major richard sharpe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenjacketed) wrote2012-07-08 02:24 pm
greenjacketed) wrote2012-07-08 02:24 pm
SHARPE'S AMMO ⚔ VOICE | ACTION
[ despite muddy vowels and yorkshire drawls, sharpe's voice is remarkably calm when it bursts across the journals in the morning. he needs something to take his mind off other aspects of his life. and so -- this is the major speaking, not just the man: ]
Good day to you -- to the New Feathers and the old alike. My name is Sharpe. And as I understand it, ammunition is scarce in this place. For any in need of bullets, I'll have a pretty pile of cartridges as soon as I'm done rolling'em. I don't much mind sharing. [ a pause. ] They're 0.61 inch lead balls with a greased patch. But if that won't do, missions are a fine way to requisition more shot. The points are worth spending. A soldier can hoard his ammunition if he likes, but all the bullets in the bloody world can't improve a piss-poor shot. For that? Practice is what's needed. [ and practice is what he wanted.
oh and he might as well ask: ] Any soul got an axe I can make use of? Only for the day.
[ after bungling his way through any on-book communication, he'll get to work; with certain social turmoils still troubling his soul, he certainly needs the distraction. first, he'll be keeping busy behind the barracks. stripped down to his braces and cavalry trousers, he clears excess brush from the treeline and puts to good use some of the trees that were downed by the recent storm. moran mentioned a firing range and sharpe wants to see this dream realized.
the afternoon brings a small change of scenery. he will later be sitting by the fountain, rolling cartridge shot. the powder can get messy; as such, it's a job he prefers to do outdoors. the added ability to people-watch doesn't hurt, either.
hell. if you're lucky? you might even catch him humming. ]
Good day to you -- to the New Feathers and the old alike. My name is Sharpe. And as I understand it, ammunition is scarce in this place. For any in need of bullets, I'll have a pretty pile of cartridges as soon as I'm done rolling'em. I don't much mind sharing. [ a pause. ] They're 0.61 inch lead balls with a greased patch. But if that won't do, missions are a fine way to requisition more shot. The points are worth spending. A soldier can hoard his ammunition if he likes, but all the bullets in the bloody world can't improve a piss-poor shot. For that? Practice is what's needed. [ and practice is what he wanted.
oh and he might as well ask: ] Any soul got an axe I can make use of? Only for the day.
[ after bungling his way through any on-book communication, he'll get to work; with certain social turmoils still troubling his soul, he certainly needs the distraction. first, he'll be keeping busy behind the barracks. stripped down to his braces and cavalry trousers, he clears excess brush from the treeline and puts to good use some of the trees that were downed by the recent storm. moran mentioned a firing range and sharpe wants to see this dream realized.
the afternoon brings a small change of scenery. he will later be sitting by the fountain, rolling cartridge shot. the powder can get messy; as such, it's a job he prefers to do outdoors. the added ability to people-watch doesn't hurt, either.
hell. if you're lucky? you might even catch him humming. ]
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Ah--Mr. Sharpe, right?
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[ a curt nod. he leans forward, settling his elbows on the counter. ] But you might as well call me Richard.
[ because he was young and sharpe wasn't keen on being called 'mister'. ]
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[Hiccup isn't one to stand on ceremony unless it seems like the right thing to do.]
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A-anyway, here's the grand hall of axes. They're all up for grabs--nothing magical, or anything.