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Quarantine, Day Eighteen - Entry Three


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#1 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 24 March 2006 - 05:42 AM

Notebrains:

1. Ok, gang, so here it is... Quarantine makes the jump to the Serials Board. I didn't think it would run this long, but you know how these things happen, so...

2. A small amount of "technical" stuff... not too bad, I think, but if you're the type whose eyes glaze over the instant someone starts talking about guns and mentioning numbers, you might want to brace yourself. :roll: Of course, if you read it, you might actually learn something. :wink:

3. Some backstory here, re: one of Colleen's previous relationships...

Quarantine Day Eighteen
Entry Three


You know, I actually don’t mind running up stairs. Now, I don’t consider myself one of those health nuts who survives on granola bars and mineral water – the kind that practically lives in the gym and does Pilates, and yoga and runs five miles every morning. That’s not me. But stairs? Stairs don’t bother me. Good thing, too, because it’s not like we could have just taken the escalators up.

“The Ammu-Nation is on the fourth floor according to the directory thingie I saw downstairs.” Jeff was leading the way, easily taking the steps two, sometimes even three at a time. He had a U.S. Army standard-issue knapsack crammed full of supplies slung over his shoulder, but if it was slowing him down, any, he wasn’t showing it.

I kept pace with him pretty easily, pulling up alongside him as we exited onto the mall’s third floor. The place was littered with shattered glass from the smashed storefront windows. The broken plate-glass was everywhere, crunching under our boots as we moved. Across the way, over by what was left of a Sam Goody music store, was another flight of stairs joining the third and fourth floors. I turned my head and shot my dear friend a look. “Store’s probably already been completely looted. Do you really think we’ll find anything useful in there?”

He shrugged, shook his head and frowned a little. “Honestly, no… but we’ve been over this, Colleen. We don’t exactly have a lot of choice, here. I’d rather take the chance and end up finding something than not bothering to even look and having nothing left to fight with when things get squirrely. And they will.” He said that last with such conviction that it threw me a little. Not that I didn’t think he was right, mind you, just… it always surprised me how… earnest he could be about things.

I shot him a small, wry smile. “You have such a sunny outlook on life, Jefferson.”

His response to that was a quick burst of air blown out in something resembling an irritated grunt. “Yeah, I leave the sunshine-y crap to you.” He nodded to the sidearm holstered at my hip, as if noticing it for the first time. “You’re using a .40, right?”

Ok, so I’m not the most knowledgable person when it comes to guns, but I’m not completely clueless, either. At the very least, I knew that the “Forty” he was referring to wasn’t a can of malt liquor (As much as I could have used one just then,) but my police-issue handgun. I even knew that “.40” meant the bullets the weapon fired were four-tenths of an inch in diameter. Ha! Didn’t think I knew that, did ya? That’s right. You’ll find I’m full of surprises.

Anyway, I’d never really had reason to fire the damn thing before this whole zombie business, but I’d kept it in good condition and it still worked as cleanly as it did when it was first issued to me. One of those rare instances where I proved to actually be a responsible human being, I guess.

I noticed that, during the conversation, my hand had absent-mindedly drifted down to the pistol’s grip. It was odd, since I’d never considered myself much of a gun maniac, but it felt very reassuring knowing the weapon was there in case I needed it. I couldn’t fire it worth a damn, but, still… it was the principle of the thing. “I actually want to switch to something a little smaller,” I said to him. “Maybe a nine mill. I was having a hard time with the recoil, earlier.”

“Earlier” being Day One of the Quarantine, which was pretty much the first and, to date, last time I’d ever actually shot the thing. My fingertips had stung for hours afterwards.

He shrugged. “Rounds that size do have a kick to them, but it’s probably just that you need more practice.” He frowned, mulling the whole question over for the space of a few seconds. “Could be your grip, too. Might be off a little.”

Probably. I got my basic qualification at the Academy, and that was about it. I’d done just enough to squeeze past, and had left it at that. Actually, to tell you the truth, squeaking by by the skin of my teeth had pretty much been a driving philosophy in my life for the past twenty-seven years-

Yep. Twenty-seven years, as of September 23, 2005… Holy crap, I’m old.

