Ready, Aim... {Fire} - Brody & Tyren
Jul 28, 2014 19:36:53 GMT -5
Post by Anatra on Jul 28, 2014 19:36:53 GMT -5
Tyren Orca
And who was he to question the power of the Capitol, anyway? He was an Orca. A cousin, a brother. He was a son and he may one day be a father, and a grandfather. A passion of family runs deep in the blood of those who live under the same roof. Family by blood. Their blood means it is their duty to protect one and other. The moment that somebody has dabbled too deep in the art of rebellion, they are cut. That's how it seems, anyway. Tyren would narrow his eyes at such behaviour; revolt. It's like biting the hand that feeds you. Except, everybody around here feeds themselves. Tyren's cousin, Joe, that's what is on his mind right now. Only briefly. Lingering on the outer perspective of a thought. He doesn't fully care for his blood relative. They were close, but not close enough to buddy-up and take up arms against the people who they were supposed to serve. Their masters, their overseers. The Peacekeepers.
That was Tyren's old view. Now, he is going to be one of them. Or not, depending on how his health maintains. He has been in hospital, and out, regularly. Small visits, big decisions. It is nothing, he doesn't want to think about it. Thinking about it might make it worse.
The shooting range. It's somewhere that Tyren can go to escape the stupidity of lunch, or the impoliteness of lousy cadets in the hallways. Only the other day he has cleaning product spilled all over his uniform. It took hours to clean that out properly, and days for the smell to go away. You would expect it to be nice, but it most definitely wasn't.
He walks in, and the silvery walls and the dim lights instantly simmer his thoughts. He's at peace here, in a way. It's reminiscent of the times when he was a career, but he prefers to differ from those thoughts too. He's not that person anymore. He graces the bow's handle with a slow brush of his hand. It's meaningful, to know the light texture like a breezing wind across the metallic structure of the weapon. Even the string is some kind of material other than string. Carbon fibre, maybe. Tyren wouldn't know. It was silver, with a black trim. The training arrows are also here. There's not more than one bow here since nobody is told to train with a bow. Just one, not enough for Tyren and his brother whom both share the same combative interest. His brother isn't here though, he's off playing family with his girlfriend.
He pulls back on the string, and he fires. Not a bullseye, but it was damn close for a first try.
It's not the same though. It's like practicing a broken art. A forbidden martial. It isn't going to be useful, ever. Marksmanship is a broad word, but Peacekeepers are never issued a bow and arrow. He has to train with guns instead. He doesn't like them, not much. It's because they are foreign, or that's what he might think.
Tyren sighs. The bow is left back where he found it, and he heads straight to the gun requisition booth.
"Hey, I'd like to take a pistol and some practice rounds."
"Cadet, do you even have clearance for a gun?" The narrow-eyed woman behind the desk asks. "No." Tyren states. "But I know how to handle one." He says. "That's the problem. Get clearance." She has a stern voice, one that Tyren cannot be bothered with.
Where to get clearance, though? There's only a couple of Peacekeepers that Tyren even knows exist in terms of personal interaction. The rest are just shouting orders at him, or teaching him a thing or two. They have nicknames behind their backs, just like Tyren does 'scars'. But he doesn't know any. Matthew knows. He's got himself a nice instructor apparently. Tyren's thoughts would race around the idea of asking him to get in good with this instructor, maybe then he could get clearance. But Matthew is out of bounds right now, for Tyren. He doesn't want to go near him for a good while. Avoidance is better, more healing, than confrontation.
Time to go searching for a Peacekeeper, among all of these. Thankfully, this one looks quite distinctive. One could remember him from a few glances at least. That's when Tyren spots him, conveniently in another corridor, not too far fom the shooting range in fact. Tyren is quite punctual. He usually looks quite smart, but in a relaxed sort of demenour. He's quite well built for his age, which is eighteen, stretching to nineteen along with his twin brother soon enough. "Excuse me, sir?" He addresses the Peacekeeper in front of him.
That was Tyren's old view. Now, he is going to be one of them. Or not, depending on how his health maintains. He has been in hospital, and out, regularly. Small visits, big decisions. It is nothing, he doesn't want to think about it. Thinking about it might make it worse.
The shooting range. It's somewhere that Tyren can go to escape the stupidity of lunch, or the impoliteness of lousy cadets in the hallways. Only the other day he has cleaning product spilled all over his uniform. It took hours to clean that out properly, and days for the smell to go away. You would expect it to be nice, but it most definitely wasn't.
He walks in, and the silvery walls and the dim lights instantly simmer his thoughts. He's at peace here, in a way. It's reminiscent of the times when he was a career, but he prefers to differ from those thoughts too. He's not that person anymore. He graces the bow's handle with a slow brush of his hand. It's meaningful, to know the light texture like a breezing wind across the metallic structure of the weapon. Even the string is some kind of material other than string. Carbon fibre, maybe. Tyren wouldn't know. It was silver, with a black trim. The training arrows are also here. There's not more than one bow here since nobody is told to train with a bow. Just one, not enough for Tyren and his brother whom both share the same combative interest. His brother isn't here though, he's off playing family with his girlfriend.
He pulls back on the string, and he fires. Not a bullseye, but it was damn close for a first try.
It's not the same though. It's like practicing a broken art. A forbidden martial. It isn't going to be useful, ever. Marksmanship is a broad word, but Peacekeepers are never issued a bow and arrow. He has to train with guns instead. He doesn't like them, not much. It's because they are foreign, or that's what he might think.
Tyren sighs. The bow is left back where he found it, and he heads straight to the gun requisition booth.
"Hey, I'd like to take a pistol and some practice rounds."
"Cadet, do you even have clearance for a gun?" The narrow-eyed woman behind the desk asks. "No." Tyren states. "But I know how to handle one." He says. "That's the problem. Get clearance." She has a stern voice, one that Tyren cannot be bothered with.
Where to get clearance, though? There's only a couple of Peacekeepers that Tyren even knows exist in terms of personal interaction. The rest are just shouting orders at him, or teaching him a thing or two. They have nicknames behind their backs, just like Tyren does 'scars'. But he doesn't know any. Matthew knows. He's got himself a nice instructor apparently. Tyren's thoughts would race around the idea of asking him to get in good with this instructor, maybe then he could get clearance. But Matthew is out of bounds right now, for Tyren. He doesn't want to go near him for a good while. Avoidance is better, more healing, than confrontation.
Time to go searching for a Peacekeeper, among all of these. Thankfully, this one looks quite distinctive. One could remember him from a few glances at least. That's when Tyren spots him, conveniently in another corridor, not too far fom the shooting range in fact. Tyren is quite punctual. He usually looks quite smart, but in a relaxed sort of demenour. He's quite well built for his age, which is eighteen, stretching to nineteen along with his twin brother soon enough. "Excuse me, sir?" He addresses the Peacekeeper in front of him.
