I must concur the surprise swiftness of places being eaten up. This all happened in one day, in fact less, and I never got a chance to see this until now, all while loving Persona and unusual plots. Shame, that.
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It WAS rather unexpected to see the ordinarily-calm Gunner that is Britta so-clearly bothered by something. She didn't seem overly-keen to talk about whatever it was yet, but perhaps later she'd be more open to conversation. Her speaking to the table with the people in charge was her way of saying that while what she was obviously going off to go see to this matter, she wasn't putting the squad above herself and therefore offered to go and get a few supplies while the getting was good. Isaac knew that this had to be serious, since it had taken essentially getting to know her over time, socially and professionally, and then finally the two of them getting drunk and losing some inhibitions before she very-seriously asked her favor of him. All of this was on the wings of 'Mickey' admitting that he liked Lucia, and that Jean might have some juicy info their hated captain, which left a strannge sort of ambivalent feeling...somewhere between intrigued, heartwarming, and concerned. Michael gave out a request for some clean cloth, which was okay, but Isaac was serious about doing right for Michael, so he volunteered the only idea he'd had on the matter.
"See about getting us some new or better Sapper material, expecially explosives. We may end up seeing an armored car or two."
Anyone would, and that would kinda' mean that every squad needed extra boom-booms, but it never hurt to ask. Michael was a small target with a big heart and alot of courage. If anyone was going to plant explosives and destroy one of those cars, it was gonna be him. Speaking of him, it looked like Michael really didn't want to talk about Captain Grumpus anymore. Best let the topic drop. When Britta saw that there were no other requests, she nodded at everyone, said "I'll be back as soon as I can.", and left. Part of him wanted to go with her, but something in the tone of 'I need to go take care of something' said that the 'I' part of it was most important, for now. So, the farmer NCO remained with the others here as the topic moved onto the topic of love and the mutual feelings thereof. Not a wasted conversation, in Isaac's opinion. Jean looked like he needed someone to help him through the dark and he himself had questions on where he stood with Britta. Still, he added to the conversation, with a smile...
"Well, of course, I am honor-bound never to speak of the things that may be written in verse. A promise is a promise, and I was the one who politely asked Lucia not to go through our personal mail when she came upon a letter I planted, back on the train, so I can't set a bad precident. I mean, it'd be rude to talk of what someone might be embarrassed about, even though that kind of warmth and affection would certainly gravitate some towards his person."
He wasn't naming names, Jean, but if a certain fellow, Jean, were to perhaps open himself up to a girl, then he, Jean, might find someone to keep his counsel and support his ever-brittle conscious. Right, Jean? Hint, hint! Okay, Isaac wasn't being quite that obvious, but he wanted the guy to repair his himself, somehow. He didn't exactly look like he unwound at all, back at the White Hart. The whole gas fiasco put the pressure back on, but at least they'd had something...
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The plan was not so much a real plan-of-action, but more of a vague feeling of what needed to be done.
No, not about the supplies, but the other thing. The thing in her letter. This long and uncoordinated line of the new front into Amone was difficult to navigate, with the only real saving grace being that you had one direction or another to wander, or else you were going out into the open, either farther out or further into the city itself. Either way, that left Britta with basically venturing forth from her squad until she found where she needed to go to get some information. Such things wouldn't come flying into her lap, except in the case of her parents telling her. It'd come in the mail today. She'd seen that Isaac had good news, Diana had been still distressed about home, and she'd gotten only that far when she started reading her own letter and found in the middle of it something that did not sit well with her, even though she understood why.
What she eventually found was some kind of dispatch, which was exactly the one where Isaac had gotten his information from, and in fact the mail that'd come in on backlog. His awkward embarrassment over the mispoken jerky material seemed alot further back, just now, along with the flavored strips of beef and Diana's cookies. Reading those words had been like a sudden gust of winter air, and then she felt like she was in a whole different world, for the moment. She had to look into this, at least get some details, while she still could. She had to do a bit of cuing to wait her turn at the man with the typewriter and, presumably, all the records.
Listening to them all speak, you'd think Isaac would have a typical Edinburgh accent, but he doesn't. Must be because of where he lives.
Finally, she was next in line, and the man there was all business, because he had alot of people to get through.
"Name, rank, current regiment."
"Britta Hagen, Private, 15th Atlantic Rifles."
That...seemed to stick out in his mind for a second, and the look he gave her seemed to say 'Oh god, another one' before he settled on...
"What do you want?"
"Information."
"Of course you do..."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Lots of people want information. What information are you looking for, in particular?"
He didn't sound entirely honest with her, there, but she continued.
"Current assignment or anything else you can get regarding Hans Hagen. He's my brother. I wanted to know if he was here or not..."
'...We would be doing better, in fact, but we're worried about your brother. Shortly after you left, he went to join the army, himself. He said he wanted to do you proud. We can understand his attitude, looking up to his big sister, but he is young and now we worry for both of your sakes...'
He took a while to look for information, asking for a current directory on soldiers on assignment. Results came back a negative, though.
"Is he new? Our information is not current, and if he recently joined, he won't be on the books for another month."
"Yes, he probably is, only trailing behind me a little ways. Can you help me send a message out to him? Query a location on him and pass him on a note from me?"
"I can do that."
He passed her a piece of paper and a pencil, and she wrote a quick note, just asking for Hans to please write to her in the 15th Atlantic Rifles and talk to her. The dispatch officer accepted it and asked her to to step aside and let him get to the next person in line. With that in mind, she was only slightly put at ease. It was better than being completely unable to contact him or get any information at all, but it was still a little unsettling for her. Britta had made peace with the fact that something may happen to her at any time, but she hadn't done that for Hans, and she could only guess what he was thinking beyond doing what he thought was right because she did it first.
You're setting a WONDERFUL example, Britta. Good god, am I going to end up like Jean? No, that isn't nearly as likely. Cold as it is, there isn't much hatred for those who aren't of Darcsen descent. Now, I REALLY understand what it was like for him, I guess. Hans, I hope your CO is better than mine...
All she had was Jean and Isaac to clean up the mess that Middleton always made... Well, given that in mind, she had a few errands to take care of. She didn't know how easy or hard it was going to get that Sapper equipment, but Michael was getting that clean cloth, and the rest of the squad... Yes, that sounded like a good idea. She was going to try and make them something nice...
"See about getting us some new or better Sapper material, expecially explosives. We may end up seeing an armored car or two."
Anyone would, and that would kinda' mean that every squad needed extra boom-booms, but it never hurt to ask. Michael was a small target with a big heart and alot of courage. If anyone was going to plant explosives and destroy one of those cars, it was gonna be him. Speaking of him, it looked like Michael really didn't want to talk about Captain Grumpus anymore. Best let the topic drop. When Britta saw that there were no other requests, she nodded at everyone, said "I'll be back as soon as I can.", and left. Part of him wanted to go with her, but something in the tone of 'I need to go take care of something' said that the 'I' part of it was most important, for now. So, the farmer NCO remained with the others here as the topic moved onto the topic of love and the mutual feelings thereof. Not a wasted conversation, in Isaac's opinion. Jean looked like he needed someone to help him through the dark and he himself had questions on where he stood with Britta. Still, he added to the conversation, with a smile...
"Well, of course, I am honor-bound never to speak of the things that may be written in verse. A promise is a promise, and I was the one who politely asked Lucia not to go through our personal mail when she came upon a letter I planted, back on the train, so I can't set a bad precident. I mean, it'd be rude to talk of what someone might be embarrassed about, even though that kind of warmth and affection would certainly gravitate some towards his person."
He wasn't naming names, Jean, but if a certain fellow, Jean, were to perhaps open himself up to a girl, then he, Jean, might find someone to keep his counsel and support his ever-brittle conscious. Right, Jean? Hint, hint! Okay, Isaac wasn't being quite that obvious, but he wanted the guy to repair his himself, somehow. He didn't exactly look like he unwound at all, back at the White Hart. The whole gas fiasco put the pressure back on, but at least they'd had something...
