2019-10-21 - Guns guns guns guns ... guns.

The texts back and forth between Ruiz and Easton in the days after the funeral have been flying but not terribly informative. It's mostly just a back and forth of gun emojis, the occasional gif of someone firing a gun or the word "guns", at least on Easton's side. But eventually they managed to remember more words or at least how to schedule such an outing and that brings them to the firing range. Easton has come loaded to bear with an entire duffle bag. He brought all his guns, well all his guns that he has a license for. It's still a significant arsenal.

He's dressed in black tactical pants tucked into boots with a tight gray tee-shirt tucked in to the pants. He's brought his own shooting glasses and ear protection, both bright yellow. He doesn't even look around for Ruiz, or wait for the man. There are boxes of ammo in that bag that desperately need to be shot. All of the guns have been meticulously cleaned and oiled in preparation for this and it takes him a moment to decide who should go first. Even as he deliberates he knows which will be his first dance partner, the small but steady, the compact field pistol that the Marines are still in the process of rolling out has become his favorite companion. Easton zips up the rest for now and slides into a firing slot and settles into his stance, taking his time, relishing the feel of it.

Ruiz shows up a little late, on account of a fucking domestic right as I was about to sign off, according to one of his text messages. But he does show up, having since changed from his cheap suit into a ratty tee shirt, dark jeans and a ballcap, with a similar duffle bag slung across his shoulder.

He spots Easton fairly easily; the guy doesn't tend to blend into a crowd. With a hitch of his bag's strap, the off duty cop prowls on up and takes a watchful stance in the next lane over. He's got eye and ear protection in the bag, and busies himself setting the thing down atop the metal shelf at the back, and tugging on equipment. "Sorry I'm late. I swear they know when I'm about to leave. What've you got there?"

After the first clip is empty Easton breathes out a long slow breath as if finally releasing a breath he had been holding for days. He empties the magazine and double checks the chamber before turning to see who joined him. He grins big at Ruiz, "Gunny!" The call is plenty loud, even if Ruiz has his ear protection on. But Easton slips his off so that he can hear what the Captain is saying to him.

"Probably true." He replies about them knowing, whether that's dispatch or the criminals he's not clarifying. "This." He hands the cleared gun over, or at least presents it. "Is my Glock 19M. Corps is slowly rolling it out, but I fell in love and couldn't wait for one of my own. It's a fun little conceal and carry." It's a compact 9mm that he can fit in multiple places, and often does.

The offered up gun is perused a moment or two, Javier's tongue run across his teeth as he checks it out. "Ella es hermosa. Wish we had these when I was in the service." Which was approximately 8 million years ago, of course. Finished tugging on goggles and earmuffs, he leaves the latter looped around his neck for the time being while he digs out one of his own weapons: a sig sauer P226. Military issue, beast of a handgun. A magazine is slotted in deftly, and he hitches his chin to Easton. "How'd you get your hands on one of those? Buy it out when you left?"

"Yea she is." Easton's not exactly sure what Ruiz said but he caught the feminine pronoun bit at least. "We technically didn't have them for anyone outside the MP investigators? But once I saw it, I had to own this gun." The sig sauer P226, gets an eye narrow of appreciation from Easton and nod. "Nice." He assumed Ruiz wasn't going to pull some stupid yutz of a gun out but still appreciates the choice. He gives a half shrug and says, "Got lucky at a gun show." Kind of true. At least true enough that he was able to register the gun and have it all appear legit. "You?" He asks with a nod at the likewise military issue weapon.

"Army surplus, believe it or not," murmurs the cop, and spends a moment just feeling the weight of the thing in his palm, before giving his shoulders a roll and tugging his ear protection on. "Let's see what you can do with her." Because he's apparently decided the glock's female. His own weapon is hoisted up and braced in both hands as he sights downrange. "You and Bennie doing okay?" he ventures after a time, then pops the safety, brushes the trigger, and starts unloading the clip into his target.

Easton believes it plenty. There's plenty of handguns to go around. He gladly takes his gun back to his slot and reloads, with well practiced movements that need almost no thought. He would certainly agree that his compact 19M is a female. His .40 caliber Sig Sauer P320 is definitely a male, but that's for later. At the question, Easton doesn't turn or move his body from his stance at all. "Okay. Not great. Not over. So... best I can hope for." He fires off a couple round and asks, "You and Sutton?" Yes, it's plenty loud in there but it's no match for Easton's booming voice.

Ruiz's voice doesn't project in quite the same way. It's scratchier and roughened by years of cigarette smoking, drinking and probably yelling. He keeps his eyes forward as he empties his gun's chamber, interspersed with Easton's voice. "Not over." He chuckles, though the sound isn't warm or particularly mirthful. "Sounds about right." The clip's finished off, the last of the spent rounds pinging the ground, and then he unloads the magazine and slots in a new one, dark eyes squinted at the marks he made. Not too damned bad. "We're.." He blows out a sigh as he checks the chamber, swaps the gun to his right hand. "Fine. I think. We haven't talked about it. At all." It. He means the time he tried to strangle his girlfriend to death, and was knocked out and handcuffed to the bathroom sink for his trouble.

