station72 | [training log] we are the champions

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[training log] we are the champions

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day :44
SUMMARY: 1988 Crystal Light National Aerobic Championship.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

DAY 44 begins without ceremony, the station quiet and still, the murmur of host's minds distant. Even with all of the current new hosts returned from their mission the station is too large to ever really feel lived in. It is almost peaceful, when the call comes.

The voice is nothing like Cathaway's, who is so often in the young Host's minds, but then again Prince was rarely so warm or inviting, and in the days he has had to recover from the Station's recent jumps he has returned to his more stable state, his tone perfectly matched to his speech, seeming as near as if he is speaking just over their shoulders.

'Good morning. I would like to encourage all hosts, most especially those fresh to the station, to join us today in the Training Wing. This resource is not to be underestimated, as it will not be available to you when you are on assignment. Attendance is recommended.'

With that simple message he is again gone from their minds, leaving them alone with their own thoughts- and anyone else who shares them. Left behind is the impression of how to reach the Training Wing, in case anyone is unaware.

FOR THOSE WHO CHOSE to follow the call and make their way to the Training wing, they will find Prince, once again adorned in his traditional uniform. He has beside him a small stack of charcoal grey jumpsuits identical to it beside him, for any host who had not previously made their way to the wing.

For those who are familiar with the space he simply nods to them and leaves them to their own devices, unless they should chose to approach him for more than simple encouragement. For those who are new, he will direct them to the lockers and give them the honeycomb textured jumpsuits, which will fit them perfectly. He will also give a brief explanation of Iota and Rho symbiotic types for those who need it ((as outlined in the setting)) and go into the basics of the specialized abilities all hosts develop. He will not divulge the exact ability that a host possesses at that time, but may be persuaded to with some difficulty. He will then suggest that they set their mind to learning what they can aboard the station, and let each host know that he only teaches the willing.

After that, the space is theirs.

((OOC Notes: Welcome to the second training log! Below you will find some information from the first log, which is now also available in the setting section!

The Training Wing is large- bigger than the biggest gym, and it contains a number of specialized spaces for Host’s use. What follows is an (incomplete) list of amenities. Have an idea for another space? Drop us a line in the questions section of the most recent calendar post! The training wing itself is a central hub-type area with a number of hallways that branch out in a vaguely spiraling fashion spanning multiple levels. Below are a list of locations key to this log:

• Lockers - Featuring rows of open cubbies, shower spaces, a bathroom, towels, and sets of shoes for those of you without proper footwear. Hosts visiting the lockers for the first time will receive their station-standard charcoal grey suits, which are tailor fit to their exact measurements. These suits are flexible, strong, and surprisingly breathable, and are comfortable enough to wear all day.

• Track - Centrally located there is a large running track that is multiple lanes wide, the ground of which is coated in some sort of slightly rubbery, gripping substance.

• Gym - Located not far from the lockers is an almost traditional gym space, with a number of pieces of exercise equipment, some of which is familiar and some of which is not. There are instructions that will read in a pleasant voice if you seem lost. You will find both strength and cardio equipment arranged in a somewhat sensible manner.

• Training Hall - A large open space with a number of pads on the floors and walls and a wide variety of dummies and protective gear. This is the space where you will find melee practice weapons ranging from swords and pikes to slightly more exotic weaponry- all blunted or dulled- as well as room for most forms of martial arts.

• Range - Lying closest to the Flight Hangar, this room features a number of targets and projectile training weapons. Here you will find everything from bows and arrows to laser guns. Nothing is capable of doing real damage, but it feels and reacts in a way that’s very real. Handy readouts will tell you exactly how accurate (or inaccurate) you are.

• Pool - It’s a pool, there are lanes, so swim free. Please don’t drown. There is no sauna. There are two styles of suits available, a simple charcoal one-piece with white piping, and an equally simple charcoal swim briefs with matching white piping.

We're in control, body and soul,
We push ourselves to the maximum!!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Shepard herself loves a good firing range. Well, she likes using her weaponry, at least-- the range itself is often incidental. There hasn't been much call for them, outside of the long gaps between regular combat assignments. In the last seven years, very little call for them at all.

This one was almost as nice, though, and as nicely stocked, as the Spectres-only range on the Citadel. It was pleasingly high-tech, the readouts precise, varied, and with options for everything between the newest energy-weapons and, apparently, old-fashioned bows-and-arrows. Shepard's just finishing when Lexa arrives, and she's been taking her time with cleanup to give herself an excuse to watch her work.