But yeah, moving on… some of the cadets in my Academy class had gotten their jollies visiting the pistol range every chance they got. As if the opportunity to carry firearms (Legally!) was their only reason for joining the force – the be-all and end-all of police work as it were. I hadn’t shared their outlook. Still didn’t.

Granted, there were times (like now) when I regretted not having been one of those people putting bullet holes in paper targets every free minute I had. Feelings like that were especially strong these days… especially given that most of the “extracurricular” activities I had participated in during my academy tenure and the years since then, had proven to be Mt. Helens-scale disasters. We’re talking slogging through three feet of poisonous, volcanic ash, here, folks. That bad. And yes, Brenna Masterson, I refer to you. You can kiss the fattest part of my bony ass.

As had become standard procedure whenever I began to lose focus, it was Jeff who brought me back to the real world. “Colleen?” He held a hand in front of my face and snapped his fingers several times to get my attention.

I slowly drifted back to the here and now. “Huh?”

“You were daydreaming, again.”

“Wasn’t much of a dream,” I said with a grimace. “More nightmare, really.”

He tilted his head, his face clearly registering curiosity. “What about?”

“Brenna.” The word… the name… tasted like ashes in my mouth.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, hoping it would help me get my thoughts back together. It… didn’t work very well.

“You all right?”

I tossed him a half shrug. “I… guess…” I said. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.” That much was true. The problem was, while it didn’t bug me as much as it once had, it still bothered me a lot. And to be honest, I was getting really sick of the whole damn mess, and how it kept screwing with my head. It had been over a year since the Brenna thing had blown up in my face… more like a year and a half, actually. I fully expected to be over it by now, but I guess I’d never really managed that.

As for Jeff, he knew what a sensitive subject the whole ugly, Godforsaken business really was. It’d been him who helped me through those dreadful first weeks in the first place.

“Wanna gripe about it?”

“Not right now,” I told him, managing to scrape together a small smile, though I really didn’t feel like smiling.

Jeff knew the whole story. There wasn’t much more to say about it that hadn’t already been covered thorugh hours of crying, whining, watching crappy movies on TV, eating ice cream, and general mopiness. “Anyway, what were you saying before? About my shooting stance?”

“Just that I wanted to see what it looked like. I was hoping I might be able to help you clean it up a little – improve your shooting accuracy… you know, before I have to trust you with live rounds again.” He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a danger to myself and others.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Though I’ll admit I wish I’d paid more attention when you were blabbing about this kinda stuff.”

“It’s ok. It -is- kinda a ‘guy thing,’ anyway.”

“Guess so.”

Jeff ran me through a couple of basic drills – really rudimentary stuff, like keeping my elbows straight when firing to cut down on how much my aim wavered, or how to keep the muscles in my arms from tightening up and fighting the recoil too much. He even gave me a couple of tips on how to draw, aim, and fire more quickly… it was the kind of thing I should have learned a long time ago, but had never really bothered to pay attention to.

A few minutes of practice helped some. I was certainly far from being an expert, but after a couple of exercises, I was also a lot less likely to shoot my own foot off or something.

I was just slipping my issue back into its holster when a poster on the wall of the store caught my eye. It was a picture of a submachine gun – a Heckler & Koch MP-5, to be exact, just like the ones you always saw in the movies. Like I said, I’m not much of a firearm… enthusiast, but I have to admit, that thing looked sleek. “You know, wouldn’t mind having one of those.”

Jeff chuckled. “Baby steps, Colleen. Baby steps.”

“But… look at it… it’s like fifteen hundred dollars of hot, sexy death…”

#2 Guest_Theodur_*

Posted 24 March 2006 - 08:19 AM

1. Ok, gang, so here it is... Quarantine makes the jump to the Serials Board. I didn't think it would run this long, but you know how these things happen, so...


Ah, good. I just don’t like the Quiz board all that much… It scares me. :?

