#fhq.garden variety

[lieutenanthowell]

who: @lieutenanthowell & @homegrownkel where: indoor weapons training range, main building when: early February 21, well before the defense seminar what: team... bonding...? or not. at the indoor firing range. general trigger warnings: firearms

All the bells and whistles and shiny new toys, this place had. Guin reassembled the one he'd helped himself to - a Nosler 21, shit, a pleasant surprise - for the second time, eyes elsewhere. Squinting at the unnecessary flatscreen guide to this gussied up firing range. He'd taken his time with it, letting his hands get to know the rifle on their own, unseen, as he watched through the range guide. Bleeding edge. To think, they could've set up a couple cans and called it a fucking day. Spared a few cool mil, most likely. Goddamn ridiculous.

That said, he couldn't not try the night sim.

Pressing the last cartridge into place, ready in the chamber, he let the bolt clack - smooth, quiet, good - and started clicking his way through the screen, going over modes and shit. Those fucking overhead lights dropped. Were replaced by a silvery-blue, faint glow, overhead. He dimmed that a little further. Just a sliver of moonlight. Or close as he'd get, in here. One last sip of coffee, another drag on his smoke - both first of the day, he'd got up early, ready to miss the no-doubt crowded defense seminar as he settled into the armory his own damn way - he balanced his cigarette between the lip and handle of his mug and stepped to the firing line. Alright; rifle shouldered, boot on the ready sensor.

The live alarm rang out, and - the goddamn door opened, with a hiss. Guin stepped back, clapping the Nosler to his shoulder, finger off the trigger. "Seminar's in the gym 'til later," he sighed, taking that cigarette back up, the cherry stoking red in the low, low light. He'd already had to tell a few over-keen new hires who'd mucked the schedule up. Site personnel, so far; this, unfortunately, was one of his. Theirs. Smooth Operator's. Whatever the hell. Somebody from that gone-stale meeting. "Back the way you came. Second door on your left. Sounds like a playground." Kato and his security set seemed alright, but... God, he didn't need to sit in on a pack of padded-up researchers and raw-assed newbies getting taught how to carefully fight for their lives.

[lieutenanthowell]

He'd been told, once, that head injuries were the leading cause of injury and death in personnel over six feet. Bigger they are, the harder they fall, hey? And the more likely they are to crack their own goddamn skulls on everything going on up there. If it was true, then... Jesus, it was some sort of miracle Trebond had made it this far. Even if they were yet another player on this shitshow of a team who'd never seen fieldwork, from the sounds of it. Six foot, ten inches. Guin had watched the engineer sit taller, eyebrows rising at even that. Good dirt, in... wherever they didn't say they were from. Big on agriculture.

Well, if he needed anything off the top shelf - he'd fucking get it himself.

GERMINATION: greeting the world

Introductions are the worst part of meeting new people. Having to think about making a good impression - reading whether or not you gauged correctly, not realizing when you've missed the mark. It's the culmination of the worst part of being of a social species. Trying to move from the other to becoming part of the group. It means Kel knows from the first moment of consciousness that today will be Rough. Luckily the crockpot did its job and there's fresh minestrone for his thermos. Less luckily, half the soup spills on the way to the car.

It's just another blemish on an already rough morning. Kel hasn't had a reaction to any sort of mental influence like this in so many years that they're not the only one caught off guard. Someone will figure out how to mitigate the fog - they can already hear chatter about it in the group, which is much more attention-grabbing than poor Kato. Nice guy, but maybe there will be a better second impression. One that sticks.

And then every thing that needs to go wrong will - apparently the camera used to take the first ID photo wasn't the proper model, or was missing whatever coating the Foundation used in the past to take his ID photos. But the security department needs a new one. Kel can't blame them - if they were a guard and someone handed over a picture of a flower arrangement as a security card, he wouldn't let them in either.

The one in charge seems just the type the commission would pick, observant, experienced, just friendly enough to inspire some level of loyalty. Small flashes of the man in action - usually from a distance, add depth and color to his form, old memories overlaid on a fresh face. They fall into place for some of the others in the room as well, though at least one face is so familiar there's nothing new to learn at a glance.

"Good morning," Kel bobs a nod at their new boss in an attempt to be less... ominously looming, and gives him a perfectly average handshake before moving towards a seat in the back. Then it's time for the parade. And what a show it is. The team is clearly hand picked for something, but even Kel can tell that more than a few people have history of some sort and still others won't mesh well despite the rigid hold an MTF's commander usually has. For at least one that might actually be the problem.

There is something to be said about going in the middle of a set though. Avoiding the nerves of being the first, but also knowing you aren't the last first impression somehow relieves some of the pressure. Or at least it does for Kel. It's easiest to see everything from the metaphorical middle of the pack anyways.

"My turn then?" They smile quickly and straighten up before swallowing down the worst of the brogue they'd never gotten rid of. "Some of you may already know me as Kel or Engineer Trebond, but I guess I'm going by Garden Variety here. Bit of a nod to my hometown, I think. Small place, big on uh... agriculture. I've been working in the foundation research divisions almost 3 decades now. My work's mostly in the actual building of things, more practical application and testing than the theoretical stuff, so I'm a bit excited to see how these things actually run in the field. Fun fact, um..." He sits back in his chair, smile turning nervous. "I'm 209 centimeters tall. Yes, really. Oh I think that's six foot.... ten inches? Math might be a bit off, but I'm past the threshold where people try to say it makes a difference. Anyways - if you need me, send me a page. I like to wander and this campus seems a bit large, so it's better to not pass each other while searching."

And with that, the worst was over. The members of the team grow more and more interesting as they go down the list, but maybe that's just the relaxed nerves speaking.

[lieutenanthowell]

They hadn't? His head cocked aside - pointlessly. As if he'd hear... whatever he'd heard, on his way through the halls. Guin straightened up as Garden Variety went ahead and started searching out those bearings. No, he wouldn't mind. (He'd have told them to fuck off, if he did.) Yes, he'd be leaving the damn lights. At least he didn't have to tell Trebond so.

Taking up that firing position again, he... stopped, again, as Kel spoke. Not to him. A giddy greeting, to - what? Guin swiveled, scowling. Garden Variety was at the rack, fawning over some of the gear. In post? His head tilted, curious despite himself. And the headache kicking in the side of his skull. "That the kinda engineering you do? Ordnance?"

Engineering, he remembered from that introduction. The particular sort, so far as he remembered, got left real vague. And in the Foundation, shit - what the hell didn't they engineer? Kel could've been up to just about anything.

Despite the blaring alarm as the door opened, (was that something I wasn't supposed to open?) the room had been dark at first glance, before the dull red of an ember on the counter caught his eye as it came up and glowed just that bit brighter. Now there was the slightest streak of silver steel as their eyes adjusted. And then there was the scowl behind the voice he'd already recognized. "They haven't started yet," he said easily as he let the door close behind him. "Don't mind me, I'm just getting my bearings - you can leave the lights off."

It was quite the range, too. Normally, Kel spent all the time needed in places like this to get through evaluations, but not much besides. They didn't usually need to. But maybe this one could get more use. Even with the low-light, a familiar profile caught their eye and they made a happy little sound with a soft, "Well hello there, gorgeous!" Long, loping steps carried them across the room to the racked equipment and he easily plucked a strangely square-barreled shotgun to check down the length. "They made you even prettier in post!" came the gleeful murmur. "I always forget the bevels on the trigger..."