Not the kind of thing you see every day, someone with a bow. There's good reason for that in the weapon Lexa is now doing her level best to stare down. The pistol is, unsurprisingly, not concerned with the possible ramifications of The Evil Eye.

"You want to actually use that, or just look at it," Shepard says, in the waiting silence. It's just the two of them in here, today, and the hardness of the room renders her voice loud, importunate with echo, "Have you ever used a gun before?"

"No." The word is easy and concise. It also isn't exact. There's a level of discomfort that radiates around her. Lexa knows the cause for her discomfort with guns, but she has been here for enough months that she believes it unlikely that they will go to a world with limited technology. She knows that someday, her strength, speed, and skill with weapons just won't be enough.

Partly because the weapons themselves wouldn't be. As an army, her people could handle guns. As long as they knew what they were facing, they could adapt. Alone, she knows she's bound to hit her limit easily.

"I intend to use it. I just haven't yet."

There's the sense under the word that has Shepard snorting. The idea that a technological difference of kind could be overcome by knowledge and numbers and expertise. It ought to be laughable, but having faced both sides of that...

Shepard only hopes its true. Not like they have numbers on their side, here.

"Well..." She eyes the pistol. It's a heavy-looking thing, compatible with chemical-combustion thrust, black-powder rounds of a type considered obsolete to the point of antiquity even before Shepard was born, "...Look, you want some help? I've got a little experience in this."

"I could use the assistance." Leave it to Lexa to never ask for help in the most direct way possible. No, she's weirdly evasive about the act itself. "I want you to understand. My people didn't use these because we felt it would be a risk to us. What I'm doing right now is breaking tradition." That she died because of a gun ... possibly like this one, in so many other versions of her world, is also a point of contention.

It's a heavy choice.

After a moment of silence, she picks up the gun and hands it to Shepard carefully. It's clear that she's at least seen guns handed from person to person before, because she does it correctly. "Show me."

Shepard considered the gesture's weight for a minute, then took the pistol out of Lexa's hands. It was exactly as heavy as it looked-- too heavy, by Shepard's estimation. She made an unsatisfied expression, and took a breath.

"Alright," It was a shift in momentum, like leaning forward to indicate a call to business. Shepard turned the weapon in her hand with careless ease, then turned and went to the weapons locker, "First thing, this is too heavy. And it's old-- if you're gonna learn how to shoot just one thing, let's make it something that isn't going to let you down."

Shepard finds the place where Lexa's gun had been and replaces it, unloaded, and safe. She can see why that one had caught her eye, but-- no. They weren't terribly modern, honestly, but she knows she's seen...

"Ah, here we are," Shepard turns, offering Lexa a replacement. It's lighter, and a little smaller, but the biggest difference is in material. Both were metal, but the weapon in Shepard's hand wasn't iron or steel, but some other unknown alloy. What it did have, was a glow, and a barely-noticable hum in Lexa's hand, when Shepard gave it to her, "This is more like it. Modern weaponry's gonna work out better-- this isn't going to run out of ammunition mid-fight, for example."

Not in a few month's regular use, at least. But it's not like ammunition blocks were hard to fabricate, honestly.

"Second thing. You need these," When she's sure Lexa won't drop it, Shepard turns and snags a pair of earmuffs. They're pretty ugly, "You might not get the chance for safety precautions in the field, but unless you wanna lose your hearing before you're forty, you'll wanna wear this on the range."

It should be noted, Shepard isn't taking a pair for herself, nor does she seem concerned for her own hearing.

Edited 2017-06-09 02:38 (UTC)

"I have a symbiote within my body that assures my health. I'll manage without the covering." Her culture does include special armor for training, as well as the ability to have blunted weapons. But there's still a degree of it that's so raw that people are meant to be able to transition on to the battlefield without difficulty. She doesn't want to wince at the sound of her weapon. That's just a stubborn streak in her that's all too constant.

She does, however, take a moment to examine the gun. The wonder to her action is not naive. Instead, it's more like she's trying to discern how it works. The weight of it within her hand is appealing, especially compared to what she had before. "The other gun wasn't unlike what the men used when they came to attack us. I thought I'd adapt more clearly."

There weren't a lot of opportunities for gun manufacturing to advance during a post-apocalyptic era. "But I'll trust your judgment on this matter. You've trained others like me, haven't you?"