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The plan was not so much a real plan-of-action, but more of a vague feeling of what needed to be done.
No, not about the supplies, but the other thing. The thing in her letter. This long and uncoordinated line of the new front into Amone was difficult to navigate, with the only real saving grace being that you had one direction or another to wander, or else you were going out into the open, either farther out or further into the city itself. Either way, that left Britta with basically venturing forth from her squad until she found where she needed to go to get some information. Such things wouldn't come flying into her lap, except in the case of her parents telling her. It'd come in the mail today. She'd seen that Isaac had good news, Diana had been still distressed about home, and she'd gotten only that far when she started reading her own letter and found in the middle of it something that did not sit well with her, even though she understood why.
What she eventually found was some kind of dispatch, which was exactly the one where Isaac had gotten his information from, and in fact the mail that'd come in on backlog. His awkward embarrassment over the mispoken jerky material seemed alot further back, just now, along with the flavored strips of beef and Diana's cookies. Reading those words had been like a sudden gust of winter air, and then she felt like she was in a whole different world, for the moment. She had to look into this, at least get some details, while she still could. She had to do a bit of cuing to wait her turn at the man with the typewriter and, presumably, all the records.
Listening to them all speak, you'd think Isaac would have a typical Edinburgh accent, but he doesn't. Must be because of where he lives.
Finally, she was next in line, and the man there was all business, because he had alot of people to get through.
"Name, rank, current regiment."
"Britta Hagen, Private, 15th Atlantic Rifles."
That...seemed to stick out in his mind for a second, and the look he gave her seemed to say 'Oh god, another one' before he settled on...
"What do you want?"
"Information."
"Of course you do..."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Lots of people want information. What information are you looking for, in particular?"
He didn't sound entirely honest with her, there, but she continued.
"Current assignment or anything else you can get regarding Hans Hagen. He's my brother. I wanted to know if he was here or not..."
'...We would be doing better, in fact, but we're worried about your brother. Shortly after you left, he went to join the army, himself. He said he wanted to do you proud. We can understand his attitude, looking up to his big sister, but he is young and now we worry for both of your sakes...'
He took a while to look for information, asking for a current directory on soldiers on assignment. Results came back a negative, though.
"Is he new? Our information is not current, and if he recently joined, he won't be on the books for another month."
"Yes, he probably is, only trailing behind me a little ways. Can you help me send a message out to him? Query a location on him and pass him on a note from me?"
"I can do that."
He passed her a piece of paper and a pencil, and she wrote a quick note, just asking for Hans to please write to her in the 15th Atlantic Rifles and talk to her. The dispatch officer accepted it and asked her to to step aside and let him get to the next person in line. With that in mind, she was only slightly put at ease. It was better than being completely unable to contact him or get any information at all, but it was still a little unsettling for her. Britta had made peace with the fact that something may happen to her at any time, but she hadn't done that for Hans, and she could only guess what he was thinking beyond doing what he thought was right because she did it first.
You're setting a WONDERFUL example, Britta. Good god, am I going to end up like Jean? No, that isn't nearly as likely. Cold as it is, there isn't much hatred for those who aren't of Darcsen descent. Now, I REALLY understand what it was like for him, I guess. Hans, I hope your CO is better than mine...
All she had was Jean and Isaac to clean up the mess that Middleton always made... Well, given that in mind, she had a few errands to take care of. She didn't know how easy or hard it was going to get that Sapper equipment, but Michael was getting that clean cloth, and the rest of the squad... Yes, that sounded like a good idea. She was going to try and make them something nice...
Things were not ideal, right now. They weren't BAD, but they could be better.
As of right now, they'd engaged and were successful in repelling Phoenix Inferno and Titan Breaker, though the order to disengage was a bit strange. Perhaps they were overloading and out of action for the day. Perhaps they were taking a few field repairs and would be back to fight again after a brief pit-stop. We don't know. Additionally, there was no further action from the Kitsune, Mako's mech. Where it was right now, we're not sure, but it might have also decided to leave, based upon Terra's broadcasted threat, or the fact that the now-free Grand Sword Star had a multi-spec scanner that might pick him up. Either way, the situation insofar as direct NC confrontation appeared to be over, for now.
That left their current problem: Id was okay, maybe a scratch from nearly getting stabbed by Mako, but Sahaquiel was damaged and still wasn't any good in water. Hisako came over in GSS to check on Id and Terra within.
"Terra, are you alright? I didn't see him. I was suppose to be watching you-"
"I'm alright, Hisako. Things are complicated right now, but it's okay."
"So, what happened?"
"The plan that Kxeyun and I hatched up worked, for the most part. Osamu took the bait to go after her in her NC and I had access to connect to her system. Hibiki's safe in her cockpit now, and Osamu is... Osamu's just another example of how Red-Star utterly ruins people. They've made people from the ground up under completely controlled conditions and they still can't do anything right."
Osamu seemed to turn against his masters, or that seemed to be the case, though he was still a piece of shit with the way he acted. Terra didn't want to think about it. One third of their team was still a land-bound and damaged NC. With a little field work from Chelsea or someone, Sahaquiel's arm would probably work again, at least. What Terra really hoped was that if Hibiki recovered while inside the clawing slasher-mech that he didn't freak out on Kxeyun.
IN THE MEANTIME, it looked as though the rest of their forces had taxed the missle cruiser's non-NC combatant reserves. What was once a tide was more a trickle now, with many retreating to regroup to a better defensible position, namely the cruiser itself. This was good because it took the pressure off of they who stood at this sadly-abused beachline. It ummm...lasted for maybe a couple minutes before you could see problems on the horizon. Fresh gunships, powerarmored troops, drones...
"Hisako, how's your ammo?"
"Holding, for now, but I've been taking out opponents at close range to stretch it out."
"My gun stays charged, but cooling system needs to kick in every now and again, so it isn't constant."
As soon as the new tide hit, destroyers included, Terra ordered everyone to move, as their position would probably become a new bunch of sandy/watery craters from sheer volume of attack. She then added "Kxeyun, get yourself fixed up, quick as you can. We'll bring back that cruiser.". Because without an NC opponent, this was just a little easier for them now.
Id and Grand Sword Star took off, both flying in an arcing path to head in the direction of the two rail-gun destroyers.
"Carrier Khalid-ibn-Walid, if you can still give us all covering fire, it'll make this push alot easier!"
High-speed evasive flying, keeping the two destroyers between them and the missle cruiser to prevent any direct attacks from IT while slicing through or shooting apart gunships, or at least staying that just ahead of rail-gun and laser fire so their tracking gets the wrong targets. Once the two mechs were in position, it was time. Terra activated the Overclock Engine, Hisako activated the Overbooster. Both NCs dramatically-improved in speed and maneuverability to suddenly attack the rail-gun destroyers directly. Now right up-close-and-personal, Terra worked on clawing up the structure, weapons, and engines of her destroyer, and Hisako did same with GSS' sword. What they wanted was for these things to crash, but ideally...they would like them to plummet somewhere in the neighborhood of the missle cruiser, so that they had if not a direct impact...then enough cover to jump to THAT ship and disable everything on deck.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
This wait was too fucking long. He hated it almost as much as he hated the contemptable people around him. Dread sat waiting inside of Ursa, watching the battle unfold on remote uplink. This was irritating as hell. Why did Phoenix and Titan disengage? What the fuck was Osamu doing? Throwing out the kid pilot like that was amusing, but where was the follow-up, you fool? Where was the carnage? Even that supposed assassin, Mako, was a failure. They were all completely useless.
And no sooner had he completed this thought...then a new display sprang to life. He was being contacted. The source, however...
Dread scowled. He knew this man. He hated him as much as the rest of the smug overlords of Red-Star. This one in particular was a behind-the-scenes man with his hands in many projects and places, smaller influences without being a particularly-strong figure within the organization. Nevertheless, he could move mountains with an avalanche caused by a single pebble. He knew how to apply proper stresses and motivations, gain trusts and allegiances, and was no slouch when it came to understanding the various technologies of the world. Much as everybody knew Dread ONLY as Dread, he knew this man as Director Phalanx.
