2007-11-02: A Man With A Gun


Felix_icon.gif Giselle_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif Vasili_icon.gif

Summary: Shockingly, no bodily injury occurred in this scene.

Date It Happened: November 2nd, 2007

A Man With A Gun

Midtown, NYC - Kirby Plaza Building - Indoor Firing Range

Is this how FBI agents show you they love you? Because Fel, on discovering that A) Kirby has an indoor range in the basement, and B) Despite her status as a crime lord's daughter, his blushing bride doesn't know how to shoot, has dragged Misha downstairs, and presented his beloved with a pistol of her VERY OWN. A Walther PPK. And now he's patiently coaxing her through learning how to fire it.

There's just something about this that feels… so… strange. Powerful. Right. Mariska's squeezing off round after round under Felix's apt tutelage. Though she would rather die than confess to any of this allowed, there's something of a little smirk slowly unfurling across her lips which each additional shot fired. That's not in any way sinister or foreshadowing. Next stop? Bond villainess.

"I just don't see why you think you can shoot better than I can, Giz." The voice - voiceS - are coming from the stairs. "I mean. Obviously, I'm the better marksman. Your boobs probably get in the way of your shooting." A pause. "Not that I mind them." And then the door to the firing range is pushed open by…

A man with a gun. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES oh it's just Vasili. With a gun in his hand. A Desert Eagle, to be exact. The blonde Russian is in the process of loading the weapon while he walks, intending to head over to one of the lanes in short order to start shooting up whatever type of target has been raised - but he stops not two steps inside the door as he lets the chamber of the gun slide shut. "And lookie who it is, Giselle."

"Say that again and I'll punch yours off," floats Giselle's voice in grumpy reply. Knowing her, she's probably not kidding. After all, Vasili does have boobs too! Even though his are a mite smaller. The female agent has a similar semi-automatic in her hand, though the difference from Vasili's is that it simply hangs limply from her hand as she descends the stairs. It's loaded, natch, and has been for a while.

"…haaa." She does not need Vasili's prompt. Her eyes narrow in surprise, fascination, and what suspiciously looks like the beginnings of pleasure. "Oh, my. What do have we here?" Each word is drawn out for effect.

Fel's out of his suit jacket, which is hanging on the coat hook at the end of his own lane. Which exposes the leather shoulder holster worn over the crisp white shirt, though at the moment his own Sig is riding there comfortably. At the sound of voices, he takes off his own ear protection, since he's in the mist of showing Misha how to reload the magazine from a box of loose ammo. His lips immediately thin into a grim line, but all he says, with flat politeness, is "Babenkov and Muldoon. I'm showing my wife how to shoot."

You know what's probably a bad idea? Distracting a novice shooter. Thankfully (for all involved), Mariska's just emptied the lat bullet from the chamber down-range and, thus, when she abruptly finds herself distracted by new arrivals and her finger squeezes the trigger one last time, there's naught but a faint click to be heard. She turns from the targets to give Vasili and Giselle the eye. Go ahead. Say something smart and sarcastic.

Where there is invitation, Vasili will be there to walk all over it. He gazes back at Felix and Mariska with a smirk on his face, one eyebrow lifting just a tiny bit in order to convey the right amount of utter disdain. "How cute. Your little lady and you make one hell of a pair. Maybe between you there's enough to make a person who isn't useless." Contrast: Vasili and Giselle, violent thugs in a perfect relationship. With guns! … "Giselle, I don't have boobs. Even if I did, I don't think you can really punch boobs /off/."

"Anybody can shoot," Giselle chimes in obnoxiously. There is already a smirk on her lips as she eyes the Russian pair, choosing to follow Vasili's lead into the range. "Just hold the thing and pull a trigger. Tada."

Without halting, she squints a little, still eying Felix and Mariska. "I can try it and find out for you, Vas."

"Don't make me come over there and pistolwhip you, Babenkov," Fel says, tone merely dry and put upon. He motions Misha over to him. "Here, honey, you need to reload. Pop the clip out, I'm gonna show you how to refill the magazine." Was that an actual endearment? Maybe that Company-arranged mawwidge isn't as much a charade as one might think.

For her part, Mariska somehow manages to miss most of the underlying hostility that still lingers triangularly betwixt her husband and his blond(e) nemesis…es. Of course, she's not completely oblivious. She can tell there's a palpable sort of unpleasant tension in the room that doesn't seem to dissipate when she turns her gaze away and tries to focus on refilling the clip of her German shooter. And then… a thought springs into her brain that makes her eyes go a little wide and before she can stop herself, it's rolling right off of her tongue, directed as Felix: «He's not one of your… exes… is he?»

