dsp: sinner


I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

And now I come in, saying something suitably heroic.

[sticky post]Voicemail Post
lsp: sedate
"Hey. This is Atton. If you're getting this, I'm either not around or I can't tell you where I am, so leave a message and I'll figure out if I want to get back to you."


Outside the Danger Shop, After Classes, Wednesday
lsp: ahhhh!
Sparkle had had a bad weekend, and when Sparkle had bad anythings, he tended to set things on fire. So... this was the post-fire compromise Atton had thought of: get a bunch of flamethrowers and plasma wielders inside the Danger Shop, set it to a Canadian Neighborhood sim without any actual NPCs in it, and let him go to town.

Now it was after classes, and it was time.

And Atton was standing by the entrance to the Danger Shop, back leaning against the wall, waiting. What're you waiting for, Sparks?

[[ for that guy and SP ]]

How To Shoot Straight, Monday
lsp: heyyy there
"I know some of you have fired a gun before and probably know all this," Atton said, as the class met at the gun range, "But tough luck. You're getting this class anyway. And later on into the semester, I'll throw in a refresher course, just to be sure."

He had a handgun laying on the table in front of him. There were a couple more that he'd checked out of the weapons locker that morning. "Gun safety," he said. "It's important, so keep your ears open. One, never put a charge - bullets, electropacks, whatever you put in there - in a firearm unless you plan to use it. If you're using a weapon that doesn't use charges, make sure the safety is on until you intend to use it. Anything less creates a risk of the gun going off when you don't expect it and hurting someone."

He picked up the gun, keeping it pointed at the floor. "Two," he said, "Never point a gun at something you're not planning to shoot. Don't let your finger linger over the trigger, either. You might think you just put the safety on and took the bullets out, so it's okay, but if you're mistaken or the mechanism fails, blam - you just shot someone."

He pushed a clip into the gun, then turned around, pointing the gun at the target in the distance. "Three," he said, "Always know what you're pointing at. I don't just mean your target, I mean make sure you know what's behind your target. Your bullets are not always going to stay in the target." He fired off a round. There was a loud thunk, and the tin can behind the paper target fell over. "Bullets can travel for miles," he said. "So you better be sure there's something on the other end that'll stop it before it hurts someone else."

Atton slid the clip back out of the gun. "Four, always use the right ammo," he said, setting it down on the table. "Or the gun might just blow up in your hand."

And nobody wanted that, class.

"Five, if your gun fails, don't treat it like a dud. It could still fire. Unload it. Get rid of it somewhere safe, or have it fixed, but treat it like it's live. Six, check the barrel before you load it. You don't want anything getting in there, even mud, or it might blow up in your hand." He showed how to use the action to open it up. "And don't stare down the damn barrel while you're checking it, unless you want to risk a bullet to the face."

Do not shoot yourself in the face, class!

"And finally, seven, guns are loud," he said. He gestured to the equipment closet. "Get some eye and ear protection if you can. Now, when you're using your gun out in the field, that's not likely to be an option. In here, though? Go."


"That's it," Atton finished. "Now those guns over there are all unloaded. I want you to get some eye and ear protection, grab a manual, and see how they tick. Keep the gun safety rules in mind."

Atton's Office, Saturday Afternoon
lsp: ahhhh!
Atton walked into his office late, partly because he'd slept in, and partly because he'd evaded his babysitters for the weekend for a day already and he was hoping to stretch that time out for a while longer. But he couldn't really make it stretch much further, and so there he was, a large bottle of water on his desk and a bunch of plastic cups set out, just in case parents actually decided to stop by and might be... thirsty, or something.

Maybe he should've broken out some vodka.

Oh well.

He was there, anyway.

[[ open! ]]

Atton's Bedroom, MCA #4, Monday Morning
dsp: whaddayawant?
Atton woke up.

Atton groaned.

Atton turned over and bumped right into a blaster rifle.

He blinked.

"... When the hell did I move all of the blasters into my ro-- oh."

Did he really have to go to class today? He did not want to go to class today.

[[ can be open for phone calls etc or the roomie. ]]

MCA #4, Saturday Morning
dsp: woah.
There wasn't much that showed the difference between the Jaq that woke up that morning and the Atton who'd gone to bed early the night before: his hair was military short, and the jaded, tired look in his eyes had been replaced with something more wary and watchful. A little baby fat had returned to his features, too, and at least two-thirds of the scars were gone - but that was it.

