(2016-07-01) Ammunition Exchange
Ammunition Exchange
Summary: Mon gives Big Quin his rifle, asks a few things in exchange
Date: 2016.07.01
Related: None
Players:
quinton..monica..

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Fossil Creek Stratford
Fri Jul 01, 2016 — Fri Jul 01 14:31:58 2016


Fossil Creek isn't quite a creek, but it's not quite a river either. It runs generally in an north/south direction though the recent explosion in the area has diverted its course and there is now a tributary that goes to a pond on 5th Street.

It's wide, but relatively shallow and crystal clear. It's easy to see its gravel bottom and the fish that swim around. Plant life abounds along its banks, a haven for turtles, water fowl and other amphibious creatures.


Weather:
It is summer. The weather is warm and clear.

Contents:
Monica - 5'7, slender but getting enough to eat, finally. Early 20s. She has blond hair, and if you can see her face, it's a mass of varicose veins.
Exits: [5] 5th Street [SP] Stratford Park
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Monica is sitting at the bank of the creek with a simple saw-horse in front of her, on which is resting a rifle. About a quarter-mile away, a sheet of paper is tacked to the side of a wrecked house. As Quin approaches, she aims at the paper with an M0, and squeezes the trigger. Then takes a look through binoculars, and makes some adjustments to the tang sight. "Still reading low." she mutters.

Sometime snot knowing anything about guns is a blessing. He never had to grumble about the quality of his father's gun. he just learn to point and squeeze and hope whatever he's aiming at is dead. He shuffles his feet as he approaches, it's easier than calling out when his voice isn't wanting to work. A water bottle is dug out of his backpack and offered when he gets close enough.

Monica aims and fires again. The bullet makes the usual tearing sound in the air as it breaks the sound barrier, and this drowns out all other sound from the rifle. "There we go." She takes off her hearing protection and sends one more round downrange. "Not putting my ears out of joint too badly." She notes the shuffling of feet - see, her ears aren't ringing - and pulls the hammer back to half-cock, the safe position. "Hi." She takes the offered water bottle gratefully. "Thanks. The creek looks delicious, but I'm not keen on getting giardia."

Quinton makes a yuck face, his nose wrinkling at the creek. He'd rather not that either. Pale eyes study her briefly before shifting to look around them. he may have been a city boy, but he's got sharp eyes. "Doing…okay?"

Monica nods. She takes the magazine out, and pulls the operating handle back. The rifle ejects the loaded cartridge that was in it. It's a gentle ejection, just enough to push the cartridge back out the magazine well, and pops open the stock to get out the cleaning rod. She swabs the barrel clean, then flips the rear cover open and cleans and oils the block. "Yeah, this thing's shaped up nicely. I had a new idea when I was putting your rifle together, plus I had to get the thing's sights adjusted right.

Quinton nods, looking at the rifle briefly. He jokes, "Boom stick." He's a funny guy. The blonde quirks a small smile down at her, not having the best brain day, be he seems to be in a good mood.

Monica grins. She works the operating lever a few times to check to make sure the thing is clean, closes the cover, puts the cleaning rod away, then wipes down the stock. "So… you seemed kind of uncomfortable with the idea of me giving you a list of things I need, so would you consider trading information for this rifle? Basically… you have more personal experience…" she glances around to make sure we're alone… "with silencers than any other living person I know of. I'd like to know everything you know that wouldn't be specific to Piper." She sets the rifle down on the saw horse and reloads its magazine while she talks.

Quinton blinks and then shakes his head, he does't mind lists. But then he seems to close off slightly, unsure what she's getting at with the Silnecer direction of conversation. "Glenda's….broken. Not….comparable." Is he saying that because it's true, or cause else's he's girlfriend. "Medical….doctor." His hand goes up, almost to wave away the rifle in her hand, "Nothing."

Monica nods. "What about the one who attacked you? Any observations about him?" She sets the magazine down and sets a box of a hundred cartridges next to it. She gets a smaller box of twenty cartridges colored black with sharpie. "Armor piercing," she explains. "Solid steel."

Quinton's eye narrow slightly, but he'll answer, "Faster….faster than eye…."His lips are wetted by his tongue that darts out, "All….model like….no pain…..nanonites…" He shrugs, that's probably not what she was hoping for.

Monica listens carefully. "There are different models of silencer?" She steps to one side of the saw horse and motions Quinton over. She was going to just give him the rifle anyway, but the information he's giving her is valuable. She's never seen one in the flesh. Only a retired "broken" silencer who she counts as a close friend, which is not the same at all.