"A few. But nobody like you," Shepard hasn't taught anyone to shoot in a long, long time, and never officially, but a lot could get done between what you have to do, and what you're not supposed to get caught doing, "That--"

She knocks a chin at Lexa's first choice, while moving to discard the ear protection.

"...That's old tech. You feel the hum?" Shepard reaches out to tap the little blue indicator ports, "Miniature eezo core. It's a lot more stable, and it lasts virtually forever. If anything, it's too efficient-- it can push the projectiles out at speeds the other gun can't manage, but it also produces heat in the process. You can't just keep shooting, you have to be smart, stop and let it vent. C'mon, let's go take a few shots."

Those final words make Lexa's eyebrows quirk with amusement. She knows that Shepard has no way of knowing the true benefit of her symbiote. Few others do know, as she has done well to keep that to herself. Her public demonstrations of training are new, as if to show that she is willing to try. Lexa has always been someone who believes in leading by example.

"How hot? I may be able to withstand any trouble." She holds the gun carefully, and it's clear she's ready to go up to take a few shots. "Though I know that now may not be the time to see." Lexa also doesn't want the weapon to blow up in her hands from forcing the matter.

"Hot enough to leave scars," Shepard replies, letting her get into stance before making a few corrections to posture, "But more importantly, hot enough to melt the internal mechanisms. You can disable the safety measures and make it keep firing, but then you're risking an explosion."

Or courting one. Shepard's made a few impromptu explosives in her time, and you could get a shockingly large amount of boom out of a really quite small quantity of eezo. Not the kind of thing you want happening at the end of your arm.

"It's generally smarter to just use the weapon as intended. Now," Shepard put her hand on Lexa's back, heat and pressure. First thing you do, you check your weapon. Bottom of the grip there, make sure the pin is down."

Shepard paused, eyes tracking the exact spot, watching what Lexa did. Her nod was small, but noticable.

"Okay that looks good. That's the ammunition block. This type of weapon shaves off pieces of it to fire. When the block is close to being used up, that pin will flip, and you can replace it-- that should take a pretty long time, even assuming you use it regularly. But always check, to be sure," Now she took Lexa's hand in hers, extending it. Shepard nudged her trigger-finger carefully guiding it around the guard, intent with focus, "There's a guard there. You don't put your finger on the actual trigger unless you mean to fire. A lot of people have killed someone they loved by mistake, that way."

It was a little awkward, but undeniably intimate, posed like this, with Shepard half-wrapped around Lexa's arms and shoulders. Shepard's mind was focused, utterly calm, cold by comparison to her usual state. Her demeanor was nothing less, all quiet steel and economy of motion. She wasn't tense, exactly, but she was ready.

"You with me so far?"

Edited 2017-06-12 23:19 (UTC)

The irony of it all is that the intimacy is both the closest she's been to someone physically—sans a recent hug—and that it's so focused on training, on getting stronger. Lexa is aware of the hand on her back, the closeness of Shepard in proximity, but she's more focused on the feel of the weapon in her hand, and processing the knowledge. It works differently from anything back home. Everything can be tracked. Everything can be understood.

She flicks her eyes up at Shepard's face, gaze unwavering. Her finger is off the trigger. She knows not to make a mistake like that.

"Of course. I train novices in fighting back home. And here. I get the principle of it all." There's a small degree of chiding to her voice, as if she's trying to even the ground. But there's a hint of amusement to it, being put back into a place where she hadn't been since she was a child, even before she was sent off to Polis to train as a Commander.

"I assume that, in time, I'll be able to tell how much ammunition is left simply by looking at it. This is a skill you have, yes?" Her eyebrows raise with her chin, questioning Shepard with ease. "Not that I expect you to show me that now. I'll learn in time." It's as simple as that.

"I'm only asking, because this is important. There's not a lot of honor or skill in this. It's not just a weapon," Shepard says quietly, because she can crow about her marksmanship all day long, but the truth of the matter is that one determined person with a decent firearm, can ruin a lot of lives with hardly any training at all. She doesn't mask the thought, "It's for killing people."

Maybe it's strange that she should make that distinction. But she did-- a sword could be many things. Pretty, for one, an heirloom, an art form, an honor. You could kill a man with an omnitool, or a knife, or a bow, but all those things could have other uses. In peacetime, they became tools, and in war, weaponry. A rifle might be of some use in hunting, but a military-grade piece like this one can only do one thing, however well it does it.