Not that there was anyone in the bedroom to make those observations.

Which was probably a good thing.

Because when Jaq jerked up in that bed, it was with immediate readiness. This wasn't the barracks, with a dozen people up and around at the same time; it was an empty room, with just a large, glowing fern and-- were those Jedi lightsabers?-- a bed to greet him. Had the Mandalorians taken him? Wouldn't he be dead if they had? Jaq tossed the covers aside and found, to his undying relief, that he wasn't wearing stuncuffs. He hopped onto the floor and did an immediate check of the perimeter, finding some clothes (which he put on, even if they fit oddly), a blaster tucked under the bed and a door that wasn't locked.

He pushed it open, blaster in hand.

He frowned.

"Where in space am I?" he asked, Alderaani accent coloring his words. "Who's there?!"

[[ open! ]]

MCA #4, Very Late Monday Evening
dsp: woah.
Atton was still tired. He was pretty sure he was going to stay tired until the month was over and he could finally move the hell on with his life.

But he was home now, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. This time, he found his keys before he woke up half the floor, opened the front door, and pushed in. He was trying to stay quiet - he wasn't sure if Sparkle was asleep and he didn't have the energy to use the Force to check.

It was nice to be home, though. As he put down the duffel and looked at the living room which - despite his best efforts for years - had finally started to crowd up with furniture and plants and stuff, he had to acknowledge that. Both that it was nice, and that it was home.

It felt like relief.

[[ for the other guy who lives here, if he wants. otherwise establishy. ]]

The Ebon Hawk, ... Somewhere, Thursday Morning
dsp: woah.

You know, Visas had a real way of making normal courtesies sound creepy. Not that Atton was overfocusing on that; just opening his eyes reminded him why he'd stayed put on the Ebon Hawk's cold floor all night.

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same," he muttered, shutting his eyes again. "Get back to me tomorrow, Visas, I'm out of commission."

"That is what you told me yesterday as well," Visas informed him. "I have brought a medpack."

"Great." Atton turned his head. What he did not do was try to open his eyes or get up. Because screw that. It was the second anniversary of-- that, and he was allowed 48 hours of nothing. "You work on that."

Unfortunately, it didn't put her off. A second later, a combination of chemicals and Jedi healing energies flooded his body, tugging the headache away from him and whatever self-pitying sleepiness that had come with it, fled too. He turned around on the floor and let out a pitiful noise. "Really?" he sighed. "You couldn't leave me alone on today of all days?"

"Her death was two years ago," Visas said, "And the date was yesterday's. You should not poison your body any longer. We have work to do. And after we are finished, I believe it would be best if you returned to the island."

Atton opened one eye. "You think that's best, huh?" he said. There went the other eye, and he fixed both of them on the ceiling. "Great."

[[ can be open for phone calls if you really want to make his non-hangover hangover miserable. ]]

MCA #4, Thursday Morning
dsp: fear the jacket
It'd been a long couple of days of conversations with the kids, talking them through what happened, or just shooting the shit. It was rewarding, though, because theirs was a language Atton understood - one he was a straightforward senior in, someone to pass on the lessons of a gnarled and screwed-up life to.

Or just beating the poodoo out of Damar at pazaak. There was that, too.

But now it was Thursday, and he'd told Sparkle he'd be home; so he'd parked the Hawk on the roof, and now he was standing outside the door, pack slung over his shoulder. Fumbling to figure out--

"Where did I put my keys? Come on, come on..."


[[ open! ]]

A Medcenter on Coruscant, Sunday
dsp: whaddayawant?
It had taken five days for Farani to recover enough that she'd been allowed out of the kolto tank. The center they were at was military-funded; Atton had to give his clearing several times as they helped Farani walk out of there. Didn't matter. Sure, he'd started this trip fully planning to throw himself into all kinds of scummy poodoo to make himself feel like Atton Rand again - but life had thought otherwise and tripped him up back into a different Atton Rand's life.

It was just as well. This one - the version born during an intense two months one summer a few years ago - was a better Atton Rand anyway. And the kids needed him.

Hey, hey, Farani.Collapse )

He used his moment of quiet to lift his comlink out of his pocket. Check for messages. Maybe send out another still here, still alive, nothing going on to the people who'd care.

[[ open for messages, etc. ]]


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