Post by Mr. Moshypocrite McSlowbro on Feb 17, 2014 23:51:45 GMT -5
As the shield maiden’s fist met the striking pad it did not rebound, as the previous contender’s hand. The unique nature of her devil-gifted ability made than an impossibility. Instead it pierced the hardened rubber and its metal frame alike as if it were nothing but raw dough, until Hanabi was buried up to her shoulder in shards of sheared steel. While the machine did shudder and groan, its overall frame remained relatively intact. Normally the awful crash that the impact produced would have attracted the attention of everyone for blocks around, but on a ship filled to the brim with the sounds of uncoordinated gunfire and the occasional roar of cannons, it did not seem particularly out of place. Though the marines standing in the immediate area were certainly distracted by the destructive feat.
While the fierce woman sorted out her current situation, one such individual decided it was probably best to alert someone about the happening. And, as per standard operating procedure, a soldier was always supposed to report to the closest ranked officer. Who in this case was crouched on the other side of the ship at the make-shift firing range, gripping a long musket tightly under the crook of his elbow. “…Um, sir?” The soldier asked of him quietly. It was never a good idea to startle someone holding a firearm.
Mr. Redgrave held up a solitary finger, which he then pressed against his lips. He had aligned the weapon’s iron sights up against his target with the greatest of care, and his breath came in slow, measured intervals. “Shush now. I’m in the zone.”
Glancing from his superior to the shattered components and back again, he felt he had to press his point. “But. I think the punch machine’s busted again.”
“Hm? Why’dya say that?” Brushing a finger against the trigger, Mason’s rifle gave a low bark. Raising his head, he found the bullet had pierced his straw-backed paper target a good inch and a half away from the bull’s eye. Muttering the short of curse under his breath that would make the bawdiest of sailors blush, he conceded the attempt and stood to his feet. When his eyes traced back to where the other fellow was pointing, he nearly repeated himself.
Taking long strides across the deck, he was quickly at Hanabi’s side, though he proceeded to grumble with every step. “Swear there’s not a chick on this tub who knows the meaning of ‘restraint’.” Noticing the predicament she was in though made him soften his expression. “Hold still, I’ll get you out. Jeez. You’re lucky these things are designed to crumple. Though I didn’t think I needed to warn a PO not to go all out on a contraption this old.”
Stepping to the side of the instrument, Mason reached his arm down a small slot that was hidden behind the digital display, groping around blindly until he found whatever mechanism he was looking for. There was a loud CLUNK, and suddenly the device’s rubber ‘head’ slid out freely, along with the damaged metallic cylinder that supported it. All that was left when the chunk was removed was an empty grooved slot where a similar object could be easily slid into place. Whoever constructed these apparently had individuals like her in mind. “There. Well, on the bright side you got a number at least. All the other times just freaked out the other times the headpiece broke.”
After letting the lady extricate herself, something he imagined her fully capable of doing since her body was apparently already harder than reinforced steel, he motioned for a few men to carry the busted scrap away. Leaning against the remaining sections of machine’s frame, he eyed Hanabi with an attempt at seriousness. Mason wasn’t very good at being stern. “Well, in the interest of not messing up the rest of training day, we need to get this thing going again. I think we still have one extra of those left, down in storage. Mind popping over and grabbing it? S’only fair. Down the stairs, on the right. Can’t miss it.”
It was good that the crew had been so thorough about raiding their base’s training facilities. Behind a thick metal door quite plainly labeled ‘Storage’ in big red letters, another large headpiece identical to the one that had been smashed was propped up against the wall. All in all its weight was substantial, but not to an individual capable of bench-pressing two-thousand pounds. Constructed as the measuring device was, screwing the new part in wasn’t much harder than screwing in a lightbulb.
“Okay, seriously folks. This is the LAST ONE. These things are only rated up to 20 big ones, and we’ve broken five of them. Once everyone’s passed, then y’all can go ape on it.” Mason’s voice boomed over the deck. Though he had cupped his hands in front of his mouth like a megaphone, it didn’t fully explain the volume at which he shouted. He had to have had a good set of lungs on him to begin with. After a bit of joking and some light badgering, it seemed that the rest of the men and women got his point, and people slowly migrated back over to whatever they had been doing beforehand. Himself included. The self-appointed referees had used the lull in activity to update the scoreboard with last half-hour’s changes.
[/spoiler][/ul][/ul]
Plopping down against the railing with a sigh of relief, both from standing and from duty (Even if only momentarily), the Ensign looked up to see the results and chuckled. “Well, damn Hana. Looks like you went all out. Tryin’ to make us look bad or what?” The question came with a smile that made it unlikely that he was in any way actually displeased by her performance. Quite the opposite, actually. “Maybe seeing you trailblaze’ll get these buggers moving. Looks like you got Lyla riled up, at least.” Over by the benchpress, it seemed that giant girl who had helped lift Badhand onto the ship was no longer content to sit in the corner and just observe. She was stacking an assortment of thick plates onto the bar with a look of determination on her face. When she realized they were watching her cheeks stained with color, and she averted her eyes. However, she did not stop.
