Mein Klein Soldat [Masque, open]

[Anslem Aslem]

March 6th, 1960

0716

Anslem always preferred shooting indoors to outdoors.

Outdoors there were deceptively silent fields, the grass swaying in a tranquil breeze that lured humanity to shift the stalks for nourishment. Seconds later those hunched bodies would be carnage on gently sloping hills as bullets vivisected the air. The green of spring, the yellow of summer, the dead brown of winter, they could all be fed by human blood as soldiers in a guerilla war could no longer distinguish between civilians and enemy combatants.

Indoors it was always a war. There was no peace, you knew you enemy when he was sitting across the room eating calamari and drinking champagne one of your girls plied him with. There was no deceptive calm because people never stopped talking, never stopped plotting; they were always looking for that pound of flesh. There was no camaraderie among the golden weeds; there were your transient allies for that battle and the ones you had to kill. The rules of engagement were forever if you gave the enemy an opportunity he could take it.

Anslem was immensely grateful the Liberatores had invested in a shooting range and he was not forced to venture into some farmer’s back field as he often had to as a child and young adult.

There were stirrings the Liberatores would soon make a strike, the Innocenzos had been far too ostentatious as of late. Anslem loaded his pistol after cleaning it, he licked his lips, this would not be a bloody battle if all went to plan but of course when you added that crazy Japanese fuck to the equation…

Sometimes you had to use your gun to put down a mad dog, or a horse with a broken leg.

He took a swig and stood up, swaying a bit, but he had certainly not drank enough yet to truly feel drunk. He was waiting for that girl, the only one of the new recruits so far he could see becoming a capable soldier. Someone he would walk into the fog laden field with yet knew he could not expect to allow him to walk out of it.

Still if worse comes to worse I rather be killed by someone who has some skill, and not some bastard who just got lucky. he thought with a dark chuckle as he took another swig.

[Velia Walsh]

It had only been a few months since her arrival, but already young Velia was making an impression on the higher-ups, proving invaluable at the negotiation tables and a remarkably quick learner in all other aspects. Already she had proven to be a natural marksman, a competent chef, should it ever be necessary, and absolutely brilliant at obtaining information from people, as many of the Innocenzo's grunts could already attest to, and, what's more, she could do it all without revealing anything herself.

Truly Picard had made a fine catch when he'd discovered her at that orphanage in London.

But intelligence such as this was nearly always followed by ambition.

It was this realization that likely caused so many of the nameless goons in the Liberatores employ to protest Anslem's teaching her, deadly accuracy with a gun only augmenting her deadly accuracy with the mind. And they'd be correct; it was ambition that drove Velia to these daily lessons.

Just... Not quite the ambition they'd imagined.

No! Crap, why'd I have to walk under that vent! My hair! OK, it's no problem, I have a brush, it'll be fine.

Meekly hiding behind a pillar, just out of Anslem's sight, Velia Walsh, whom so many had deemed Masque out of both fear and awe, strove to remedy her ruined hair before confronting her teacher, nodding with reassurance as she finished. Eventually, she stood, and, living up to her name, emerged with absolutely no signs of being flustered.

"Hello, Mr. Aslem. I didn't expect to see you here so early. Aren't we supposed to start at 7:20?"

[Anslem Aslem]

“Hm, it’s always safest to be the first one to arrive, that way you have time to scout out the terrain,” Anslem’s tone was half teasing, half deadly serious. She wasn’t late so he wasn’t going to upbraid her, but he believed every second was an opportunity to learn. He didn’t want to waste months training her and she made an oversight and ended up with a bullet in her head her first time on the street.

Never mind this alluded to his view life was a perpetual war.

“Gun ready?” he asked as he lit his first cigarette, he glanced at her. She wasn’t terribly intimidating but she was intelligent and young and that scared many of the older men. He wanted her to be someone he could send into the most complicated missions and sail back out unscathed; a deadly weapon in a schoolgirl’s skirt.

“You know how to kill a man with a single shot, now we have to learn how to cripple a man for when you need him alive.” He began pulling a mannequin out of a closet, far more realistic than some piece of paper. “You know you anatomy, shatter his tibias in order to stop his escape and mangle his hand to prevent him from retaliating. Use four bullets at most and keep him alive while totally incapacitated.”

[Velia Walsh]

She nodded, walking over to a booth and preparing to take aim at the target, a mental sigh overtaking her conscious thought.

No change in expression, body movement remained relatively the same... He just doesn't seem to get it...

Why doesn't he get it, though? I realize I'm more perceptive than most when it comes to these things, but still...

Yes, the poor girl's crush was either blissfully ignorant or mercifully tactful, doing his damndest to keep their relationship to a master and pupil level.

Maybe it's better. After all, he does show signs of post-traumatic stress. He could be highly dangerous given the circumstances.

But... Ah, dammit...

Screw it, she had a target to shoot. Four bangs, four bullets, four shots, and four shattered limbs, the mannequin's knees and hands being rendered largely useless now.

That was... Wow. I'm a better shot than I thought I was...

Ah, Anslem! It's thanks to you! You're so skilled~!

... FOCUS! I can't squeal! Especially not in front of him.

Though she did squirm, shifting weight from one foot to the other.

"Was... Was that alright? I didn't take too long, did I?"

[Anslem Aslem]

"Your time can be improved by about a second, it may not seem like much but it can make all the difference," Anslem informed her, rubbing an ear before taking another swig from his flask. After all these years the shattering reverberation of an indoor gunshot should have no longer caused him discomfort, but it did. It was something he had insisted Masque get used to from the start.