"You know very well what's going on down here, why I'm not busy yet."
He frowned.
"What makes you think I want to take your errands anymore than I want to do theirs?"
Now, the man smiled, and it was genuine...in that it was quite pleased with what he was about to say...which in Dread's mind was good news.
He outlined the tale, and the more he said...the deeper Dread began to smile. The Director was calling because one of his subbordinates aboard the Kuei-Ren sent out a quick message: 'Osamu actions erratic. Orders requested'. So, with the machine-controlling artificial behaving less than predictably, it was time to cleansweep this entire thing. Dread was to take charge, illegally, using Ursa Nova as leverage to force compliance. The Director had assured others on the vessel prior to all of this mess that Dread was kept compliant via threatening the one thing he valued: His own life. So, with him in the one place that was safe from even perhaps decent NC snipers, he was now in a position to do whatever he wanted. Mainly, keeping him happy was the clincher, influencing him towards better behavior by letting him indulge himself harmlessly. So now, he was being asked to do something pleasant...and he would do it, not because Phalanx wanted it...but because ramming this carrier into Haven's shield while the engines go into critical meltdown would be FUN.
Would it crack the barrier wide open from the stresses of checking such a physical and thermonuclear impact? No idea. Would the fallout create endless trouble for those living there? Hell yeah. Would they take out a load of traitors, rebels, and the frankly useless chaff that is Red-Star staff? Definitely. Dread liked this plan, and he liked it more when his on-board computer stated that all he had to do to survive the blast was drop to the bottom of the water and WALK home.
"You know I don't actually take orders from you, right? I was already thinking of something like this from the start. I even worked the math out in my spare time."
Director Phalanx's smile broadened.
Transmission ended. Dread smirked as he began to power Ursa Nova up in earnest. Today was a good day...
As of right now, they'd engaged and were successful in repelling Phoenix Inferno and Titan Breaker, though the order to disengage was a bit strange. Perhaps they were overloading and out of action for the day. Perhaps they were taking a few field repairs and would be back to fight again after a brief pit-stop. We don't know. Additionally, there was no further action from the Kitsune, Mako's mech. Where it was right now, we're not sure, but it might have also decided to leave, based upon Terra's broadcasted threat, or the fact that the now-free Grand Sword Star had a multi-spec scanner that might pick him up. Either way, the situation insofar as direct NC confrontation appeared to be over, for now.
That left their current problem: Id was okay, maybe a scratch from nearly getting stabbed by Mako, but Sahaquiel was damaged and still wasn't any good in water. Hisako came over in GSS to check on Id and Terra within.
"Terra, are you alright? I didn't see him. I was suppose to be watching you-"
"I'm alright, Hisako. Things are complicated right now, but it's okay."
"So, what happened?"
"The plan that Kxeyun and I hatched up worked, for the most part. Osamu took the bait to go after her in her NC and I had access to connect to her system. Hibiki's safe in her cockpit now, and Osamu is... Osamu's just another example of how Red-Star utterly ruins people. They've made people from the ground up under completely controlled conditions and they still can't do anything right."
Osamu seemed to turn against his masters, or that seemed to be the case, though he was still a piece of shit with the way he acted. Terra didn't want to think about it. One third of their team was still a land-bound and damaged NC. With a little field work from Chelsea or someone, Sahaquiel's arm would probably work again, at least. What Terra really hoped was that if Hibiki recovered while inside the clawing slasher-mech that he didn't freak out on Kxeyun.
IN THE MEANTIME, it looked as though the rest of their forces had taxed the missle cruiser's non-NC combatant reserves. What was once a tide was more a trickle now, with many retreating to regroup to a better defensible position, namely the cruiser itself. This was good because it took the pressure off of they who stood at this sadly-abused beachline. It ummm...lasted for maybe a couple minutes before you could see problems on the horizon. Fresh gunships, powerarmored troops, drones...
"Hisako, how's your ammo?"
"Holding, for now, but I've been taking out opponents at close range to stretch it out."
"My gun stays charged, but cooling system needs to kick in every now and again, so it isn't constant."
As soon as the new tide hit, destroyers included, Terra ordered everyone to move, as their position would probably become a new bunch of sandy/watery craters from sheer volume of attack. She then added "Kxeyun, get yourself fixed up, quick as you can. We'll bring back that cruiser.". Because without an NC opponent, this was just a little easier for them now.
Id and Grand Sword Star took off, both flying in an arcing path to head in the direction of the two rail-gun destroyers.
"Carrier Khalid-ibn-Walid, if you can still give us all covering fire, it'll make this push alot easier!"
High-speed evasive flying, keeping the two destroyers between them and the missle cruiser to prevent any direct attacks from IT while slicing through or shooting apart gunships, or at least staying that just ahead of rail-gun and laser fire so their tracking gets the wrong targets. Once the two mechs were in position, it was time. Terra activated the Overclock Engine, Hisako activated the Overbooster. Both NCs dramatically-improved in speed and maneuverability to suddenly attack the rail-gun destroyers directly. Now right up-close-and-personal, Terra worked on clawing up the structure, weapons, and engines of her destroyer, and Hisako did same with GSS' sword. What they wanted was for these things to crash, but ideally...they would like them to plummet somewhere in the neighborhood of the missle cruiser, so that they had if not a direct impact...then enough cover to jump to THAT ship and disable everything on deck.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
This wait was too fucking long. He hated it almost as much as he hated the contemptable people around him. Dread sat waiting inside of Ursa, watching the battle unfold on remote uplink. This was irritating as hell. Why did Phoenix and Titan disengage? What the fuck was Osamu doing? Throwing out the kid pilot like that was amusing, but where was the follow-up, you fool? Where was the carnage? Even that supposed assassin, Mako, was a failure. They were all completely useless.
And no sooner had he completed this thought...then a new display sprang to life. He was being contacted. The source, however...
"Well now... Mr. Dread. I see I've caught you at a good time. That is, I take it you're not busy."
Dread scowled. He knew this man. He hated him as much as the rest of the smug overlords of Red-Star. This one in particular was a behind-the-scenes man with his hands in many projects and places, smaller influences without being a particularly-strong figure within the organization. Nevertheless, he could move mountains with an avalanche caused by a single pebble. He knew how to apply proper stresses and motivations, gain trusts and allegiances, and was no slouch when it came to understanding the various technologies of the world. Much as everybody knew Dread ONLY as Dread, he knew this man as Director Phalanx.
"You know very well what's going on down here, why I'm not busy yet."
"Hmmm. Yes, I do. Between the reports I hear specifically about you, my personal link, and those of my employ reporting in, I get a complete enough picture when I want it."
He frowned.
"I don't like the direction things have been taking lately, either. How ironic that the loosest cannon of all talks the most sense. That smug arrogance among command, that sycophantic loyalty in the lower ranks, and that quiet desperation which leads to treachery all-too-quickly if offered a juicy bone to gnaw upon... This cannot continue, Mr. Dread. WE must do something about that. After all, I didn't recruit you to sit around in a hangar bay, twiddling your thumbs."
"What makes you think I want to take your errands anymore than I want to do theirs?"
Now, the man smiled, and it was genuine...in that it was quite pleased with what he was about to say...which in Dread's mind was good news.
"Because you get to make martyrs of them, every last person on that ship. Here's what I want you to do..."
He outlined the tale, and the more he said...the deeper Dread began to smile. The Director was calling because one of his subbordinates aboard the Kuei-Ren sent out a quick message: 'Osamu actions erratic. Orders requested'. So, with the machine-controlling artificial behaving less than predictably, it was time to cleansweep this entire thing. Dread was to take charge, illegally, using Ursa Nova as leverage to force compliance. The Director had assured others on the vessel prior to all of this mess that Dread was kept compliant via threatening the one thing he valued: His own life. So, with him in the one place that was safe from even perhaps decent NC snipers, he was now in a position to do whatever he wanted. Mainly, keeping him happy was the clincher, influencing him towards better behavior by letting him indulge himself harmlessly. So now, he was being asked to do something pleasant...and he would do it, not because Phalanx wanted it...but because ramming this carrier into Haven's shield while the engines go into critical meltdown would be FUN.
