Artie and North. (Backdated about a week.)

[x-artie.livejournal.com]

It's time for Maddicks to learn some more useful skills.


Artie'd been told that he was to report to a shooting range in the city to work with David North (and learn to be less of an incredible liability, said the subtext in his head).

He adjusted his grip on the rifle Mr North had had him use slightly, aimed and fired.

“You pull too hard on the trigger,” David commented, tapping the butt of the rifle once Artie had lowered it. His voice was slightly too loud given the earplugs he had not bothered to remove as he stepped up behind the young man. “Throws your accuracy off. Rifle shooting requires slow and steady. Your breathing is important too. Who taught you how to shoot?”

Artie gave a sharp nod. He put an image of Doug showing him how to shoot a handgun up over his shoulder, followed with one of the Salem Centre range and a sign showing that they had .22 target rifles for hire and then the text "took a couple lessons. mostly practiced on my own." He squeezed the trigger and shot again.

David made a faint noise of acknowledgement at the image and text, stepped back and surveyed the shot. “Better. Do you feel less recoil? Steady on the trigger and make sure the balance of the rifle is right. Try a group of three shots now.” Consistency was key.

Artie nodded. He took a deep breath in and out, consciously trying to relax and shot three times. "Do you see that?" he asked, text floating over his shoulder again. "I'm actually hitting the fucking target!"

“Good job,” David said, voice wry but not unkind. “But the aim is to hit the centre of the fucking target. Consistently.”

The German tugged the earplugs out and moved out of the shielded booth, indicating that Artie should unload the rifle and follow him.

“Theory lesson,” he announced. “How many positions are there in rifle shooting?”

At least a few of his shots had made it to the centre of the target. Artie didn't say that, though. He shrugged. "Four, maybe?"

David nodded, settling himself in one of the tacky plastic chairs behind the shooting booths. As a teacher, the spy was obviously not one to coddle. Or praise very often. “Name them.”

Aww, crap. "Sitting, kneeling, standing and... Lying down?"

“Prone. But fair enough,” David lips quirked in a small smile. “And which is the steadiest of the four?”

This had all the marks of a trick question. "I have no idea."

“Prone. Which obviously compromises on speed. Followed by sitting, kneeling and standing in that order. The lower the centre of gravity, the more stable you are.” David gestured at Artie’s target with his chin. “You can point a rifle in the right general direction and fire it without giving yourself a black eye. A promising start. But guess which position I will be starting you with?”

So it had been a trick question after all. And he'd been doing it the most inaccurate way all along. Artie flashed up an image of a prone shooter, followed by a question mark.

He received a nod in affirmative. “In combat, this means longer set up time. But since there is no intention of sending you into combat any time soon if we can help it, we may as well set as good a foundation drilled into you as we can.”

"that makes sense," Artie said, sticking to scrolling text, rather than pulling out the synthesiser. "it's not like you're going to be relying on me for backup any time soon. maybe this way i'll be able to get my shooting accurate enough that i'll be able match the accuracy I get when I paint a target on something with my powers."

Exactly. David nodded, pleased that the younger mutant was not planning to rush into anything. “Now, breathing is important – more important than when you’re shooting a handgun. Have you been taught anything about it?”

"No."

The older man made a unsavoury comment under his breath before indicating that Artie should take the seat beside him. “Consistency is key,” he said. “Breathing affects the way your lungs support your position, for which stability is key. The amount of air in your lungs affects the elevation of your point of impact. In other words, your accuracy. Another factor affected by your breathing is how much oxygen there is in your system – obviously, you want your body to be at its best when you fire the shot. Your vision, state of mind and tactility of your trigger finger should be at its optimum.

“Hazard a guess: If you hold your breath, how long does it take before a regular person’s vision degrades from reduced oxygen?”

Artie shook his head and took the time to tap out a reply on the synthesiser, instead of going straight for a speech bubble. It gave him more time to think it through. And come up with ...not much. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know. A minute, maybe? I really don't know."

“Five to seven seconds. I said degrading of vision, not passing out,” David pointed out. “What we are looking for is a consistent volume of air in the lungs and an ample supply of oxygen in your system. So the solution is to fire during your natural respiratory pause. Questions?”

The best bit about being mildly self aware was knowing that the response 'Fuckballs, I stop breathing? was the sort that was not likely to impress North. Artie bit it back and nodded. "No questions. So what does this prone pose look like?"

“Come,” David stood and brushed off his hands. “Bring your rifle and I’ll show you. But if you have to ask me what a natural respiratory pause is later, I’ll make sure you regret not asking when I gave you the opportunity to.”

