Commander Jane Shepard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earthborn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2022-10-07 04:18 pm
earthborn) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-10-07 04:18 pm
Per Aspera ★ October catch-all ★ Open
Who: Shepard and various + Open
When: October
Where: Around Cadens and Shepard's Horizon
What: Shooting Range practice & lessons, social mingle, and some planned threads
Warnings: guns, cursing, likely discussion of violence
I. Range at the Horizon
The Normandy loomed over the shooting range, all two-hundred sixteen meters of sleek faster-than-light spacecraft. It was parked, ignominiously, on the dirt itself in very much the way that the real Normandy would only have been if it were trapped in dry-dock for repairs.
Today's occasion is nothing so necessary.
Instead, on the ground-space aft of the cargo hold there's been set up a shooting range. It looks a little makeshift, but it's serviceable enough. The Horizon's ubiquitous wish-fulfillment makes set-up and tidying simple enough, for a start.
Off to the left, there stand a few weapons racks, featuring a variety of firearms ranging from the types of firearms that might be familiar to any member of the Cadens military to a row of oddly-shaped rectangular devices representing weaponry native to Shepard's own home-universe, each gun neatly folded-down and in its place.
There are half-a-dozen shooting lanes with targets of varying distance and sophistication, ranging from holographic figures posed in attitudes of threat, paper cut-outs with zones of deadliness printed on them, vaguely humanoid outlines in plywood, aluminum, and sand-backed paper. There's even a line of bottles perched on a metal crate off to one side: the labels are printed in an alien script, and not all of them are completely empty. The lanes themselves are nothing more glamorous than strips of soil and grass, with an odd mix of gravel, beachsand, and whatever else had come in from the bordering Domains. Shepard had chosen this spot specifically for its position at the crux of several, unclaimed, and unlikely to be contested; all the better for a meeting-place.
In any case, Shepard is on-hand to assist. There's even a sign:
PRACTICE RANGE OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
help yourself if you know what you're doing
assistance available upon request
II. Rager at the Horizon
The cargo bay of the Normandy stands open, the wide bay door slid down to form a sturdy ramp, and up in the belly of the ship itself, amongst the crates and spare machinery is... a wet bar? Well, it's a table surface, and there are a variety of options, which may or may not be familiar. Serrice Ice Brandy, Batarian Fire-whiskey... Ryncol? Maybe you just want to stick with a nice beer, or seltzer-water, or maybe someone here should reconsider the combination of guns and alcohol.
Or maybe you should just go home, if you're going to be a coward about it.
In any case, Shepard is there, standing behind the bar, sitting around in the shade having a drink, or just messing around with the equipment. Step on up, and have a go, why don't you? It's hardly a wild party, but it's not as if anyone has anything better to do.
III. October Event
[ TBA ]
When: October
Where: Around Cadens and Shepard's Horizon
What: Shooting Range practice & lessons, social mingle, and some planned threads
Warnings: guns, cursing, likely discussion of violence
I. Range at the Horizon
The Normandy loomed over the shooting range, all two-hundred sixteen meters of sleek faster-than-light spacecraft. It was parked, ignominiously, on the dirt itself in very much the way that the real Normandy would only have been if it were trapped in dry-dock for repairs.
Today's occasion is nothing so necessary.
Instead, on the ground-space aft of the cargo hold there's been set up a shooting range. It looks a little makeshift, but it's serviceable enough. The Horizon's ubiquitous wish-fulfillment makes set-up and tidying simple enough, for a start.
Off to the left, there stand a few weapons racks, featuring a variety of firearms ranging from the types of firearms that might be familiar to any member of the Cadens military to a row of oddly-shaped rectangular devices representing weaponry native to Shepard's own home-universe, each gun neatly folded-down and in its place.
There are half-a-dozen shooting lanes with targets of varying distance and sophistication, ranging from holographic figures posed in attitudes of threat, paper cut-outs with zones of deadliness printed on them, vaguely humanoid outlines in plywood, aluminum, and sand-backed paper. There's even a line of bottles perched on a metal crate off to one side: the labels are printed in an alien script, and not all of them are completely empty. The lanes themselves are nothing more glamorous than strips of soil and grass, with an odd mix of gravel, beachsand, and whatever else had come in from the bordering Domains. Shepard had chosen this spot specifically for its position at the crux of several, unclaimed, and unlikely to be contested; all the better for a meeting-place.
