A Hit And A Miss
A Hit and A Miss
Summary: Willem and Castor have a discussion at the range.
Date: PHD015
Related Logs: Laundry And Robots

Firing Range

Drarelle nods to Wil, "I wouldn't want to lose a decent Pilot for the sake of another weapon-arm." He frowns in concentration thinking of the answer, "I don't feel much here, it is the same as in any deployment feel nothing, shoot and move, I suppose it's part of being a Marine, being desensitized to anything but the mission."

Willem is wearing his standard protective gear, getting some sidearm practice in against some poor, defenseless targets. As he goes through the smooth, robotic process of changing mags, he comments again, bemusedly. "That's actually what it is. I just descibed it differently. I guess I class that as relaxation, these days. Again, I'd describe life in the cockpit that way."

A new face steps into the firing range. Following all appropriate procedures Castor steps into the range. He takes a spot beside the other two men. Noticing Willem he and his friend he says, "Lieutenants." He then settles into place and checks his pistol.

After jamming the mag back in, Wil's expression turns rather blank as he pops off a few more shots at the next pop-up target. And manages to miss, again, his sidearm bouncing high and wide, recoil taking its toll. He winces. "That was…embarassing. Oh hey." He finally comments upon seeing Castor's approach. Looking sheepish.

Castor takes aim and misses badly as the bullet hits…somone elses target. "What the frak?!" Castor says, "Hey, did you ever find the person you were looking for?"

Drarelle nods to the other Pilot, he's breathing easy, carefully pulling his shots between his breaths, he pauses to speak "Take your time…..what is your name by the way?" He squeezes off another couple of shots into the target that Castor just shot, almost exactly in the same spot.

Fortunately, both Willem and Castor are here to make Drarelle look even better than he already is. Which is no mean feat; he's pretty damn good at this. Wil's head lolls to one side, first responding to his earlier companion here. "Oh. Name's Price." He elaborates. "Ell Tee Jig Willem Price. Or Wil." Another pause, finally, he admits, "Or 'Rebound.'" Yeah, there's probably a story there. Muffling an embarrased smirk, he then turns back towards Castor. "Case? Yeah, I finally caught up with her. On CAP, that is. It wasn't crucial, I just wanted to go over some stuff with her."

Castor isn't sure if he was being asked, "Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Castor Leda, Viper Jock and you are?" He then then checks his chamber again. "Glad to see you found her, Wil." He then looks over at Drarelle, "So, where did you learn to shoot like that? Are you going to shoot an apple off of someone's head next?" He says jokingly but in awe of the shot.

Wil just can't seem to clear his head, or steady his arm. "I keep thinking frakking up like this will teach me what I'm doing wrong." He states, dryly, as he goes a bit wide. That's not as bad as it was before, but still. Or maybe Castor showing up just jinxed him. "Anyway, yeah, I tend to find her whether I want to or not. Then again it's the best wing assignment I've had. She's a good stick, and has got a sense of humor. Did you have fun with the Raptor crew?" He looks towards Drarelle afterwards to see how the Marine officer's doing. There's no sense of competition here, just study.

Castor raises his pistol and places a target just a little left of the heart a solid hit. He then checks his pistol again, "How do you get to the Caprica Opera House? Practice, practice, practice." he then looks over at Wil, "Yeah, we played Monopoly, it was a lot of fun. I got frakin' beat pretty badly though and that is why I'm a pilot and not a banker."

"And I think I'm working a dive bar on open mic night at this rate." Wil says, deadpan as he measures his own progress. "Sounded fun. I almost decided to join in. Since the Charybdis Recon duty's been kicking my ass. I only met one of those ECO's before, really. Seen the lady at a briefing but no real idea who she is. Other than a name, of course."

Castor chuckles and aims only to jam his gun. It takes Castor a moment to fix the jam, "If your working open mic night than I am the drunk out back singing his own tune." He then nods as he resets his pistol, "The Raptor crew is full of good people. Pilots are pilots, no use in getting out measuring sticks because all of it is hard to fly. Frak, I say the Raptor Jocks have it harder since they are almost never armed. That takes a heavy brass level of courage."

"Generally speaking, yah. I've only ever spent a lot of time with the Cap and one of their Ensigns, but you've got a point." Wil considers. He's off his game again, as the clip empties and he methodically begins changing another mag. "I have a feeling they're not going to be unarmed much anymore." He notes, warily.