The image of Artie that appeared over his shoulder had an angel's halo. "I won't, Mr North." He gathered his gear and stood, following North out and into position. "this feels weird." Text bubble only, so that he didn't have to move.

“You will get used to it. Probably come to love it if you keep at it long enough to learn that the ground is doing most of the work for you right now.” David came right round and sat on a sandbag next to Artie, given that the area was clear of other people. “Move your elbow directly under the rifle, and the butt of the rifle in your shoulder pocket. Weight off your support elbow and feet flat against the ground.”

He wriggled into position, making the little minute adjustments that North suggested and stared through the scope. "am i good?"

Manually shifting Artie’s feet with one of his own so they were spread further apart, the German man nodded and stood, shoving earplugs into his ears as he walked to a spot just shy of the demarcated safety area. “Ja. Give it a shot.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Again. Artie squeezed the trigger and shot. It was a better shot than he'd managed earlier.

“Good,” David told Artie when the boy removed his ear plugs. “Now, practice makes perfect.”

Of course there would be practice. A lot of practice. 10,000 hours to become an expert in anything and just because he'd passed that mark years ago with his powers didn't mean that the same rule didn't apply to everything else. "I know." Artie put his ear plugs back in and moved back into position, tuning North and the rest off the world out with the same focus he used on his powers. Breathe. Aim. Fire. Repeat.

***
After the morning's work, the two stop for some lunch and North questions Artie's motivations.

Artie did well enough that day that David was not any more grumpy than he appeared to be when they had first arrived at the range. So when the unlikely pair exited the changing room, he gestured for the younger man to follow him to his car where he swiftly stowed his rifle in the trunk.

“What would you like for lunch?”

He shrugged in reply and pulled out his synthesiser, typing "Burgers sound good. Or some ramen? What would you prefer?"

David stared at Artie for a moment, then shook his head and gestured for him to get in the car. “I am almost 50,” he said blandly as he backed out of the lot. “You must be trying to clog my arteries.”

"Fine. What non-artery clogging foods are there out there that you can actually eat?" Artie settled back in his seat and began to play with the radio.

Used as he was to Jubilee and his younger co-workers fiddling with the stereo, David let him be, not quite bothering to respond to the question until he pulled into a restaurant he was familiar with.

They eventually pulled up outside a Japanese restaurant and Artie climbed out of the car, following North inside. The menu was one of those nice ones with the helpful pictures so he was able to order by pointing at number 23 without having to pull out his synthesiser or out himself as a mutant. Always nice.

Artie studied North for a moment and eventually typed "Thank you for ...before. I think I really enjoy learning to shoot."

“You are welcome,” the older man replied. “It is good that you enjoy it.” Because he may not enjoy it so much when the time came – if it ever did – for Artie to actually shoot someone with the intent to kill. Hopefully it would not be for some time if it ever came down to that. “So why join us?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of the sequence of images he'd need. The barrage of images moved quickly, possibly too quickly North to follow, a series of tiny pictures projected right in front of his eyes, none holding for more than half a second. Stryker, Jean dying. The mansion being invaded, more than once. The Morlock tunnels and the aftermath of the massacre, with Remy's face interwoven between those ones. One of Remy as a student, a couple of scenes from Genosha, the mirrored reflections of himself wearing other people's faces.

“Understood,” David nodded, raising an arm to stop the barrage of images. Bad pictures, traumatic pasts, a dozen of life-changing motivations. The German was unfazed. “But why us?”

The images changed to text. "I never wanted to be an X-Man. They're too ... reactive. I could have been a forger. I have the contacts, though M.A., the standing job offer and hell, I worked with their people after coming back to New York, but I guess... If I'm going to lie, cheat, steal and fuck people over, well. Making money sure is nice but I'd rather know that I did it for a reason, rather than just because I get a kick out of it."

“Well, if you are all right with not making money,” North shrugged. “And dubious benefits. Multiple traumas. Morally questionable work. Lousy hours… Welcome to the team, Maddicks. But you are not going into the field with a firearm until I am sure you are not going put a bullet in someone’s back while you are supposed to be watching it, ja?”

"You know I'm not going to shoot anyone, right? I already proved that I wasn't likely to try to assassinate anyone on the team." And damn, he thought he'd wanted Remy dead, right up until push came to shoving him off a ledge. "I'm going back to the range tomorrow," he said eventually. "I know how much work this is going to take."

“I was referring more to accidental shooting,” North replied, the half-lie tripping easily over his tongue. “But I thank you for the reassurance.”