(2016-09-02) Commitment
Commitment
Summary: Mon finally meets Devon. Signs on with his plan.
Date: 2016.09.02
Related: None
Players:
devon..monica..

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Monica draws her new pistol, but it gets hung up in the holster. She tries again. The next time it comes out gratifyingly quickly, but a quiet snap makes it clear that a. the gun is empty, and b. she got her finger on the trigger in the draw. "Fuuuck," she mutters. "This was not this hard before." The truth is she hardly remembers before. When did she get the Remington, anyway? How old was she? It's like it's always been at her hip, where the big bruise is now. But here she is, with the pistol prototype CP-1, re-teaching her hand its job. Monica draws a third time, gets the pistol out quickly, brings the web of her thumb down on the cocking lever to pull it to full cock, and clicks the empty cylinder on target. In theory, at least.

Devon makes enough noise shuffling coming up that if he's drawn on, it's with a purpose. The handsome man as on a tight fitting shirt and comfortable jeans which are show of his muscular form. He has on a vest over the tee what's been modified to hold throwing knives(which he seems to have plenty of). "Room for another?"

Monica picks up the shuffle. She's never actually seen Devon before, so if Quinton's not with him, she's not likely to be especially wary. She probably should be. She nods, breaks the action of the revolver, and loads five live cartridges in it. Checks to make sure the firing pins are properly retracted, then snaps it shut, cocks it to half-cock, and slips it in her holster. "Sure." She steps back beside the M0 that was leaning up against the rail. "Have at. I'm Monica, by the way. What's your name?"

Devon has a California accent and a model grin, "Hi Monica." He watches the gun being loaded. "I'm Devon." Another smile and he moves to stretch his arms.

Monica spocks an eyebrow. "The Devon?" She tries to stay casual, tries to hide the subtle change to her demeanor that's happening. The sudden coldness of her glance, the calculating nature of her gaze. It's as though Monica herself (unlike any gun she's ever made) has a safety, and it's just been clicked off. She makes a point of checking him out, looking him up and down, noticing how good looking he is, but it's not quite genuine. She takes a slow breath. Nods. "I figured you'd be around sooner or later. They tell me… Quinton tells me, mostly, that you have a plan for dealing with them…" she thumbs upward to the sky with her left hand, " harshly, and fatally. Mine's not going so well, so I'd love to hear yours."

Devonchuckles, it's warm and inviting, nothing like what a Silencer should sound like, "I guess so?" If he notices, he doesn't react to her shift. An eyebrow quirk and he shakes his head turning away from her to start quickly and accurately throwing daggers into the target. They're all grouped together. "We went over it at the meeting. Did the doc not give you his notes?"

Monica watches the daggers go. They don't seem superhuman in speed especially. She wonders if they'd fly straight at… however fast a silencer could throw them. Aerodynamics change as speed goes up. She nods. "I read them. Seems to me you were glossing over a few things. A movie line comes to mind. Who's gonna fly it, kid. You?" She chuckles tightly.

Devon turns and tosses one more, while looking at Monica, it stick right in the middle of the grouping. "What do you think I was glossing over?"

Monica grinds her heel into the ground. "I think you're glossing over the delivery system quite a bit. It's either going to take a lot of tinkering to deliver this bomb to the mother ship on this ship of yours, or someone needs to volunteer for a suicide mission. I'd call that glossing over some pretty important details."

Devon watches her, not blinking, "It's a one way ticket. I'm not asking for volunteers." His head tilts, "Anything else you think I'm glossing over?"

Monica averts her eyes downward just slightly, then looks at Devon. "That's a lot of hate for the aliens. Or a big, huge need to make things right, on your part. Either way…I can get behind that. You pull this off…and we're square in my book. What do you need from me? Right now, I'm ramping up ammunition production."

Devon chuckles grabbing another knife from the vest, "Well…as long as we're square." It's more amused than snarky. "I need everyone gunned up. And knowing how to use them." He takes a deep breath, "One of the girls said something about knock out gas. if you got any idea where to find some of that.." He gives a smile and a small shoulder shrug, "I'd rather not have all the kids brains get fried." Too bad they can save them all.

Monica nods. "Police station would be where I'd look. I'll see what I can dig up. Riddle me this. How are the signals sent to the kamo kids' self-destruct charges?"

Devon frowns, but then smirks, "I don't have a degree in any of that. I know there's a signal that they can she out." He gives another shrug, the knife whipped at the target and sticking with a loud thud. "I know you don't trust me. It's okay, I get it."

<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Failure.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Success.
<FS3> Monica rolls Firearms: Good Success.

Monica looks at Devon a while, then sighs. "That's where you're wrong. I couldn't make my plan work fast enough. Alien tech turns out to be…well…hard. If we don't want to abandon everything we have here and watch most of the surviving humans starve…trusting you is Hobson's choice. I was thinking about how the signal is sent because I thought we might be able to jam it, but… that'd be something for the electronics guys, at best." Mon wanders to the firing line, no longer holding a defensive position. She draws her pistol - slowly and carefully - aims, draws the cocking lever back to full cock, and fires. The target spews dust from a new hole in the center ring. "I'm in. The guns are built. I have three-thousand rounds made, and we'll have a bunch more soon." She fires again, punches the center again. "If you're inclined to give favors…I'd like to know everything you know about silencer nanites. I have a few hundred hours of Buffy the Vampire Slayer you can replace with that. If we're going to solve the problems we've got coming, assuming we live…alien tech is going to be how we get there, I think. Programming those little bastards to do my bidding would go a long way." Monica misses the target completely with the next shot, hits the outer ring with the next, and punches the center again with the last.

Devon shakes his head , watching her fire. "Elijah knows more than me. Or Savannah." Cause, yikes. "I personally don't think 'upgrading' humanity is the right call." But what the hell, he's not going to be around for it.

Monica chuckles. "I wasn't planning to upgrade humanity. I was planning to have vats of the stuff and grow materials I don't know how to make yet."

Another knife is pulled and stuck in the target. "You may want to confirm with the donor and Savanah about that."Devon sighs, shaking his head before wiping his hand on his jeans before walking towards the target to retrieve his knives. He looks over at her as he slips the knives back into his vest, "You group needs to be on the same page with each other before even worrying about anything I'm glossing over."

Monica nods. "There's some truth to that," she says simply. She does the man the service of not reloading her pistol while he's downrange. "Eli has his ideas of what they can be used for. I have mine. We've been working together on this project. But…who's Savanah?"

Yeah. The service. "Yeah. Ideas." he huffs softly, not liking whatever those ideas are at all. "She's your Silencer." The last knife is slipped in and he turns to look at Monica. "Quinton or I will come find you to see if you find any gas."

Monica nods. "Mean time. Ammunition, trained people. Anything else?"

Devon laughs, stepping closer and away from the target. "Unless you got some top shelf tequila you'd like to share…" His whole demeanor is inviting, which knowing what he is is a storage juxtaposition.

Monica shakes her head. "Not that I know of, but I'm a bourbon girl. I'll ask around. Civilization has its perks."

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