Would it crack the barrier wide open from the stresses of checking such a physical and thermonuclear impact? No idea. Would the fallout create endless trouble for those living there? Hell yeah. Would they take out a load of traitors, rebels, and the frankly useless chaff that is Red-Star staff? Definitely. Dread liked this plan, and he liked it more when his on-board computer stated that all he had to do to survive the blast was drop to the bottom of the water and WALK home.
"If any of the staff argue, remember that at least my own spies are loyal enough, and remind them that they could very well be reduced to meat puppets like Miss Laedo's parents on-deck, they and anyone they've ever associated with. So, there will be no turning back home or surrender for them. Naturally, you can kill anyone at your own discretion. I wouldn't dream of inhibiting you at this crucial moment."
"You know I don't actually take orders from you, right? I was already thinking of something like this from the start. I even worked the math out in my spare time."
Director Phalanx's smile broadened.
"I know you did. And that's why it's all yours... Enjoy yourself. I'll be watching."
Transmission ended. Dread smirked as he began to power Ursa Nova up in earnest. Today was a good day...
Yes? Hopefully?
So, she had received mail, just like everyone else, but felt rather distracted from reading it. Britta was actually looking forward to hearing some news from home, hopefully that her plan to alleviate some of the expenses there had had a positive impact and all. However, there had been a number of distractions. One of them, of course, had been Isaac. She had written home about the entire squad, how they seemed to knit together like family. Some of them were like arguing married couple, others were under a strain, but mostly they banded together. And yes...there were a few lines thrown in about Isaac and that his family might be nice to get to know, though Britta did not convey Isaac's scheme to corner the livestock and crop market with their farms. It takes more than two to control the industry.
That was in the one Britta hadsent. This was the reply, but she hadn't been reading it. At first, it was just the light-hearted banter over the jerky with Isaac, but...she kept going back to the moment at the White Hart Inn, something she couldn't really overlook. She had been afraid. Not to the point of inactivity, but rather she reacted so because she and Isaac could do nothing for Jean as the gas advanced upon him. This war, she had handled with a determined look in her eye. The bombardments on Hill 58? Taken like a champ. The armored car? Just an obstacle in the way. But the gas... For one moment, that creeping sinister fog was more than Britta had ever experienced, an issue where life and death was only determined by a flimsy mask. It bothered her that she had felt that tremendous dread that she'd be watching Jean puke out his innards. That they'd gotten out of there was a boon and a half.
What is this war, where it can still find ways to creep me out, when I've accepted it in all its violent ways?
It's been alot to take in, and what Britta eventually decided was that next time, she would be prepared. It would not shock her a second time. Now...let's move onto Isaac. He isn't aware that he's been effectively made part of a trashy novel, courtesy of Ines and Freya, way back at the Inn. He doesn't know that Ines called him Scarface or that Britta is secretly referred to as Silverhead. He isn't even sure why exactly he was shouted at for trying to get Franz back to his senses back then...when the state he was in could've had him lashing out at anyone. No, he was just bantering a bit with Michael, pleased that the oath to keep Lucia out of Middleton's claws was being followed. Shame, though. The Sapper didn't drink. Thomas, though...
"He might, at that."
He DID follow Michael, mainly because they hadn't spoken must lately, that Jean AND 'Marathon' were over at the table he went to, and frankly he wanted a load-off, as well, saying, "Well, I will. No reason not to.", after Michael had asked to sit down. In response to Jean's inquiry about how he was doing, a thought occurred: They were at a huge encampment. They could probably get full sapper gear out of someone around here, even proper explosives for those damn armored cars! He decided to hold onto this tidbit as Jean asked about him and Lucia, prompting him to listen and hear...that Diana was offering cookies! She'd been in sort of a mood, but fortunately Thomas seemed to help with that. Britta saw the plate and took one, letter in hand, thanking her now. Back to the conversation at hand...
"I think Michael is handling himself pretty well with the whole Lucia situation. I'd reward 'im if I knew what to do that with. Apart from foraging around the camps for a proper Sapper loadout, I don't have a clue."
Meanwhile, Britta had been leaning against the poll of a tent, finally reading into her letter. The farm was doing well, but they were short of work becau- The female Gunner's eyes shot wide as she read the lines that followed. Again, that chilly feeling at the base of her spine... It was an unwelcome sensation, something she only spared for rare occasions. She never intended this... It was only suppose to be her taking this risk, a risk she knew how to manage. Britta headed over to the table where Jean, Thomas, Michael, and Isaac sat, her expression just a bit anxious, but controlled, as she said...
"I need to go check on something. I'll be back soon. Perhaps there's something you'd like me to scrounge while I'm out?"
That was in the one Britta hadsent. This was the reply, but she hadn't been reading it. At first, it was just the light-hearted banter over the jerky with Isaac, but...she kept going back to the moment at the White Hart Inn, something she couldn't really overlook. She had been afraid. Not to the point of inactivity, but rather she reacted so because she and Isaac could do nothing for Jean as the gas advanced upon him. This war, she had handled with a determined look in her eye. The bombardments on Hill 58? Taken like a champ. The armored car? Just an obstacle in the way. But the gas... For one moment, that creeping sinister fog was more than Britta had ever experienced, an issue where life and death was only determined by a flimsy mask. It bothered her that she had felt that tremendous dread that she'd be watching Jean puke out his innards. That they'd gotten out of there was a boon and a half.
What is this war, where it can still find ways to creep me out, when I've accepted it in all its violent ways?
It's been alot to take in, and what Britta eventually decided was that next time, she would be prepared. It would not shock her a second time. Now...let's move onto Isaac. He isn't aware that he's been effectively made part of a trashy novel, courtesy of Ines and Freya, way back at the Inn. He doesn't know that Ines called him Scarface or that Britta is secretly referred to as Silverhead. He isn't even sure why exactly he was shouted at for trying to get Franz back to his senses back then...when the state he was in could've had him lashing out at anyone. No, he was just bantering a bit with Michael, pleased that the oath to keep Lucia out of Middleton's claws was being followed. Shame, though. The Sapper didn't drink. Thomas, though...
"He might, at that."
He DID follow Michael, mainly because they hadn't spoken must lately, that Jean AND 'Marathon' were over at the table he went to, and frankly he wanted a load-off, as well, saying, "Well, I will. No reason not to.", after Michael had asked to sit down. In response to Jean's inquiry about how he was doing, a thought occurred: They were at a huge encampment. They could probably get full sapper gear out of someone around here, even proper explosives for those damn armored cars! He decided to hold onto this tidbit as Jean asked about him and Lucia, prompting him to listen and hear...that Diana was offering cookies! She'd been in sort of a mood, but fortunately Thomas seemed to help with that. Britta saw the plate and took one, letter in hand, thanking her now. Back to the conversation at hand...
"I think Michael is handling himself pretty well with the whole Lucia situation. I'd reward 'im if I knew what to do that with. Apart from foraging around the camps for a proper Sapper loadout, I don't have a clue."
Meanwhile, Britta had been leaning against the poll of a tent, finally reading into her letter. The farm was doing well, but they were short of work becau- The female Gunner's eyes shot wide as she read the lines that followed. Again, that chilly feeling at the base of her spine... It was an unwelcome sensation, something she only spared for rare occasions. She never intended this... It was only suppose to be her taking this risk, a risk she knew how to manage. Britta headed over to the table where Jean, Thomas, Michael, and Isaac sat, her expression just a bit anxious, but controlled, as she said...
"I need to go check on something. I'll be back soon. Perhaps there's something you'd like me to scrounge while I'm out?"
At first, she didn't know what Sara was apologizing for, so there was a little glance of confusion before she continue and it made sense. Kate's mind worked rather quickly, so naturally she might have these moments of confusion, like she was trying to parse the whole before it was complete. A harmless fault. It came from processing too fast and jumping ahead of everyone else, mentally, before realizing the leap went too far and you have to go back. Anyway...Kate shook her head, letting off a sad smile.
