@killerlakill || STARTERS 3/3
Finding ways to keep his hands busy was a coin flip these days. Sharing a Townhouse with strangers meant swiping away the kitchen appliances just to take them apart for the third time that day could only happen so often. Bitterness turned to impatience. Impatience grew into frustration. Before he knows it, he’s leaving the confines of a stuffy room in exchange for more pleasant fresh air. The winter chill had done more than enough to clear his mind, hands deep in overall pockets, mindlessly fiddling with screws and bolts, uncaring to how far or how long he travels. Wherever he finds himself taking interest in exploring would be leagues better than sitting indoors fighting against an itch to tinker.
There’s only so much scenery a city could provide, he assumes. Shops came and went, hardly catching his eye spare those of the local convenience stores stocked full of fresh beers. It’s a debate upon whether he presses on; a quick check to the anomalous digital device gifted upon arrival informs him that a little over an hour had passed since he’d stepped onto the streets. His steps come to a slow just before the sound of a tin can being shot just nearby catches his attention. Silence follows - left in wait for the sound to return, and when it has the Engineer wastes no time in investigating for the source.
It only made sense that if the doctor was around, others would be as well. He recognizes the hat and vest before even glimpsing to the familiar patch adorned with a unique symbol for each mercenary. Lips twitch, pulling into a loose crooked smile, legs moving before he’s even a chance to consider whether or not the man would be interested in his company.
“ …Reckon you won’t mind me joinin’ you? ”
He doesn’t really have a piece at the moment, at the least not one worth going into ‘business’ with...but that’s not to say he won’t later. From what he’s figured out so far, the powers that be will probably see fit to give him his gun back...and until then, Sniper needs to keep his aim sharp. Not much of a professional if he lets himself get rusty in a place like this full of potential customers, now is he?
Hence his current setup--a somewhat private little corner nearby his home ward, somewhere he’s not gonna be botherin’ the neighbors, with a plank of wood set up on a couple of cinderblocks a good distance away. It’s here that he’s chosen to set up his own makeshift little shooting range, with about 10 or so tin cans set up an even distance apart atop that plank of wood. Of course, for a man of his pedigree, just hitting a tin can isn’t that hard...so, he’s decided to challenge himself a little bit. He hasn’t bothered to make all of the cans the same brand, but there’s always somewhere on the design he’s decided to shoot for--and, if that logo happens to have a person on it, then why not go for their heads?
He’s on his third at the moment. Look down the sights, keep your hands steady, and....exhale. Squeeze the trigger. The BB gun itself isn’t that noisy--but the tin can clattering to the ground makes up for it well enough. As for whether he’s risen to his self-imposed challenge, he’ll check on that when he’s put little BB-sized holes in all the cans.
Footsteps approach, and his eyes glance off to the side behind his shades to see...well, he’ll be stuffed. His stance relaxes, and he sets the BB rifle down beside him as he turns to face his old co-worker, a pleasant smile finding its way onto his face.
“You too, then, Truckie? Bloody hell, mate, between you, me and the doc, if I didn’t know any better I’d say someone’s lookin’ to hire us.” He gives a mirthful chuckle before nodding and adjusting his hat. “Or don’t tell me this is where you’ve been mucking about all this time? Ah, but where are me manners? ‘Course you can hang about, if you don’t mind standin’. Sorry, mate; if I’d known company was comin’, I’d have brought some chairs and a coupla frosties. Actually--you didn’t bring that toolbox-chair-whatsit with ya, did you?”