“Ooo. Take a peak. Cap’n on deck.” Jerking his thumb, Mason pointed to the deck above them. None of the others seemed to have noticed yet, but a steely-eyed Maria was perched silently on top the railings, overlooking the events. When she looked their way, her stare felt like a tangible weight.
While the fierce woman sorted out her current situation, one such individual decided it was probably best to alert someone about the happening. And, as per standard operating procedure, a soldier was always supposed to report to the closest ranked officer. Who in this case was crouched on the other side of the ship at the make-shift firing range, gripping a long musket tightly under the crook of his elbow. “…Um, sir?” The soldier asked of him quietly. It was never a good idea to startle someone holding a firearm.
Mr. Redgrave held up a solitary finger, which he then pressed against his lips. He had aligned the weapon’s iron sights up against his target with the greatest of care, and his breath came in slow, measured intervals. “Shush now. I’m in the zone.”
Glancing from his superior to the shattered components and back again, he felt he had to press his point. “But. I think the punch machine’s busted again.”
“Hm? Why’dya say that?” Brushing a finger against the trigger, Mason’s rifle gave a low bark. Raising his head, he found the bullet had pierced his straw-backed paper target a good inch and a half away from the bull’s eye. Muttering the short of curse under his breath that would make the bawdiest of sailors blush, he conceded the attempt and stood to his feet. When his eyes traced back to where the other fellow was pointing, he nearly repeated himself.
Taking long strides across the deck, he was quickly at Hanabi’s side, though he proceeded to grumble with every step. “Swear there’s not a chick on this tub who knows the meaning of ‘restraint’.” Noticing the predicament she was in though made him soften his expression. “Hold still, I’ll get you out. Jeez. You’re lucky these things are designed to crumple. Though I didn’t think I needed to warn a PO not to go all out on a contraption this old.”
Stepping to the side of the instrument, Mason reached his arm down a small slot that was hidden behind the digital display, groping around blindly until he found whatever mechanism he was looking for. There was a loud CLUNK, and suddenly the device’s rubber ‘head’ slid out freely, along with the damaged metallic cylinder that supported it. All that was left when the chunk was removed was an empty grooved slot where a similar object could be easily slid into place. Whoever constructed these apparently had individuals like her in mind. “There. Well, on the bright side you got a number at least. All the other times just freaked out the other times the headpiece broke.”
After letting the lady extricate herself, something he imagined her fully capable of doing since her body was apparently already harder than reinforced steel, he motioned for a few men to carry the busted scrap away. Leaning against the remaining sections of machine’s frame, he eyed Hanabi with an attempt at seriousness. Mason wasn’t very good at being stern. “Well, in the interest of not messing up the rest of training day, we need to get this thing going again. I think we still have one extra of those left, down in storage. Mind popping over and grabbing it? S’only fair. Down the stairs, on the right. Can’t miss it.”
It was good that the crew had been so thorough about raiding their base’s training facilities. Behind a thick metal door quite plainly labeled ‘Storage’ in big red letters, another large headpiece identical to the one that had been smashed was propped up against the wall. All in all its weight was substantial, but not to an individual capable of bench-pressing two-thousand pounds. Constructed as the measuring device was, screwing the new part in wasn’t much harder than screwing in a lightbulb.
“Okay, seriously folks. This is the LAST ONE. These things are only rated up to 20 big ones, and we’ve broken five of them. Once everyone’s passed, then y’all can go ape on it.” Mason’s voice boomed over the deck. Though he had cupped his hands in front of his mouth like a megaphone, it didn’t fully explain the volume at which he shouted. He had to have had a good set of lungs on him to begin with. After a bit of joking and some light badgering, it seemed that the rest of the men and women got his point, and people slowly migrated back over to whatever they had been doing beforehand. Himself included. The self-appointed referees had used the lull in activity to update the scoreboard with last half-hour’s changes.
[/spoiler][/ul][/ul]
Plopping down against the railing with a sigh of relief, both from standing and from duty (Even if only momentarily), the Ensign looked up to see the results and chuckled. “Well, damn Hana. Looks like you went all out. Tryin’ to make us look bad or what?” The question came with a smile that made it unlikely that he was in any way actually displeased by her performance. Quite the opposite, actually. “Maybe seeing you trailblaze’ll get these buggers moving. Looks like you got Lyla riled up, at least.” Over by the benchpress, it seemed that giant girl who had helped lift Badhand onto the ship was no longer content to sit in the corner and just observe. She was stacking an assortment of thick plates onto the bar with a look of determination on her face. When she realized they were watching her cheeks stained with color, and she averted her eyes. However, she did not stop.
“Ooo. Take a peak. Cap’n on deck.” Jerking his thumb, Mason pointed to the deck above them. None of the others seemed to have noticed yet, but a steely-eyed Maria was perched silently on top the railings, overlooking the events. When she looked their way, her stare felt like a tangible weight.