2. A small amount of "technical" stuff... not too bad, I think, but if you're the type whose eyes glaze over the instant someone starts talking about guns and mentioning numbers, you might want to brace yourself. :) Of course, if you read it, you might actually learn something. :wink:


That’s what all my teachers used to say, and they couldn’t have been more wrong. ;)

3. Some backstory here, re: one of Colleen's previous relationships...


Colleen? Relationships? Gaah, I’m scared. ;)

You know, I actually don’t mind running up stairs. Now, I don’t consider myself one of those health nuts who survives on granola bars and mineral water – the kind that practically lives in the gym and does Pilates, and yoga and runs five miles every morning. That’s not me. But stairs? Stairs don’t bother me. Good thing, too, because it’s not like we could have just taken the escalators up.


I hate stairs. I’m usually short of breath when I get to the top of most stairs. :evil:

Ok, so I’m not the most knowledgable person when it comes to guns, but I’m not completely clueless, either. At the very least, I knew that the “Forty” he was referring to wasn’t a can of malt liquor (As much as I could have used one just then,) but my police-issue handgun. I even knew that “.40” meant the bullets the weapon fired were four-tenths of an inch in diameter. Ha! Didn’t think I knew that, did ya? That’s right. You’ll find I’m full of surprises.


Aren’t you, oh, I don’t know, supposed to know these things before they hand you the gun? ;)

“Earlier” being Day One of the Quarantine, which was pretty much the first and, to date, last time I’d ever actually shot the thing. My fingertips had stung for hours afterwards.


Skipped on the practice at the shooting range?

Yep. Twenty-seven years, as of September 23, 2005… Holy crap, I’m old.


Wow, I’ll be old in a couple of months then. ;)

Granted, there were times (like now) when I regretted not having been one of those people putting bullet holes in paper targets every free minute I had. Feelings like that were especially strong these days… especially given that most of the “extracurricular” activities I had participated in during my academy tenure and the years since then, had proven to be Mt. Helens-scale disasters. We’re talking slogging through three feet of poisonous, volcanic ash, here, folks. That bad. And yes, Brenna Masterson, I refer to you. You can kiss the fattest part of my bony ass.


Guess she must have, in her time. ;)

Jeff knew the whole story. There wasn’t much more to say about it that hadn’t already been covered thorugh hours of crying, whining, watching crappy movies on TV, eating ice cream, and general mopiness.


Some people don’t need a collapsed relationship to act that way. :roll:

A few minutes of practice helped some. I was certainly far from being an expert, but after a couple of exercises, I was also a lot less likely to shoot my own foot off or something.


As long as you can hit the broadside of a zombie. :D

I was just slipping my issue back into its holster when a poster on the wall of the store caught my eye. It was a picture of a submachine gun – a Heckler & Koch MP-5, to be exact, just like the ones you always saw in the movies. Like I said, I’m not much of a firearm… enthusiast, but I have to admit, that thing looked sleek. “You know, wouldn’t mind having one of those.”


Those do look pretty sleek, indeed. :D

“But… look at it… it’s like fifteen hundred dollars of hot, sexy death…”


Whose death, mind? ;)

#3 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 24 March 2006 - 05:01 PM

Ah, good. I just don’t like the Quiz board all that much… It scares me.


Ummmmmm... why?

You know, I find that curious. Ursula says the Serials board scares her, you say the quiz board scares you. I guess I just don't get what's so intimidating about either. (Shrug)

That’s what all my teachers used to say, and they couldn’t have been more wrong.


Yeah, well, I regret not paying as much attention in some classes as I should have. :D

Colleen? Relationships? Gaah, I’m scared.


You wink now, but truth be told, one or two in particular were just plain bad... the kinds of things that even someone like Colleen couldn't make jokes about. Real bad. :wink:

I hate stairs. I’m usually short of breath when I get to the top of most stairs.


Depends on how many flights we're talking... and usually, it's not shortness of breath that gets me, it's the leg burn. I hate that feeling.

Aren’t you, oh, I don’t know, supposed to know these things before they hand you the gun?


