http://sorella-vecchia.livejournal.com/ (
sorella-vecchia.livejournal.com) wrote in
fandomhighdorms2009-03-05 09:41 pm
Entry tags:
The Range [Thursday evening]
Triela had spent most of her day in her room watching Amber. She didn't like seeing her roommate so sick, but at least she was pretty sure that it wasn't life-threatening.
Just gross.
She'd taken some time to look for tea, and then later to put up the posters Amber had helped her make. But eventually Amber had fallen into a fitful sleep again and Triela had decided that she needed to get out.
So she was at the range. There was something different about being alone on the range. She didn't have to keep half of her attention on others, making sure they weren't doing anything dangerous, that they didn't need any help. Alone she could lose herself in the rhythmic crack-crack-crack.
Every bullet blew threw the same hole, but Triela didn't even notice that anymore.
Just gross.
She'd taken some time to look for tea, and then later to put up the posters Amber had helped her make. But eventually Amber had fallen into a fitful sleep again and Triela had decided that she needed to get out.
So she was at the range. There was something different about being alone on the range. She didn't have to keep half of her attention on others, making sure they weren't doing anything dangerous, that they didn't need any help. Alone she could lose herself in the rhythmic crack-crack-crack.
Every bullet blew threw the same hole, but Triela didn't even notice that anymore.

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She waited in the back until Triela was re-loading, ear protectors on, then approached her. "Hey, Triela."
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"Hey, Dinah. Everything okay?" Triela had noticed Dinah'd left early on Tuesday.
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She turned back to firing. When she stopped to reload again she turned to ask, idly curious, "What happened Tuesday, anyway?"
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"How's the play going, anyway?"
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"You want some pointers?" If not Triela trusted the other girl to figure things out.
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Dinah's intuition was right. The MP7 was a carefully engineered killing machine. It's why Triela liked it.
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Next she pointed to the bolt grip. "Then you can either pull here to pop the round in the chamber out, or just pull the trigger. That's usually easier."
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Triela definitely had an opinion on which one was better.
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Because seriously. She is so not okay with killing anyone, even if she can't be sure she did in the middle of a fight.
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"Most semi-automatics work the same way."
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"But," she drawled musingly, "if it's been fired once then you might be able to stop the chamber from revolving. That means the hammer will hit the bullet it already fired. But you'd have to hold that for a while. It won't stay broken."
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Telekinesis wasn't something Triela had
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She reached into her shoulder holster and pulled out a pistol. "What about something like this? The P7 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heckler_&_Koch_P7) is usually a backup weapon. Small, light, easy to hide."
"I taught myself," she answered. "Hilshire was supposed to, I guess, but I've never really needed his help." Well, maybe Hilshire had helped. A little. Or a lot. But she'd never admit it.
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She tilted her head, and raised an eyebrow at Triela's commentary on Hilshire. "So, you just picked up a gun, and knew what to do? Was that part of the conditioning too?"
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"Hilshire told me what I had to learn. I learned it."
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"Next week, maybe a day or so after Gun Club, we should go back to the music store. I want to take Camille to play with Alice's cat," Dinah said, veering totally off-topic. Except inside her head, where Triela could use a little normalcy. "You up for that?"
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"That sounds good to me," Triela grinned. "You just let me know when you want to do it."
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Might as well be polite.
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And pay them.
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Right. Pay. Well, then.
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