Lelouch vi Britannia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kingside) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-05-29 10:08 pm
kingside) wrote in savetheearth2013-05-29 10:08 pm
007; action; closed
WHO: Brendan Blake and Casval Mass(ive douche)
WHAT: Someone doesn't know how to use guns and need a hands on demonstration. There might also be chess.
WHERE: Casval's illustrious abode
WHEN: Wednesday evening (5/29)
[While hunting down the thoroughly obnoxious captain's address after their brief conversation hadn't been the most labor-intensive of tasks (all it had taken was a simple question, oddly enough, and while the slightly glazed expression of the soldier he'd directed it to had been worrying, it had soon faded after he'd received his answer), it had been salt on the wound as far as Brendan is concerned. He's never met anyone more aggravating before, he's thoroughly convinced of it, and the fact that this man is one of the previous few numbered to have the skills and resources to be of real use is just... well, even more salt on the wound. Would it really kill him to keep a civil tongue and cooperate?
Delaying the meeting had done little to alleviate his frustration, at any rate, and so even when he's face to face with the door to the man's apartment some hours later, he's dragging an agitated hand through his hair and scowling at the peephole. Even if the man isn't looking, he's just— ugh. No, he has to calm down. He wouldn't have come here if there hadn't been some worthy purpose behind it, and with the way things seem to be escalating these days, getting his hands on a weapon and learning how to use it is definitely worthy. Those strange creatures people had mentioned noticing, for instance— Brendan hadn't been around for the werewolves or the... grues, whatever they were, but there's a very real chance he'll wind up somehow caught up in this.
He has to prepare himself. He can't let the other man's infuriating attitude get to him. Right.
He takes a breath, composes himself, and reaches out to rap smartly on the door. He won't react to the teasing this time. He refuses.]
WHAT: Someone doesn't know how to use guns and need a hands on demonstration. There might also be chess.
WHERE: Casval's illustrious abode
WHEN: Wednesday evening (5/29)
[While hunting down the thoroughly obnoxious captain's address after their brief conversation hadn't been the most labor-intensive of tasks (all it had taken was a simple question, oddly enough, and while the slightly glazed expression of the soldier he'd directed it to had been worrying, it had soon faded after he'd received his answer), it had been salt on the wound as far as Brendan is concerned. He's never met anyone more aggravating before, he's thoroughly convinced of it, and the fact that this man is one of the previous few numbered to have the skills and resources to be of real use is just... well, even more salt on the wound. Would it really kill him to keep a civil tongue and cooperate?
Delaying the meeting had done little to alleviate his frustration, at any rate, and so even when he's face to face with the door to the man's apartment some hours later, he's dragging an agitated hand through his hair and scowling at the peephole. Even if the man isn't looking, he's just— ugh. No, he has to calm down. He wouldn't have come here if there hadn't been some worthy purpose behind it, and with the way things seem to be escalating these days, getting his hands on a weapon and learning how to use it is definitely worthy. Those strange creatures people had mentioned noticing, for instance— Brendan hadn't been around for the werewolves or the... grues, whatever they were, but there's a very real chance he'll wind up somehow caught up in this.
He has to prepare himself. He can't let the other man's infuriating attitude get to him. Right.
He takes a breath, composes himself, and reaches out to rap smartly on the door. He won't react to the teasing this time. He refuses.]
no subject
He's just not looking from the place, or the angle, Brendan might be expecting.
Casval swings his feet over the edge of the rooftop, assembled sniper rifle resting across his lap with a plate of cake in his hands. The Captain watches Brendan fidget and fuss and fret between bites, watches him try—and fail—to frown a hole through his door. The clear frustration that hangs over him like a dense fog brings an amused smile to Casval's lips; were a few choice words really enough to set him off?
At any rate, Brendan didn't appear ready to notice him in his little enclave several stories up, so he whistles to him, sharp and curt, clicks the heel of his boot harsh against the building to gain his attention. ]
Oi. Pup. [ A patronizing click of his tongue follows, as if he's summoning a hound rather than a human. ] You're late. What were you off doing, dawdling like that? It's rude to keep company waiting.
no subject
Far, far too late, he clamps down on his surprise and shoves it behind a cold, furious mask, eyes hard as he glares up at the captain. A clown, he knew it, and with that ridiculous hair of his, all he needs is a false nose to complete the look.]
Don't call me that. I can end our association in an instant if you insist upon talking down to me.
[Not that it's exactly avoidable now, their positions being what they are. He hides a grimace.]
Get down from there. Now.
no subject
Unfazed and unconvinced he should shift from his position, Casval shrugs broad shoulders and returns to his cake, Brendan's impassioned outburst returned with absolute neutrality... and a mocking lack of concern. ]
Actually, this is part of your first lesson. Or you were here to lambast, rather than learn?
no subject
The chiding words deflate him a little, at any rate, and his glare falters, expression easing into far more natural and slightly troubled frown. His first lesson, is it? Far too much potential that the words were merely words, but even so, his earlier claim about abandoning this training had been a bluff. He can't risk it. Casval knows that, too, doesn't he?]
To be aware of my surroundings. A basic lesson, but among the most crucial. I allowed my irritation to cloud my judgment and therefore did not think to look around. Had you been wielding that gun seriously, I would be dead.
[His response ignores the captain's question, but it should be clear what his answer would have been all the same: he's here to learn.]
no subject
Part of. Not all.
[ Lifting the rifle as well as himself, the last bit of cake disappears (without a misplaced crumb to be found) and Casval glances off into the distance, gauging something. A long pause lingers in the air, the man near motionless save for a squaring of shoulders and posture. He's waiting. Listening. Judging the proper moment to strike whatever he's eying.
And then the mood shifts, in an instant, one calculated, elegant, fluid motion following after another. His wrist whips back, then forward, sending the plate sailing far and high. The gun's scope is lowered, its barrel pointed ahead. Of course, sniping such an unpredictably moving object from such a distance, single-handed, no less, is an impossibility, yet...
Yet he does it.
A shot rings out, just one, and the plate shatters, struck clear through the center. It shatters, falls into shards that glitter in the sun. The fork, dented and nailed by the same bullet, clatters beside it, landing in the grass.
An impossible shot, and yet Brendan witnessed it, all in the span of several seconds.
Casval lowers the rifle, and finally deems fit to address his young protégé. Standing tall, firm, surefooted and confident, unaffected by recoil or misguided rebellion. ]
The second part was not to doubt the one doing the teaching.
no subject
And. Well. It would have been nice to say that his expression remained totally unflappable and unimpressed as the plate shattered and fell, but Brendan is highly, highly aware that he looks thoroughly gobsmacked as the pieces rain down. Hitting that sort of target in this sort of light and making it look so easy— he has no delusions that he'll be able to match that sort of skill, but— Jesus, how had he done that?!]
... Very impressive.
[His voice is rather weak, but breaking his silence has at least allowed some of his composure to trickle slowly back. Sort of.
He shakes his head, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.]
Are you going to come down now? I'd like to get started.