Castor takes aim and pulls off another solid shot this time to the right of the heart. "Well, Frak me…" he then resets, "Yeah? Why's that? I've heard of the missle pod configuration, do you think they'll put a 50 mm on a Raptor? I mean you'd have to arm her heavily since she isn't as manuverable the Vipers."

"I think they should have a long time ago. Then again, I don't have the aeronautical engineering chops." Wil says, this time starting his aim a little -too- low, grazing the target, after finishing the mag change. "You know, to really make that call. My grandfather was a Raptor driver though. They had the same weaknesses in the War." Which of course, meant, -that- war. Not this one, the one they're in now. He still is adjusting.

Castor takes aim again and bam another solid shot this time just above the heart. "Point of correction, where are we going to find the guns to fit them with I mean frak how would we do something like that." He sets up again. "Clearly, you've never went to Aquaria all the sailors are rum powered and that was in peacetime."

FINALLY. Wil's shots retain their general focus around center mass of the target as his eyes narrow in something resembling satisfaction. He says, grimly, "There's a solar system full of salvage out here, I'm sure. I mean, look at the junk surrounding the Charybdis. It's not the salvage I'm worried about, it's the expertise. Command staff busts us back to Condition 2 and suddenly we'll have a lot of sober personnel." He adds, belatedly. "Never made it to Aquaria. I heard it was nice for that sort of thing, though. Especially if you like fish."

Castor smiles at the shot, "Nice shot." He then takes aim and manages another solid shot this one right under the heart. "Personnel should be sober…except when they are off duty, then excessive drinking should commence leaving enough time to come back for duty." He then smirks as he checks his pistol. "Ah, the fish there was amazing. Best way, go to the local market, eat it raw right off the deck."

Wil can't help himself but smile at that, even if the smile is distant. "I'm no teetotaler. Don't get the wrong impression." He seems to be taking a break from shots, maybe quitting while he's ahead. At least for the next few minutes. "I just haven't had it in me, lately." Pausing a few moments more, he interjects his own bit of nostalgia. "Yeah. Most of the colonies seemed to have their little gems. Most. I'm a Libran though, so…There's a lot to miss. Even if I did spend way too much of my time on Tauron the last few years. And the little stint on Picon."

Castor aims and fires this time getting the heart a little on the left. He checks his pistol and then says, "You were planet side? Frak, I've been on deployment on Battlestar Orpheus pretty much my whole career. I haven't hardly been planetside in well seven years."

"Only on leave. I guess I counted it by default. I got…" Wil continues to linger without firing, his lips crooking in half a grin, "'honored' with a posting at Tau Garrison which was near the Arm Line by Tauron itself. I just went there on leave but it was the closest thing to a planet. It had its charms." He says, with that typically smooth Libran diplomacy.

Castor chuckles, "Uh-huh, so, it was okays for a 50 year old rat hole. Got it." He then rubs his chin, "You know I really don't think I ever left the Orpheus even when I had leave I just holed up somewhere as private as I could find and just mellowed out on my own." He then asks, "Okay, assuming you had leave and you could go anywhere right now, where would you go and why?"

Willem looks at the sidearm in his hand as he turns it and idly studies its shape, its manufacture. Finally he looks back up at Castor. "I've always been nosy. Always been an explorer. I mean, I do my job and I know what that job is, but if I got leave I'd always see how far I could go with it." His next answer to Castor's direct question takes several moments of contemplation. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I'd go to whatever planet, or ship, or whatever the Cylons holed up at and just start frakking screaming at them, telling them they made a -terrible- mistake as long as one raggedy-ass Escort Carrier remained in Colonial hands." He snorts a bit, indicating this answer was somewhat facetious. Obviously. "Oh, you mean, if I -could-. I'd go back to Tauron to visit an old friend. Take her back to Libris. Maybe meet mom, dad, my cousin Annie. Settle down in some rathole apartment in downtown Corinth. Become a writer. But I'd miss flying, I suppose." His expression is carefully neutral. "Not suppose. Would. Definitely."

Castor gives a nod to Willem's first response, "Fair enough. It is good to know what is on the horizon. There is an old Aquarian expression, 'Keep your feet on deck and your eyes on the horizon.' It means always look ahead and you'll be fine." He then listens to the second response, "First off, I am not sure the Cylons would listen to the screaming. Though that could be a good way to get your frustraion out." As for hearing about Corinth he pauses for a moment taking the answer in and says, "A writer? What genre would you like to write? I'm going to guess some sort of military drama?"

