[And he's not entirely joking. Because with or without a small army breathing down his neck, Thane's a compliment to his skill set in more ways than one. Every hard snap of a successful headshot buys him another inch of freedom from cover, acts as the sort of diversion that scatters and confuses even the more hardened veterans of the group. He's less guarded, more efficient, and what amount of feigned confidence that he keeps tucked close to his chest flourishes into something surprisingly more solid beneath the butt of his rifle.
Everything else is discarded with each exhausted thermal clip.]
She might not appreciate that we stole the entertainment for ourselves.
[ Thane gives him a slight look at that, the sort of one that indicates he is aware that statement was at least partly a joke but he is choosing not to reply to it as such.
Or at all, for a moment, because he has to sweep up and take a shot, lingering a moment to try to determine if they will be able to maintain position until the last of these are down. They have tried taking cover now, as little as that will help them. ]
I am certain that she has managed to provide her own entertainment. [ Pop the heat sink, up and a shot in a protruding arm, down again. ] You share a talent for it.
[There's a good second or two spent watching Thane knock that shot off, the motion and flow of it, all precision and focus on some disconnected, tranquil level. He scoffs, words huffed out in mild admiration.]
I don't suppose you're interested in making this a little more interesting.
[ Being stubborn, being unerringly dedicated to seeking out violence and confronting it, a rather similar approach to humor. He understands very well why they're so close. A glance spared Garrus' way at that. ]
[ He ejects his thermal clip and switches it out as he considers the offer. Competition is not something he has done in a long time, but it appeals to his sense of pride. ]
I have no objections. [ He presses his back against the crate, listening to the rate of fire aimed at them as he draws in a deep breath to ease his lungs and calculates distances and guns. ] Are you certain you wish to wipe your current count?
[Garrus mirrors Thane's actions, stays crouched and ready and offers up a shameless, sharp-toothed grin.
Or the turian equivalent of one, anyway.
It's not a sure win. Against anyone else it might be, but not Thane. Not without some tactical advantage. If he's honest with himself, though, he wouldn't have made the bet in the first place if it was.]
Please, Krios, I should be giving it to you so you have a shot at winning this.
[ He blinks once in consideration and then inclines his head in Garrus' direction. Ready. ]
I do not think that will be the case.
[ Confidence in his motions as he pulls up, rifle close against his shoulder as he bends his head to take a shot, drops to reload. But Garrus is right in his assessment - they're fairly evenly matched in a scenario such as this. It will be, if nothing else, an interesting competition.
He wouldn't have taken the bet if it would not have been. ]
[If he has anything left to add, he keeps it to himself; words are unnecessary where actions can more than easily drive the point home.
Garrus waits for a break in the fire to mouth off the countdown, signals it with a raised talon that's just shy of twitching with anticipation, ready as it is to snap down around the trigger to compensate for the milliseconds spent starting their competition.
...3...2...1...go
And then he's up and level, arms braced across the battered top of the crate in front of him, scope fixed on the target he'd been tracking from cover. The shot lands at the dead center of the unfortunate bastard's head even as return fire streaks past Garrus's face in a livid, blazing white line.]
One down. Nervous yet?
[Of course he's not. But a little bragging never hurt anyone. Much.]
[ He pops the heat sink and switches out for the next one in a smooth practiced motion, doesn't glance over at Garrus. His concentration is fixed on the next target, the next head between the lines of his scope. ]
I would not count on me being nervous.
[ There is a fine line between the nerves that enhance perception and those that make hands shake, and his perception tends to do well enough without them. It is very rare for him to be nervous, especially these days. ]
[Same methods, different means. Where Garrus waits for the thrill, Thane is about as composed as Councilor Tevos in the middle of a four-hour session. Some days he wonders if his drell companion even has a sense of humor, or if his dry, perfectly timed remarks are all byproducts of good luck.
[ They are not good luck, but neither are they necessarily a result of him having a sense of humor so much as being aware of what others find humorous.
