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maskormenacelogs2016-08-11 09:30 pm
pillz) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-08-11 09:30 pm
Entry tags:
O4 👶 HE FOUND A SIX-SHOOTER GUN
WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & Petyr Baelish, possibly other starters tbd
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Mid-August
WHAT: Firearm instruction, Petyr's astonishment that Kavinsky doesn't actually speak in typo and crappy shorthand.
WARNINGS: Guns, vulgarity, triggering language (misogyny, racism, etc.), probably some crime-related meta
[tonight, the gun range is not a gun range.
instead, it's a dubiously acquitted warehouse in a district where attitudes toward loud bangs are lax and attitudes toward intruders are very strict. the building stands forty feet tall, single story, unlit for the moment, and crowned with a pretty skylight. a little less attractive: an absolutely enormous bleach stain on the concrete floor, right by the open loading bay. in another world, this might have been an amazon supply station. kavinsky is standing by the raised door under sodium lights.
he has one diamond stud earring, gel in his hair, slightly anachronistic jeans and a wifebeater. he looks like a horrible teenager, and he is. he also looks bored-- a sentiment he isn't entitled to at all. kavinsky isn't late this once, but he wasn't very early either; if petyr had come sooner, he might have had to take a walk around the grounds before the mitsubishi had rolled up with kavinsky inside of it.]
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Mid-August
WHAT: Firearm instruction, Petyr's astonishment that Kavinsky doesn't actually speak in typo and crappy shorthand.
WARNINGS: Guns, vulgarity, triggering language (misogyny, racism, etc.), probably some crime-related meta
[tonight, the gun range is not a gun range.
instead, it's a dubiously acquitted warehouse in a district where attitudes toward loud bangs are lax and attitudes toward intruders are very strict. the building stands forty feet tall, single story, unlit for the moment, and crowned with a pretty skylight. a little less attractive: an absolutely enormous bleach stain on the concrete floor, right by the open loading bay. in another world, this might have been an amazon supply station. kavinsky is standing by the raised door under sodium lights.
he has one diamond stud earring, gel in his hair, slightly anachronistic jeans and a wifebeater. he looks like a horrible teenager, and he is. he also looks bored-- a sentiment he isn't entitled to at all. kavinsky isn't late this once, but he wasn't very early either; if petyr had come sooner, he might have had to take a walk around the grounds before the mitsubishi had rolled up with kavinsky inside of it.]
no subject
And so he waits, and Kavinsky rolls up exactly how Baelish would expect. A true teenager of this modern world. ]
Quite the place you chose.
[ He braces himself for the onslaught of slang that will probably make Kavinsky incomprehensible. ]
no subject
What up, Pan. You know what, I take that back. I hear there is honest to God, for real, Peter fucking Pan in this world. [one pictures a wee comprehensibility meter wobbling dangerous left to right as kavinsky continues to speak.] And like you said, you an old motherfucker. [it wasn't exactly what baelish had said, but the politician had referred to his age once upon a text.
kavinsky comes forward, offering his hand to shake in what might be a gesture of surprising courtesy.] It's on loan. Try not to do shit to it besides bullet holes.
no subject
Not as old as Ambassador Urquhart. [ Says Petyr with a smirk. ] But yes. There is a Peter Pan in this world. He broke into my house at the beginning of June, actually.
[ He looks at the gun with a small tinge of uncertainty before he reaches out to gingerly accept it from Kavinsky. One brow raises after the comment, and the brothel man has no qualms about getting a bit crude. ]
And what do you expect me to do with it precisely? Shove it up my ass? There isn't much else to do with it other than shoot bullets from my understanding of these weapons.
no subject
I meant the warehouse, unky Pete. [kavinsky's eyes crinkle. he steps backward, into the dark mouth of the warehouse in question and leans across to hit the light switch.] I dunno what the fuck I expect you to do with a warehouse, precisely. But I'm pretty fucking sure you could think of a lot to do with it. From your understanding of warehouses. [it's a compliment. creep to creep. and now, from within the cavernous interior, there's a bang
bang
of fluorescent light panels coming on, one at a time. the space begins to illuminate, all the way down to the far wall. it's vast and empty, apart from the skeezy-looking shades and the skeezy-looking boy, and the skeezy-looking targets he installed toward the middle. there are a lot of them, some shoved off to the side, apparently waiting their turn. but the first row of three are cardboard cutouts that look, unmistakably, like the russian invaders who had plagued the news only months ago.] C'mon in. Did you kill Peter Pan?
no subject
So is this going to be where your production happens? Or would it be a bit too open for your tastes? There do not seem to be many places to hide your wares should authorities decide to investigate. Of course, knowing the right people as you do...authorities may be persuaded to keep their distance.
