bakerstreet | ( picture prompt meme )

[ A low whistle, as Legolas makes 5 neat killshots in under 5 seconds. Not something lightly done, and not something that's usually accomplished with such poise; the R&D member watching from beyond frosted glass throws his fist in the air with unbridled joy. ]

First to 150, then.

[ A flip of a switch, and mechanisms grind to replace broken targets with new versions. The conveyors around them whir to life, shifting paper enemies in irregular rhythms from side to side, top to bottom— a morbid dance of would-be victims who jerk along metal railings like poorly-rendered animatronics. ]

Headshots are 10 each, 5 points for anything else.

[ This would be a rigorous competition for anyone but them, really. Venom harbors no illusions about the outcome of this friendly 'spar' (Legolas would be able to hit 300 long before he hits two-thirds of that number), but his ego isn't so fragile that he'll back down from something that he can ultimately benefit from. ]

What's your asking price, if you win.

[ He's offering a favor, Legolas. Choose one wisely. ]

[ Legolas had to admit one thing: it was a fine weapon, and in fact, he found it quicker than his bow, which was a very important advantage in its favour. The magazine held no more bullets, than he could hold arrows in one hand while shooting, and it was most certainly more comfortable and simply... easier. In his mind, he was already weighing the pros and cons of switching to this weapon— but maybe the decision would come on a field test. Next mission, this would be his weapon of choice. It was one thing to shoot at targets, even moving ones, on the practise grounds, it was something else to take it against live enemies. They were less predictable, and distances could be greater.

Listening to Venom speak, he swapped the magazine with surprisingly well practised motions—

One hundred fifty? And ten points for a headshot. Then these three mags, five bullets each, he had on him should suffice. A boastful thought, but he did not give voice to it, only grinned and let himself be lost in thought for a couple of seconds.

How often was it that he could get Venom to do just about anything he wished? Not nearly often enough. So he thought long and hard, not even the noise of the moving targets distracting him from this task. ]

One evening. [ He lifted his free hand in the air, index up. ] Those rare days when there is no place or person who needs our attention. I want your evening on one of those.

[ A strange request? Perhaps. One that would certainly benefit both of them at that. ]

[ In some distant future, Venom will most likely face a lifetime of scrutiny and disapproval from a certain other elf for making his son hold a firearm and— god forbid— contemplate using it on a semi-regular basis, but that's then and this is now. Life is difficult when your patron-turned-combat-buddy-turned-comrade-turned-(something) used to live in circumstances so far removed from your current predicament.

(Then again, Venom isn't one to talk.)

So he focuses on the present, and the perhaps not-so-distant future. ]

You'll get plenty of those on the field. [ An unforgiving Afghan evening, huddled in a bunker under starlight that's undisturbed by artificial illumination. In those hours, 'Venom Snake' becomes irrelevant: the white noise of his radio and the distant sound of wild animals are the only things that require his attention.

But he also knows that Legolas isn't talking about being dead to the world, so he narrows his eyes in vague softness before hefting his gun and facing his targets with quiet gravitas. ]

Fine. An evening on base.

[ Those evenings, out in the field, Legolas would take too, when they came. But there was a difference still, between the times when they could truly be at ease and feel safe, most of all, and comfortable, and those evenings when they awaited the continuation of their mission, that right moment to enter the fray or to leave it, or took a rest after a harsh day of tracking and hunting enemies. Besides that, here he could prepare better than out in the field— food and drink, that was. ]

I will take those when they come as well, I do not think you can take them away from me. [ He took position too, but still sent Venom a playful glance. ] I can promise you one thing, at least, you will enjoy it!

[ That said, he called out to another member of R&D that came by to watch the little display. Besides the one who presented him with the rifle, there were already a few more among their audience, and Legolas couldn't blame them, but he didn't mind either. ]

Count down to when we shall begin! [ And to all of them, he added with a grin that could easily outshine the sun itself. So confident, and in this confidence, very much looking forward to his reward. ] And all of you, keep track of the score!

[ Then, he turned to Venom again— ]

Are you ready?

[ A small gallery to watch their Boss get pummeled... Venom has to take his punches somewhere, after all. He doesn't think much of it either way, and silences the rabble with a palm before moving on.

With his rifle at the ready, he starts all of them off. ]

3... 2...