"No, it's fine. The more, the merrier."
The more who thought of her kindly, the better. Myra's eccentric behavior was not easily engaged with. It required patience, and some people would cave on arguments largely because she'd thought so thoroughly on something, almost obsessively, that you didn't have a chance to find any flaws. Or to put it her way: 'If I'd seen any flaws IN my argument, I wouldn't bother to speak it. It had to pass through me first.'. And in a way, that meant that Myra was almost self-regulating. Almost. Still, there was no failing in the love she had for her daughter, and so nobody missed her more.
Now, when Sara asked Kate to lean against her, that led to a definite question of 'Why?'. No one had made a request like that of her, just out of the blue. It was an unexpected thing to ask. The only thing that Kate could think of was that she had a reason, and that it wasn't the light-haired woman's habit to lead people astray. For some reason, the thought of it made Kate feel...anxious. Couldn't really pinpoint why, but after a brief hesitation...she did, and Sara continued, giving her a slew of questions. At first, the Brunette simple wanted to answer them all, one after the other, as bluntly as you can imagine. But this is not what the Lieutenant wanted. She was asking one question...and it was not an easy one.
Who...and what? It wasn't just a straightforward answer, was it? It sounded more like what Sara was trying to say to her was...
"Many people said that I should...but the decision was mine. I can't speak for humanity, though. Only me."
Hopefully, that was an adequate response, because...in some ways...she didn't know humanity from the Titans. Kate felt that...as much as the sleepy giants appeared to be so aimless and vacant...they were purposed, mindful, conscious on some strange level. They may even have been withdrawn like she was, previously. It was because of such a fugue-like state in her past that she began to wonder what the Titans really were. And after learning all that she had about Eren's ability, that line between their two species grew much thinner.
"No, it's fine. The more, the merrier."
The more who thought of her kindly, the better. Myra's eccentric behavior was not easily engaged with. It required patience, and some people would cave on arguments largely because she'd thought so thoroughly on something, almost obsessively, that you didn't have a chance to find any flaws. Or to put it her way: 'If I'd seen any flaws IN my argument, I wouldn't bother to speak it. It had to pass through me first.'. And in a way, that meant that Myra was almost self-regulating. Almost. Still, there was no failing in the love she had for her daughter, and so nobody missed her more.
Now, when Sara asked Kate to lean against her, that led to a definite question of 'Why?'. No one had made a request like that of her, just out of the blue. It was an unexpected thing to ask. The only thing that Kate could think of was that she had a reason, and that it wasn't the light-haired woman's habit to lead people astray. For some reason, the thought of it made Kate feel...anxious. Couldn't really pinpoint why, but after a brief hesitation...she did, and Sara continued, giving her a slew of questions. At first, the Brunette simple wanted to answer them all, one after the other, as bluntly as you can imagine. But this is not what the Lieutenant wanted. She was asking one question...and it was not an easy one.
Who...and what? It wasn't just a straightforward answer, was it? It sounded more like what Sara was trying to say to her was...
"Many people said that I should...but the decision was mine. I can't speak for humanity, though. Only me."
Hopefully, that was an adequate response, because...in some ways...she didn't know humanity from the Titans. Kate felt that...as much as the sleepy giants appeared to be so aimless and vacant...they were purposed, mindful, conscious on some strange level. They may even have been withdrawn like she was, previously. It was because of such a fugue-like state in her past that she began to wonder what the Titans really were. And after learning all that she had about Eren's ability, that line between their two species grew much thinner.
At the time, he'd only shouted at Franz for maybe a few seconds, trying to get him to stop stabbing that poor dead son of a bitch. But really, it felt like so much longer, like he was shouting at a wild animal, something all-feral and more dangerous to him than one of his wolves. Isaac had...a pretty good chance of taming an animal in the wild, but you can't treat humans like that. They need to be snapped back to reality in a hurry so that they don't get comfortable with the idea of not thinking. The only danger was that the man might've turned his knife on him, but even if he had...he'd've either held it in place or blocked it with some part of his machine gun. Thanks to the army, Isaac took control of situations around him fairly well, though he did get into a brief argument with Ines over him doing it that amounted to her shouting that he didn't have to do that and him pointing out that they didn't have the time to do otherwise, right now. He wished he didn't have to at all, but there we are.
The situation outside of the inn didn't last long, because thankfully Jean and company caught up with the rest of the squad, citing a very brief head start to work on to get the hell out of there. Isaac took that and ordered people to get into a nearby building to get them out of the open, so that they could press on - room to room - and push their way to eventual safety, where only open streets would bely any true danger. He would get some better use out of the prybar now, as the doors were ordinary and unimpressive, much easier to get through than the main door at the inn. Eventually, they would escape this nightmare and the gas would finally play itself out, allowing them all to breathe easier, figuratively and literally. The next days would be no picnic, of course, but at least they had that.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Time passed, and - after alot of trudging, fighting, sneaking around, and so on - they made it to an area with the rest of the main group. Jean had mentioned that he thought the Federation would be pouring into Amone after the gas attack - it was now being called 'the gas attack', like it was a point in history...and maybe it WAS one, at that - and Isaac agreed. This sick and twisted maneuver that had practically terrorized them at the moment of its inception... Of course they'd take advantage of it, because they had the masks! So, they had made the main battle group and, shortly after reporting in and all that, the question was asked: What the hell was that gas? Seemed a fair question, considering they'd been inundated by it, and the soldier that Isaac had asked gave him the 50-cent explanation. He told him it was a new weapon, a compound found to be deadly to human beings that could be blocked by the new masks, and that the order to implement it to gain access to Amone had been ordered by, at least in part by...
Oh, that son of a bitch...
Middleton! Oh, there'd been others in the officer line who'd signed off on it, but apparently Captain Middleton had been very vocal about it...enough that the grapevine caught wind and circulated the fact. Isaac must've swore out loud, because the soldier then looked worried and asked if he was alright, to which Isaac replied "Oh, I'm just fucking wonderful!". That made the soldier wince, getting the idea in his head that he didn't want any of this on him and decided that a peace offering was in order. He asked Isaac what his squad number was, and then handed him a bag marked '15th Atlantic Rifles' on the tag.
"What's this?"
"Your mail. There's been a bit of a backlog, and your squad has been out in the field, but you're still entitled to it."
The mail, at last! He'd only been able to send anything off from the White Hart. It'd been something they managed for him after the first night. He'd been collecting and collecting and never managing to get it out because it was hard to get anything through, and now...would he have a reply? With a funny and downright fiendish grin, he made his way back to the squad with the mail. He knew that Jean wasn't getting anyway, at least not from family...but he tried to keep his spirits up as he shouted "MAIL CALL!" to the squad and just upended the bag somewhere dry and safe they could pick it up. Isaac found his own...box. Good lord, what the hell? He opened it and it contained not only a thick amount of papers, but also...
That smell... It's gotta be...
His smile broadened, and he called out.
"I got beef jerky here and I'm sharing! Get it while it's there!"
Beef jerky, straight from home. Dad's own spicing and all. Lovely flavor, good quality beef. Isaac took a piece for himself as he saw Britta getting a letter from her parents, eyeing the box now.
"The fruits of your labor?"
"The cut of my loins."
And immediately, Britta just stared at him, her face going red.
"I-Isaac...!"
"What?"
"What you just said!"
He blinked, thought about it, then facepalmed hard.
"Not like that! It's a cut of beef!"
"Oh yeah? What part?"
Now, she was teasing him.
"It's...it's near the spine. It's good quality. I didn't mean..."
"I know, but it sounded wrong."
"Please take a piece and enjoy before I die of embarrassment..."
"Yes, sir."
She did just that, and Isaac started chewing and enjoying his own jerky as he unveiled the letter that had arrived with it.
