Nov 14, 2010 16:34
(ooc: hey guys, sorry I've been away. Work is nuts and my personal life is taking a turn towards hell as well, so my tags may be slow as I gain back my inspiration and lose it again. I may be making an emergency trip to Ohio in the next few weeks if I can push up my deadlines at work, so if you can, keep us in your thoughts & prayers and please be patient with me. I know RL hasn't made it easy on ANY of us lately.:\ Thanks, loves.)
Declan isn't sure how many rounds he's squeezed off in the firing range over the course of the past four hours. It may or may not have been upwards of five different boxes of five different sizes of ammunition from five different weapons that had met their match in the back wall of the range.
He lifts his sidearm, having now reverted back to his .40 handgun, and sights in on the paper target again. Fluidly, he squeezes the trigger, the projectiles tearing hole after hole through the sheet like he wish could be done to his anxiety. If he could only shred it, their op might go smoother, everything might go smoother.
Bloody hell, what a mess his head is.
Declan knows that won't do, so he reloads his clip and goes again.
nudge: druitt,
nudge: all,
nudge: ashley