trans_9 | Target Practice!!

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Target Practice!!

Jo had, after harassing several members of the crew, discovered that there was indeed a place she could go and ~~play~~ do some target practice with her guns. The sensoriums. One of them - she'd already forgotten who - had tried explaining in great detail what the sensoriums were and how they worked, but she honestly didn't care how they worked. To her, the sensoriums sounded something like GD would come up with, and honestly? She was not about to refuse using one of them.

So there she was, inside one of them - which looked just like a shooting range - with everything from paper targets, a back wall with a sloped bank, reinforced baffles, air locked individual firing points! Jo was in heaven!

Smiling, she laid out the weapons she'd brought in with her and began to look over them, contemplating on which one she was going to use first.

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Dean's taken a liking to the sensoriums, actually. He's bored everywhere else, and there's only so much time he can spend holed up in the Med Bay with nothing but Sam and a few of Sawyer's magazines to keep him company. Not that Sawyer knows about that. Shhh.

And he's already found one kick-ass lady in the sensoriums before, so when he finds Jo looking over the weapons with some sort of reverence, he's not surprised. And she looks familiar, so he thinks he's talked to her before. Though everything before Sam waking up is a little fuzzy.

"So I'm assuming you like guns." Dean says, making sure he's not sneaking up on her in any way. Just in case.

Dean was lucky he'd made his presence known otherwise he might have become an accidental target.

Turning her head, Jo looked over her shoulder and smiled seeing 'Mulder' standing there. "Well of course, doesn't everyone?" OK, so she knew not everyone liked guns - but dammit they should!

"So, Mulder... Do you shoot?" She asked and motioned toward her guns, seemingly inviting him to look them over.

Maybe he'd be interested in one of them? A beretta 92, Glock 22, FN P90, or maybe her modified Colt Anaconda?

Exactly his reasoning, yes. Dean dislikes having extra holes shot into him, y'see.

He chuckles at the name; right, so this was the chick who'd hung out with Sawyer. Which wasn't what Dean called the man in his head, but the names he used weren't all that polite. Despite that, this girl seemed pretty awesome, so he moves closer, examining the guns.

"Yeah, I shoot. Made my first sawed-off shotgun when I was nine." He replies, grinning. He takes a certain interest to the Beretta- he has one, himself. The Colt catches his eye, too, though he gestures to the Beretta first.

"I have one of those. Beretta 92, right?"

Jo had to admit it, she's pretty friggin impressed with this Mulder guy. When she was nine, she'd been into ballet - though she'd never in her life admit that to anyone here!

"Yeah, it is..." She trailed over, her gaze flickering over to the paper target for a moment before returning to Mulder. "If you have it with and if you're up for it... Maybe we can have a friendly shooting competition?"

She leaned against one of the walls and crossed her arms and her grin grew. "That is if you aren't afraid of getting your butt kicked by a female."

Well, and the fact that Dean's dad raised his kids as soldiers rather than children; that helps the whole 'shotgun at nine' thing.

Dean thinks he likes this nickname, so he doesn't make any attempt to correct her. Instead, he flashes her a cocky grin and shrugs.

"Friendly shooting competition it is. Just don't feel bad when I win. It happens to everyone." He reaches for his gun, the one he found in the possessions locker. It's a Colt 1911, all tricked out with an ivory handle and engravings on the sides.

"Right, remember those words and don't cry later, OK?" Jo countered flashing Dean an amused look.

She supposed she could have let the guy dream, right? Naw! That wasn't how she was. He needed to be prepared for when she kicked his butt!!

She pushed off the wall, resting a hand on a hip as she once again looked over her guns before sneaking a peek at Dean's. Niiiiiiiiiiice.... But anyway!

"How about this? I'll even let you pick which gun I use. Aren't I nice?"

"Uh huh, I'll remember." Dean replies. He's cocky, but mostly he's just looking forward to a good, clean gun contest.

Don't think he didn't catch you peeking at his gun, Jo. He noticed, and his grin's pretty smug because of that.

"Huh. Y'know, normally I'd jump at a chance like that, but I think I could beat you no matter what gun you choose. So go ahead, missy, s'your choice." Oh, Dean-o. If Jo wins, your masculinity is going to be threatened.

Dean's lucky that Jo has thus far been amused by him or his whole missy comment might have forced her to try and make him eat his knew leaf suit - while he was still wearing it. Yes, lucky for him.

Her eyebrows shot up and she snorted, shaking her head. "Alright... Pretty boy, you keep thinking that." She shot him another look before turning and picked up her beretta. She'd been tempted to use her FN P90 - but that really wasn't fair - she didn't wanna make Dean cry ~~too much~~.