[ But after the question of killing Peter Pan, he laughs a bit. ]
I do not know what sort of power you believe I have at my disposal. But there is no way I could combat magic of that magnitude directly. I did have my home warded against him, however.
no subject
Sounds like a kid who knows a good party. Probably should've read more into the subtext. We get his story, back where I come from. Lotta pubescent boys with psychodynamic issues, [he gestures vaguely. you know the rest. never mind that baelish doesn't.]
Hey, man. Are you threatening me?
[the other question comes suddenly and a little out of order. satisfied with the arrangement of the targets, he comes back toward petyr, waving at the gun in the older man's hand. it's not a very instructive wave. more of a, pay attention to that thing than a, do this thing specifically with the thing.] You gonna sic some cops on my ass? Get 'em in my home? [he smiles.]
no subject
All I know of him is what he did here. And what he did here was kill quite a few people in order to recreate his version of Neverland.
[ He tilts his head at the following question, laughing easily. ]
Hardly. I am saying just the opposite, my friend. I have a few cops under my thumb who are more than willing to look the other way for the right price. Should you come across any trouble with the Maurtia Falls PD -- you need only give me a call.
[ The gesture at the gun does little to help him, and so Baelish makes no move with it either way. He's waiting for some concrete instruction on how the fuck this thing works before he goes off attempting to shoot it. ]
playin a little loose w timelines
it's exactly what dorian had intimated, of course. he isn't surprised.]
Check it out, [he says instead. he pulls up petyr's gun hand, unmindful that the muzzle is, for an instant, swerving precariously close to his chest.] The clip is in here, with the bullets. You release it like this, this button. [the clip drops into kavinsky's hand.] But there might be one in the chamber, ready to fire. Depending on if somebody's racked it before. So you check like this. [despite that kavinsky is, in general, a weirdly inattentive person, he goes slow enough, showing the older man the parts.
a single exposed bullet shows past kavinsky's fingers on the gun's upper. it's shiny. considerably smaller than a sword, more innocuous, but petyr probably isn't fooled by that kind of thing anymore. arrowheads aren't all that wide either. kavinsky reloads the gun.] Now you try. And then the fun shit starts.
hahaha timelines are fluid >)
(He does hold his breath when he does it, however. Afraid that something may go horribly wrong if he makes one wrong move.)
Alright. That wasn't so bad. ]
And this clip is what you must replenish when the ammunition runs out, correct? How often must you do it?
tw more pointless vulgarity, im probably going to stop warning for this
[maybe everybody talks like that where he comes from.
nah, probably not.]
So it depends on how many shots you're gonna take. They don't really 'go bad' like raw meat or LSD or shit like that. [he looks up at baelish, his hollow eyes crinkling.] No offense, man, but it kinda seems like you got people to take care of this shit for you, most days. Might not bother with a spare clip, if it's gonna sag the lines of your Gucci power suit. [no offense, for real!! squint a little, and maybe it's even a form of flattery.]
hahaha! It should just be standard Kavinsky blanket warning. 'Everything he says is trash.'
[ Petyr raises his brow at the reference. Horses don't really seem like Kavinsky's primary mode of transportation, after all. And if the extended clip hangs out like a horse cock, then it seems large and inconvenient to have it. But it is fortunate that Petyr is who he is. Any other person from Westeros would probably get offended by the boy whereas Littlefinger moves on from the subject without so much as looking aghast.
He holds the gun out in front of himself, squinting over the edge of the barrel. In a way, this seems similar to shooting a bow and arrow. Only there's less strength required to do damage. ]
I have a bodyguard, yes. Said bodyguard is well-versed in swords and not so much guns. This will be handy to have knowledge in. You do not even have to be a well-trained fighter to do damage with this. Now, show me how it's done.
[ He lowers the gun and offers it back to Kavinsky. He wants to watch the boy's stance and see first hand what it's like to shoot without the first time being a first person point of view. Petyr wants an idea of what to expect when he pulls the trigger himself. ]
yes. :') also, sorry for my slow, orientation & guest are nearly over
[then he raises the pistol up. because he's teaching, he doesn't do that stupid-ass thing where he uses just one hand and lets it droop over one side like a gangsta. instead, he holds it with both his hands, takes aim properly, and only slouches a little bit before he pulls the trigger.
of course, if he was a real proper correct thoughtful teacher, he'dve gotten them some ear protection.
instead, the discharge roars deafening, but it dissipates quick. tinny reverberations in the huge space of the warehouse. the smell of cordite is immediate.] After you shoot, there's a shitton of little particles all over your arms and shirt. That's the smell. You and me we can't see it. But the five oh has equipment for that shit. [a beat.] The police. [maximum helping.] You get me?
[kavinsky lowers the gun. a few dozen yards ahead, one of the paper russions has a little hole in his face.]
don't worry! As Halloween approaches, I'm going to get slower and slower.