I don't think basic gun safety necessarily involves talking about the diameter of the bullet, the amount of gunpowder in the cartridge, etc. Basic gun safety is pretty much "Don't look down the barrel of a gun, don't point it at anything you don't actually want to destroy. Etc. etc." ;)

Wow, I’ll be old in a couple of months then.


Heh. Colleen is pretty young, yes. She just jokes about being old. :wink: Of course, Falynn and Enara and such are -really- young, so that doesn't help any.

Guess she must have, in her time.


Not really. Brenna was... well... pretty bitchy... and not very affectionate at all. :)

Some people don’t need a collapsed relationship to act that way.


True enough. But this is more a testament to just how bad the hurt was. Poor thing. :)

Those do look pretty sleek, indeed.


Especially the ones with the collapsible stocks. Compact and sleek, and oh, so deadly. :)

Whose death, mind?


Well, that -is- the trick, yes.

#4 Guest_VigaHrolf_*

Posted 24 March 2006 - 08:57 PM

1. Ok, gang, so here it is... Quarantine makes the jump to the Serials Board. I didn't think it would run this long, but you know how these things happen, so...


Velcommen, velcommen.

And it's about time. :)

2. A small amount of "technical" stuff... not too bad, I think, but if you're the type whose eyes glaze over the instant someone starts talking about guns and mentioning numbers, you might want to brace yourself. :wink: Of course, if you read it, you might actually learn something. :)


Learn something? Heaven forbid it. :D

3. Some backstory here, re: one of Colleen's previous relationships...


Ho ho ho! Merry XXXmas. ;)

You know, I actually don’t mind running up stairs. Now, I don’t consider myself one of those health nuts who survives on granola bars and mineral water – the kind that practically lives in the gym and does Pilates, and yoga and runs five miles every morning. That’s not me. But stairs? Stairs don’t bother me. Good thing, too, because it’s not like we could have just taken the escalators up.


ID: "So, you can run up a few flights of stairs. Congratulations, you're exceptionally..." *pauses* "Actually, most people are winded by that, so good on ya."

“The Ammu-Nation is on the fourth floor according to the directory thingie I saw downstairs.” Jeff was leading the way, easily taking the steps two, sometimes even three at a time. He had a U.S. Army standard-issue knapsack crammed full of supplies slung over his shoulder, but if it was slowing him down, any, he wasn’t showing it.


GT: "Its amazing how much of Army life involves running around with a lot of heavy gear. I mean seriously? We've got tanks and stuff, and we do a whole lot of running. Jeez."

I kept pace with him pretty easily, pulling up alongside him as we exited onto the mall’s third floor. The place was littered with shattered glass from the smashed storefront windows. The broken plate-glass was everywhere, crunching under our boots as we moved. Across the way, over by what was left of a Sam Goody music store, was another flight of stairs joining the third and fourth floors. I turned my head and shot my dear friend a look. “Store’s probably already been completely looted. Do you really think we’ll find anything useful in there?”


Ahhh.. plate glass. Lots of little lovely bits to cut and trim your feet.

He shrugged, shook his head and frowned a little. “Honestly, no… but we’ve been over this, Colleen. We don’t exactly have a lot of choice, here. I’d rather take the chance and end up finding something than not bothering to even look and having nothing left to fight with when things get squirrely. And they will.” He said that last with such conviction that it threw me a little. Not that I didn’t think he was right, mind you, just… it always surprised me how… earnest he could be about things.


ID: "So long as Mr Murphy exists, things will always get 'squirrely.'"

GT: "Mr. Murphy is an optimist. And an SOB bad enough to make Sargeants cry."

I shot him a small, wry smile. “You have such a sunny outlook on life, Jefferson.”


ID: "Better to be practical than to be too optimistic. Optimisim and stupidity are two of the most dangerous forces out there. Now combine them and you've got a recepie for trouble."