[ 'One' is counted emphatically by the rest of the Diamond Dogs, who lets their Boss disengage from counting and dive right into the task at hand. The first of the targets to fall is the one closest to Legolas's position, picked off in an audacious challenge as if to say you won't win that easily.

But the taunting ends there, because he isn't afforded the time to calculate his shots before he delivers them. He could try to be petty and snipe at Legolas's trajectory if he wanted to, but that would end with him being considerably behind in points by the end of this gunslinging adventure— ten seconds into the game and he's already lagging, three headshots down after three consecutive bullets to paper torsos.

(To his credit, those wounds would be fatal in a real combat situation.) ]

[ The ribbing was perfectly well received, with a quirk of the mouth and a playfully indignant huff of air, though Legolas did not look over this time. Not just yet. He kept his eyes focused on the targets before him. As much as this was just a game, and he wouldn't mind to lose, he still wanted to give it his very best. Venom deserved nothing less, after all.

If said very best was also picking the most difficult of targets, as a jab right back at Venom, well... so be it!

One magazine, another, then the third. At their feet, a rain of emptied shells. It was those two seconds longer than it could have been, had he gone for the most obvious targets, but he was done while Venom was still shooting his last targets to build up to the count of 150 points. Slower than Legolas himself, true enough, but no less impressive. Few could compete with an elf, after all, even fewer would not fail to an embarrassing degree. Venom was among those of the latter group, and once all shooting ceased, Legolas was smiling with warmth, looking between their targets, so many of them shredded, and Venom himself. ]

You are a worthy opponent, regardless of your loss today. [ No mocking, he did mean it. ] You could impress many an elf, perhaps even beat some in such a competition.

[ Venom knows how to take his losses with grace: little does he know that that's the entire principle of his existence. He steps back and regards his work with a critical eye, taking note of where he could improve while acknowledging that he didn't do half as badly as he could have.

It's only once he comes to his own conclusions that he moves to accept Legolas's compliment, taking it with a grain of salt (there are things about elves— namely, their abilities— that he fancies he'll never quite grasp) while conceding with a palm to his companion's shoulder. ]

I'll stick to spotting for you instead.

[ As if Legolas needs a spotter, either (he doesn't). Competition is fine, but they're also a waste of bullets, and one knows all too well how the aviators-clad XO of Mother Base feels about leeching GMP.

He breathes a short laugh, and gestures for the members of R&D to start cleaning up. ]

Looks like you don't need too much practice with your new gun. I'll have Ocelot pencil you into the next mission.

[ Needless to say, Legolas was glad for the admission, for the confirmation that the next mission would be his. Or rather, theirs. It tickled him pink every time his abilities were appreciated, no matter how unshakeable was his confidence. And this was the boastful sort of enjoyment, but the humble kind, a duck of a head, a smile. All the thanks that he knew was necessary.

The weight of Venom's hand on his shoulder, a welcome one. ]

Or trusting me to watch over you...

[ It wasn't even a question, but a statement with a hopeful edge to it. His gaze lingered, lips parted with half a smile, before he turned to make space for the R&D to start on their task. The rifle was his, now, he knew well enough. He knew he could take it, and that he had to care for it. So tonight he would spend learning it, to take it apart and to put it back together, to clean it and prepare it for the upcoming mission. ]

So you may do your work in peace and safety.

[ That was rather the point, wasn't it, of taking him or DD along. To make sure the missions were a lot easier, for everyone involved. ]

[ He looks over his shoulder from where he'd already strayed close to the outskirts of R&D, lit from the front by the sun that's starting to set beyond the expanse of Seychelles sea. The light bathes him in orange-red, not quite ominous but reminiscent of the state he always comes back to Mother Base in: bloodied, dust-torn.

Regardless, his softened expression lingers. ]

Neither of those are on the battlefield.

[ He'd had 'peace' and 'quiet' by him on occasion, but the latter is gone and the former is drowned in 15 cups of coffee by now, lost in ledgers (Venom worries about him, about that backwards peace).

But the sentiment is understood, and he turns fully now, his expression obscured by the strong backlight. A false Messiah. ]

But I trust you to watch my back. [ Unwavering; he has faith in spades. ] Always have.

Here, lmk if it works!

( picture prompt meme )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

EMERGES FROM THE NO INTERNET ABYSS

webee!

no subject

no subject