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=\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=

Reader mode
[X] "is k, working. Srry."
-[X] Huff into a paper bag for a few minutes due to that picture and Dem Hips.
-[X] Finish Powerpoint before it kills you, then go put rounds downrange to clear your brain.
-[X] Apply medicinal Jameson's.
 
[X] "You look great. Good to swim in. If LLEOs want to talk about that purse-snatcher, refer them to here. Good work on low-visibility takedown. Come home safe when you're done, we'll talk about it later."
-[X] Huff into a paper bag for a few minutes due to that picture and Dem Hips.
-[X] Finish Powerpoint before it kills you, then go put rounds downrange to clear your brain.
-[X] Apply medicinal Jameson's.

Only recently started reading this but it's really fun. Looking forward to seeing more of it.
 
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Part 102: Rap, Tap, Slap, Bang
  • Threadmarks
    • =\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=
    Part 102: Rap, Tap, Slap, Bang    ​

    You caught yourself staring for… well, actually only about ten minutes. It felt like longer. But at the same time, it felt like you'd only been looking at the picture for a single heartbeat. It was like time had no meaning when you were staring at Riley's quick swimming suit selfie.

    Which was strange because, objectively, it was nothing to write home about. Just a simple white garment without any logos, adornments, accents, or anything to break up the monotonous white. It was quite possibly the simplest form of swimwear mankind could devise, and it looked like the kind of bargain-basement thing that high-profile brands would pay not to have their logos displayed on.

    And yet… when Riley wore it it was the most beautiful thing in the world. White really was her color, it brought out the hardcandy highlights of her coppery hair, the frosty-sweet blue of her eyes, the soft cream of her supple thighs.

    Wait…

    "hardcandy"? "frosty-sweet" "soft cream". Again, Ryan. Girl, not confectionery. Not that you had any doubts that Riley would taste as sweet as her personality was, but…

    Okay, that attempt to rein in the rabbit trail just made things worse. Maybe you're better off just typing up a quick reply. "You look great" you typed. It was the unvarnished truth. Maybe a little less verbose than parts of you were screaming, but it was the truth. You just weren't being all flowery about it.

    "Good to swim in." That was more of a half-truth. Yes, the image of Riley knifing gracefully through the water like she was born for it, or hauling herself out of the pool with a cascade of jewel-like droplets falling off her curves in sheets was utterly appealing. But her swimsuit would be equally ideal for lounging atop a yacht's sundeck, posing on the hood of a high-end supercar, or lying wadded up on the floor of some beach-side hotel on your honeymoon.

    Fuck.

    "Great work on low-visibility takedown," you continued. Yes, good to get back to her work stuff. She was just a soldier. Just a very… very shapely soldier with impossibly soft thighs. But a soldier. "If LLEOs want to talk, refer them here. Come home safe when you're done."

    Content that you'd said everything you needed to say, you read it over one last time to make sure you hadn't accidentally wrote a nineteen-page ode to her thigh-gap and tapped send. You then proceeded to retrieve a brown paper bag from the stash you kept in your desk's largest drawer for exactly this reason and huff into it for a good half hour or so.

    Once you could close your eyes without seeing the way what little fat Riley had pucker at the hemline of her swimsuit in your mind, you figured you were good to go back to finishing up the power point. Ah, the sweet, sweet relief of Microsoft products.

    After a few hours of happily negotiating arcane and counterintuitive menus, dealing with inexplicable crashes, and all the other wonderful things that came with working a computer, your mind was at least somewhat clear. You could still hear the chatter from Marie and Zoe burning through ammo out back, joining them for a few rounds seemed like an idea use of your time.

    You collected your jacket and ventured out. You were almost immediately stopped by Shelby, who approached you in a typically tiny miniskirt and frilly apron with soup-spoon in hand. You weren't quite sure what it was, other than the most delicious semi-liquid substance you'd ever tasted. You told her as much, which seemed to satisfy her culinary fever and she disappeared back into the kitchen in a blur of impossibly short skirts and soft blue stripes.

    You blinked and choose to act like nothing had happened. It was always a safe bet nowadays. Instead, you continued through the compound until you got to the range. Where Marie was shooting her rifle on full-auto.

    This might not sound like a terribly bad thing. Marie was quite strong and could safely handle the recoil of even full-power NATO rounds without issue. She was also wearing ear-protection (an issue of comfort for her, but necessity for you) and blasting away at the massive dirt berm created for just such a purpose. In every way imaginable, she was handling her rifle with strict regard for safety regulations.

    Except…

    Well…

    She wasn't wearing her armor.

    Normally, that wouldn't have been a concern. There was no danger of being shot at while at the range, and thus no reason for Marie to shoot in just her jacket.

    Or in this case, just a shimmering sleeveless compression shirt. One that hugged her chest just well enough to make it clear that she was A) wearing her sports bra, and B) it did NOTHING. Every-time she pulled the trigger you watched her chest jiggle in perfect harmony with the reciprocation of her rifle's bolt.

    You could see everything, the world slowed to a crawl as your brain picked out every detail. You could see the brass case gleam as it was extracted from the chamber. See her breast squish against her firm pectoral muscle. See the next case gleam as the bolt caught it from the magazine and slammed it home into Marie's waiting chamber.

    Er…

    Into her rifle's waiting chamber.

    The rifle.

    Not her.

    She was not a rifle.

    And you had no gleaming brass cartridges.

    Yeah.

    "Oh! Hey, boss!" Zoe let her rifle fall against its sling and waved at you with all the enthusiasm of a ten year old who'd just learned that white-phosphorus can fit into 40mm rounds.

    "Major!" Marie dropped a spend magazine and racked the bolt to show that her smoking-hot chamber was indeed empty. "You wanna do some shooting?"