Ok, so I’m not the most knowledgable person when it comes to guns, but I’m not completely clueless, either. At the very least, I knew that the “Forty” he was referring to wasn’t a can of malt liquor (As much as I could have used one just then,) but my police-issue handgun. I even knew that “.40” meant the bullets the weapon fired were four-tenths of an inch in diameter. Ha! Didn’t think I knew that, did ya? That’s right. You’ll find I’m full of surprises.


ID: "I'm still surprised you know which end of the gun you're suppose to point at the target, so this is completely mindblowing."

Anyway, I’d never really had reason to fire the damn thing before this whole zombie business, but I’d kept it in good condition and it still worked as cleanly as it did when it was first issued to me. One of those rare instances where I proved to actually be a responsible human being, I guess.


ID: "Extremely rare. So rare as such instances are considered mythical in some circles."

I noticed that, during the conversation, my hand had absent-mindedly drifted down to the pistol’s grip. It was odd, since I’d never considered myself much of a gun maniac, but it felt very reassuring knowing the weapon was there in case I needed it. I couldn’t fire it worth a damn, but, still… it was the principle of the thing. “I actually want to switch to something a little smaller,” I said to him. “Maybe a nine mill. I was having a hard time with the recoil, earlier.”


ID: "And once you actually learn to fire better than a drunk 17 year old with a serious astygmatism, you'll actually have a reason to be confident wearing such a weapon."

“Earlier” being Day One of the Quarantine, which was pretty much the first and, to date, last time I’d ever actually shot the thing. My fingertips had stung for hours afterwards.


ID: "Probably holding it too tight and not compensating for recoil well enough. Let's see your stance."

Probably. I got my basic qualification at the Academy, and that was about it. I’d done just enough to squeeze past, and had left it at that. Actually, to tell you the truth, squeaking by by the skin of my teeth had pretty much been a driving philosophy in my life for the past twenty-seven years-


ID: "As we are well aware of Colleen."

Yep. Twenty-seven years, as of September 23, 2005… Holy crap, I’m old.


GT: "Ho boy are you old. Dayum."

But yeah, moving on… some of the cadets in my Academy class had gotten their jollies visiting the pistol range every chance they got. As if the opportunity to carry firearms (Legally!) was their only reason for joining the force – the be-all and end-all of police work as it were. I hadn’t shared their outlook. Still didn’t.


ID: *rolls eyes* "Yes, there were far too many of them in my class at the Academy too. I swear some of those boys would have humped their service pieces if they could have found a way to."

Granted, there were times (like now) when I regretted not having been one of those people putting bullet holes in paper targets every free minute I had. Feelings like that were especially strong these days… especially given that most of the “extracurricular” activities I had participated in during my academy tenure and the years since then, had proven to be Mt. Helens-scale disasters. We’re talking slogging through three feet of poisonous, volcanic ash, here, folks. That bad. And yes, Brenna Masterson, I refer to you. You can kiss the fattest part of my bony ass.


That's always a big happy. Ugh.

As had become standard procedure whenever I began to lose focus, it was Jeff who brought me back to the real world. “Colleen?” He held a hand in front of my face and snapped his fingers several times to get my attention.


ID: "Someone has to keep you focused."

“Wasn’t much of a dream,” I said with a grimace. “More nightmare, really.”


ID: "Being awake in this city is one unending nightmare. Sleeping, at least there's some variation in the imagery."

He tilted his head, his face clearly registering curiosity. “What about?”

“Brenna.” The word… the name… tasted like ashes in my mouth.

“Oh.”


ID: *looks rueful* "Sounds like one of those real winners."

TK: "Women. Rip your heart out and then use the hole in your chest to plant petunias."

ID: "That's... an image."

TK: "Yeah. It is."

“Yeah.” I shook my head, hoping it would help me get my thoughts back together. It… didn’t work very well.


I think that one's alright. :)

I tossed him a half shrug. “I… guess…” I said. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.” That much was true. The problem was, while it didn’t bug me as much as it once had, it still bothered me a lot. And to be honest, I was getting really sick of the whole damn mess, and how it kept screwing with my head. It had been over a year since the Brenna thing had blown up in my face… more like a year and a half, actually. I fully expected to be over it by now, but I guess I’d never really managed that.


