tampered | Log; ongoing

Log; ongoing

When; September 5th, Weather Curse, midafternoon-ish
Rating; PG?
Characters; Riza Hawkeye [

guardianed] & Sasha Nein [

monochrome_mind]
Summary; Hawkeye's decided that Target Practice Therapy is in order, and winds up with company.
Log;

Too many things had changed suddenly. The revelation was at the base of Hawkeye's mood, and having a personal weather system mimic the sense of oppression and threat that had become more and more prevalent of late was definitely not helping.

The season had changed. Late winter to early fall. Two months had condensed to six days, and it had reminded the Lieutenant why she tried to avoid falling into the widespread habit of assuming time ran linearly, by using the normal days and months. The City was exhausting- how much more of her life would she live out here than she should have?

People had left and returned, people she did not know but who knew her, people she wanted to talk to were ... hard to find. Where was the Colonel, anyways? What was he doing that was so important? And then that nomination- no, that was a non-issue.

She had to stop thinking so much, or she would fall into ruts of thinking. It was second nature to take to the riflery range when things were bothering her- the combination of something she was good at and necessary training meant that it never felt like escapism.

So she was at the range. The pistols that had been strapped into their harness were laid on a bench behind her, and the rifle she'd had slung over her shoulder was automatically pulled forward, as she checked the mechanics of the gun, certain that there was nothing wrong, but habit and protocol dictated that she check anyways.

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For someone who's never picked up a gun in his entire life, nor needed to, Sasha's a bit out of his natural environment by coming here. Needless to say, it's not the worst place in the world, but it'll still take some getting used to. As for Hawkeye, she's not the only one who's stricken with wandering thoughts and emotions.

He arrives a few minutes early than planned, a common trend of his to be on time for any meeting or gathering. Even though he suspects something to be wrong with his superior officer, Sasha isn't about to start the conversation off on the wrong foot. He can ease into the moral dilemmas slowly and with caution within due time.

His eyes, from beneath his familiar sunglasses, stay focused on her weaponry for a few seconds. Finally, he speaks up, in a calm tone of voice.

"It's good to see you, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye knew he had arrived, sixth sense sounding no warning, and continued the final check of her rifle, sliding a last bullet into the rifle's magazine and loading it with the chunk of smoothly working metal and wooden parts. This was familiar.

She could wait until he spoke, and did, because other than a greeting, there wasn't much to say. He had offered to come, and he knew the shooting range was rarely a place for long-winded discussions, not that she hadn't used it for that purpose anyhow. Once he did speak, however, she turned smoothly, butt of the rifle in hand, pointed at the ground, nodding in a half-bow.

"Likewise, I'm sure." The politenesses slipped off her tongue easily, face neutral. In front of her officers she ought to be more collected. Ought to be more settled into a façade of surefootedness.

"Of course. Don't let me distract you from your work." He nods, gesturing lightly to her gun with one gloved hand. Watching is one of the reasons why he came here, and the other can wait. In fact, it's almost a honor to be allowed an audience with her, even if it's at a shooting range.

His gaze turns towards the shooting range's targets, as if analyzing the distance between here and there. "You come here often, I take it?"

With a mental shrug, Hawkeye turned back to the target, as yet unmarked, and lifts the gun to her shoulder, sighting a clean line to the black and white form of the target-person in front of her- two seconds later, and the trigger had been pulled, shell falling to the ground, bullet hole close to the center of the form, but further out than normal, for her. Not good enough.

She had to keep herself from pulling a face, as she had company, before turning back to the guest, gun still pointed at the target, although lowered.

"Frequently, yes." There's a slight pause before her gaze sharpens slightly. "You don't, I take it."

Sasha watches her carefully, noting her position, the way she holds her firearm, and any other details. Once the first shot is fired, he turns to the target, not showing any sign of emotion. It takes him only a second to notice that her shot is off, but better than a what a novice could hit.

"I can tell." He turns his head lightly towards her. "My type of combat training would stand out here. Also, I'm not really fond of firearms. Nothing against your choice of weapon, of course."

He doesn't give her much warning, when the shell from earlier is suddenly lifted off the ground a few feet and into his open hand. The shell is turned around a few times, as Sasha examines the bullet carefully.