Quinton's head shakes and he motions to his face, "Model." He steep closer although seems unsure about taking the rifle from her now. "…driven. Purpose."

You say, "Ohh. So like… not human, just a model of a human." Mon scratches her head. "Interesting." She unslings her own M0. "I figured I'd walk you through shooting the thing a few times, then how to clean it and all that. I didn't bother with Terry because… well, he's Terry, and he's got the background to figure it out, and I want his take from that perspective.""

Quinton stops huffing, "No." Gah, the poet's frustration is apparent, " Model, like….hair….make up…" Apparently the word fashion is not coming out of his mouth today. His nose wrinkles again and he rubs his face, The comment about him not being terry just seems to agitate him more, the skinny man's jaw clenches and his gaze stays on the rifle.

You say, "Ohhh… Like a fashion model. So perfect hair, perfect teeth… pretty people." Mon sighs. "I keep stepping on your feelings, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean Terry is somehow better. I mean he was practically born shooting and he's military trained, and he'll see things in this rifle that I won't and you won't. You'll see things in it because you're fairly new to shooting that I won't because I've been shooting most of my life too, and he won't because he's formally trained in this stuff. It's like… having your work read by other poets verses by new writers with less experience. Does that make sense?""

Quinton still seems agitated, but nods, "Perfect….hosts."Cause why wouldn't the world end because of pretty people? His head shakes, he doesn't want to talk (or not) about that. His own insecurities shouldn't be important. He knows his skill level and what it means. The comparison isn't helpful, someone stumbling over words doesn't bring to light new things in a poem. He just waves a hand and motions to the gun for her to show him. Please.

Monica pats Quinton on the shoulder. "Okay. This is the M0 semi-automatic rifle. It fires a 35 caliber ultra-low drag steel round at about mach three. The regular bullets are sintered, which means they're more like a hard pressed powder than solid steel. When they hit water-bearing targets or hard targets, they fly apart. Bear this in mind when you hunt with it. It has an effective range of a thousand yards, but with practice and a calm day, you can lay aimed fire down up to two thousand yards out.

You say, "The bullet will carry further than that, but you don't have much control over where it goes beyond 2000 yards."

Quinton takes in as much of that info as he can, nodding. His arm is steady as she pats it, He's skinny but has acquired some muscle during the end of the world it seems. A hand is bend out so he can feel the bullet she's talking about. Good to hit as many senses as possible when learning.

Monica does hand him a bare projectile. She keeps them around, along with some dummy rounds. "A thousand yards is about twice as far as an M16 type assault rifle can reach with aimed fire. That's why I designed it this way." She picks up her M0 and motions for Quin to do the same.

The bullet is rolled in-between his fingers and he nods, listening. The riffle is picked up watching her for direction.

You say, "Okay. The usual rules apply. Always keep the muzzle pointed someplace safe, don't touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot, and always assume the rifle is loaded unless you, personally, check. To check and see if it's loaded, with your revision of the rifle, you take the magazine off, grab the operating handle on the right and pull it back until it stops. If it was loaded, the cartridge should drop out the magazine well." She demonstrates with hers. "Mine won't actually do that yet. I have to put the upgrade in mine and Terry's rifles yet. She loads a dummy cartridge into a magazine and hands it to Quin. "Loading it is the same process, except you put the magazine on, and pull the operating lever back, then let go. This is a dummy cartridge so we can handle it with impunity."

Quinton studies what she does, he's pretty quick with this stuff. The brain stuff is usually just communication it seems. He loads and unloads the rifle several times to get the feel for it. "…okay…" It seems simple enough.

Monica grins. Way, way better than the fuss it took her to learn to unload version1, or even version 2. "Okay. Next thing. When the rifle reloads itself after you fire, that hammer is going to be coming back toward your hand very, very fast. If your thumb is in the way, bad things will happen to it." She shows Quin where to hold his thumb. "While we're on the subject of the hammer, this rifle has only one, very primitive safety. When it's loaded, like yours is now, and the hammer is back and ready to fire, if you hold your thumb on the hammer spur, squeeze the trigger and let it down half way, that's the half-cock position. The rifle won't fire from that position.

Monica demonstrates with her own, squeezing the trigger. Nothing happens. "To fire it after it's in half-cock, pull the hammer back to full-cock."

Quinton makes sure to be facing the target, just in case and then brings the rifle to the safety position, half cocked. More nodding, "Okay…good…" He's not going to fire until she gives the okay to test it. She's the teacher here.