Like Shepard herself, she supposes.

"Other hand over the bottom to steady, cover the block access. Good, now. Arms straight. Don't lock your elbows-- just hold it firm, not too tight. It'll give you a kick, when it goes off," She redirected gently. It wasn't that the mistakes were fatal, only painful, and if Lexa was going to drop a loaded gun Shepard wanted to be the one laughing at the story, not telling it, "Now. Aim. And squeeze slowly."

She didn't step back, didn't take her hands away. Shepard stayed with Lexa, confident, in control.

Edited (fiddles with dialogue idk) 2017-06-13 19:03 (UTC)

It's not clear at first that Shepard hits a nerve with Lexa, that she hits a spot that makes her feel ill at ease. She follows the instructions so that she can shoot, to follow through with the action, if only because she has to do that. She has to show that she can manage this. But the nerve itself is raw, and when she finishes those final instructions, squeezing slowly and steeling herself in preparation for the sound, it's so that she can follow through. So that she can show them.

After the gun sounds once, twice, a third time, the sound ringing through the range, making her flinch on the second and third shots of ammunition, she lowers the weapon, releasing her finger from the trigger, so that she can angle her face up toward Shepard's.

"I've met men who use guns who have a great deal of honor." Bellamy. Kane. Other members of the Sky People. That isn't all of them. "And I've met those who use bows with the intention of always striking someone from behind. If you string a bow and plant an arrow just right, every blow will be a killing one. In order to survive, you have to be willing to take someone else's life. Not all things are about honor. Or revenge. But there is worth in seeing what cost there is to taking a life." One life may lead to many. That's how it had been for her people.

"Just because I don't bear a weapon doesn't mean that I don't know what the cost of it might be. Take care to restrain your moralizing as we continue." She takes a step forward to extract herself at least somewhat from Shepard's hold, the walls and barriers rising up. It's not Shepard's fault that she hit a point with Lexa that would damage the younger woman's pride, but it happened all the same. And Lexa isn't one to let those wounds go unnoticed, at least if she can make something of it.

And that's precisely what she's doing right now.

At this, Shepard stares, and then smirks, a chuckle living silent in the back of her throat.

"Don't project your insecurities on me," She says, letting Lexa pull away, stepping back herself with hands spread. A gesture of helplessness in the face of circumstance. A placation, "I don't have a problem with killing people. I certainly don't have a problem with doing it from behind, or on purpose."

How many had died, because she had ordered it? Few enough. But how many had she killed? More than she could count in a lifetime. More dead by Shepard's hand than she'd ever seen alive.

"You wanna know about the lives I've taken? The way I fight? Because I'm not keeping any secrets here. I'm the fucking Butcher of Torfan," Her smirk is a smile with teeth and the taste of blood. Shepard's mind is not open, but her shields are dark waters, swirling deep with ink and other things, "That thing in your hand? It's easy to use. Children kill with it. By accident, as much as on purpose. Maybe I'm just trying to be sure that when you blow someone's head off, it's deliberate."

"You patronized me. Whether you realize it or not is another matter. I see no need to line up our dead. I assume the numbers are similar." It's more the matter of hanging honor over her head as if it's something that can be distilled into a weapon that makes her uneasy. She trained from childhood to use weapons. And those weapons were far more intimate than this one. She had blood on her hands before she reached the age of ten.

And Lexa can all too clearly remember the judgment from the Mountain Men, from Skaikru, for how they were willing to turn their "children" into warriors. As if there was something wrong with it.

"It's not a matter of insecurity, Shepard. Be more careful about how you choose your words. All I ask is for respect. And to understand that I've been here for months upon months until we reached this day. I don't make this decision lightly."

Pride can come with blemishes to that pride, but more than that, Lexa is not one to easily lend herself over to an unfamiliar arrangement without some measure of control and understanding in what she's doing. It's her need to communicate that control that has her on edge, to make it clear that she isn't a child picking up a double-edged sword without knowing what it can do to her or to others. To explain that need to voice it is something that she knows comes from her culture, and it's something that also hasn't always sat well here with others. But it's one thing she's not willing to adjust, not entirely.

I assume the numbers are similar.

Not likely.

But Shepard didn't push the issue. There was no need to define the term genocide, or explain how orbital strikes worked, or define the Geth. She stared Lexa down, unimpressed with the outcome. How did this keep happening to her? You try to be nice, and it backfires, like a station populated entirely by angry cats-- or maybe just the one. If the only thing your failures have in common is yourself, after all. Telepathy was supposed to make things easier, not the other way around.