In any case, Shepard is on-hand to assist. There's even a sign:
help yourself if you know what you're doing
assistance available upon request
II. Rager at the Horizon
The cargo bay of the Normandy stands open, the wide bay door slid down to form a sturdy ramp, and up in the belly of the ship itself, amongst the crates and spare machinery is... a wet bar? Well, it's a table surface, and there are a variety of options, which may or may not be familiar. Serrice Ice Brandy, Batarian Fire-whiskey... Ryncol? Maybe you just want to stick with a nice beer, or seltzer-water, or maybe someone here should reconsider the combination of guns and alcohol.
Or maybe you should just go home, if you're going to be a coward about it.
In any case, Shepard is there, standing behind the bar, sitting around in the shade having a drink, or just messing around with the equipment. Step on up, and have a go, why don't you? It's hardly a wild party, but it's not as if anyone has anything better to do.
III. October Event
[ TBA ]
no subject
If Shepard is concerned about him touching her things, she doesn't show it; the sign had invited people to do so, after all. It was what the setup was for. And besides, Sephiroth had been invited more specifically, all above-board and legitimate.
He presses the release and the Mattock springs eagerly into his hands, a blocky, unmistakably military piece of hardware that nevertheless possesses the same basics of any firearm. Stock, trigger, muzzle, sights; even if everything else is different, there's a framework to its operation that is not so easily abandoned.
"Give it a shot, then. You know what say curiosity, right?"
no subject
“Killed the coeurl,” he supplies. Clearly, a “coeurl” and a “cat” are interchangeable to this man, as he gives no further explanation, simply nodding in the affirmative as he glides over to the gun range proper.
At a distance, the targets await him patiently, humanoid in shape with their zones clearly differentiated. He raises the rifle, readies it and aims; he’s been trained in weapons handling, which shears away any potential clumsiness of a true greenhorn, and guarantees that he won’t be terribly surprised by any kickback when he pulls the trigger.
And pull the trigger he does, firing in a short burst.
no subject
"...and Satisfaction brought it back," She finishes. She doesn't know what a coeurl is, but then again she doesn't know exactly what a pyjack is, aside from annoying, and those are native to her galaxy, "You said you were a soldier?"
She does love a good backstory. And in her experience most people, when asked, will give at least some version of one. Say this for Sephiroth, he's not boring.
no subject
“I am. SOLDIER 1st Class,” he supplies, and there is something about the weight the words that suggest a soldier with not only a capital S, but a capital everything else. But he’s used to that not meaning anything to strangers from other universes altogether, no matter the prestige (and fear) it wrought back on Gaia.
“An elite branch of Shinra’s military. I’ve been trained for the role ever since I was young, but I leaned hard into my specializations somewhere down the line.”
His swordsmanship, more than anything else.
“So even I have holes in my skillset that need improving.”
Crap how did I forget about this for so long, I am so sorry
"And Shinra's your uh... nation. Country," Nailed it. She's so good at planetary politics, can you tell, "Where you're from."
no worries! I don't mind backtagging; just whatever is easiest for you!
“It’s a power company.”
A power company with its own army.
“I’m an employee. Technically.”
If one wanted to look at it that way, though his life had been so chained to the company’s desires that it was hard for anyone—or even himself—to think of his relationship to Shinra as an employee. Just an employee.
no subject
A loyal one. One who's only had one employer? Started young, and had no other options...
"A power company with a private army?" If she sounds dubious, it's because she is, "That's not a new one for me, believe it or not, but unless there's some context I'm not getting here... How is that different from being a merc?"
no subject
“I don’t know much about being a mercenary, but Shinra doesn’t contract out. Many individuals come to them for enlistment, and they pursue a career through its ranks.”
no subject
It's a strange thing, to look at someone so tall and formiddable, and to realize that she's looking at what is in all probability, someone no more powerful than any exploited victim. Oh, he could probably kick her ass, or at least give her a good run for her money... but for all that Shepard did love a fight, physical violence really couldn't solve most of the world's problems.
Maybe strange wasn't the right word; what differentiated her imagination's view of Sephiroth from that of any given Krogan was more about species than specifics. It was, weirdly, harder to see it coming from her own people.
Something to work on.
"Tell me about your specialization, instead."