(no subject)

[initiatesnpc]

Date & Time: Jan 12th to Jan 19th (real time), July 11th to July 18th (historical time), 1884
Location: Black Rock, New Mexico, USA
Characters: All transports
Summary: Fearing UE reprisal, the Initiative corrals all transports and shoos them onto a mission back to the Wild West, to vote Gerald "Moony" Jackson in as Mayor of Black Rock. Transports are encouraged to used all their wiles to encourage townsfolk to vote in favor of him, too. Other than that, they're free to roam as they will for 7 whole days! Good luck finding food and shelter, masses. (See the OOC post for more information.)

The Initiative had been terse and rushed as they gathered the transports into the Transporter room, and anyone unwilling to participate will have been forcibly hurried along. The Initiative employees had seemed distracted and worried, and unwilling to stand around and debate. It was time to move. The teleportation had gone off without a hitch, and a roomful of transports have been treated, quite suddenly, to a broad and sunny blue sky, and especially to the heat of mid July in the American West.

Enjoy your weeklong stay in Black Rock, New Mexico! The town is small and sleepy, with just 3 good saloons and one questionable (but considerably cheaper) one. There are a few inns, but these inns aren't quite prepared to room a sudden influx of over 300 travelers, and some people might have to bunk up or get creative with their sleeping arrangements. If you sleep in an inn at all, of course. There's plenty of unexplored wilderness out there to sleep in instead, isn't there? Just make sure to check your boots for scorpions in the morning.

The only instructions are "vote for Gerald "Moony" Jackson for Mayor, and try to convince others to do the same", and you've been given just enough money to cover a very sparse room and board for 7 days, if you don't spend it in anything else.

So, how do you spend your time?

Edit: Overflow log!

Comments

outskirts of town, shooting area / gun shop | closed to mia, arya, ezio, flynn (i think)

[sharpe]

Outskirts of town

[ He goes wandering during his first day here and he's seen a place like this. Wide open, away from most buildings, and with a convenient little stand. Metal cans and glass bottles being shot at, and Sharpe cracks a smile about how little things change. Guns might have changed, turning into those puny little six-shooter pistols that has their own powder in it instead of a real proper rifle, but when you put men and guns together, they will want to shoot it.

Or even women. Or in one special case, a young girl.

Sharpe doesn't really care how experienced or inexperienced they are. If they practice, they do so quick, with sharp hands and sharper eyes.

For a rifle, it's: Bite, pour, spit, tap, aim. The aiming part's important. They aren't going to be in a regiment, any of 'em, so they might as well make sure their shots count. Butt of the rifle on their shoulder, put their eye through the crosshair, and fire.

For a pistol, it's much easier. You load it, and you aim it. The aiming's difficult, really, because you'll have to stretch out your arm so as to not let the recoil slam the tendons and bones of your elbow into powder. Stretch it outwards, take aim. Fire.

Being deafened is just part of life with a gun, really. ]

**

Gun shop

[ Before (or after) training, he'll bring them to the gun shop in town. There's plenty (and don't ask where the money comes from) to be chosen. ]

[feyted]

( Mia won't say she's sure she wants to be here. There's nothing in the weight of a gun that she finds calming. The whole experience rubs her the wrong way. Mia doesn't want to learn to be a killer. She may need to learn how to defend, but doesn't want it to be like this.

She listens, but her heart isn't in it. There are too many cases that come to mind, too much tied into how guns become a weapon of personalized violence by her century.

She can learn to defend herself, if she must. But she cannot, will not, learn how and what it is to be a killer. She's had too much contact with the dead to want to speed them along in that way. )

I appreciate your effort, Major, and apologize for not being a better shot.

[sharpe]

[ She's not soldier and Sharpe doesn't expect her to be one. For her to even agree to learning to shoot is already some sort of miracle already, Sharpe figures. He claps her between the shoulderblades, looking at her face. There's gunpowder stains on it and her neck, and he knows he's no different. ]

No one's born a good shot, ma'am. [ He gives her a wry grin. ] Best shot I've known is a poacher, been shooting fer most of his life. C'mon now, try it again.

[ He hands her the cartridge and a ball from that never-ending pouch that he still hasn't gotten used to even after more than a month. At the very least, she needs to learn how to load a rifle. Sharpe knows his rifle's old-fashioned by her time, but damned if he's going to waste money to buy a new one when there's a perfectly good rifle to be used, and endless shots too. ]

Keep yer arms steady.