And now, with all the extra stress, all the old problems take on new levels of obnoxiousness and evil.

Jeff knew the whole story. There wasn’t much more to say about it that hadn’t already been covered thorugh hours of crying, whining, watching crappy movies on TV, eating ice cream, and general mopiness. “Anyway, what were you saying before? About my shooting stance?”


Good. Move to a different topic. Always a good choice.

“Just that I wanted to see what it looked like. I was hoping I might be able to help you clean it up a little – improve your shooting accuracy… you know, before I have to trust you with live rounds again.” He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a danger to myself and others.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Though I’ll admit I wish I’d paid more attention when you were blabbing about this kinda stuff.”


ID: "Who knows, it might just turn out to be useful."

“It’s ok. It -is- kinda a ‘guy thing,’ anyway.”


ID: "Typical sexist crap." *grins* "But it certainly helped me hustle some serious cash at the firing ranges. I mean, what could a girl possibly know about shooting? Other than being on the MPD pistol team and qualifying for Nationals?"

Jeff ran me through a couple of basic drills – really rudimentary stuff, like keeping my elbows straight when firing to cut down on how much my aim wavered, or how to keep the muscles in my arms from tightening up and fighting the recoil too much. He even gave me a couple of tips on how to draw, aim, and fire more quickly… it was the kind of thing I should have learned a long time ago, but had never really bothered to pay attention to.


And now, you've got to learn. ;)

A few minutes of practice helped some. I was certainly far from being an expert, but after a couple of exercises, I was also a lot less likely to shoot my own foot off or something.


And considering the state of medical tech in Malton, that would be bad.

ID: "Just remember not to shoot anyone else's foot off."

I was just slipping my issue back into its holster when a poster on the wall of the store caught my eye. It was a picture of a submachine gun – a Heckler & Koch MP-5, to be exact, just like the ones you always saw in the movies. Like I said, I’m not much of a firearm… enthusiast, but I have to admit, that thing looked sleek. “You know, wouldn’t mind having one of those.”


ID: "Oh hell no."

GT: "I'm scared. Someone hold me."

ID: "As terrified as the thought of Officer Nixon with a loaded MP5 is, I'm not falling for it."

GT: "Nuts."

Jeff chuckled. “Baby steps, Colleen. Baby steps.”


Along the lines of the journey of a thousand steps... :)

“But… look at it… it’s like fifteen hundred dollars of hot, sexy death…”


:wink: Such a cool gun.

Great chapter Alpha. Great chapter.

VH

#5 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 24 March 2006 - 11:12 PM

Velcommen, velcommen.


That your half-assed attempt at German? :wink:

And it's about time.


Heh. Well, sorry... but I wasn't expecting Quarantine to be that long... and it's even longer thanks to your... suggestions. :D

ID: "So, you can run up a few flights of stairs. Congratulations, you're exceptionally..." *pauses* "Actually, most people are winded by that, so good on ya."


CN: (Blinks, then chuckles softly) "Ok." :)

GT: "Its amazing how much of Army life involves running around with a lot of heavy gear. I mean seriously? We've got tanks and stuff, and we do a whole lot of running. Jeez."


JG: "Well, that's just the trick, Greg... -we- don't get tanks. We're infantry. If you look at the origin of the word, it comes from Latin... well, French, more recently... and it literally means 'foot soldier.' So... running's kinda our thing."

Ahhh.. plate glass. Lots of little lovely bits to cut and trim your feet.


Well, that's what boots are for.

ID: "Better to be practical than to be too optimistic. Optimisim and stupidity are two of the most dangerous forces out there. Now combine them and you've got a recepie for trouble."


CN: :wink: "What would you know about recipes? Your culinary skill is limited to pushing buttons on the microwave." :)

ID: "I'm still surprised you know which end of the gun you're suppose to point at the target, so this is completely mindblowing."


CN: "Oh yeah? Well... thpppppppppttttt." ;)

ID: "Extremely rare. So rare as such instances are considered mythical in some circles."