With this modern technology, one must be careful in all areas. I've recently learned the importance of using a phone called a burner, and I have acquired one. I would suggest our communication takes place on that from now on. I have people watching me.
[ He takes the gun in his hands and tries to mirror what he saw Kavinsky do -- adopting a similar stance and placing both hands on the weapon. He stares down the barrel for a moment before pulling back the trigger. The bullet explodes from the chamber and the kick is a bit stronger than he expected.
Petyr's shot isn't where he wanted it to go either. He had aimed for the cardboard head and instead sank the bullet into the throat. ]
no subject
THAT WAS FUCKIN' AWESOME.
[kavinsky's voice is nearly as loud as a gunshot. well i mean not really, but he's still terribly loud. his laugh goes off like a crack of lightning, raking the dark ceiling.] In the neck. [he moves over a few steps, crossing his skinny arms over his chest. still looking at their paper enemy with easy admiration.] Okay, so correct for that shit. You just gotta get used to it. So it becomes instinct. Like your sword-swinging motherfuckers at home. [he gestures as if to say, you know the type. who kill with a blade as easy as breathing.]
Hey, criminal. Burner phone is a good call. [kavinsky's smile stays. he uncrosses his arms to slap the phone in his pocket.] I'll shoot you a message. Pain in the ass is switching them out, though. Who's watching you?
no subject
I do believe this would be far easier to use than swords. So it should be a simpler matter to become accustomed to this.
[ And perhaps he could teach Jorah as well. Jorah the sword sworn bodyguard is great, but Jorah the versatile gun user would be better. ]
A few self-proclaimed spies. I do not know their names. But my bodyguard has caught them lurking around my places of business, poking where they do not belong. There have also been multiple attempts to access my files in the ambassadorial office. I do not know if those attempts are from the same men, but I have been exercising extreme caution when it comes to the paper trail I leave.
cw mention of columbine
shitty adolescent creepiness. which is probably more protection than one imagines, from other nosy investigators, but probably not sufficient for an ambassador.]
Paper-paper or you upgrading to electronic shit lately? [he asks.] In semi-automatic weapons, the next round's already loaded up after you fire. Fully automatic means the bullets go continuous. You can hold down the trigger and spray around all that shit, Columbine style. [he sweeps his arm in an arc around the paper russians.]
no subject
Electronic, of course. Actual paper has become fairly obsolete, has it not?
[ He glances down at the gun in his hands and decides not to shoot anymore rounds. He's gotten a feel for it, and he imagines the scenarios where he has to use it, those will be at close range so he won't necessarily need to be very proficient at aiming. ]
Is this one mine to keep? And do you want money for it? [ Or is it a gift of their alliance? ]
no subject
he gestures generously at the gun, wavey-wave. he doesn't want money for it. the matter and possibility of a gift, though, shadows his face with a separate thought. he glances at the untouched russians one more time, and then starts to lope toward the exit bay again. he nods at petyr to follow.] Probably, what you gotta do is hire yourself a hacker. Egghead. Computer people. Computer powers people?
Whatever. [he wipes his nose with the back of his hand.] You got one of those already? I don't know any.
[which is
probably why he got hacked :') shhh]
no subject
It would be a highly valuable thing to have. I do not have anyone with that specific set of talents, no. I do know a young woman who is proficient in technology, but she is more adept at manipulating the human body than she is at manipulating a machine. So if you know anyone who would work well with our kind, then please do share a name.
[ Baelish wants a criminal hacker. No other type need apply. Regular hackers are just nosy and prefer to get into everything. He imagines it will be worse to deal with one of them than the people who are actively searching his things. He tucks the gun into his belt for now, drawing the top layer of his tunic over top of it. ]
mild powerpose, lmk if not ok
[he wishes he had a name to give baelish right now, actually. he understands something about the transactive nature of these criminal proceedings. regrettably, just like the unnamed woman's forte is the human body, kavinsky's expertise lies more in magic than technology, himself.
outside, the mitsubishi sits parked, ghostly in the dim light of the street. kavinsky blips the door unlocked, opens it up. it takes him a minute, but he re-emerges from the rally car with his fingers fisted around something small. he has no compunction about grabbing petyr by the wrist with his other, tugging his fingers open to lay the lighter in his palm.] Bribe, [he says.] Now you say, 'badda bing, badda boom.'
it's all good!
And so he follows and allows Kavinsky to take his hand. His brows raise when the lighter is dropped into it. He knows what this is, but he's confused about the bribe part. And even more so as the jibberish Kavinsky spoke after that. ]
Badda bing, badda boom? What does that even mean?
no subject
[he definitely doesn't care about being confusing.
but then he juts his chin at the little lighter, and hangs his arms over the top of his car door.] That shit you're holding right there. It can track magic.