"I should hope so." Reloading happens automatically, without conscious thought. Even in a mood like hers, she can't afford to be sloppy. Should never be able to be confused for an amateur. This was her specialty, the skill she brought to the table.

"Oh?" The City seemed to be a gathering grounds for bizarre combat types, things that made absolutely no sense to the Lieutenant. But at his comment against firearms, she shrugged casually. Plenty of people didn't like firearms. She knew herself it was only a method of delusion. "To each their own- I know plenty of people at home who aren't terribly fond of them either."

But then the cast off shell floated. She wasn't really in the mood for surprises, and things defying things like gravity- alchemy was one thing, but there were still some laws that were universal- and the blonde took two quick steps backward, rifle coming with her, pointing carefully at the sky. Point it at the sky- he wasn't trying anything dangerous, that much she could feel. Her shell sat, turning in his palm.

She lowered her gun, other hand coming up to rub at her temples, before shooting him a wry glare. "That's what you meant by 'stand out', I take it."

"Your accuracy skill is above average. In comparison to most, that is." He says nothing else in regards to her abilities, instead choosing to focus on the conversation more than anything else. Part of him wonders if he overdid it by revealing his psychic powers to her so early on.

"Indeed. Guns are ineffective for the job I used to perform back home." Sasha's gaze rests on her calmly, not really surprised by her reaction much. He understands that his form of power might not even exist or make sense to other people. "Yes, that is what I meant. My apologies for startling you."

He gives her a slightly amused smile, which only lasts for a few seconds. "Your reaction time is impressive as well. Although, there's always room to improve upon, am I correct? We all strive for perfection, in it's purest form."

What was he doing? Just calmly analyzing her skill- judgements on her accuracy were usually left to the riflery instructors on the military ranges, and they usually seemed to give her more credit than she deserved. And here was someone who obviously was no expert with marksmanship, telling her how she fared against the average. Her eyebrows pulled together slightly, shooting him a slightly puzzled glance. "It was wide."

Guns are ineffective for a lot of things. Including doing any lasting damage to homunculi. Including fighting back against Pride, including organizing people, being an aide; but they had their place. She quirks an eyebrow, gaze turning a touch cynical, as she settles the butt of the rifle on the ground next to her foot. "...No harm done, I guess." He'd known that would startle her, he had to have. It would have been nice to have some warning. The Lieutenant sighed softly, eyes closing momentarily. One more thing to add to the list of things that had changed too fast. Lovely.

At the compliment she has to stifle back the wryest of laughs. "That's why I spend so much time out here." Her face fell into the determined expression that was standard for her when she was on duty, as though she'd surprised herself with the desire to laugh, and quickly slammed down mental barriers. She couldn't be of use to anyone if she couldn't be better at this, it was absolutely imperative that she improve. "My skills now are not good enough."

Edited 2008-09-06 12:37 (UTC)

Perhaps he's not an expert with firearms, but Sasha's done his fare share of time training people to be better at marksmanship. After spend multiple summers training inexperienced children how to shoot Tiffany lamps, he tends to see failure and mistakes all too often. Even though the shooting style varies, the basic skills remain the same, and it's easy to gauge skill from simple observation. "...It's easily fixable though. Distance isn't the problem, rather, it's calculating your stance and the position of the gun before and during the shot itself."

He nods lightly in regards to her words, still feeling slightly guilty for catching her off-guard. "No, I guess not. But I still startled you, and for that, I apologize." The shell, once he's done looking at it, is set aside calmly. This time, without the use of psychic powers, for the sake of not making this conversation worse. Then again, Sasha does find himself wondering how much longer Hawkeye will let him stay here before she gets completely annoyed with him.

"Improvement comes with time and patience, but also determination. If you don't have a passion for what you do, then it's wasted talent." Even if it's only for a split second, he can see the shift between her emotions. And for now, he can deal with that, although it does give him a vague idea on she handles things. "I figure there's a second reason behind it as well, but perhaps I'm wrong."

There's a pause, as Hawkeye meets his gaze. One second turns into three, and she shifts her weight slightly, turning back to the target, and lifting the rifle off the ground.