Wil nods at the aphorism from Aquaria. "Sayings like that tell you a lot about a people. Everything is nautical but really, eh, I haven't a clue what's on the horizon. Is there a saying for sailing blind?" Again with the bit of a grin, as he considers, in a few brief moments, maybe his future, the future of the Kharon, and whatever's left of the Colonial military. "I don't want to speculate on what the Cylons want or don't want anymore, it's driving me insane. But to answer your question..Nah. Some of the a people's history of the Twelve Colonies. Maybe a drama based on it, too, but there's enough drama in there without having to go develop my own."

Castor grins, "Well, we Aquarians like the ocean, it reminds us who we are and where we are going. You lose your ship sails and your dead but if you lose your engines in space you drift." He then considers, "Maybe you should write a script about us and what we are doing to survive. I mean, people in the future will need to know about all of this." He then considers the word, Cylon, again. It rolls through his head for a moment before he says, "Well, I don't know either. If we are lucky they think we are dead and we can find someplace safe to settledown in and start humanity all over again. So long as we have a ship to sail and a wind to sail her on we have hope."

"That seems as good an idea as any." Wil finally considers, popping out the mag and has apparently decided that maybe, just maybe it -is- a good idea to quit while you're ahead. Grinning crookedly once more, he goes to stow the sidearm in the locker as he mulls over the words. "I've been keeping a log. It's not fleshed out, and sometimes it reads nothing more than, 'Mission Day XXX - Fingers and Tyhpoon were drunk as skunks and slugging it out again,' but at least there's -something-."

Castor takes his cute and stows his pistol as well. "Good. Keep writting, frak, someday this might be important to future generations. Besides, it gives you something to remember who we are, where we've been, and what we've done. Maybe it will help you you and the rest of us sane."

"Maybe next time I'll get a few more headshots." Wil says, ruefully glancing towards the firing range before stowing the rest of the gear appropriately. "You sailors think long-term, don't you?" He actually smiles, a bit. "Good. Guess we need some of that. Wonder who will be left to read it. Heh. Maybe that's not important."

Castor grins, "Keep your feet on the deck, so worry about today first, then look at the horizon when you've got a moment to appreciate it all." He then considers, "This crew needs hope. We all do. Besides, we've got a lot of work to do protecting the human race and you and I are on the front line." He then says dryly, "It's good to be king."

"Finally. Something to feel good about." Come's Wil's own dry retort. "Which reminds me. I got done with my flight log after today's CAP, but I have to pester the CAG about some information as soon as I get a chance."

Castor says,"What sort of info are you looking for, not that I know it but I might?

"Salvage reports and ballistics analyses." Wil considers, tilting his head to one side. "Stuff that hasn't quite been released yet. You know how these things are. People still like to be tight-lipped as if there was a civilian population we could blab it to. Old habits will die hard, I swear."

Castor nods, "If command wants us to wait than we wait, no sense in not trusting them. I'll bet they know as much as we do I mean if they knew something they would tell us."

"Oh, in this case, don't misunderstand me. I have total confidence in command's leadership and intentions." Willem grins, halfheartedly bu there is some firmness to his words. "This ship's got a lot of good people. Moreso, when you consider it's not exactly top-of-the-line. After I made it out of flight school, I kept hoping for a Battlestar. Again after garrison duty" he takes a few steps towards the hatch tenatively as he continues, "same thing. But I got this. And it's not…bad. By any stretch."
but there

Castor follows behind Willem, "I'm still trying to figure out why I was transfered from a Battlestar to here but you know what I survived because I was here and so did you. So yeah, this is not bad by and stretch, so say well."

"So say we all indeed. I'd drink to that. When I'm off duty." Wil notes, as he swings the hatch open. "Speaking of which, we should do that at some point soon. When I'm off-duty."

Castor smirks as he says, "I'm always drinking after duty just tell me when and where and I'll be there."

"Maybe that's a good habit. Lounge tomorrow?" Wil offers, as he starts to step on through.

"Tomorrow then. Now, I gotta get ready for flight." says Castor.

"Good hunting out there. Scratch that. Hope you don't -find- anything." Wil snickers, as he exits.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License