I need nicotine and patience and some sort of salvation

Nov 15, 2011 19:32

[Who:] Tseng and [OPEN]
[What:] Sulking Target practice, talking, etc.
[When:] Shortly after The Baroness' post.
[Where:] Militant Base; training ground
[Warnings:] Language

The firing range they'd set up in the arena rang with shots, the wutaiian man stopping his rapid firing only to reload or put up more targets. He was restless, the better part of lifetime of having to constantly be a phone call away from action making him twitchy and irritable in the sluggish calm of late.

Had this been how Sephiroth had felt at the close of the war? Caged and surrounded by those who seemed all but incompetent compared to who he'd grown used to?

Logically, Tseng knew it wasn't their fault. Teenagers weren't usually trained in the art of death, people didn't generally steep themselves in gunfire for a living, they didn't kill people on a near daily basis for a decade.

A bullet went astray, chipping concrete instead of shattering a glass bottle.

"Shiva's tit." Tseng swore, watching his hands shake as he lowered them.

tseng, sylar

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