"I know." How many years has she been pulling the trigger of her gun? "...I wasn't focused enough for that shot." What an understatement. Focused was the last thing she was right now, and the most important thing that she needed to be. That's why she'd come out here. She could gauge how off of center she was, and stay here, shooting at the paper target until she was hitting the center, again and again.

"Determination can come from other sources than a passion for what you do." The reply came without a pause, without a break, deadly serious, and most of all without turning from her contemplation of the target. She could do better than that failed shot.

Sasha can say nothing when their eyes meet. In fact, it doesn't help that he's staying completely stoic all the while. When she turns away, he finds himself in a bad position to talk. At least for now.

"...I noticed. Then again, I think I might be analyzing the wrong problem." He turns sharply, hands crossed behind his back, staring out at her target once more. "That is true. I was just stating one reason of many. Each person has a different outlook on things. Don't let me distract you though. Carry on."

Once he's done speaking up, his attention is right back on the target, eager to see what comes of the second shot. Success? Failure? Who knows, and really, his whole reason for coming out here couldn't be just to watch her. After all, he does want to talk to her, when time permits it. Until then, he's patient, while also finding this outing to me interesting none the less.

Analyzing the wrong problem? She couldn't help but feel a twitch of irritation- is that what he'd come here for? To analyze her while she shot holes in things? She needed to focus, not to be psychoanalyzed.

But it was easy to swing the gun up to her shoulder, and sight. Easy to fall into the proper stance, to block everything out, block out her visitor, block out the day - no, that wasn't so easy after all. She took two breaths, focusing on the target. The very center of the target, the very middle. The part she needed to hit.

She needed to do this. Needed to succeed. Needed to be better at this.

The center.

Focus.

Fire. Reload, fire again, reload, fire a third time. Reload. Fire. Reload. Fire.

Out of bullets, and she had to stop, turning away, and sitting down on the bench to reload, making no commentary on the results, and taking no note of the other.

The target had a tight cluster of holes just barely shy of center.

If Sasha could even begin to understand her feelings, he'd state his reasons without hesitation. Information and knowledge. That's really all that matters, although part of him is secretly showing concern for Hawkeye. Especially with the inevitable changes coming to the police force, and essentially everyone who works there.

Once she's done firing, he just nods in approval, but decides against looking at her directly.

"It seems like there's a distinct difference between your style and my own, when it comes to marksmanship. Either way, it's not the only reason you came out here today." One hand goes into his pocket calmly. "It's about what was said on the Network earlier, correct? In regards to the position."

He knows that statement is like walking into dangerous territory, but it had to be asked eventually.

With each shot she had tightened herself, wrapped herself tighter into the small circle of bullets, focusing on nothing but shooting the center. It meant she was fully serious, with no room for jokes or flippancies. He had said not to let him distract her, and she'd taken him at his word. Whether or not he approved was none of her concern.

She was training herself, and body and mind went hand in hand, toning her mind to be the same hard steel as the rifle's barrel.

But at the question her gaze was suddenly equally steely, glare sharp. "Why?" This was prying. And prying the Lieutenant did not suffer gladly. It didn't matter why she needed to be out on the range, she just did. It didn't matter what had been said on the Network or what had not been said.

An expected result. Sasha steels his own wits, and gives her an equal look, while keeping his emotions in check. He's not upset or anything like that, but he does have an odd way of dividing concern and work from each other. The only thing he can do now is state his opinion and hope things don't get worse.

"You seem distracted, that's all. Just from watching you, it's like you're trying to close off your mind from idle thoughts and feelings." He shakes his head a little, but keeps his gaze on her. "What I'm trying to say is that I came out here to make sure you're alright after that unnecessary conflict involving the Warden nomination. I felt it was unfair that you was put in such a position without your consent."

He isn't expecting to get out of this unscathed now. Even though Sasha has appreciated the time well spent, in getting to know his superior officer, he's expecting to kicked out any second now. Possibly because he's overstepped his boundaries, and dared to mention personal affairs on the battlefield.

...What.

Of course that was what she was doing, it's what she did every day, but it shouldn't be obvious. It should never be obvious. The one person who should be able to read her like that was the Colonel, and he was nowhere to be found, blast him.

