star (starspeeder) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2015-10-26 17:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | castor vance, star |
WHO: Castor Vance & Star
WHAT: F is for friends who do stuff together.
WHEN: Oct. 25th, after this
WHERE: HQ, shooting range.
WARNINGS: N/A
This was going to be fun. Who Star was actually assuring went unsaid. It wasn’t that the small brunette didn’t enjoy holding a gun in her hand, if anything having a firearm often made her feel safe. It was just her inherent abysmal skill when it came to aiming. How she made it through her first six months was honestly a miracle (or a mistake, depending on who you asked). Thankfully her piloting skills made up for her hunting and if only they could just keep Star off the ground, everything would work out well. But they all knew they couldn’t always be afforded that luxury. She watched Castor with curiosity. She had long since stopped shooting, her gun set on the counter in front of her. Out of the five shots she fired she had only actually hit one-- and it hadn't even been the target she was aiming for. “You’re really good, y’know,” she commented. “Did the military teach you to be good?” The compliment gave her captain pause. With the weight of a handgun in his palms, it took no effort at all to fade out the world around; Castor had almost, for a few moments, forgotten that she was there. Aim aside, he didn't do this for perfection's sake, or to make a point — he'd made one long ago since beginning in the gunner program — but to have something to destroy, for something tangible to grip, if only to avoid hurting someone else or, sometimes, himself. He lowered his weapon, index finger slipping away from the trigger. "More or less," he admitted with a roll of one shoulder. (Hector hadn't given him any slack; it was to be expected.) There were words to say here, somewhere along the lines of It takes practice, but he didn't really believe it in the long run and held his tongue. Decided on another route. "Wu, Askew and Garland, they're gunners." Castor knew their first names. "They never gave you a hand with technique?" There was a long pause. It was as though the names hadn’t registered at first before she blinked as it finally clicked in her head. Their last names sounded foreign, though she knew them well enough. “I mean,” Star found herself rubbing the back of her neck again. A nervous tick. She stared back at the targets. The girl couldn’t help but rest her cheek on the palm of her hand as she looked over at her meager shot. “I hadn’t really thought about it until you just mentioned it now. A lot of my friends are gunners, huh?” Star pursed her lips as she shook her head. “Probably didn’t want to bother them. They were all really good.” Three years was a long enough time to gather that Star, despite all her energy and cheeky little smiles, was more than what she appeared. Castor could see it, had seen it, and knew better than to shoot her down — figuratively speaking — for not trying to improve her aim. What she did was her prerogative, and he shared the anxiety of not wanting to take up other people's time. He tilted the goggles up slightly to keep them from aggravating his piercing too much, setting the gun down and nodding to hers. "Pick it up." Star raised her brows at him before glancing back down at the gun in front of her. She seemed confused but listened regardless. Picking up the handgun, she looked back over at the captain with a small tilt of her head. It wasn't too awkward for him to maneuver himself behind her, considering the near foot of height he had on her; what was awkward was leaning into her space while trying not to knock the equipment into her skull, and the recognition that while it had been three years, they'd never been this close physically. "Up," he instructed, barely ghosting his hands beneath her elbows to get her into standard position. It was her confusion at his actions that kept the possible embarrassment at bay. The lightest brush against her elbows had her holding the gun up and pointed at the target. He was a literal two inches away from brushing his cheek against her hair and ignored that possibility in favour of tapping the underside of her right arm. "Straighten this, but don't lock it. Keep your other arm a little bent." This was going to be fun, she reminded herself, focusing mostly on his words and a lot less in how he so easily wrapped around her frame. On command, she straightened one arm, allowing the other to remain loose. Her finger ghosted over the trigger almost impatiently, and Castor sensed it immediately, touching the back of her trigger hand briefly. "Don't think about pulling it." The words flowed easily, but he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd instructed anyone with a weapon, save for himself and what he'd mantra'd in his head every session before it'd become instinct. Out of habit, he brought that right arm up about half an inch to account for shoulder height. "It's not about hitting the target; it's about knowing the weight of the gun so you can control it," he continued, acutely aware of how close he was as he said it. Her grip on the gun tightened as his breath tickled her ears. Star’s expression flat as she stared blankly ahead at the target. She wanted to shift, but she couldn’t. She wanted to take a deep breath, but she couldn’t. “What if it weighs too much?” she muttered back at him. “What then?” The answer didn't take much thought. "Play around with different calibers. You'll find one that works," Castor assured her, barely withholding an exhale against her hair. Being on the opposite spectrum of physical strength and stature, he could handle different models than the rest, but she needed experience and a better gun or one day, she really would put a hole in an unsuspecting person when he wasn't looking. He shifted his weight to one hip, considering that. "Don't think too much about it," was his soft suggestion, audible if only because of their proximity. It was the latter that brought a huff from her lips as she finally grinned. “You’re right. I’m thinking too much.” Her eyes fell close for a second, feeling the weight of the gun in her hand. When they opened she seemed more focused. The grip on the gun wasn’t strained, but held purpose. She didn’t need his words to pull the trigger. There was recoil. The gun’s weight shoved her back slightly, but with how close they were she felt her back crash against his chest, her neck against his collar. Automatically, Castor drew up a hand to catch her, wrapping it firmly around her shoulder before he let go with an awkward hesitance. Yeah, definitely too close now. "You'll get used to that." A half-step was taken back — part precaution, part needing the distance. "Eventually." She reached a hand to rub the back of her neck, side stepping to look back at him. There was a sheepish grin on her face. On the brighter side, she wasn’t James Wu and born part tomato. Her gaze shifted back towards the target where her aim had improved. How much of it was Star’s aim comparatively to Castor’s was still up in there air though it was likely the captain’s work. Humor was her way of avoiding awkward feelings. “In the blink of an eye I’ll be a master sniper assassin. Just you wait.” And Castor didn't do humor, not on purpose, not really. He hid the rise of his brows with the adjustment of his goggles, turning as he spoke. "Yeah, I'll be waiting a while." It wasn't a joke. It was definitely, decidedly not a joke. Star muffled and hid her laugh behind the back of her hand. It was then that Star decided that this was fun. |