[feyted]

( She can only partly hear him, but she takes the ball and seems to remember what she's supposed to be doing to get this ready for work. Following his instructions, she has the gun back up -- but it's heavy, and how she has to hold it properly is only somewhat helping with the way her arms want to let the rifle dip. )

Like this?

( She thinks she's standing with her feet properly in position. Mentally pointing out she's meant for pointing fingers in court, not pointing guns in the dessert, she still manages to bring the muzzle up so her arms and the gun are held out straight.

She's note entirely steady, but she's trying. )

[sharpe]

[ Well, the gun's held out straight but the muzzle is shaking a little. Her arms are obviously tired, and Sharpe sighs quietly. He stands behind her, one hand coming up to support her elbow, the other reaching forward and closing around her wrist. ]

Don't use yer wrist ta hold the rifle's weight, the bones are too small fer that. [ He shifts her stance. Back straighter, the butt of the rifle slamming against her collarbone. ] Use yer entire arm, and yer shoulder. Keep the rifle's butt ta yer kiss, let yer shoulder kiss its arse, then you can tilt yer head just slightly and look through.

[ He keeps the position. ]

Try firing now, ma'am.

[feyted]

( She's half sure she gets what he's saying, but when he's there it's hard to ignore what she's physically supposed to be doing.

She's probably not supposed to grumble something under her breath about certain parts being a little too close to getting in the way.

Support with your shoulder, keep it close to handle the kick-back.

How guns ever got popular, Mia doesn't want to know.

She pulls the trigger, managing not to flinch when the shot fires. Sharpe being where he is keeps her from stumbling backward, but she curses under her breath at the kick to the gun anyway. )

I can't tell if that was better or worse than the last time. I definitely felt it.

( With a rueful smile, following a sigh: )

I'm definitely going to bruise by tomorrow.

[sharpe]

[ They're popular because they kill when. Sharpe's been expecting her stumble, and he grabs hold of her shoulders, keeping her steady and pushing back against the impact of the gun, steadying her. He looks up, and it doesn't take a soldier's eye that picks out the ball. ]

Well. You hit somethin', at least.

[ He chuckling slightly next to her ear, and Sharpe pulls away. A distance away, one of the bottles have shattered. It's not the bottle she's aiming at, but one of the ones to the left. Two to the left, instead. ]

You don't jerk the gun up when you aim, you jerk it ta the side. Must save I haven't seen that before. [ He chuckles slightly before he unbuttoned his rifleman's jacket. It was too damned hot, and he tosses the heavy thing to the side before he pulls open the side of his shirt, showing Mel the eternally-dark patch on his right shoulder, from the top of it down to the collarbone. ]

Hazard of one of these. [ Dry. ] It's got more kick than a musket, that's fer sure.

[feyted]

( Disbelieving she'd managed to hit anything in the first place, Mia huffs... shaking her head as she almost smiles. She's never going to be great at this, in no small part due to a desire not to be, but she can appreciate to some degree what this means for some people when it comes to defending themselves and the things they love. )

What can I say? I'm an unusual... woma...

( Startled at first when the tossing aside of his jacket is followed by the Fabio pull on his shirt. That bruise stands out, stark and -- frankly, unsettling. )

You walk around perpetually bruised from this thing?

( Mia looks at the gun with her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. Between Sharpe and the gun, it seems like she can't decide which is more ridiculously true. )

Maybe it meant more when you did than it does by the time you hit semi-automatics two-hundred years later.

[sharpe]

[ The reactions she has to things he says, or what he has, makes Sharpe laughs. She's so startled at the sight of the bruise when couple of weeks ago, she hasn't uttered a single word about the maze of flogging scars on his back. Sharpe laughs. ]

Bruised, and a li'l deafened. [ He taps one earlobe, then another one. ] Gunshots're loud, and cannons are even louder. In a battlefield, all are going on at once, and yer ears are gone. [ He chuckles. ] I can still hear pretty good. There's some cannon masters, their hearing's all gone, you've got to shout next ta their ear ta get 'em ta hear anything.

[ He takes the rifle from her. Ball between his teeth, cartridge in his hand. Bite. Pour. Spit. Tap. Aim. And he fires without even looking at the bottle, and it breaks.

It's kind of message that he has no words for: this skill is what he's paid for with his blood and bones and hearing, and it's worth it. It means he's something. He's an officer now, even. ]

The hell are semi-automatics? [ He gives the rifle back to her. ]

[innominata]

Which one is good?

