fandomhighdorms | The Range [Sunday afternoon]

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The Range [Sunday afternoon]

Triela had slept terribly again. She kept waking up to imagine sounds, and whenever she closed her eyes there where odd images waiting for her. It was very disconcerting, and it was taking its toll on her, too.

Someone didn't know what it was to dream.

So she was at the range. It always helped her relax. Except that now that she was there, and had her weapon laid out and ready, she found that she was feeling a bit dizzy. She knew you should never handle a gun if you weren't in full control of yourself, but she'd never been anything but, so she wasn't exactly sure what to do.

She was standing there, frowning at the shotgun as if it was somehow responsible for the tiny little termors that were running through her body.

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Scully pulled a small smile out of somewhere, then hesitated, and finally said, "I'd stick with what you're comfortable with. Even if you learn the other for back-up." She shrugged. "He might be right, but not by enough to make a difference if you're reluctant. That's my experience, anyway."

"I know," Triela nodded, sounding just the tiniest bit snippy. She didn't need Scully telling her how to handle weapons-selection. After all, Triela was clearly better at it.

"Then why are you still staring at it?" Scully asked patiently.

And emptied another half clip at the targets, to give Triela time to consider an answer.

Triela didn't need time. Or, rather, she didn't take it. She'd never responded well to anything she thought might be criticism, and she'd found that she was having a hard time keeping herself under control recently.

"I'm not," she snapped, grabbing the shotgun and pulling to her shoulder.

Scully's eyebrows rose at that, but she kept shooting, head, heart, shoulder, shoulder, knee, knee. Then turned to watch Triela, face impassive.

It took Triela a second or two to make the target stop seeming to sway. And then another couple of seconds to get the almost imperceptible tremors in her hands to steady.

Well, to steady enough to shoot, anyway. She pulled the trigger and worked the pump, moving through the entire magazine as fast as she could in order to get it done before she lost control again.

Something was off. Scully wasn't familiar enough with Triela's shooting style to say what; the other girl was fast, and accurate. But... She frowned, and checked the target at the end of the shooting alley.

It was always hard to tell how accurate someone was with a shotgun, but the pellet patterns seemed... a bit spread out. Especially for someone who claimed as much expertise as Triela did.

Maybe she just wasn't as good as she said...

Maybe. Maybe it was the gun, after all? "Are the sights adjusted correctly?" Scully asked, wondering.

Oh, yeah, that was going to make Triela happy.

She shot Scully a scowl. "Of course." It was an insult even to ask.

And if that was an insult, what would asking something's wrong. What is it? be?

Scully's frown deepened, and she studied the gun instead of Triela, thinking. "I'm not familiar with the specs of this kind of shotgun. I apologize." And still wonder what was up.

"It's fine," Triela said tightly. Because it was. She could shrug off that kind of mistake really easily.

Usually.

But for some reason it was making her... uncomfortable. Angry?

By way of slightly more apology, Scully re-loaded and said slowly, "So. Hilshire? How long has he been your handler?"

Give her time to settle, if she needed it.

"Since I joined the Agency. He's the one who gave me my name." Not her code-name.

Hilshire was... a part of her in a way.

Scully's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Triela isn't the name you were born with? Or do you mean your surname?"

"Triela's the only name I have," she explained. "No one knows what my parents named me." Or even where she was from.

But that was just normal for her. Why did she feel like it meant something was missing today?

Disturbed, but trying not to show it, Scully asked, "No records of your birth?" She paused and added, "Does Triela mean something specific?"

Triela snorted. Mostly because the idea was amusing.

"Slavers don't tend to keep records of who it is they've got, so there was no one to ask when the Agency found me." Well, that and they'd all been shot.

"And, no, it's just a name." To help her blend in with normal people.

"Oh," Scully said very quietly. "I see." And she did. She hadn't been in the organized crime unit, but she'd still had to deal with enough bodies left from their crimes-- including children-- that she had a very good idea of what Triela was alluding to.

And Hilshire had found her, and named her Triela, and she appeared to be completely recovered now. It was impressive. In tribute to that, Scully merely asked, "How old were you?"

Another snort. "They don't keep records of that sort of thing, either, you know."

She shrugged. "But around twelve. Maybe thirteen."

"You don't remember?" Or had she been a captive her entire life? And maybe that was a step too far. Scully shook her head. "Forgive me. I'm being too curious. Forget I asked that."

Triela waved it away. The gesture came with only a slight hesitation. "No problem. I just don't remember."

Which would explain why she could talk about it with such equanimity, without prompting, to someone she barely knew. Scully nodded, backing up to the mention of Hilshire. "So Hilshire sent you here, instead of working?" At least someone was looking out for her.

"Supplemental training," Triela explained with a scowl. "To learn how to fit in if I need to go undercover or anything."

Which was fine, but she hadn't been on a mission in forever, and it was driving her crazy.

"Ah." Well, wasn't she here for nearly the same reason? Camouflage? Scully grimaced. "And we're back to 'wishing to be elsewhere.'"

The Range [Sunday afternoon]

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