CN: (Rolls eyes) "Oh, come on... just because I'm having fun with life doesn't mean that I'm completely irresponsible. But sometimes you -have- to be a little irresponsible in order to get the most out of existence."

ID: "And once you actually learn to fire better than a drunk 17 year old with a serious astygmatism, you'll actually have a reason to be confident wearing such a weapon."


CN: "Oh, yeah, that's nice. So I'm a child, and blind, and a drunk... that's real clever. Of course, I'm sure even that has its perks. Like, say, not being you... the drunk with the hormonal imbalance and a case of giantism."

(Winces)

CN: "All right, I didn't mean that. That was harsh. I meant -some- of it, but not all of it." ;)

GT: "Ho boy are you old. Dayum."


JG: (Rolls eyes) "If you say so, boy-who-is-barely-a-man." :)

ID: *rolls eyes* "Yes, there were far too many of them in my class at the Academy too. I swear some of those boys would have humped their service pieces if they could have found a way to."


CN: "That why you're so attached to your shotgun?"

ID: *looks rueful* "Sounds like one of those real winners."


CN: (Snorts) "Derlin, you have no idea."

And now, with all the extra stress, all the old problems take on new levels of obnoxiousness and evil.


Pretty much... times like this you really need someone to lean on... and not having one hurts. Makes you remember people you've leaned on in the past... and how you got burned for doing so.

Good. Move to a different topic. Always a good choice.


CN: "My deal with Brenna is... well... it's an issue, and not one that I'm feeling in the mood to talk about right now. Let's just say she and I didn't part on good terms."

ID: "Who knows, it might just turn out to be useful."


CN: "Yeah, that's what one of my math professors said about theoretical numbers. When was the last time I used -that-?"

ID: "Typical sexist crap." *grins* "But it certainly helped me hustle some serious cash at the firing ranges. I mean, what could a girl possibly know about shooting? Other than being on the MPD pistol team and qualifying for Nationals?"


JG: "If it helps, my cousin Janine does biathlon. She's scary-good with a rifle. So I don't have any of -those- kinds of delusions."

And considering the state of medical tech in Malton, that would be bad.

ID: "Just remember not to shoot anyone else's foot off."


CN: "That one might be hard, my sasquatch friend. Yours make enormous targets."

ID: "As terrified as the thought of Officer Nixon with a loaded MP5 is, I'm not falling for it."

GT: "Nuts."


JG: "She once nearly put someone's eye out with a Nerf gun. We don't let her near those, anymore."

Such a cool gun.


And very common police-issue. :)

#6 Guest_Userunfriendly_*

Posted 10 April 2006 - 09:48 PM

Notebrains:


2. A small amount of "technical" stuff... not too bad, I think, but if you're the type whose eyes glaze over the instant someone starts talking about guns and mentioning numbers, you might want to brace yourself. ;) Of course, if you read it, you might actually learn something. :)


or the other way around...I tend to glaze YOUR eyes when I start commenting... 8)

You know, I actually don’t mind running up stairs. Now, I don’t consider myself one of those health nuts who survives on granola bars and mineral water – the kind that practically lives in the gym and does Pilates, and yoga and runs five miles every morning. That’s not me. But stairs? Stairs don’t bother me. Good thing, too, because it’s not like we could have just taken the escalators up.


allergic to excersize myself... ;)

His response to that was a quick burst of air blown out in something resembling an irritated grunt. “Yeah, I leave the sunshine-y crap to you.” He nodded to the sidearm holstered at my hip, as if noticing it for the first time. “You’re using a .40, right?”


the fourty is a compromise round...the united states until a few years after vietnam liked the reliable and powerful .45 acp...it stopped people, and the colt 45 was a reliable and rugged weapon. however, the military started looking at the 9mm parabellum because you can hold more rounds in a magazine, it provided interchangability with NATO allies, and it didn't have the recoil of a 45.

now a lot of people in civilian and law enforcement hated the 9mm which didn't have the pure stopping power of the 45.