He finds it strange, though, to be engaged in a conversation during a firefight. It's happened before going out with Shepard and Garrus and others, and each time it surprises him a little. Killing for him was always a solitary affair - him and his hands or the rifle and the soul he was cutting loose from it's body. To have companionship during it was foreign to him, unsettling almost if he allowed to be.
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no subject
[And he's not entirely joking. Because with or without a small army breathing down his neck, Thane's a compliment to his skill set in more ways than one. Every hard snap of a successful headshot buys him another inch of freedom from cover, acts as the sort of diversion that scatters and confuses even the more hardened veterans of the group. He's less guarded, more efficient, and what amount of feigned confidence that he keeps tucked close to his chest flourishes into something surprisingly more solid beneath the butt of his rifle.
Everything else is discarded with each exhausted thermal clip.]
She might not appreciate that we stole the entertainment for ourselves.
no subject
Or at all, for a moment, because he has to sweep up and take a shot, lingering a moment to try to determine if they will be able to maintain position until the last of these are down. They have tried taking cover now, as little as that will help them. ]
I am certain that she has managed to provide her own entertainment. [ Pop the heat sink, up and a shot in a protruding arm, down again. ] You share a talent for it.
no subject
[There's a good second or two spent watching Thane knock that shot off, the motion and flow of it, all precision and focus on some disconnected, tranquil level. He scoffs, words huffed out in mild admiration.]
I don't suppose you're interested in making this a little more interesting.
no subject
[ Being stubborn, being unerringly dedicated to seeking out violence and confronting it, a rather similar approach to humor. He understands very well why they're so close. A glance spared Garrus' way at that. ]
What do you suggest?
no subject
[The massive, battered container he's crouched behind fractures on one of the far corners beneath the blast of a firearm that's not too far off.]
--okay, fifteen exactly.
I'll wipe my current count, and if you're not afraid of a little friendly competiton...
no subject
I have no objections. [ He presses his back against the crate, listening to the rate of fire aimed at them as he draws in a deep breath to ease his lungs and calculates distances and guns. ] Are you certain you wish to wipe your current count?
no subject
Or the turian equivalent of one, anyway.
It's not a sure win. Against anyone else it might be, but not Thane. Not without some tactical advantage. If he's honest with himself, though, he wouldn't have made the bet in the first place if it was.]
Please, Krios, I should be giving it to you so you have a shot at winning this.
no subject
I do not think that will be the case.
[ Confidence in his motions as he pulls up, rifle close against his shoulder as he bends his head to take a shot, drops to reload. But Garrus is right in his assessment - they're fairly evenly matched in a scenario such as this. It will be, if nothing else, an interesting competition.
He wouldn't have taken the bet if it would not have been. ]
no subject
Garrus waits for a break in the fire to mouth off the countdown, signals it with a raised talon that's just shy of twitching with anticipation, ready as it is to snap down around the trigger to compensate for the milliseconds spent starting their competition.
...3...2...1...go
And then he's up and level, arms braced across the battered top of the crate in front of him, scope fixed on the target he'd been tracking from cover. The shot lands at the dead center of the unfortunate bastard's head even as return fire streaks past Garrus's face in a livid, blazing white line.]
One down. Nervous yet?
[Of course he's not. But a little bragging never hurt anyone. Much.]
no subject
I would not count on me being nervous.
[ There is a fine line between the nerves that enhance perception and those that make hands shake, and his perception tends to do well enough without them. It is very rare for him to be nervous, especially these days. ]
no subject
And then days like this come along.]
Never? What about Antibaar?
no subject
He finds it strange, though, to be engaged in a conversation during a firefight. It's happened before going out with Shepard and Garrus and others, and each time it surprises him a little. Killing for him was always a solitary affair - him and his hands or the rifle and the soul he was cutting loose from it's body. To have companionship during it was foreign to him, unsettling almost if he allowed to be.
He never did. ] Pleasantly solitary.