You say, "Okay, go ahead and snap it, so you get a feel for the trigger." Monica waits for Quinton to do that, then hands him the loaded magazine. "This mag is live rounds. There's no metal case around them to protect them, so treat them like you'd treat any other explosive. If you drop a round, check to make sure it hasn't cracked before you load it. That can change the combustion rate pretty drastically, which is hard on the suppressor (note how she doesn't use the word silencer for anything other than the people), hard on the ring seal, and hard on your shoulder. The rifle won't blow up on you, but if you feel it suddenly kicking a lot more and note that it's really loud, it means the suppressor's blown, and you should have it repaired." She opens her rifle. "This is the ring seal. There are spares in the buttstock. If you've had a damaged round, you should replace the ring seal as soon as is convenient. If they fail that's a jet of thousand degree gas at supersonic speed coming out way too close to your face. Monica twists the ring seal to demonstrate how to replace it. “Check your ring seal every time you clean the rifle."

Quinton nods, taking in all that info. "Okay." His nose wrinkles, but he agrees, nothing like that near his face please. He's had enough drama, he doesn't need a missing eye. He checks the ring seal as she explains.

Monica lowers her rifle. "Okay. Go ahead and clear out the practice round and load the live mag. Let's give it a try."

<FS3> Quinton rolls Firearms: Success.

Quinton does as instructed, eventually lifting the loaded rifle and aiming at the target. His form isn't perfect, but it's not awful either. Just not trained for years. "It's….balanced." He doesn't really know enough to give any other compliment.

Monica nods. "Good. Lean forward a little, there you go. When you want to go longer range, flip up the sight, set it for the distance you want. You can adjust it side to side for windage too.

Quinton messes wight eh sight briefly, just getting the feel. Most of his firefights happen too quickly for that to be helpful though. And hunting….he's lucky if he doesn't get trampled, honestly. Down goes the sight and he leans forward, aiming at the paper target before firing. All goes as expected, he hits, although it's not a spectacular bullseye.

You say, "There you go." The rifle makes a thump more than a crack, but the bullet screaming out mostly drowns it out."

You say, "You want to do the full teardown now, or cover that another time? Normally you don't have to do it, but if the thing jams up somehow…"

The rifle is lowered and pouted to the ground and he lifts his hand to rub his shoulder, it does have some kick to get used to. "Teardown….I'll…hunt later…practice." No need to waste bulelts, right?

Monica shakes her head. "Practice is never a waste of bullets. It's how you get good. Which is basically why I worked these things up.

Monica turns toward the target and draws her rifle up to her shoulder.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.

Monica puts 5 rounds in the center circle. She pauses. "Whoa…

Quinton doesn't wince at the quick unloading, although he does feel kind of useless at how pathetic his is. "Practice…and dinner…." Pale green eyes study the rifle in his hand, he always feel less eloquant when guns and physical stuff is brought up, despite the advances he's made.

Monica pats Quinton on the shoulder. "You're doing fine. At this point it's just practice. If you get down to your last mag of rounds, let me know. I have a machine to make them.

He does what needs to be down to be proper safety, nodding to Monica as he does. "I will. Get me ….list." This is much bigger than the little bit of info he gave her. "Talk to….George. Knows….bioligy…"

Monica nods. "Okay. I'll make you a list. The truth is, I've owed Camp Hope since I got here, and this is just one piece of it. But yeah, any alien tech you find, little bits of drone, one of the camo kids' neck thingies, bombs… well leave them where you find them unless Piper tells you it's safe… but anything else… I need to see it, even if it's broken crap.

Quinton's nose wrinkles again and he shakes his head, "Everyone….family now." He scratches the back of his neck but nods, '….k." He can starts specifically looking for that stuff. Hell, he may even have some in his room, he'll need to dig. "…else?"

Monica shakes her head. "Well…" Mon blushes. "Condoms, if you can spare any."

Huh. Quin nods, "I have some." He'll not give her all of them , cause. But he can share. "…apartment…later." For condoms.

Monica nods, fanning her face. "I can do that. Same for you. Ammunition." Hoo boy.

Quinton now cocks an eyebrow, watching her have a case of the vapors. "…alright?" This is slightly amusing now.

Monica nodsnods. "Sokay." She ticks the hammer of her rifle back onto "Safe" and slings it. "You um… find a belt or something for a sling. I tried harvesting seat belt webbing, but it seems like a waste.

Quinton already has some ideas, but nods. "…rig…" He even manages a smirk at her before picking up his backpack and sliding it on.

Monica nods. "Take care. And let me know if that gives you any trouble.

(feel free to tag the log with character names of those involved!)

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