"Don't ask me for a lesson, unless you're willing to take instruction," Shepard said, finally, "If I didn't respect you, I wouldn't have offered. Everybody starts from the beginning. That's how it works."

People think they want pleasure, so they pursue it until they realize what they really want is power. Then they chase that until they find that the real goal is control. Then they continue, pointlessly, until they realize that no one has any control, not really, not over anyone but themselves. Shepard could recognize the signs of reaching the end of her own self-control. So she picked up the rifle she'd left on the bench, and keyed it to fold in on itself, going from a series of elegant curves into the blocky metallic chunk that was its resting state.

"But since you seem to have the time and experience you need for this, I'm sure you can handle the rest of this on your own."

Edited 2017-06-13 22:40 (UTC)

"My rebukes had nothing to do with our experience." Lexa is not quick to let her go. Yes, this is a matter of control, but it comes from a place far more complicated than some selfish desire for it. Her people have been seen as savages, and whether Shepard realizes it or not, she had hit a particular note in her words that spoke to that understanding. It made her seem as if people who don't use weapons can't be monstrous, as if they can't understand how it is to be equals. It made it seem as if she saw Lexa as simple in some way.

The past few months have left her far more aware that the civilization she comes from is different. Those months didn't only occur here, but back before she was rescued, before she took that hand to escape. She knows that all too keenly, and what exceptions she makes, she doesn't make lightly. That had been the case here.

"I asked you to withhold your moralizing. Not the lesson itself. I see now that you don't see where you made a mistake." Lexa doesn't care to go on to explain it to her, because she thought she had made it abundantly clear that it had nothing to do with Lexa knowing about how guns function and more to do with the matter of honor.

"And what moralizing did I give you, exactly? The exact words."

Shepard shrugs it off. She's angry, and disappointed with herself-- Shepard has precious few friends in this world, and of them only one she can trust. She misses the easy military framework, where you lived and died alongside one another. She misses being able to give a recommendation and have it be understood for what it was. She misses kindness, misses being able to say how she feels without immediately starting a fight, the way she always seems to be wrong for the task at hand.

"I'll say it a second time. Don't," Her voice was venom, totally changed from the calm steel. Shepard stopped, breathed, and set the block of rifle down; she didn't quite remember picking it up. She was calm again, "Don't project your insecurities onto me. Don't decide for me what I meant. I'm sick of everyone here deciding that we know one other, just because we can pick up each other's god damn moods."

Not that it's a subtle mood, mind you.

In response, Shepard's mood forces her to calm, to build up a frigid, icy wall, like she hates any and all demonstrations of emotions. Lexa has no idea what's going through the other woman's mind, and she isn't prying for any particular details. She knows that her status as a member of this Nest could aid her in that arena, as she's been around for long enough to have some practice. She knows that, but doesn't act on it.

It's this icy wall that helps her keep calm. Maintaining a distance from someone else emotionally is her strength here, and it's what makes it so that she can find a diplomatic balance.

"I decided nothing." The words are careful, controlled, and delivered in such a way that it's clear that there's some purposeful ambiguity to it. Lexa debates over telling her more, or being difficult. That part of her is drawn in two directions. She decides to be diplomatic, however. It seems that Shepard is offering her that chance, and is willing to listen. She at least has to offer up something in return.

"You're simply missing where you made a mistake." That isn't to say that she didn't make one. Lexa won't bend that willingly. "My people never used guns because we were told that we would all be obliterated if we tried. Our enemies kept missiles so that they could show us their power should we ever choose that. And as a result, we were forced to survive with less power than everyone around us. We were kept primitive, so to speak. I feel a great deal of pride for my people and what they've managed despite all this, but you spoke as if you thought I came from a group that was somehow too ... naive, too grounded in foundations of honor, to know what choice I was making."

That's where it was never a matter of insecurity. Lexa feels a great deal of pride for where she's come from and her people, and it felt as if Shepard had begun to utilize the lesson to patronize her for that pride. As if she didn't understand what she did. It's why she fails to see it as a matter of projection. From where she stands, Shepard had done a wrong that many others had already done. Lexa (and her people) usually didn't let that particular slight slide.

Of all the people in the world subject to naivete, Shepard would least have categorized what little she had known, of Lexa's. Tech was one thing, but that was just manner and firepower. From Shepard's perspective, it came from those with too much luxury, that destructive, stupid almost-innocence. You couldn't trust comfortable people, but the other kind understood how the world worked.

