Izzy Montoya
Needless to say, she has a bit of… irritation… to work off. A bit of attitude, a bit of ire. Otherwise known as a Heaping Helping of Pissed Off. It’s not that she expected anything more, and maybe she expected considerably less, and she’s not really mad at anyone but herself. She let herself open up, she let herself hope, she let herself believe again…
They had two weeks. Two weeks of just them, before it all hit the fan. “It’s not enough.” muttered, under her breath, as she leans forward and rests her head on the steering wheel. “It’s never fucking enough.”
She finally gets out of the vehicle, locking it behind her, and heads inside. It’s a seedy little joint – all the best ones are – and Julio, the greasy looking man behind counter barely looks up as he asks what kind of ammo she needs. Only when he realizes she is female does he do a double take – and being as she about bleeds ‘cop’ in every sense of the word, he is suddenly on his best behavior, and shoving his dirty magazine under the counter.
“I don’t give a fuck about your porn, just gimme enough shells to last an hour.” He slides over two boxes, and a handful of targets, then takes her money and directs her to the door and the firing range beyond. He’s nervous, and wiping his hands on his shirt, which seems to be a habit, if the grease stains and cheeto dust have anything to say about it. Izzy simply grabs the ammo, the targets and follows him, choosing the lane farthest from the front, from him, from anyone. He watches her – until she turns and just looks at him. He beats feet, then. After all, he has the security cameras he can watch…
She pulls out her weapon from the holster at the small of her back and sets it on the table before her, followed by a second one that was secreted somewhere on her slender form. She closes her eyes a moment, and simply breathes deeply – the smell of gun powder, sweat and grime a familiar one. Calming. Soothing almost.
Almost.
She checks the load on each of her weapons, handling them with familiar ease, as if they are an extension of herself – which they very much are. She then pulls on the hearing protectors, and clips a target to the line, and sends it deep into the field. Deeper than most would, just to challenge herself. Someday it might mean the difference between her life and death.
Again.
Then, she picks up her favorite of the two guns, and fires.
Izzy Montoya
[Split – 3rb+1
1a: three round burst: dex 4 + firearms 4 + 3 = 11 – 2 (split) = 9, diff 6 (rerolls)
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 5, 7, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8) ( success x 6 )
Izzy Montoya
[for kicks – Damage
1a: damage: damage 4 + (5)= 9 diff 6]
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 1
Izzy Montoya
[Whoops – didn’t mean to keep the reroll button. so 4 suxx]
Izzy Montoya
1b: regular shot: dex 4 + firearms 4 = 8 – 3 (split) = 5, diff 6 (rerolls)
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 4, 5, 5) ( botch x 1 )
Izzy Montoya
She fires. The first three go off without a hitch and there is paper flying from the target as she hit it dead on. Julio, god bless his disgusting soul, loses his mouthful of cheetos to add to the mess on his shirt when his jaw drops. Sure, he figured she could shoot, but not that she could SHOOT. He stares, and leans in closer, as she fires a fourth time, and something goes wrong.
Something jams, the gun bucks, and she lets loose a stream of curses that would have a sailor blushing. For a week. Julio smirks, and resumes chewing his snack, picking the pieces off his shirt and licking his fingers.
Izzy goes to work on the weapon, pulling it apart with practiced fingers, digging into her brief case for her cleaning kit, and going through every bit of the gun piece by piece. It’s soothing. It’s rhythmic. It’s therapy.
Only when she’s satisfied does she put it all back together, checks it out, and reloads.
And fires again.
Izzy Montoya
[Let’s try this again! [because I never learn!]
spilt 3rb+1
1a: three round burst: dex 4 + firearms 4 + 3 = 11 – 2 (split) = 9, diff 6 (rerolls)
Dice: 9 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 1 )
Izzy Montoya
4
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 6, 6) ( success x 1 )
Izzy Montoya
[Oh Kahseeno. Don’t make me start cussing at you, you fucking whore…]
1b: regular shot: dex 4 + firearms 4 = 8 – 3 (split) = 5, diff 6 (rerolls)
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 3, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )
Izzy Montoya
1b: damage: damage 4 + (suxx-1) diff 6
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (2, 2, 5, 6, 10) ( success x 2 )
Izzy Montoya
This round is better, but she’s clearly a little off her game. There’s more to the Fenrir detective, of course, than meets the eye, and something has gotten under her skin, gotten to her on a level that she needs this reprieve to center herself, to remember, to figure out what she’s going to do now – because in the peace and quiet of the dirty, sleazy joint, she can remember who she is.
What she is.
What they will never, ever, be able touch.
She soon settles into a rhythm again. Fire. Take up the second weapon. Fire. Pull in the target. Switch it out, send it back. Fire. Fire. Fire. On, and on, and on and on…. working her way through the box of ammunition.
Someday, maybe it will be enough. Someday, maybe she will be enough. Someday, all the fucking children that think it is their place to rule her life will grow up and realize she is far, far more than the contents of her uterus.
She is better than they could ever possibly know.
She is Duty.
She is Fenrir.