Taking nice calming breaths, popping off shots into paper targets with concentric circles is about as close to meditation as Easton has ever managed to get. Violent, loud meditation. He can hear Ruiz's chuckle and echo back about his less than glowing review of his relationship status. He finishes off the clip and checks his target, before leaning over just a touch to look at Ruiz's. Look, any guy who says they've never compared is a liar. Plain and simple. He nods at the answer about Ruiz's status and replies straight faced. "Probably for the best. I'm sure that won't blow up in your face later." Either he's that bad at relationship advice or he's joking, that's not as easy a call as you might think.

Well, Easton may have a sexier gun, but Javier's a better marksman, if their targets are any indication. Put that in your cap and smoke it, Marshall.

"Are you being facetious?" he mutters, gun coming up again, somewhere between a squared and three-quarters stance that gives him a good amount of control over the thing's kickback. "Because I'm pretty sure it will. We're also seeing other people, so for all I know, she's been working it out with someone else." Another series of loud, sharp reports as his gun goes off, peppering his target with shots that are decently clustered save for an outlier or two.

FINE! Easton can admit that Ruiz might have shot better on that target. But his pretty little gun is still sexy af. He clears it again before breaking out a hand cannon of his own, something with way more punch and little bit much to fire more than a clip or two of and really enjoy.

"Maybe. A little."

Easton pops in the clip and squares up, taking a much more serious stance with this gun that has actual kickback and much louder oomph. He catches only part of what Ruiz said but it's enough. "I can talk to her." He fires off another round and reconsiders that offer in light of the second half. "And I don't mean that as a euphemism. Bennie and I are on lock. I'm great at the sleeping around bit, lousy as shit at the not getting jealous and pissed if she does it part." Open relationships aren't for everyone. Easton knows this about himself. He also knows whatever he has with Bennie isn't something he'd dick around with.

There's a derisive snort from the cop when Easton fesses up to teasing him, and he safeties his weapon before ejecting the magazine into his left hand smoothly. "Talk to who? Sutton?" The gun is set aside with a thunk of metal on metal, and he digs out something with a bit more oomph than the handgun: a Ruger AR 556, which has been disassembled down to the bolt carrier group. The pieces are laid out while Easton talks, and then he starts putting the thing back together with steady, sure hands. "Talking isn't something we do a whole lot of." Easton can draw his own conclusions about that.

Easton says, "Yea. Sutton." Easton answers back with a shout. And then can't help but add, "Unless you want me to ask Erin Addington how you are in the sack? I was wondering what the hell was up with you two at the bar that night." It's not like he didn't notice, it stuck out oddly with Sutton right there, he just wasn't going to say a damn thing about it until Ruiz clarified their relationship. Easton notices he's not the only one to have stepped up his game. He doesn't feel the need to compete per say, this is about enjoying the feel of the gun in his hand and the release of the trigger and winning. Fine, it's also about winning.

Talking isn't something we do a whole lot of

"I can imagine she probably just stuffs your tie in your mouth to stop the flow of mexicano until she's ready for you to do something useful with your tongue for once." He apparently cracks himself up enough that he takes a break from firing to shake once or twice with laughter, before resuming his serious face and firing away."

"Ha ha fucking ha," growls the Mexican, though not with any real bite. He seems more tired than anything else, tonight. Dark smudges under his bloodshot eyes, and his shoulders seem even slouchier than usual. Putting together the rifle seems about as much a part of the ritual as firing it, and he settles into a steady rhythm that occupies his hands in a way that few other things do. "Erin and I are just.." Well, what are they? "Nothing serious. What about you, happy enough with just one woman?" As if the idea's alien to him.

And for once Easton doesn't look like he's been dragged out of an alley by his toes. He's reasonably fresh and well rested, which means Ruiz gets to deal with a slightly more chipper and chatty than usual Easton. Lucky him. "Yea, that's all you boss." Easton doesn't have any opinion about Erin's companions these days. It's not that she dumped him, she just dumped Geoff which by the law of brodus ponuns means also Easton. He thinks about the question and can only say, "Fuck it, yea, I'm crazy about her." He sounds almost surprised as he hasn't been terribly good at monogamy thus far in life. But in truth he'd never given it much of a shot.

Ruiz dumps out the last few rounds while he waits for an answer from Easton. He's unfocused though, and putting no great effort into clustering his shots. This is all about working out some aggression, or whatever the fuck is going on with him. The last spent shell clatters to the ground, and he ejects the magazine and slots in a new one like he could do it with his eyes closed. Probably can, in point of fact. "Si," he concurs, low voiced, while hoisting the rifle and sighting downrange again. "I'm in love with Sutton. I don't know what the fuck it is with her. I just.." He still hasn't taken a shot. "I really love her. Guess that's why I'm so determined to fuck it up." The harsh report of the rifle interrupts the silence that follows, as he drills several holes through the 'heart' of his target.