After all that was said in that letter, the last part made Isaac laugh out loud, knowing EXACTLY what his brother was going through, and generally proud of his alpha wolf bringing new pups to the pack before he left. He had had precisely one minute of good feelings from home, from that point on, until guess who decided to ruin it all. This man was like a bad leach. No matter what they seemed to do, Captain Middleton seemed to stick to them and make things miserable, and now here he was, aiming the full force of his Grumpus...on Michael!
Wait, on Michael?! WHY?
Isaac stood up from where he'd sat and read his letter. He'd been in plain view of everyone and everything, allowing his beef jerky to be partaken by many. He was sure that Michael had gotten a letter, passed on from hand to hand or something. He hadn't seen him until now, when Middleton called him out. Why? What the hell had he done, other than be a soldier, get shot, and-
Ohhh...
He didn't quite understand it, understand the why, but Isaac suddenly got that it must've been something to do with Lucia. It was the only thing that Michael HAD done that might offend the Captain, that this ward of his - whom they all loved as much as they hated Middleton himself - was clearly very close to Michael Daunte. Well, Michael deserved something good in his life. The look in his eyes after the attack on Hill 58 left him looking dead inside. If the Asseni girl's antics made him feel better, then shut the hell up, Middleton. Isaac wanted to interfere with this, to cite the Captain's own words that the affairs of enlisted men should be in the hands of the enlisted and not his personal attention. He'd said this, first day. He'd made it like a standing order that they were responsible for guys like Michael, so he shouldn't even be doing this. The man was such a hypocrite...
Fortunately, it didn't look like Michael needed any help. He knew that Middleton was looking for a fight, or even an excuse to shoot him, and Michael was being the obedient little soldier, emphasis on the 'little' part, but only in size. Michael was a towering mass of 'bring it', right now. He wasn't smug or goading or threatening in any way. He simply reacted as an innocent man who isn't being browbeaten by an officer about things, and so...by that token...he wasn't brow-beaten. Middleton was just blowing smoke out of his ass. He almost got the Captain to lay down just what it was he was so unhappy about in regards to Lucia, but instead he said something cryptic and weird about Lucia's 'growth', and then stormed off.
None of that made any sense, of course. The man was obsessed his ward, whom he - as far as everyone else was concerned - treated very poorly and should be kept away from at all costs. It was good that she had gotten close to Michael. According to Britta, she was even partially or fully responsible for killing two Imperials who tried to take his and her masks. Isaac was frankly proud of how those two were handling themselves, even moreso at Michael's actions, just now. He headed over to the short sapper now with a smirk on his face.
"Michael, I owe you a drink. Come see me later, when you have the time. I have some leftover Scotch from the Inn."
The situation outside of the inn didn't last long, because thankfully Jean and company caught up with the rest of the squad, citing a very brief head start to work on to get the hell out of there. Isaac took that and ordered people to get into a nearby building to get them out of the open, so that they could press on - room to room - and push their way to eventual safety, where only open streets would bely any true danger. He would get some better use out of the prybar now, as the doors were ordinary and unimpressive, much easier to get through than the main door at the inn. Eventually, they would escape this nightmare and the gas would finally play itself out, allowing them all to breathe easier, figuratively and literally. The next days would be no picnic, of course, but at least they had that.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Time passed, and - after alot of trudging, fighting, sneaking around, and so on - they made it to an area with the rest of the main group. Jean had mentioned that he thought the Federation would be pouring into Amone after the gas attack - it was now being called 'the gas attack', like it was a point in history...and maybe it WAS one, at that - and Isaac agreed. This sick and twisted maneuver that had practically terrorized them at the moment of its inception... Of course they'd take advantage of it, because they had the masks! So, they had made the main battle group and, shortly after reporting in and all that, the question was asked: What the hell was that gas? Seemed a fair question, considering they'd been inundated by it, and the soldier that Isaac had asked gave him the 50-cent explanation. He told him it was a new weapon, a compound found to be deadly to human beings that could be blocked by the new masks, and that the order to implement it to gain access to Amone had been ordered by, at least in part by...
Oh, that son of a bitch...
Middleton! Oh, there'd been others in the officer line who'd signed off on it, but apparently Captain Middleton had been very vocal about it...enough that the grapevine caught wind and circulated the fact. Isaac must've swore out loud, because the soldier then looked worried and asked if he was alright, to which Isaac replied "Oh, I'm just fucking wonderful!". That made the soldier wince, getting the idea in his head that he didn't want any of this on him and decided that a peace offering was in order. He asked Isaac what his squad number was, and then handed him a bag marked '15th Atlantic Rifles' on the tag.
"What's this?"
"Your mail. There's been a bit of a backlog, and your squad has been out in the field, but you're still entitled to it."
The mail, at last! He'd only been able to send anything off from the White Hart. It'd been something they managed for him after the first night. He'd been collecting and collecting and never managing to get it out because it was hard to get anything through, and now...would he have a reply? With a funny and downright fiendish grin, he made his way back to the squad with the mail. He knew that Jean wasn't getting anyway, at least not from family...but he tried to keep his spirits up as he shouted "MAIL CALL!" to the squad and just upended the bag somewhere dry and safe they could pick it up. Isaac found his own...box. Good lord, what the hell? He opened it and it contained not only a thick amount of papers, but also...
That smell... It's gotta be...
His smile broadened, and he called out.
"I got beef jerky here and I'm sharing! Get it while it's there!"
Beef jerky, straight from home. Dad's own spicing and all. Lovely flavor, good quality beef. Isaac took a piece for himself as he saw Britta getting a letter from her parents, eyeing the box now.
"The fruits of your labor?"
"The cut of my loins."
And immediately, Britta just stared at him, her face going red.
"I-Isaac...!"
"What?"
"What you just said!"
He blinked, thought about it, then facepalmed hard.
"Not like that! It's a cut of beef!"
"Oh yeah? What part?"
Now, she was teasing him.
"It's...it's near the spine. It's good quality. I didn't mean..."
"I know, but it sounded wrong."
"Please take a piece and enjoy before I die of embarrassment..."
"Yes, sir."
She did just that, and Isaac started chewing and enjoying his own jerky as he unveiled the letter that had arrived with it.
After all that was said in that letter, the last part made Isaac laugh out loud, knowing EXACTLY what his brother was going through, and generally proud of his alpha wolf bringing new pups to the pack before he left. He had had precisely one minute of good feelings from home, from that point on, until guess who decided to ruin it all. This man was like a bad leach. No matter what they seemed to do, Captain Middleton seemed to stick to them and make things miserable, and now here he was, aiming the full force of his Grumpus...on Michael!
Wait, on Michael?! WHY?
Isaac stood up from where he'd sat and read his letter. He'd been in plain view of everyone and everything, allowing his beef jerky to be partaken by many. He was sure that Michael had gotten a letter, passed on from hand to hand or something. He hadn't seen him until now, when Middleton called him out. Why? What the hell had he done, other than be a soldier, get shot, and-
Ohhh...
He didn't quite understand it, understand the why, but Isaac suddenly got that it must've been something to do with Lucia. It was the only thing that Michael HAD done that might offend the Captain, that this ward of his - whom they all loved as much as they hated Middleton himself - was clearly very close to Michael Daunte. Well, Michael deserved something good in his life. The look in his eyes after the attack on Hill 58 left him looking dead inside. If the Asseni girl's antics made him feel better, then shut the hell up, Middleton. Isaac wanted to interfere with this, to cite the Captain's own words that the affairs of enlisted men should be in the hands of the enlisted and not his personal attention. He'd said this, first day. He'd made it like a standing order that they were responsible for guys like Michael, so he shouldn't even be doing this. The man was such a hypocrite...
Fortunately, it didn't look like Michael needed any help. He knew that Middleton was looking for a fight, or even an excuse to shoot him, and Michael was being the obedient little soldier, emphasis on the 'little' part, but only in size. Michael was a towering mass of 'bring it', right now. He wasn't smug or goading or threatening in any way. He simply reacted as an innocent man who isn't being browbeaten by an officer about things, and so...by that token...he wasn't brow-beaten. Middleton was just blowing smoke out of his ass. He almost got the Captain to lay down just what it was he was so unhappy about in regards to Lucia, but instead he said something cryptic and weird about Lucia's 'growth', and then stormed off.
