10 - [Written//Spam]

[whateverthemess]

I need some target practice. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the CES.

[Spaaaam]

[She's not all that far past the door--it's a sunny, open field today, with low-cut grass. That suits Murphy just fine. She has three separate targets set up, all human-shaped pressboard dummies papered over with target sheets. They stand twenty-five yards apart, at

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[painhumbles]

[Gabriel, for his part, at least waited until she was finished shooting before coming up behind her this time. He's currently leaning against... The one tree in this entire field, some twenty feet away from Murphy's current position. Gabriel needs props.]

You and that gun get any kinkier, Murphy, I'm gonna have to ask you two ladies to get a room. There's impressionable children here.

[whateverthemess]

[She turns and frowns at him.] What is it?

[painhumbles]

[Gabriel strides over- which is surprisingly difficult when you have short legs- to her, crossing his arms over his chest and surveying her with the kind of serious contemplation artists give the subjects of their masterwork. And after all that, all he can say is...]

Someone's a little moody today.

[whateverthemess]

[She scowls all during his long study, her gun pointed at the ground and her body still turned toward the targets.] Because I came here for stress relief.

[painhumbles]

[Gabriel looks around, like MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE HERE CAUSING HER UNDUE STRESS, but... Oh. It's just him. He tilts his head and feigns surprise, mouthing me at her like it's utterly APPALLING that she'd accuse him of such a thing.]

So what, huh? Are you saying I'm stressful to be around?

[whateverthemess]

[Rather than answer, she turns her head, whips the gun up, and plugs two bullets through the head of the nearest target. The hammering crack of the gun is complimented by the splinter of pressboard.

She looks back up at him. WOULD YOU LIKE TO REPEAT THE QUESTION, GABRIEL?]

[painhumbles]

[Gabriel blinks a few times and then whistles, clearly impressed, but... Obviously, not daunted. Oh no. Gabriel does not say die.

So rather than turn the opposite direction and walk out, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels a bit.]

I hear I have that effect on people.

[whateverthemess]

Why am I not surprised. [She rakes a hand through her hair and looks away, her expression going from a scowl to a somewhat gentler frownyfaced cousin of a scowl.] Did you come here to demonstrate the effect you have on people or what?

[painhumbles]

[He looks honestly offended now, not just faking it.]

I don't have to have a reason. [He sidesteps over so that he's in her line of sight.] Maybe I just felt like coming down here. That so wrong?

[whateverthemess]

Gabriel, move. [She sounds tired, even if she doesn't look it.]

[painhumbles]

[He plants his feet.] Or what? You use your ninja jujitsu on me? [He crosses his arms over his chest, making his adamance even clearer. He tilts his head to the side again, almost like a dog listening for a faraway sound.] Man, you are tense. If your aura were pulsating any more, it'd be a strobe light.

[whateverthemess]

So rent me out to a club and move.

[She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Lather, rinse, repeat. She wasn't feeling tense--at least not consciously--until he showed up. And why the hell is that?

She opens her eyes, at least reined in again if not calm.] If you just felt like coming down here, just be down here somewhere else. That is not in my line of fire.

[painhumbles]

[Gabriel responds to her by shooting out a hand and catching her wrist- not the one holding the gun, because he'd like to avoid getting shot in the foot, his expression going eerily neutral. His tone matches his expression.]

Did I offend you recently or does the fact that I exist drive you crazy? I don't know about you, Murphy, but I'm getting some serious mixed signals in this relationship and we haven't even cleared Stage One yet. I think I'm headed for all time record here.

[whateverthemess]

[The fact that he exists. The fact that he exists without getting thrown into walls or killed by vampires. The fact that his issues are suddenly a lot more personal than she can admit without sounding like a hypocrite.

She glares at him, surprised at how cold his hand feels around her wrist.] Let go.

[painhumbles]

[Where, oh where, is the woman who stood up to Michael, who stands up to him on a daily basis. She can put up a front all she likes, but that doesn't change the facts. He knows better. He doesn't even have to try hard. And he doesn't actually care that he's a raging hypocrite.

He pulls her towards him just a bit, not enough to make it seem suggestive and invasive, but enough to point out that he's not going to let go.] No.

[whateverthemess]

[She slides back a half-step, mentally measuring her leverage, calculating how to disable him without dropping her gun. She seizes his wrist, all speed and butter-smooth motion as she tries to flip the angel and drive him into the ground, bending his wrist out of joint in the process.]