Has she forgotten that there's someone else in the room who can understand Russian? No. Probably not. At least she's making grace to keep her voice down, though, right?

Something in Vasili's brain goes *pop* at the mere suggestion implied by the words that come out of Mariska's mouth. His jaw drops and he splutters for a second, his face quickly turning red up to his ears. "Okay. That's just fucking sick. You people are disgusting." He can't manage to throw off the small shudder that suddenly runs up and down his spine, and he shakes his head as he steps to the side and moves into an open lane. "Say another thing like that, lady, and I'll put a bullet right between your eyes - Company and girly-boyfriend be damned."

It is to Giselle's dismay, at this moment, that she has no knowledge of Russian. "What'd she say what'd she say?" she wheedles like she's eight. No matter, though. She holds her own gun tensed near her chest when Vasili gives the verbal indication that /he/ might be willing to shoot.

To the other pair: "Speak English or don't say it out in the open, assholes."

"If you ever threaten my wife like that again, in jest or in earnest, I'll kill you, Vasili." Fel's tone is almost casual, conversational. But the blue eyes have gone icy. "It's not her fault. It was a genuine question - she's not all hung up on it."

«I doubt very much my father would appreciate that,» says Mariska, head bowed but voice loud enough to be clearly heard this time as she brazenly opts to hide behind her family name instead of her husband's. For a moment or two, the only other noise that fills the room is the slow and metallic arrangement of bullets being methodically slipped into the small magazine in Misha's hand; like the second hand of a clock. Tick… tick… tick. She then lifts her dark-haired head and responds too-sweetly to Giselle, "I like your jacket. It's very nice."

"She asked the fruit if I'm one of his goddamn exes, Giz, 'cause they're both freaks." It looks for a moment like Vasili might be willing to say a great deal more on the subject - particularly in response to Felix's returning threat - but that single sentence from Mariska shuts him up in two seconds flat. The blond sets his jaw. He might just be gritting his teeth. A glance is cast across the long room to the targets at the end of the range, and the Russian briefly entertains the fantasy of having the Ivanov pair at the wrong end of his gun barrel.

"What - bwuh -" Misinterpretation ftw. For all of four seconds, that is, until Vasili fills her in. Giselle also casts a disturbed look across the range, bringing her fingers up to her face and scratching beside her (glossy!) lips almost absentmindedly. Her stare flickers over to Vasili for the briefest of movements. "Hey. Just say the word, and I'll be on them." Not the gun, presumably. Uh. Hopefully.

Felix just….grins at Giselle. One of those feral barings of teeth that promises all sorts of later unpleasantness. And then he glances at Misha's work. "Well done, dear," he says, sweetly. "Now put the target another ten yards out," he orders.

Mercifully, Mariska has no further machine gun retorts to toss out and so she goes back to obediently minding Felix's instructions with a slightly grim look on her face. The praise, earned either for her less than mediocre marksmanship or her dead-eye lampooning of Vasili, does little to woo her. "How long have you two been doing this?" she wonders conversationally. They don't have their ear protection on yet… that means casual conversation and ego-pricking is still a go, right?

But Vasili is distracting himself with the targets. He stands in his lane, holding the gun out in front of him with both hands to steady his grip. He's not actually aiming; just holding the weapon at around waist-height. It looks like he'd very much like to turn around and fire it at Mariska, though. "I dunno, Giz. Felix might be asking for another beating if he keeps letting his mouth run away with itself."

That's why Giselle's not fooling around with the lanes right now, nosiree. "Doing what?" Either she's oblivious, being an ass, or quite simply referring to the less savory parts of the exchange that just occurred. "…hey you know, Mariska. I can probably show you how to shoot better than your douchebag of a hubby."

"Save it for the actual targets, chuvak," Fel says, calmly, stepping back into his own lane and unholstering the Sig.

"How long have you worked for Primatech?" asks the Russian woman, clarifying her statement in a brusque, accent-laden drawl while wheeling a fresh target downrange and slightly further out than her last. When Giselle makes the offer to play gun-toting tutor, Mariska inclines her head and momentarily considers the idea. "Really? Well, let's see… if you can manage to do better than he does this round and might consider not referring to him as a douchebag, I'll take you up on some secondary lessons." Is she kidding? Did she just initiate some sort of shooting contest between Giselle and Felix? What is this… Robin Hood?!