Part of why she liked the Krogan so much, after all.

"And I would have known all this enough to make an insult out of it... how, exactly?" Shepard's not budging either, unwilling to offer lipservice to something she isn't feeling, "Look, your people's situation sounds particularly screwed up, but that isn't anything close to what I meant, or what I think."

She hesitates, moving through the same decision. Shepard wanted to go. But what did the situation need? It used to feel simple. She's been wrong too often lately for confidence. Shepard considers just leaving, considers letting herself begin a more deadly version of this fight. Decides, in the end; just one more.

"I heard that line when I learned to shoot, so if anybody's culture is preoccupied with honor, maybe it's mine. So you can be insulted all you want, but so far as I'm concerned, I'm trying to be your friend."

"For some, resistance against using a weapon is all someone needs. My people only bring up honor when we want to make someone feel bad for slighting us. I'm not foolish enough to believe that we're truly honorable in the end." She knows this now, though her thoughts before meeting Skaikru were different. Sometimes, her people had to fortify themselves against many attacks. It seems like she's not the only one.

"What just happened is a misunderstanding. I never asked to end our lesson. I intended to make it clear that you weren't to speak to me as many have spoken to my people before." But in that, she had lashed out in her cold, distant way, making the circumstances between them all the harder.

Lexa doesn't apologize for the misunderstanding, but then, she figures that she's not going to make amends through apologies in most scenarios. That's where her pride is an issue. Or where she's just plain difficult.

"If you wish to continue, I'd be glad to." Lexa also makes no remarks about friendship, as that would leave her too open, too bare, for someone to see. Intimacy is hard for her, and something that she enters with great difficulty if she acknowledges it.

Shepard might like an apology, but she doesn't need one. If the entire galaxy can stomp her down and then ask for help in the next breath, then why should any individual apologize? It's not like anyone ever did before.

Shepard sighs, eyes closed, and runs a hand through the hair at the back of her head. Her amp port is itchy, and she's tired. She's always tired. Suck it up, princess.

"It really isn't that complicated, from here. Just practice. Figure out how the weapon feels, the way it aims. Get the strength in your wrists, not that you'll need much work there," she flaps a hand in the direction of Lexa's more traditional weaponry, "You want advice, shoot it and keep shooting, let it overheat once, so you know the warning signs. Come back tomorrow, practice some more."

Inspiration struck; what would feel good, right now, what would feel really very good, is to blow something completely apart. Shepard looked toward the weapons locker, a speculative glance, and then cocked her head the other way, decision made.

"Tell you what, I'm gonna set up a rifle, do some long-range practice. You see about making consistent hits on the target, I'll show you how to clean that pistol, and we'll call it a day. Deal?"

"Very well." It's fair enough. She considers the fact of the rifle, of the long-range practice, and recalls the Mountain Man who stood in a tree and took out countless numbers of her people after they bombed their village. It's a skill she'd like to have. But then, Lexa's fond of having a number of abilities up her sleeve. That's what comes with survival.

"You'll have to show me how to use that rifle later," she adds, sliding back into positioning, remembering the hold that Shepard had on her. It's as much of a statement of going forward with this as they might muster right now, given that more talking is likely going to lead to more difficulties in communicating.

"You can try my rifle if you want," Shepard replied, not at all kindly, as she stepped away and began looking for the gun she wanted, "But I think you might change your mind."

She could probably stop being an asshole. But that would be a telling sign that she had been subsumed into the nest and replaced with a doppleganger. The gun in question was enormous, heavy enough that Shepard carried it leaning on one shoulder, and it only got longer when she unfolded it. A big, ugly-looking matte black sniper rifle.

She keyed up a target, took her time, and waited patiently for a break in Lexa's own shots. Then she fired. The sound, in the enclosed space, was fantastically loud. The target lost its head and a portion of one shoulder; Shepard frowned. Off-center. Garrus would've laughed at her, if he'd have seen it. She hit the button for a fresh target, lined up another shot, and continued in that vein for a while. It felt good to focus, to do just one thing with all her concentration, and let the rest fall away.

Until Lexa decided she wanted more attention, at least. But let that happen in its own time. For now, only this.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[training log] we are the champions

Range

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makes wild assumptions idk

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fwiw you are bullshitting rather believably

thanks i am enjoying it a lot

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