the united states adopted the 45 as the standard pistol round while fighting...wait for it, Alpha...the Moro's in the phillipines. No other pistol round would put down a charging Moro wielding a machette as well as a .45 caliber acp round.

so the 40 caliber round was created, in an effort to have a greater magazine capacity, to lower the recoil a little to improve ease of handling, yet still retain the pure stopping power of a 45

I noticed that, during the conversation, my hand had absent-mindedly drifted down to the pistol’s grip. It was odd, since I’d never considered myself much of a gun maniac, but it felt very reassuring knowing the weapon was there in case I needed it. I couldn’t fire it worth a damn, but, still… it was the principle of the thing. “I actually want to switch to something a little smaller,” I said to him. “Maybe a nine mill. I was having a hard time with the recoil, earlier.”


she needs a good custom grip, one that actually fits her hand. I prefer 9mm myself...one day I will be able to afford a HK p-7... ;)

Jeff knew the whole story. There wasn’t much more to say about it that hadn’t already been covered thorugh hours of crying, whining, watching crappy movies on TV, eating ice cream, and general mopiness. “Anyway, what were you saying before? About my shooting stance?”


too bad the male response to bad breakup won't work on her...you know, going to a strip bar? oh wait, or would it work on her? :D

I was just slipping my issue back into its holster when a poster on the wall of the store caught my eye. It was a picture of a submachine gun – a Heckler & Koch MP-5, to be exact, just like the ones you always saw in the movies. Like I said, I’m not much of a firearm… enthusiast, but I have to admit, that thing looked sleek. “You know, wouldn’t mind having one of those.”


Jeff chuckled. “Baby steps, Colleen. Baby steps.”


“But… look at it… it’s like fifteen hundred dollars of hot, sexy death…”


yep, the hk mp5...delayed blowback operation....

me? the gun i always wanted was a ruger hi standard .22 with integral silencer...the favorite gun of the OSS... :)

#7 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 10 April 2006 - 11:28 PM

or the other way around...I tend to glaze YOUR eyes when I start commenting...


Duuuuhhhh... huh? 8)

allergic to excersize myself...


Unfortunately, I can't afford that, anymore. So now I have an exercise bike... which I actually try (and mostly succeed) to use on a regular basis. Yay! :)

the fourty is a compromise round...the united states until a few years after vietnam liked the reliable and powerful .45 acp...it stopped people, and the colt 45 was a reliable and rugged weapon. however, the military started looking at the 9mm parabellum because you can hold more rounds in a magazine, it provided interchangability with NATO allies, and it didn't have the recoil of a 45.


I'm aware of this, yes. ;)

Who wouldn't love the Colt .45? Big, nasty gun... plant a guy right on his can if you tag someone with it. Seven round magazine, though, means, you don't get a lot of chances to tag someone, so if you're a lousy shot, you're in deep. And, yes, the thing's a handcannon. ;)

the united states adopted the 45 as the standard pistol round while fighting...wait for it, Alpha...the Moro's in the phillipines.


Actually, this I also know. I've heard the stories. :D

she needs a good custom grip, one that actually fits her hand. I prefer 9mm myself...one day I will be able to afford a HK p-7...


Well, seeing as how Colleen's not used the thing very often and hasn't trained with it much, she doesn't really realize how much customizing the weapon would help her. For her, it's just a standard, department-issue handgun. It's something she just carries, but has never really looked at as anything more than a piece of equipment she lugs around.

too bad the male response to bad breakup won't work on her...you know, going to a strip bar? oh wait, or would it work on her?


JG: "Has in the past."

CN: "That's true. But then again, none of my other bad breakups were as bad as this one was."

JG: "That's also true."

me? the gun i always wanted was a ruger hi standard .22 with integral silencer...the favorite gun of the OSS...


I rather like the FN-Five-Seven, myself. :)

Anyway...

DUDE!

Since we started writing these things, both VH and I have been wondering when you were going to show up. We were both like "He can't resist the siren-song of lesbians... he just can't..."

It's good to have you back, my man. ;)




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