He smiled a little at her body shifting, but he thought it was just nervousness, she certainly did seem skittish around him, more so than anyone else. He figured it was probably because she was required to report to him however. Of all the men here however he was the least likely to kill her.

"Schön gut," he said as he examined the bullet holes. "Your capable of setting up an accurate close range shot."

He took the mannequin down and replaced it with another, exhaling a drag as he did.

"Except most of the time your target is fleeing, not coming towards you, I like to see you make the same four shots with the target facing away from you." he explained as he positioned it. "Take your time if you must in visualizing where the bones should be in this scenario."

He made certain to get out of the way however immediately.

[Velia Walsh]

Velia knew enough about anatomy from discussing body language with Gabriel, so putting the bullet where the bones were was not an issue. Both hands steadily grasping the gun, head turned to the side so that her eyes lined up with the sight, Velia pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, taking out the subject's knees. However, she was less fortunate with the mannequin's hands, one of which had its index finger shot off and the other which was shot in wrist, thereby leaving the hand itself still able to move.

Crap, I screwed up...

"Um, sorry, I wasn't as accurate there as I should have been. I wanted to do it quickly..."

Ugh, Anslem, why am I so enthralled... Honestly, your presence is enough to throw me off.

A mental sigh.

Still, I guess I'll do my best to impress you. You can at least notice me for that.

((Aaaaand, short fail post is short and fail.))

[Anslem Aslem]

“You cannot sacrifice accuracy for speed that’s true,” Anslem agreed taking a drink from his flask, he sighed, well the girl knew what she’d done wrong right away at least. “So try again, and we’ll keep doing it until you get it down.”

Just like before, he thought as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back of it as he took another drag. He had infinite patience if he wasn’t getting mouthed off at. He believed practice made perfect however and he had no qualms about drilling her for hours if necessary. Especially with that plan going into effect soon, he knew they would need her silver tongue for the after math but it was always possible they need her trigger finger as well.

Negotiations could fall like a house of cards if one made the wrong hand motion or gave an inciting look, and then she be right on the front line.

“Make the four shots again, and perhaps try moving in a counter clockwise position regarding the shots that may help improve your speed,” he suggested as he looked at her through the haze of cheap cigarette smoke. "It doesn't matter truly which limb gets taken out first if they are all done within the same seconds."

[Velia Walsh]

She nodded once, vigorously, as if to show the world that she was confident in her abilities.

OK, speed and accuracy. Go!

It was amazing what youthful ambition could do when it was channeled. Four shots were again fired in quick succession, however, the difference this time was that the accuracy of the shots was spot on. Knees were shattered and hands were mutilated beyond recognition, rendering the false subject absolutely helpless.

"Was that better?"

She turned to him, hiding well the fact that she sought approval.

Of course it was better. I just want to hear it from him...

... Jesus, look at me reduced to a squealing school-girl. Wasn't my willpower greater than that? Aren't I one of the greatest minds to come out of Britain? So focus! Stop relying on Anslem and start motivating yourself!

... But, then, I guess it couldn't hurt to get some pointers from him, and if his eyes happen to turn me on in the process...

She squirmed again and sighed.

Hormones hold too much power over the mind...

[Anslem Aslem]

“Na klar, keep what you just did in mind as we move on,” Anslem was usually indirect in his praise, he wasn’t here to coddle or to stroke egos. He did smile at her however as he felt he could take more license with her as she was young girl than he could with the older men. He was very careful to not show favoritism among his soldiers either, even if he was already getting accused of doing so by training Masque like this at all. He argued however it was better for the group in its entirety if they trained those who could perform advanced skills to utilize them.

If only I could give you the order to have you shoot the rival negotiator's hand like this, or better yet, their capo, he thought with a smirk as he inspected the damage done to the mannequin. He positioned another one, again facing away from her. This time however he took a rope in hand so the target would move rapidly across the floor.

“The same maneuver Masque,” he called and he yanked, giving her little warning, but he knew she may have none at all in a true fight.

*Na klar=of course; in this case.

[Velia Walsh]

Four more shots and four more wounds; Masque had shot with speed enough to not adjust her accuracy too much, leaving the mannequin mutilated before it had even moved a few feet.

I have to wonder, does he view me as a person or as a soldier? I can't read him well enough to discern that; I'd have to have several scenarios with him under my belt, as well as a control, but... I don't know. Something is telling me, regardless, that he doesn't see much more in me than that.

Quickly, she reloaded her hand-gun, popping out the empty clip and bending down in order to retrieve more from the package, steadily sliding each shell into it's place.

"I sacrificed a tiny bit of accuracy for speed there. Was that alright?"

[Anslem Aslem]

After another drink from his flask and a small sigh of satisfaction as his head was beginning to finally feel light, Anslem walked over to inspect the mannequin. He bent down to glance at the blown out knees and the mangled palms. He finished his cigarette and ground it beneath his heel before speaking.

"No, accuracy is much more important than speed, if he bleeds to death because you nicked an artery, what use will he be to you? In this case you haven't deviated too far from where you shots should be so there would be no major discrepancy, but that is not an attitude I can approve of." He informed her, he wasn't chastising his soldier even if his voice did hold an edge of warning to it.

He wasn't even looking at her, he was lighting another cigarette, yet this was his own tactic. To slightly conceal his face from the girl who was so good at cloaking her emotions she could be called "Masque" as he said his next statement.

"Are you certain your diminished aim is not because you are becoming fatigued?" it was a simple enough question, yet it was as much a test as this entire session. His expression was cool, perhaps even friendly as he looked up at her, but there was that unspoken implication of; if I put the heat on you will you be able to make it?