But she couldn't allow herself to be read- that had happened once already, but it had been the Ultimate Eye, she couldn't have hoped to hide the fact that she had met the threat that was Selim from him. She couldn't allow herself to be easily read by...all of her police force. That was unacceptable.

The barest flash of alarm was visible in her eye before barriers impenetrable slid into place. The impassive, unyeilding, expressionless face she'd played to the Fuhrer every day for months settled onto her face and took root.

"I appreciate the sentiment. But I'm fine; there's no need for concern." The words were formal to an extreme, all warmth drained.

It's only obvious today, at least from Sasha's point of view. He's never felt or seen Hawkeye distracted up until now, by coming here in person. Over the Network, it's hard to decipher emotions via text, so hands-on encounters are his only way of pointing out inconsistencies.

Years of dealing with psychology, mental instabilities, and the very working of the mind that have trained him to be this way. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, as much as I respect your words, I disagree with them. As you are my superior officer in the Police Force, I express concern because we're comrades. I don't know everything that's distracting you, but it's hindering your ability, and I don't wish to see it destroy you from the inside out."

And you won't know it either. No one knew. She kept threats and experiences to herself; even ones that she should not, should have told someone- no, not someone, one specific someone.

And Sasha Nein was not that someone.

Do not become angry at this person. He is only trying to help. Calm yourself.

But he was questioning her ability to regulate herself. Questioning her ability to deal with things under stress. Questioning her worth as a soldier. As a soldier of the Amestrian military, she would have to overcome her distractions. Difficult, yes, to the point of impossible, sometimes, but she had to do it. She would walk through that river of mud and shoulder thousands of corpses, because she had to be strong enough to support him. Destroy herself? She would no sooner be destroyed than she would turn her back on her promise. It would not happen, because she would not allow it to happen.

Be rational.

"Give me credit for a little more strength of will than that." She hadn't meant for the caustic note to creep into her voice, hadn't meant for her words to lose the formal edge and lash, just slightly.

She stood, turned back to the target, loading the first bullet into the chamber with the clack it always made. "I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs."

Making her talk is not Sasha's goal in mind right now. It fact, he's stated his full reason for being here without hesitation. But now, he feels like he's worn his welcome out. As long the conversation can end on a neutral note, he's fine with just walking away. In fact, that's what he intends to do here shortly.

"I'm not doubting your strength. To be in a position like yours takes a strong will, and you do the job exceptionally well." He fails to notice the change in her voice, assuming that she's just getting tired of his words and questions.

"...I understand. Even though you can deal with things on your own, don't forget that the people here are willing to stand by you, no matter what. It's not about suppressing undesirable feelings, or talking about every given problem you have. It's all about finding balance and resolution within yourself."

He nods, while taking a few steps away from her. Both hands are placed into his jacket pockets calmly, neutral yet vague gestures. "I know that I'm not the perfect conversationalist, but...my door is open for you. Not just because we work together, of course. I consider you to be a trustworthy comrade and friend. I apologize if I've only made your day worse, and I'll be taking my leave if that's alright with you."

She's heard that before. But it's part platitude, part temptation to complacency, and she never takes compliments like that seriously. She knows she could do better. And it's her own opinion that she takes most seriously. Because the Colonel needn't have to tell her everything that she should do. Shouldn't have to tell her to be stronger.

But when it came to defining allies? Hawkeye had confidence that the majority of the force would stand behind her through duty at the very least, in that they respected her as the leader of the force, and had agreed to recognize her authority while they were in the force. Beyond that, there were precious few people she would speak to on a personal level- living in Amestris meant that you never know who might turn against you, and casual conversation was nonexistent.

But that was her world. Other people had never lived that. So she paused, rifle lifted to her shoulder, and met his gaze perfectly evenly, giving away no emotion, saying nothing for several moments.

"...Understood." It was the only concession she was willing to make right now, and it did feel like a concession. Admitting that she had perhaps been overly harsh was beyond her, at the moment. He had overstepped the bounds Hawkeye permitted, and she was still frustrated. But she could be impartial enough to acknowledge what he had said. She knew it had merit.

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Log; ongoing

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