da. I beink shootink a few more, da." He empties the six spent cartidges, "I be thankink you, da. I am hopink I net use dis skill, buttink goodink to know, da?"
Caliopa nods slowly, leaning against the table, her weapons hugged to her chest. "Reckon I do. When they came to the garage, them gangs, I weren't ready." She shrugs lightly, her gaze dropping to her boots, "Figured I best be, from now on."
Rasputin nods slowly and tugs his beard, "Da. Dasvidania Miss Caliopa." He smiles and nods to you,"I will be owink you several good meals for all of your good teachink. Da?" He smiles and chuckles,
"Ain't needful, I'm happy to help you a piece. You've been right nice to me." She smiles in return, straightening as she prepares to leave. "I'll see you for lunch, least Al brings me mine." She gives him a quick, warm smile and walks away.
Rasputin nods and watches you walk away. He thinks something to himself, then goes back to his practice. The ring of his shots can be heard sing out for another few rounds. Then he too, packs up and heads to the Deli.