But. But. This is a contest between Vasili and Giselle, not between Giselle and Fairy-Man. Despite his personal disappointment, though, the man seems intrigued by the prospect of such a contest. Enough so, in fact, that he straightens up a little and gives his gun a wave, using it to gesture (dangerously) at Felix and Mariska. "Maybe you should do it, Giz. Show them what actual skill is."

"…What. I am totally up for this." Even before she completes her sentence, Giselle is smiling, eyebrows incredulous, with the accumulation of mirth. She takes a step forward right then, not quite twirling her gun with one hand, but giving it a deliberate flourish nonetheless. "Let's do this, bitch."

"Very well." Fel does not use the stereotypical two-handed shooting stance. Instead, he fires almost from the hip, like a gunslinger.

Mariska takes a step or two back away from her lane, leaving the loaded Walther on the gun stand, while allowing for Felix and Giselle to have their breathing room. She's not sure what's going to happen here but she'd like to be out of the line of fire just in case someone (I'm looking at you, Vasili) decides there's a target to be found somewhere other than at the end of the range. (She wants to give Felix a fighting chance at line of sight, you see.) When it's all said and done, neither Felix nor Giselle appears to be a stellar shot… however, it looks like the company agent manages to total up a better score than the Federal one. Looking somewhat consigned to her fate, Mariska acknowledges Giselle's minor victory with, "Alright. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will meet you here… you can teach me what you know."

Look for Mariska's grasp of the more colorful aspects of the English language to get a booster in the coming weeks.

Hey now. Giselle is a good shot. Just…her excitement makes her hand a little less steady than it usually is, which shows once both competitors have had their turn. When it's done, however, it appears she's won anyway. "Now, Misha," Giselle says, shoulders tensing with a strange mix of irritation and relief. "I can do better than that. There's your first lesson: don't let douches get through to you, no matter how much they're…a douche." Wow, Giselle.

Felix doesn't seem terribly offended. Might be because he's strangling his irritation. But he takes a few more careful shots. Looks like he has been relying a bit too much on his power to cover lack of practice.

"I'll, uh…" Ye-ah. What's Mariska really supposed to say to that? She fixes her pale green eyes on Vasili and finally spits out: "…keep that in mind." Right. Sage advice there, Muldoon. Misha's sure to run straight home and embroider it on a throw pillow for posterity. Oh, hey. Christmas gift idea.

Vasili shakes his head a bit, watching the exchange between the rest of the room's visitors. "Giz. I think I'm gonna head upstairs for a while; if I stay here too long, I might forget what a target looks like and cause Mister Fancypants to have a tragic accident."

Felix's only reply is to offer Vasili a stiff middle finger. Ah, such class. Clearly, the Ivanovs were never nobility.

That is how it appears! Giselle smirks and does not bother to shoot again, watching Felix try and recover the damaged bit of his reputation. "You might not have to worry about that, V," she answers, eying the other Russian man's antics with some amusement. "And Mish? I was kidding, but if you really want me to help you with your shooting, I'll be /more/ than glad to. Help."

In two steps, Mariska returns to the firing line, though she's opted not to reclaim her place with the Walther. Instead, she sidles up behind Felix and gently lays a hand on his, hoping to curl his rude gesture into a little slice of hand-holding. «Come on,» she says to his shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. «Let's go home, hm?» Turning to press her cheek to her husband's back (aw!), she replies to Giselle with, "I am sure Felix would appreciate that." And she actually manages to say that with a straight face, too. "He insists I need to know how to protect myself."

Vasili doesn't seem to have much grasp on what's happening at the moment, mostly because his attention has started to drift. Just a little. By the time he looks back at the group he's managed to miss Felix's ever-so-mature signal. In any case, he's far more interested in looking at Giselle. "Don't bother. We'll be better off if they die in a firefight."

"You can't kill me with a gun," Fel says, tone utterly matter of fact. He blinks at Misha. Apparently marriage really does tame the savage jerk, because he doesn't say anything more, save to nod at her. "Yeah, let's," he murmurs.

If Mariska and Felix are leaving, there's no reason for Giselle to stick around. No source of competition + no source of fun? Yeah, she's out of here. With a sigh, she slips her firearm into its holster and turns to head in Vasili's direction, though at her own careless pace. "We can if you're not expecting it, ass," she calls in retreat, not even bothering to turn her head over her shoulder. Hmf. Another day.

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