It takes much, much longer to empty the clip with the bigger gun for Easton. He has to re-line up his shot each time and it's a good amount of time to just steady between shots. He stops shooting at the unexpected profession of love from the older former Marine. He sets the gun down and actually slips off his hearing protection to catch the rest. He winces as the lack of "ear caps" means he's subject to the full noise of the rifle. "Always a classic. I prefer to drink too much and shut 'em out emotionally by not telling them anything and responding only in terse increasing frustrated single words. I can laugh and bullshit anyone I'm fucking around with, but shit gets serious? Those are my go to moves." He's making a joke of it, but he's not actually joking. He and Bennie are very much navigating this water that he unsuccessfully tried to steer in the past with his ex. Just because he knows he does, doesn't really stop him from doing it.

Once his own gun's clip has been emptied, Ruiz thumbs the safety on and practically slams it down atop the metal shelf housing the rest of his equipment. His own ear protection is tugged off as well, and the goggles a moment after. "Are you reading my playbook or something, Cap?" He chuckles, though it's an utterly mirthless sound. "I don't know how to handle this. Things getting serious. We almost had a-" He stops himself right there, teeth bared for a fraction of a second as if in irritation. Then starts packing up his guns one at a time, dark eyes flicking from the bag, to the man lurking in the next lane over. "How'd you get past it? The bullshit." He means his own bullshit. Their mutual bullshit.

Clearing the hand cannon and flicking on the safety Easton can't help but give a small sigh of contentment. Whatever release he was hoping to find here is pretty clear that it didn't elude him. He laughs and says, "Pretty sure it's written in the Standards of Conduct and Ethics" because the Corps has a plan for all situations and going by statistics that must include screwing up relationships. He glances over at the admission from Ruiz about not being able to handle it. Easton's face goes neutral as he mentally thinks he's just about the last person who should be asked anything about how to do it. Which of course somehow prompts Ruiz to then ask. He shakes his head and says, "I'm not. I'm trying. But it's cause I'm fucking bullheaded and I want her. So that's it." As far as helpful advice goes it's not much if anything to go on. But it's the best he's got and he's not sure it's even enough as is.

Yeah, not terribly specific advice there, Easton. Ruiz's expression looks vaguely irritated as he finishes putting the guns away, and zipping up the duffle. His cap's brim is given a little tug to nudge it down a hair more over his eyes, and he pushes his hands into his pants pockets as he considers what was said. "Right," he offers, a little unevenly, after a long pause. "I've been called bullheaded, myself." A twinge of something that could be a smile. "And I definitely want her." There's a note of something softer there. But whatever it is, it seems to make him uncomfortable, and he shoves it back down. They're here for guns, damn it. "How're things with transitioning out of the service going?"

Nope, it's not terribly specific advice. Nor does it qualify as even good advice. But Easton's making enough of a mess of his own relationship that the least he can do is try and contain that damage to one couple. No need to spread it around. "So you know what you want. Then improvise, adapt and overcome old man." The Marines teaches a lot about how to obtain objectives. They are just usually a little more bloody. The question about transitioning out of the Corps causes him to stop packing up his bag and think for a moment. "You know? Not bad. Somehow that feels like less of a challenge with death flus and serial killer ghosts and finally putting some old shit to bed." Surprisingly Tom would actually get a kick out of being referred to as 'old shit' it was an affectionately combative relationship to say the least. "Maybe just needed some perspective."

Improvise, adapt and overcome. Ruiz snorts softly, and hoists the duffle bag up, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "I think you've been watching too many movies. Never had a real drill instructor tell me that." Not that it isn't in the spirit of the Marines. He looks back at his target for a long moment, studying the clustering of shots with slightly squinted eyes. Then looks back to Easton, and away. "I'm glad. You both deserve some peace, after what we've been through." He takes a step backward. "Thanks for inviting me out. We should do this again soon, si?"

Easton grins when Ruiz calls him out for the cliche. "I had a CO that was a bit overly fond of it myself. But I loved yelling that at my men. They could never quite tell if I was mocking him or a genuine true believer. I like to think they never realized I had a sense of humor." Easton finishes packing up his gear and hefts the bag over his shoulder. He nods at Ruiz and says, "Yea well I appreciate having someone to talk to 'bout it. A sergeant from my company is local, and I keep meaning to check in more on him. It's a good reminder." Many things got put on the back burner during the flu and Gohl ordeal, Easton just needs to make sure he hasn't full on forgotten about any.

"We are absolutely doing this again. And separately, drinking. Soon." Alexander tells people not to die, Easton tells them they are drinking with him, they all have their own version of goodbye.

It would've been entertaining as hell if they'd ever served together, and highly likely that de la Vega would've ended up on Easton's shit list a time or six. "You should," he encourages, regarding checking in on his sergeant. They both know how easy it is to fall through the cracks, after all. "And we definitely should." Go drinking. He leans over to clap the younger man on the shoulder, then ticks off a salute to him and turns to trudge out.