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capeandcowllogs2011-02-24 10:44 pm
the-enemy-ace.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-02-24 10:44 pm
Entry tags:
Getting to know one's Coworkers
WHO: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
newbvampire and the_enemy_ace
WHERE: The police station, in the gun range.
WHEN: Tonight
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Von Hammer is a member of the force now, and it is best to know one's fellow officers...
FORMAT: Para, or whatever!
It was late in the evening. He was, somewhat thankfully, alone. The range here was simple, which was a good sign. Ostentation in practical spaces was a poor idea, and reflective of sloppy thinking. But it was a good building, with efficient people. And he was badly out of practice with a rifle. He wasn't pleased with his gunnery with a pistol, either.
It was odd. He had, after many years of combat, more difficulty hitting a standing target than something travelling at high speed through the air. He was precise in the air. He would be precise on the ground, as he once had been.
And so he practised, long after everyone else had gone. Pistol and rifle. He would, of course, compensate the department for the excess ammunition concerned. He pressed the switch sending a new target down to the other end of the gallery. He enjoyed a bolt-action rifle. It was familiar, and it required precision. You took a moment between shots, long enough to breathe. That split second of calm deliberation was, he found, very useful. He pressed the rifle into his shoulder, taking careful aim.
And then fired his first shot. The bolt was opened, slammed back into place. Then the second. He emptied the rest of the clip, then placed the rifle down, sighing. Then he looked to the side.
"Ah, officer."
newbvampire and the_enemy_aceWHERE: The police station, in the gun range.
WHEN: Tonight
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Von Hammer is a member of the force now, and it is best to know one's fellow officers...
FORMAT: Para, or whatever!
It was late in the evening. He was, somewhat thankfully, alone. The range here was simple, which was a good sign. Ostentation in practical spaces was a poor idea, and reflective of sloppy thinking. But it was a good building, with efficient people. And he was badly out of practice with a rifle. He wasn't pleased with his gunnery with a pistol, either.
It was odd. He had, after many years of combat, more difficulty hitting a standing target than something travelling at high speed through the air. He was precise in the air. He would be precise on the ground, as he once had been.
And so he practised, long after everyone else had gone. Pistol and rifle. He would, of course, compensate the department for the excess ammunition concerned. He pressed the switch sending a new target down to the other end of the gallery. He enjoyed a bolt-action rifle. It was familiar, and it required precision. You took a moment between shots, long enough to breathe. That split second of calm deliberation was, he found, very useful. He pressed the rifle into his shoulder, taking careful aim.
And then fired his first shot. The bolt was opened, slammed back into place. Then the second. He emptied the rest of the clip, then placed the rifle down, sighing. Then he looked to the side.
"Ah, officer."