None of that made any sense, of course. The man was obsessed his ward, whom he - as far as everyone else was concerned - treated very poorly and should be kept away from at all costs. It was good that she had gotten close to Michael. According to Britta, she was even partially or fully responsible for killing two Imperials who tried to take his and her masks. Isaac was frankly proud of how those two were handling themselves, even moreso at Michael's actions, just now. He headed over to the short sapper now with a smirk on his face.
"Michael, I owe you a drink. Come see me later, when you have the time. I have some leftover Scotch from the Inn."
Eren Jaeger's beating had shocked her, but not to the extent that she had harkened back to this, the beating that she'd taken at the hands of her father. That alone hadn't been enough, because she understood right off the WHY of that situation. If someone had been drunkenly beating on Eren for no other reason than because they were discontent...there'd be true rage in her heart, a whole lot of red, and then maybe a dead man as she tries with all her might and mental fortitude to keep from seeing her father's face in some vicious daymare. The trauma did things to her, as it would do things to us all. Kate was damaged by the ordeal, and she felt so, which made her feel guilty over it, as it'd taken literal years to crawl back out of her hole and reach some semblance of liveability.
She was gradually recovering herself now, perhaps at a stage where Grisha would say she was of sound enough mind to start to come to terms, and that may have been where she was. That she was hurt so was now entered in her mind without retreating, because she had the support of another friend, another who would understand. Now, she had only to overcome the shame of it, that she found her response to be disgraceful. That might still take some doing, and Kate may find that she remains prone to emotional outbursts because that is her life, but...recovery was possible. Indeed, she felt strong and stable enough, with Sara's concern and understanding alongside her. The contact with her knee was surprising, but...not unwanted. It was like an acknowledgement of her, an acceptance of her being that the brunette appreciated.
Still, the question lingered. Katherine related the facts in a distant, saddened voice. She had come to terms with this one faster, even though it hurt a great deal. At thhat time, she did not sink, but swam. Her mother explained the situation in no uncertain terms, and she followed through to the necessary reaction accordingly. She had no choice.
"Mom's gone... We were living in Shiganshina, right up to the time they hit. She was too hurt to move, sent me away. Escaped with Eren and them, stayed with 'em until I was found by Aunt Hange."
The woman's full name had been Myra Zoe-Bellows. Strange that she kept the name she married into, despite all the things that had gone wrong in her husband. The truth was that they started out so well. Her eccentricities were fun, like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise drab and terrible old world. They found time to laugh in this world and fell in love. Jonathan just wasn't able to stand out from under the shadow she unknowingly cast over him. By the time he'd felt its effect, he had found himself failing at his trading business and finding the other grunt work he'd taken on the side to be harsh and unfulfilling...next to a woman who brilliantly calibrated the cannons, the rifle designs, the ODM Gears, and so forth...and even designed domestic things like better plumbing, locking mechanisms, and more. If a man only finds contentment in self-fulfillment and cannot find pride in the world of those at his side, he cannot co-exist with them, and that is how he turned to drinking, fighting, and becoming unreasonable. He just didn't realize just how much the woman truly could stomp him flat.
"I'm doing what I can to help fight the Titans... I can't do much more than that. I have very little else."
She was gradually recovering herself now, perhaps at a stage where Grisha would say she was of sound enough mind to start to come to terms, and that may have been where she was. That she was hurt so was now entered in her mind without retreating, because she had the support of another friend, another who would understand. Now, she had only to overcome the shame of it, that she found her response to be disgraceful. That might still take some doing, and Kate may find that she remains prone to emotional outbursts because that is her life, but...recovery was possible. Indeed, she felt strong and stable enough, with Sara's concern and understanding alongside her. The contact with her knee was surprising, but...not unwanted. It was like an acknowledgement of her, an acceptance of her being that the brunette appreciated.
Still, the question lingered. Katherine related the facts in a distant, saddened voice. She had come to terms with this one faster, even though it hurt a great deal. At thhat time, she did not sink, but swam. Her mother explained the situation in no uncertain terms, and she followed through to the necessary reaction accordingly. She had no choice.
"Mom's gone... We were living in Shiganshina, right up to the time they hit. She was too hurt to move, sent me away. Escaped with Eren and them, stayed with 'em until I was found by Aunt Hange."
The woman's full name had been Myra Zoe-Bellows. Strange that she kept the name she married into, despite all the things that had gone wrong in her husband. The truth was that they started out so well. Her eccentricities were fun, like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise drab and terrible old world. They found time to laugh in this world and fell in love. Jonathan just wasn't able to stand out from under the shadow she unknowingly cast over him. By the time he'd felt its effect, he had found himself failing at his trading business and finding the other grunt work he'd taken on the side to be harsh and unfulfilling...next to a woman who brilliantly calibrated the cannons, the rifle designs, the ODM Gears, and so forth...and even designed domestic things like better plumbing, locking mechanisms, and more. If a man only finds contentment in self-fulfillment and cannot find pride in the world of those at his side, he cannot co-exist with them, and that is how he turned to drinking, fighting, and becoming unreasonable. He just didn't realize just how much the woman truly could stomp him flat.
"I'm doing what I can to help fight the Titans... I can't do much more than that. I have very little else."
All in all, Isaac would have to say that command wasn't easy, but for different reasons than Jean.
You see, the Darcsen Corporal was outside in the gas, and you just know that it was madness and death out there. Shouts and desperate screaming, the occasional gunshot, and very probably the sound of death gagging on yellow gas that reminds you of the stuff pushing out of volcanoes...provided you ever studied any. Isaac had not, so the thought of 'poisonous gas' didn't really occur to him, certainly not with purpose. Britta could be said to be the same, on that point. Still, none of that was the point. The point was that Jean was out in it, and Isaac was ordered to basically take command of the squad and do nothing to help his friend in particular, his friend who could've died if not for these masks. He was ordered to stand around and prepare to leave, and leave him essentially behind to catch up later. That was not an easy thing to ask Isaac to do.
Equally, he didn't like to suddenly let Britta break off to go check on what the commotion was upstairs, but he knew that she could handle it. I mean, come on. Machine gun... So, when she came back down with Michael and Lucia, no automatic fire involved, he was relieved. Of course...he also saw the blood...which was LESS appealing. It meant that he could cross off 'accidental weapons discharge' as a cause of the problem, since...they weren't exactly wounded, as far as he could tell. All of this soon came to a head as three things happened: Number one, there were gunshots aplenty outside and much closer. Number two, Luke came in - exhausted and helmetless - saying he'd gotten as many people out as he could and they had to leave NOW. And Number Three, Jean came back in through the window as a shot rang through the room, followed by machine gun fire that had Isaac shouting for everyone to take cover, and then Jean telling them that they had to leave, NOW.
So, the urgency level of this already pretty-fucking-urgent situation just ramped up a helluva lot.
"Alright, we're leaving! Everyone not helping Jean, follow me! Britta, rear guard! Wait, what're you-"
The lady Gunner had crept on over to a spot not far from Jean's cover to suddenly put up her machine gun and fire a nice left-right-left sweep of suppressing fire. She lowered it again and looked over to Jean, smiling though she knew he could not see it.
"I know I can't stay, but I want 'em to at least think twice about coming in, full steam. Good luck, Jean."
And with that, she fell into position to get make sure nobody fell behind as they headed towards the back way out, front Gunner leading and rear Gunner guarding. Isaac spoke up as they went, saying "We're gonna go right through the buildings, no question. Can't see anything through this fog. Can't see if anyone wants to shoot you.". Now, they were heading outside. As Luke had seen before, the back was as fogged with the deadly yellow stuff as the front was. It was full of yellow smoke and signs of death and violence and also...
"Franz?!"