[ Dirty, sweaty, ears ringing and arms aching, the girl still looks euphoric as she examines the guns in the shop. Her head also hurts from the cuffing she got, but she gave back as good so she's content to ignore her various aches. The pain of being blinded and regaining her sight in the House of Black and White makes all else seem tame in comparison. ]

[sharpe]

[ She's more eager than most recruits, really, and Sharpe wonders about why she even wants a gun. She's been practicing with his pistol all this time, and that pouch of his that never seems to run out of cartridges and balls come into good use. It's a bit too big for her small body, really, that's why he's looking critically at some of the pistols. ]

Best get one that ain't so shiny. [ He snorts, going up to the seller. ]

You've got a small gun, sir? Bit less new than the ones you've got up yer shelves?

[innominata]

[ She joins him at the counter. ]

Something sturdy!

[sharpe]

[ Sturdy. The seller's bringing out some guns, and Sharpe's eyes are immediately drawn to a tiny thing. If a pistol carries six shot, this thing can probably fire only one. He snorts, picking it up and looking it over. ]

What's that thing called?

Palm pistol, sir. It's made by Deringer.

[ Strange name that Sharpe doesn't know. He looks down at the lass Cat, his grin wide. ]

You like such a thing, eh, Cat? [ He turns it in his hand and holds it out to her. ]

[innominata]

[ She tests its weight. ]

I think so.

[sharpe]

Alright.

[ He turns back to the seller. ]

Anywhere that we can test this, eh?

[ The man gives him a sharp look. Might be that Arya's a bit too young, but Sharpe holds his gaze and at last he looks away. They are led to the backyard, where there's a few targets and some nearer bottles set up. ]

How 'bout you try ta hit one of those bottles?

[innominata]

Fine.

[ She's at least used to holding a gun now. She takes aim and fires. The sound is still deafening and the kick is different, but the bottle still explodes in a million fragments of glass. She smirks. ]

[sharpe]

[ He whistles. Not bad at all, especially for such a tiny thing. ]

Try ta reload it and fire again, eh?

[ He leaves it to her to find the powder and bullet, man. ]

[mentore]

[Ezio knows guns, even if they're of a different time. He knows how damn deadly they are, how much damage they could cause even when aimed non-fatally. He knows how to use them, too. The rifles of his time are much bulkier, though, more of a challenge to use and only held by the Arquebusers of Rome who stand vigilant on the rooftops.

Before picking up a rifle, he aims with the hidden gun in his gauntlet. With a loud CRACK!, one can goes down and Ezio stands in place, smirk, reloading his gun. It may lack the power of these newer weapons, but it does well for accurate shots.]

[sharpe]

[ If you ask Sharpe for a history of guns, he won't know. Maybe someone like Harris or even Hagman would, or maybe an engineer of the army. Sharpe just uses the weapons to kill, not to make those weapons himself, but it takes a blind man to not notice the differences in the gun that Ezio holds and the ones around here. ]

Fer something so large, it don't have much power, does it? [ He shoulders his own rifle and fires. The gunshot rings around them, deafening, and the power smokes up, white (it'll be black once it lands on their faces), but when he lowers his gun, the bottle he'd aimed at has been obliterated. ]

You want ta try something more powerful?

[mentore]

[He watches Sharpe, impressed at the man's skill and the power of the rifle. It's that kind of rifle, he wagers, that gave him one of his worst scars on his shoulder.]

It would do well to learn how to use something newer.

[sharpe]

Newer's a word for it.

[ He crooks a smile at Ezio before he turns the rifle around. Muzzle up, he holds it over to him, and when Ezio takes it, Sharpe is already digging into his pouch. ]

You shoot a rifleman's rifle, you shoot like a rifleman. You've ever used cartridges and balls before, or are people yer time still pouring gunpowder and guessing at how much you'd need?

[ He's teasing. Promise. ]

[mentore]

I assure you, we already had bullets in my time.

[While Ezio did feign a little bit of inability, he lifts the rifle and sets it to sit right into his shoulder easily.]

[sharpe]

[ He snorts quietly. And he produces a paper cartridge of powder and a metal ball. ]

Bite. Pour. Spit. Tap. Aim. You know that part too?

[mentore]

My gun was slightly different from most others. It has been some time since I have used a proper rifle like this one.

[sharpe]

Some time, eh? [ He crooks a smile. ] You reckon you still know how ta use these things?