Forget about a dog, fool, he'll shit in the den

[calibrating]

WHO: Garry Vakrin calibrating and Comandee Shepurr sassguard
WHERE: Just outside of De Chima
WHEN: Back in Deceeeeemmmber. Just in time for a Christmas miracle.
WHAT: Having a good heart-to-heart over rifles and bullets and other gunhead things.
WARNINGS: Most likely language and such, also guns and weaponry if that bothers you!



What started out as a friendly invite out to the local range turned into yet another side quest for the local Commander Shepard where he listens to one of his crew members whine about life, liberty, and the pursuit of a nice, smooth brandy on a world with food that conspired against his gastronomical tendencies.

Today, however, Garrus had a little bit more on his mind than liquor, a little bit that had been eating away at him for a while and that he needed some guidance on. Who better to ask than the aforementioned Commander who'd helped him (presumably other versions of him) in the past with matters far less inane?

Garrus stands and waits against a crop of trees, makeshift targets set up yards in front of him, and a stash of guns that may raise an eyebrow or two in any other context.

Comments

[sassguard]

Shepard turns up as promptly as he said he would, the habit a hard one to shake from their days on the Normandy -- where every unread message that turned out to be a request to have a 'chat' inevitably led to a mission where someone was going to be shot, maimed, or both. Procrastinating didn't seem to make a difference, and only distracted people, so Shepard had learned it was better to attend to it as soon as possible.

A turian isn't hard to spot, so once he arrives, he doesn't waste any time beelining over, hand raised in a wave. He can't quite keep a brow from rising, though, once he spots exactly what Garrus has got lined up.

"Were you planning on using all of those?"

[calibrating]

Usually both, let's be real.

Garrus returns the wave, waiting for Shepard to make his way over a bit more before he turns towards his 'little' pile of weaponry. It's not that weird to bring five or six or ten different guns to a range, right?

"Not all of them. Just. You know. Most."

It's a turian thing, okay? Okay???

[sassguard]

Sure it is, Garrus. Shepard's half-amused expression says clearly that he's only suppressing the urge to keep teasing him because of, you know, a close friendship and a life-debt from another universe, which he assumes holds even if Garrus remembers him as a different gender.

Besides, it's a little bit Shepard's thing, too. He brought his own gun -- not the one he carries as a police officer, but the one he carries for personal use -- but when he puts his gun case beside Garrus' assortment of weaponry, it looks woefully inadequate.

"So what's it going to be? Show and tell, or are we shooting to win?" What there is to win beyond bragging rights, of course, is beyond him. He certainly couldn't take Garrus out for a decent dinner in this town. It's not the reason Garrus called him out here, but shooting the shit (literally, in this case) will do more to loosen him up than any amount of tender prodding at feelings will.

[calibrating]

Give these two enough time together and Garrus will have Shepard toting around a gun bag of his own. It's only practical.

Even if he's not exactly forthcoming with it at the moment, Garrus is grateful for the break time before they go into what's gone so incredibly wrong in Garrusland (hint: just about anything). Different universes, genders, whatever aside, Shepard always had a knack for knowing their crew and what makes each member tick.

"Why don't we go for both? I can show you some real skill while I beat you, and you win by getting to tell everyone about it."

Shepard also wins the added glory of getting to learn what's going on in that birdbrain of Garrus'. ..."Win".

[sassguard]

Please, we all know Shepard lives for the privilege of being his crew's inadvertent therapist. It keeps his mind off his own problems, for the most part, so everyone's a winner, right?

"Who says I'm going to be the one losing?" He challenges, feeling a competitive streak rise in him, one that feels oddly familiar -- until it occurs to him that he's felt it before, and not all that long ago, from his perspective. Hands on his hips, he surveys the range critically.

"Not as good as shooting bottles off Citadel, but I guess that'd be hard to live up to."

[calibrating]

Everyone's a whiner, more like.

But they're appreciative whiners who all love their Commander and would do anything for him/her, depending on their respective universes, so it all works out in the end.

"Get us clearance to the top of one of those buildings,n and we can make that a close second. Until then, well, we've got... TAB, Pepsi, and Coca-Cola. Whatever the hell those're supposed to be."

Garrus bends down and grabs himself a pistol. Something small to start, and they can move on towards the heavier subjects guns.

Metaphor.

[sassguard]

It's not called the SSV Daddy Issues for nothing.

"Poison in a can, or might as well be," he supplies, watching Garrus pick out his weapon of choice with a smirk and raised eyebrows, but opting not to offer any commentary in favor of sighting down the range instead.

"Works to boost your blood sugar in a pinch, though. You gonna take the first shot, or are we gonna flip for it?"