#youshotmerp

[starman-john-tracy]

You Shot Me [RP]

@thunderbirdscolonelcasey:

Her shoulder was killing her and in some way she was resigned, and in others she was surprised that she had been shot by one of the Tracy boys.  After all, their father had shot her when they were both in training.

What had her heart in her mouth was the unknown assailant holding John on the ground and making demands.  Demanding the watch John wore.  

A flurry of movement and John was free, but so was the assailant. Holding John’s gun and threatning him.  Casey made a mental note to talk to Kayo.  It was all very well to teach John how to free himself, but he also needed to be taught to then secure the person attacking him!

“He won’t shoot you John,” she said confidently.  “Drop the gun, young man.  You won’t be able to do any harm with that gun.  And all you will achieve is a visit in jail.”

Casey took a step forward and held out her free hand.

“Come on - hand the gun over and let’s talk about this,” she said.  She took another step.

“Don’t move! I’ll shoot him! I will!”  His voice was panicy and the hand holding the gun was shaking so much that if he fired it, it would be more dangerous to him than to John.

Casey shook her head and took another step, reaching out and closing her hand around his wrist, causing him to drop the gun.

“You could have fired that gun all you wanted,” she said.  “But nothing will happen unless the gun is actually loaded.  I only put one round in it.”

The perp’s eyes widen almost comically and John doesn’t even have a chance to react as there’s a click of the trigger being pulled, the gun firing, only... only it doesn’t. Nothing happens. The guy grits his teeth and tries again, then again. Still nothing. He shakes the thing wildly, disbelievingly, while John has what can only be described as a mini nervous meltdown with the relief that he doesn’t have three bullets in him, and that the cartridge loaded into the gun is most definitely empty.

Thank god she hadn’t been bluffing.

“Hey.” John’s still got his hands raised and his voice comes out, surprisingly strong, International Rescue calm. “Hey.” The young man’s eyes flick between Casey and her gun over John’s shoulder, and the ginger himself. “Don’t worry about her, her bark is worse than her bite.” That’s so blatantly untrue that it can only be a plea from him for her not to attack the kid before he has a chance to talk him down. “Eyes on me, ok?” He’s got such a naturally calming voice that the eyes beyond the balaclava obey him without question. The empty gun is hanging from limp fingers and their attacker looks small and lost without the contingency of it. “My name’s John.” He sounds soft and sure, just like he’s talking the panic out of a rescue, reassuring them that everything is going to be alright. “What’s your name?”

“K-Kevin.” There are tears pooling in the young man’s eyes now, his bottom lip trembly. “I-I dint mean no trouble. I just...”

“You’ve got a family at home relying on you.” John’s guess is surprisingly perceptive, well aware of many others in the same situation; people living in poverty on the London outskirts, who, out of desperation would go to great lengths that they otherwise wouldn’t. “You’re not a bad guy. You just want to help them out, right?”

“I got a little girl.” He openly sobs, as John gently takes the gun from him and tosses it away. There’s a dark bruise spreading across the spaceman’s cheek, blood welling in little dots where the gravel has cut his skin, an ominous reminder that they’ve just been attacked despite John’s soft demeanour. “Surely you rich types can spare somethin’, right? We’re starvin’ at home, I...”

“Let me see to my friend’s injury.” John guides Kevin to sit down in a lawn chair, helping him off with his threadbare balaclava and draping a blanket around his shoulders for shock. “Colonel?” If anything Kevin’s face blanches further white at the sound of her title, military can’t mean anything good. “Your shoulder?” John’s almost as pale as he is, “I... I’m so sorry...”

A big crack appears in Thunderbird Five’s smooth, calm exterior, the dangerous, terrified, apology of John Tracy bleeding through as quick as the blood had saturated her shoulder.

“I...” He wavers, shaky, “I didn’t mean... I...”

[starman-john-tracy]

From the Injuries ask meme "You shot me!" - Colonel Casey

From this ask meme      

Really, it should never have happened.

John’s got the best aim of all of his brother’s, even better than Scott’s, truthfully, and he spent three years with the RAF. He’s a master of the claw machine, of pin-point precise decisions and actions and, whether it’s catching a weather monitoring station with a mooring claw or hitting the range target bullseye, there’s no way he’d simply miss.

And he wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have missed if the guy in a balaclava and hoodie hadn’t decided that tackling people on a rich person’s shooting range was a smart thing to go out and do on a cold, drizzly Wednesday evening.

For an American, John sure has a big reluctance surrounding guns. It’d been quite the challenge to get him out to England, to the Lady Penelope’s range for a few lessons, in the first place. He remembers Grandpa Grant owning a big old blunderbuss thing back when he was just a boy, but not many people fire live bullets these days, not really, not with the upsurge in electronic disablers and Global banning of the frankly dangerous things without a permit and a very good reason for their possession.

Casey, evidently, thinks she has a good reason for them. She wants all of Jeff’s boys prepared (though, in the end, they’d refused to let her get her hands on Alan) for anything, and apparently that includes using guns. Scott had persuaded him to just go along with it, to keep the GDF happy. It’s just the range, John, there’s nothing you need to worry about John, Gordon had a great time John. Even with Casey’s worries about The Hood, John knows full well that none of them will ever use the thing against another human being, villainous or otherwise. Their job is to reconnaissance and rescue, definitely not to shooting people. Not intentionally anyway.

The crack of the shot discharging as he goes down is going to haunt John for a long time.

His head ricochets off the gravel, stunned, and the gun falls from limp fingers, skittering away from him. There’s a black-gloved hand shoving his face down, another wrestling one of his arms up behind his back.

“G-Give me all your valuables!” The guy with a heavy knee on John’s spine demands. He sounds young, desperate perhaps. Like he’s walked to the nearest manor house with half a plan and attacked the first rich-looking person he finds. “Y-Your watch!” The knee in his spine presses down hard and John chokes out an awful, pained little sound as something in there grinds. “G-Give me...”

John twists to try and get a look at Colonel Casey, to see how she’s reacting to all this, only to find...

John’s mouth drops open. His eyes go wide and shocked and his face abruptly loses all colour.

There’s blood rapidly seeping into the fabric of her uniform, around the shoulder. A dangerous crimson; a deadly bloom that’s intent on devouring as much of the material as it can, as fast as possible. She claps a hand over the gunshot wound, but she’s already stumbling to her knees, her own gun out and levelled at the perp that had just flattened John, her face gritty with determination.

“No!” There’s a surge of momentum that upends the young man kneeling on him, reaching for his watch, with a yelp, and John flings an arm out, putting his own body in between Casey’s gunsight and the perp. “Wait, don’t shoot him!”

“H-hey! D-Drop the gun!” The guy insists, shaking badly as he levels the gun he’s grabbed off the floor at John. What’s visible of his face beneath the balaclava an ashy grey. His fingers on the trigger are dangerously trembly. “Or... Or I’ll shoot him! I swear!”

John raises both hands in surrender, his hair mussed wild and gravel imprinted on his cheek.

“Drop the gun Aunt Casey.” John says, strained, “Let’s give this guy what he wants, so that I can have a look at that shoulder of yours, ok?”