Loading it quickly she set it aside for a moment so she could slip her the provided eye and ear protection and nudged a set of each toward Dean.

Safety first, y'know!

Oh, yummy. Plantsuit. It'd probably taste better than the crap they usually serve on this thing.

Dean resents the pretty boy comment-- that's Sam, not him, the damned puppy-- but he ignores it, loading his gun and getting it ready for the contest. When she nudges the safety stuff over to Dean, he sort of blinks at it a little. He's never had the chance to use them before, but hey, sure, why not. He slips on the protection, and nudges Jo aside to take his place.

... And about five minutes later, Dean is laughing triumphantly.

"Told you I'd win." He says smugly, patting his gun.

Jo is pouting! It doesn't happen often, but at times like this when... she'd just been beaten by some dude at something she loves, she's pouting. Good sport Jo is not at the moment.

"Yeah, yeah," Jo grumbles and stares in disbelief at the targets. She'd lost! What the freak?! Forget that!

She turned suddenly and pointed at Dean,"So you beat me here... BUT!" Of course there's a but. "Dude! Wrestling! I can so take you down! I know I can!" She eyed him, and she's really not letting up on this whole losing thing.

Dean rolls his eyes at the pouting. He's got a little brother, Jo, did you really think he'd be affected by it?

But then she's turned and is challenging him to a wrestling match? That earns an eyebrow raise from Dean. Wrestling? Really? Man, this chick was competitive.

"Uh, no thanks, missy. I've already got an unfair rep here as a pervert. Wrestling with a chick reeeally doesn't help that." Dean replies, waving her away. "Don't be a sore loser."

Both of Jo's brows perk up and she props both her hands on her hips. "Chicken."

OK, so she's mocking him. But whatever. She was competitive and that was all there was to it.

"I think you're afraid I'd actually whoop your butt," she chuckled. Oh yes, Jo is amused now.

Oh, them are fightin' words. Dean's eyes narrow, and he folds his arms.

"I'm no chicken. When you've fought and exorcised a horde of demons, all with knives and guns, let me know. Then you can call me a chicken." Oooh, Jo, you struck a sore spot.

"I wouldn't want to hurt you," he says arrogantly. "You wouldn't be able to walk once I was done with you."

Jo snorted, yes she actually snorted at what Dean had said. Was she suppose to be scared now? Impressed? Well sorry Dean, she's not.

"I beg to differ," Jo retorted smuggly, her gaze flickering up and down Dean for a moment. Tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

"You're still a chicken," she informed him, poking him in an almost playful manner in the chest. "Chick-en"

Dean scowls, and draws himself to his full height, a lovely 6'1, and stares down at her. Yes, he's trying to make himself scary looking. No, the poor guy isn't really going to have any luck with this.

"I'll kick your ass." He growls. Aw, Jo, you made him mad. He does not appreciate being called a chicken. Especially by a chick.

Silly Dean, Jo's taken down men bigger than you before.

Jo doesn't say anything, just looks up at Dean and smiles.

~~Stupid~~ Poor Dean, he's not going to know what hit him.

Without warning Jo reached out, grabbed Dean and with what seemed like a flick of her wrists sent him sprawling to the floor on his stomach, with his right arm twisted behind his back - and Jo was pressing her knee into the middle of his back.

She leaned forward, so her face was just an inch or so from his ear. "Maybe this was an oops?"

Oh, Dean doesn't like that smile--

And for good reason, because suddenly, bam, he's on the ground, with her twisting his arm, and he cusses loudly, struggling slightly. And then, she leans in, and Dean looks furious.

"Get the hell off me, you crazy woman!" He says loudly.

OK, it's one thing to be competitive and stuff, but it's a completely different thing to call people names. Jo is not crazy! Maybe after being on this space ship for a while, but not at the moment.

She's tempted to twist Dean's arm a bit more, but hey - she's a nice person so she let's go of his arm and climbs back to her feet. "Hey, don't take it so personally. I'm a deputy, and I was an Army Ranger. I'm kinda trained to take people down fast."

She looks at him, and offers him an apologetic smile, "I should have warned you." Hey, that's as close as you're getting to an apology!!

Yeah, she's a nice person alright. Dean's up on his feet in seconds, and for some reason, he's more pissed than he really should be. Maybe it's the fact that she's a chick and about half a foot shorter than him, or maybe it's just because he's a sore loser. Or both.

Ignoring her explanation and apologetic smile, he gives her a scowl and turns, rubbing at his wrist.

"Jesus, damn crazy women trying to break my arm off..." He grumbles as he stalks off, looking annoyed.

"Quit bein' such a baby!" Jo yells after him, completely not getting why he just doesn't challange something else - something that he'd be better at!

Men - they confused the crap outta her.

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Target Practice!!

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