Dammit, had he miscounted?! He thought Franz had been among them already, but he was here. He was here and he was stabbing a man to death. Or rather...he was stabbing a man to mulch. He just kept bringing it down again and again, shouting something that Isaac couldn't even make out. It was just this loud rambling and a repeated question. Why...why won't he answer? He was shouting at the corpse to speak up? Why?! Britta was right... Franz was under as much a strain as Jean, only he wouldn't even talk about it when she was trying to help him. Isaac had never seen this before. Never! His hand suddenly went out and grabbed the other soldiers' wrist as his hand rose to stab again, gripping it tightly so he couldn't move it again.
"Franz! Franz, STOP! He's dead! He can't hurt anybody!"
He hoped to god the man wasn't gonna flip out on him, right then and there, but he didn't know how else to get his attention. They had to leave, get away from here as fast as they could and hope that Jean, Freya, and Marathon made it.
"Fall in with the rest. We're getting at least four blocks out of this while Jean secures our escape."
You see, the Darcsen Corporal was outside in the gas, and you just know that it was madness and death out there. Shouts and desperate screaming, the occasional gunshot, and very probably the sound of death gagging on yellow gas that reminds you of the stuff pushing out of volcanoes...provided you ever studied any. Isaac had not, so the thought of 'poisonous gas' didn't really occur to him, certainly not with purpose. Britta could be said to be the same, on that point. Still, none of that was the point. The point was that Jean was out in it, and Isaac was ordered to basically take command of the squad and do nothing to help his friend in particular, his friend who could've died if not for these masks. He was ordered to stand around and prepare to leave, and leave him essentially behind to catch up later. That was not an easy thing to ask Isaac to do.
Equally, he didn't like to suddenly let Britta break off to go check on what the commotion was upstairs, but he knew that she could handle it. I mean, come on. Machine gun... So, when she came back down with Michael and Lucia, no automatic fire involved, he was relieved. Of course...he also saw the blood...which was LESS appealing. It meant that he could cross off 'accidental weapons discharge' as a cause of the problem, since...they weren't exactly wounded, as far as he could tell. All of this soon came to a head as three things happened: Number one, there were gunshots aplenty outside and much closer. Number two, Luke came in - exhausted and helmetless - saying he'd gotten as many people out as he could and they had to leave NOW. And Number Three, Jean came back in through the window as a shot rang through the room, followed by machine gun fire that had Isaac shouting for everyone to take cover, and then Jean telling them that they had to leave, NOW.
So, the urgency level of this already pretty-fucking-urgent situation just ramped up a helluva lot.
"Alright, we're leaving! Everyone not helping Jean, follow me! Britta, rear guard! Wait, what're you-"
The lady Gunner had crept on over to a spot not far from Jean's cover to suddenly put up her machine gun and fire a nice left-right-left sweep of suppressing fire. She lowered it again and looked over to Jean, smiling though she knew he could not see it.
"I know I can't stay, but I want 'em to at least think twice about coming in, full steam. Good luck, Jean."
And with that, she fell into position to get make sure nobody fell behind as they headed towards the back way out, front Gunner leading and rear Gunner guarding. Isaac spoke up as they went, saying "We're gonna go right through the buildings, no question. Can't see anything through this fog. Can't see if anyone wants to shoot you.". Now, they were heading outside. As Luke had seen before, the back was as fogged with the deadly yellow stuff as the front was. It was full of yellow smoke and signs of death and violence and also...
"Franz?!"
Dammit, had he miscounted?! He thought Franz had been among them already, but he was here. He was here and he was stabbing a man to death. Or rather...he was stabbing a man to mulch. He just kept bringing it down again and again, shouting something that Isaac couldn't even make out. It was just this loud rambling and a repeated question. Why...why won't he answer? He was shouting at the corpse to speak up? Why?! Britta was right... Franz was under as much a strain as Jean, only he wouldn't even talk about it when she was trying to help him. Isaac had never seen this before. Never! His hand suddenly went out and grabbed the other soldiers' wrist as his hand rose to stab again, gripping it tightly so he couldn't move it again.
"Franz! Franz, STOP! He's dead! He can't hurt anybody!"
He hoped to god the man wasn't gonna flip out on him, right then and there, but he didn't know how else to get his attention. They had to leave, get away from here as fast as they could and hope that Jean, Freya, and Marathon made it.
"Fall in with the rest. We're getting at least four blocks out of this while Jean secures our escape."
The silence had been filled with Katherine internally debating with herself on the matter, to settle whether to talk or just stop this immediately. The argument tipped slightly in the favor of talking once it became clear that Sara was wanting to hear, and that she even seemed like it mattered to her if she heard. Her eyes nearly shut as she exhaled through her nose again, summoning the courage to approach it, to mmake believe that she was not facing the fear alone then, because she wasn't facing it alone here.
"I was just..."
A little girl, cute as a button.
"...a child. I didn't really understand anything, not like I do now."
At that age, who could? But then again, she had a mind that led to this kind of intellect anf ability. It may have been something more fundamental than the mere acquisition of knowledge...and boy it was, most definitely.
"I didn't focus on things like Titans and anything other than normal kid things, along with a bit of learning. I didn't know what they were arguing about... I was just trying to read in mom's work room. Usually never an argument there, but...that time there was...and I couldn't...I didn't..."
He grip on herself tightened now, like white-knuckling at this point. Her next words were haunted, as this was something that she was having the devil's own time coming to terms with.
"My father was a monster. He wasn't like a person when he hit me. He was like one of them. I couldn't...I couldn't defend...I couldn't run...trapped.... He just kept beating, he...he wasn't human...!"
He was. Jonathan, her father, was all-too-human. He was discontent, underappreciated, belligerent while drunk, and yes...prone to violence. This may've made him seem like a Titan to a child, causing all kinds of complexes, but he was but a man, and was ended as such. Anyone with a high enough clearance really could access the file on the Bellows Murder Case. It featured a young Katherine Bellows beaten halfway out of her mind and-
"My mother stopped him, she...just killed him, like you would a bug. It was just...crunch...and over. And he just...and I...and I ran away, right into my own skull. Couldn't handle it..."
She was actually starting to shed tears and she was about to tear the skin of her legs with her fingernails, because now that Kate had about as much as she needed to confront the image of her dad beating her half to death...she was mad at herself for retreating. She didn't excuse herself for it. It was too much for her, and she didn't take any solace at all that her reaction was normal to...the beating or the sight of Myra Bellows shoving a degraded pipe through a man's neck, snapping it instantly and sending blood all over the place.
"I was just..."
A little girl, cute as a button.
"...a child. I didn't really understand anything, not like I do now."
At that age, who could? But then again, she had a mind that led to this kind of intellect anf ability. It may have been something more fundamental than the mere acquisition of knowledge...and boy it was, most definitely.
"I didn't focus on things like Titans and anything other than normal kid things, along with a bit of learning. I didn't know what they were arguing about... I was just trying to read in mom's work room. Usually never an argument there, but...that time there was...and I couldn't...I didn't..."
He grip on herself tightened now, like white-knuckling at this point. Her next words were haunted, as this was something that she was having the devil's own time coming to terms with.
"My father was a monster. He wasn't like a person when he hit me. He was like one of them. I couldn't...I couldn't defend...I couldn't run...trapped.... He just kept beating, he...he wasn't human...!"
He was. Jonathan, her father, was all-too-human. He was discontent, underappreciated, belligerent while drunk, and yes...prone to violence. This may've made him seem like a Titan to a child, causing all kinds of complexes, but he was but a man, and was ended as such. Anyone with a high enough clearance really could access the file on the Bellows Murder Case. It featured a young Katherine Bellows beaten halfway out of her mind and-
"My mother stopped him, she...just killed him, like you would a bug. It was just...crunch...and over. And he just...and I...and I ran away, right into my own skull. Couldn't handle it..."
She was actually starting to shed tears and she was about to tear the skin of her legs with her fingernails, because now that Kate had about as much as she needed to confront the image of her dad beating her half to death...she was mad at herself for retreating. She didn't excuse herself for it. It was too much for her, and she didn't take any solace at all that her reaction was normal to...the beating or the sight of Myra Bellows shoving a degraded pipe through a man's neck, snapping it instantly and sending blood all over the place.
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