    "We got a few spare rifle we're breaking in," Zoe waved to one of the guns on the table. It had the enlarged fore-end and quick-change barrel of the automatic-rifle that Riley liked so much, but this one had a bipod instead of a vertical grip. There were others too, one of the 5.56mm roller-delayed guns Shelby's team liked, MP7s, and of course handguns galore. "You wanna join us?"

    >Wat do?
    >Which gun pick?
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Dig out your OICW. The extra weight will help when the girls inevitably forget you don't shoot .45 Mars like a goddamn lunatic.
     
    Strypgia said:
    This feels like a good time to test out a DeserTech MDR. Gun Jesus had nice things to say about it, despite it being a bullpup.
    Click to expand...
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    And promptly yell in frustration when they find out that it won't cycle NATO milspec ammo and jams every 5 shots when the spent casing WON'T fit into the eject port tray. And when it does work, it kicks hard.

    EDIT: Ninja'ed damn it
    EDIT'S EDIT: meant to say cycle, wrote chambered cause I can't into gunnit. Also Shelby & co would be feeding their MDR NATO milspec if they were actually using it

    [X] Start with the 5.56mm roller-delayed and see how it goes.
     
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    theJMPer said:
    You caught yourself staring for… well, actually only about ten minutes. It felt like longer. But at the same time, it felt like you'd only been looking at the picture for a single heartbeat. It was like time had no meaning when you were staring at Riley's quick swimming suit selfie.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Ryan's achieving Nirvana.
    theJMPer said:
    "hardcandy"? "frosty-sweet" "soft cream". Again, Ryan. Girl, not confectionery. Not that you had any doubts that Riley would taste as sweet as her personality was, but…
    Click to expand...
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    Tasty.
    theJMPer said:
    Content that you'd said everything you needed to say, you read it over one last time to make sure you hadn't accidentally wrote a nineteen-page ode to her thigh-gap and tapped send. You then proceeded to retrieve a brown paper bag from the stash you kept in your desk's largest drawer for exactly this reason and huff into it for a good half hour or so.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Always be prepared.
    theJMPer said:
    You collected your jacket and ventured out. You were almost immediately stopped by Shelby, who approached you in a typically tiny miniskirt and frilly apron with soup-spoon in hand. You weren't quite sure what it was, other than the most delicious semi-liquid substance you'd ever tasted. You told her as much, which seemed to satisfy her culinary fever and she disappeared back into the kitchen in a blur of impossibly short skirts and soft blue stripes.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Beutiful.
    theJMPer said:
    Except…

    Well…

    She wasn't wearing her armor.

    Normally, that wouldn't have been a concern. There was no danger of being shot at while at the range, and thus no reason for Marie to shoot in just her jacket.

    Or in this case, just a shimmering sleeveless compression shirt. One that hugged her chest just well enough to make it clear that she was A) wearing her sports bra, and B) it did NOTHING. Every-time she pulled the trigger you watched her chest jiggle in perfect harmony with the reciprocation of her rifle's bolt.

    You could see everything, the world slowed to a crawl as your brain picked out every detail. You could see the brass case gleam as it was extracted from the chamber. See her breast squish against her firm pectoral muscle. See the next case gleam as the bolt caught it from the magazine and slammed it home into Marie's waiting chamber.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Nice.
    theJMPer said:
    "Major!" Marie dropped a spend magazine and racked the bolt to show that her smoking-hot chamber was indeed empty.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Not sure if innuendo...:V

    [X] Start with the 5.56mm roller-delayed and see how it goes.
     
    [X] Dig out your OICW. The extra weight will help when the girls inevitably forget you don't shoot .45 Mars like a goddamn lunatic.
     
    [X] Dig out your OICW. The extra weight will help when the girls inevitably forget you don't shoot .45 Mars like a goddamn lunatic.
     
    [X] Dig out your OICW. The extra weight will help when the girls inevitably forget you don't shoot .45 Mars like a goddamn lunatic.
     
    [x] See if there's an M24 or another long range sniper rifle laying around.
    -[x] Challenge the girls to an accuracy contest. You know you are going to lose, but somehow you are going to win. It has nothing to do with wanting to see more of the brass cartridges flying into hills
    -[x] Place a small wager on the game that is within regs (IE, a soda, a hamburger, something along those lines)

    OOC: I think the major lacks discipline, and using your authority to get something you want is typical. Especially since he's weak to the girls. Also, this allows our gracious QM to give us more hijinks.
     
    [X] Our service revolver, a good old-fashioned 1911.
    - [X] Make a competition out of it: half the points from accuracy, the other half from the best use of cheesey Western movie lines while shooting.

    Yes I have been playing a lot of RDR2 why do you ask
     
    theJMPer said:
    "Oh! Hey, boss!" Zoe let her rifle fall against its sling and waved at you with all the enthusiasm of a ten year old who'd just learned that white-phosphorus can fit into 40mm rounds.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    That's not concerning at all.

    [X] Dig out your OICW. The extra weight will help when the girls inevitably forget you don't shoot .45 Mars like a goddamn lunatic.
     
    The Sandman said:
    [X] Our service revolver, a good old-fashioned 1911.
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    Ahem. The United States Pistol, Caliber .45, M1911, designed by John Browning and originally manufactured by Colt, is not a revolver :p

    Perhaps you're thinking of the Colt M1873 revolver, which hasn't been issued as a service sidearm for a veeeeery long time.
     
    The Sandman said:
    [X] Our service revolver, a good old-fashioned 1911.
    - [X] Make a competition out of it: half the points from accuracy, the other half from the best use of cheesey Western movie lines while shooting.

    Yes I have been playing a lot of RDR2 why do you ask
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    I have a special level of hate for you now because you called a 1911 a revolver. Congratulations.
     
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