maskormenacelogs | painting the town

WHO: Doc and anybody (except Marty) who wants to play some paintball!
WHERE: De Chima 03, the backyard
WHEN: June 5th, afternoon
WHAT: Some very important scientific testing...in the form of a paintball game.
WARNINGS: None so far! Will update if needed.

There's just one week to go until a very important day for Doc: Marty's 18th birthday. And that means everything he has planned must be rated and tested---he needs every piece of this birthday party to go off without a hitch. To that end, he's asked his friends to covertly spread the word to anyone they might know---he'd like to gather a small group to play with some paintball guns of his own design.

The backyard isn't an ideal place size-wise, but it's the one place he's sure to be warned of an approaching Marty thanks to Qubit's excellent security. He's set up some leftover boxes, cones, and various large objects from Dog Day as obstacles, re-rigged some obstacle course parts (the ones Marty didn't set ablaze, anyway), and at last the stage is set for some thorough paintball gun testing.

Doc strides over to any and all comers clad in his goggles and a navy blue jumpsuit, one of the guns set in a holster on his belt.

"Welcome, glad you could make it! Equipment's on the table, and once we have at least four we have a game. Or multiple games, if that's your preference."

The table area is stocked with guns loaded with bright paint colors, protective vests in a variety of sizes, and safety goggles all laid out for the taking. When Doc's not encouraging someone to start, he's idly aiming at one of the obstacle course targets. That burst of green paint is always satisfying.

[ooc: The only qualification for getting into this test is 'not Marty', so go wild! He'll encourage breaking off into smaller groups if anyone wants to have a private game.]

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Somehow, the fact that this was a thing that was happening slipped Qubit's mind. As such, he accidentally 'ports himself directly into the path of a stray paintball. It hits him right in the solar plexus, and he lets out a yelp and spins away in surprise. Of course, it doesn't take him long to figure out what he was just shot by, since the stain on his shirt is bright orange, besides which it hurts a lot less than an actual gun. (Don't ask how he knows this.) But Jesus that still stings.

Doc immediately lowers his goggles when the shot connects. He'd tried to re-aim upon seeing the flash, but it was too late. All he can do is approach Qubit with a towel and guilty smile.

"Are you all right? I should have taken proper precautions with you...that shot hit without protective gear, is it bruising?"

Qubit regains his composure quickly enough, though he's still grimacing a bit. "I'm fine. Nothing I didn't deserve." He takes the towel and dabs at the stain, not terribly gingerly. It's fortunate he's not in the habit of wearing expensive shirts. "Good grief. The thing is, I even knew you were doing paintball. I just should have remembered it was today. Good thing you weren't doing real shooting, I suppose."

"I'd certainly be more cautious than this if that were the case," Doc assures him, though he still looks slightly worried. "Anything I can do to make this up to you?"

...That's perhaps a dangerous offer to make, but he'll take the risk.

Daryl's invitation to the pre-party planning had been a personal one given by one crazy-haired scientist as he was leaving his assigned housing earlier in the week. And hell, he may never have done paintball guns prior to the world ending, but he could shoot. And he didn't figure it would be that different than using a shotgun or a rifle.

He showed up about an hour after the time he'd been told it would start and skirted the edges of the backyard, studying the small 'range' and what other people were doing. The gear set to the side. Eventually he moved to the equipment table and started looking through it, wondering if he should just put it on and go or if he needed to wait for someone. His crossbow, as per usual, was still strung over his shoulder. But with all the paint flying, he'd probably need to find a place to stow it.

Ah, and there was Mr. Dixon! Doc approached with his usual friendly smile. "Glad you could make it. As you can see, the trial run's become somewhat chaotic..."

A ball whizzed past his leg. At least he was assured that the guns were in proper working order.

"Feel free to suit up and pick your favorite color of paint pellet. Ever played the game before?"

He looked up at the Doc. His hair was still just as crazy as it had been when he'd done the inviting. Daryl had to guess that it was just his way and it wasn't because he was frazzled. Or only because he was frazzled, anyway.

At the question, he shook his head, "Know how to use a gun. Looks about the same. What colors you got left?"

"Green, silver, orange. Stationary targets are to your right if you want to get a feel for 'em, and then you have the moving targets."

One of the moving targets is rustling in a bush. Doc laughs and waves, knowing that they'll get each other yet. "Any questions?"

Daryl drifted from one side of the table to the other and claimed some of the gear. There were suits, goggles, padding, but no helmets.

"Yeah. Headshots allowed?" They were Daryl's go-to out of habit, though he had no problem with cover fire or strafing. But anything at a high speed probably hurt like a bitch. He wasn't actually 100% sure of that, though.

Doc shook his head. "Afraid not---though I do need helmets just in case, can't expect everyone's aim to be perfect. I'll need everyone in good enough condition for the cake."

He tapped his own gun in thought. "I'll save some for you, of course. As thanks."

He stared for a moment before scoffing in amusement and ducking his head, the small smile that had come being hidden away so it was harder to see. Harder to make out how big it was, how much that offer made him feel a little more appreciated. He shook his head, though, protesting, "Nah. You ain't gotta do that."

He picked up one of the guns and tested it's weight before holding it with one hand against his shoulder the same way he would his bow, "There a place to get dressed at? Or we just put this on over what we got?"

"They should fit over clothing," he clarified, tugging on the luau shirt he wore underneath. There was always a luau shirt.

He laughed. "Besides, the birthday boy isn't very fond of sugar. There will be enough left---for today, though, I've packed sandwiches. It's about all I can handle without causing a kitchen crisis."

"You gonna be out there, too?" Daryl asked the question as he dropped the gear back down so he could shake the suit out and see how it opened, then start pulling it on. "How good a shot are you?"

painting the town

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