STATUS:
If your writing partner goes radio silent with absolutely 0 warning, yeah you can go ahead n shelve it. You probably got ghosted for one reason or another. It happens.
1 yr ago
Current
If your writing partner goes radio silent with absolutely 0 warning, yeah you can go ahead n shelve it. You probably got ghosted for one reason or another. It happens.
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likes
1 yr ago
I apologize for inactivity - muse has been elsewhere lately. I will reply to RPs here asap
Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Inside HQ January 16th, 2677
It was almost exactly after the door shut behind him that he realized he didn't have any idea what he could do. All Graham said was that he wanted all personnel to look busy before the new pilots got here. But exactly how he was supposed to look busy, he wasn't sure. It wasn't like there was a lot he could do - or, rather, there was plenty he could do, but he'd likely break it and the someone with any actual skill that was hired to fix it would have to both correct his mistake and then fix the original problem. It's happened before, it's likely to happen again. Really, like, he could try to repair the half-dead and flickering lights that he's currently walking under, but if he did it was likely that he'd accidentally snip the wrong wire and whoops, the whole building has no lights! Again, it's happened before, but instead of the lights it was his heater. In the middle of winter. Yeah, that wasn't a fun few days.
With a shiver of remembrance, Percy simply picked a direction to walk and... walked. If he walked with purpose, he'd look pretty busy, wouldn't he? Actually, what does a walk with purpose even look like? Walking quickly? Shoulders back, up straight? Making sure every step has that distinct contact with the floor? Honestly, don't all walks usually have some purpose behind them? Whether it's just to getting from point A to point B, or to get out of the house, or to clear your head after an argument - who just walks for absolutely no reason? There's always at least a small purpose to it. Who just decides that they're going to walk and.. that's it? Well, wait. That's sort of what he's doing right now, isn't it? Walking with no purpose. He's walking just to walk, in some hopes that purpose walks into him, and not the other way around. All he did was choose a direction and decide let's go this way. Why, he didn't know.. But now that he's thought about it, what even is this way?
You'd think after basically living in the base a while he'd have learned where everything was, but all he was sure of was where the barracks are, where the mess hall is, where the hangar is, and (more recently) where his and Ana's room is. If someone asked him where a bathroom was right that moment, he'd have no fucking ide- Oh, wait, he just passed one, actually. Cool, now he knows. Or he'll forget as soon as he's turned this corner after reading the sign above the arch reading 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙰𝚁. Maybe he could find something to do in there.. and hopefully not break anything.
Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Inside HQ January 16th, 2677
For the first time in a long time, Percy Moore was having a quiet, but still pleasant, moment with the little human being he held dearest to him. He was sat down on the bed of their shared room, brushing Ana's hair for her while she colored in a coloring book Zach sent with them. There's really not a lot of fun kid stuff on the base, but Percy would rather her be bored with him than at risk with Zach - not after how badly he'd failed Ana and Percy the day of the attack that nearly stole his daughter away.
Oh, why Percy has a room to himself while the others have to deal with barracks? Simple, actually. During the switch-over from Sophia to Graham, Percy took that moment of confusion amongst the higher-ups to demand that he gets his own room with Ana - again, he didn't trust Zach to not fuck up again, so he figured the best move would be to just move Ana here with him. Obviously he won that small victory - likely because there were far more important matters for them to attend to than to argue with him about room arrangements, not because he was a smooth talker. He didn't care why he won, though, because he won and that's what mattered.
After he'd moved Ana's essentials and made sure she was all set that day, he 'stole' a couch-bed from the empty room down the hall so they could both sleep comfortably - while Percy didn't care about sharing a bed, especially if it was just his child, Ana was beginning to. That's normal, of course, and Percy wasn't offended by it. It was a sign of her growing up, but... Percy stopped mid-brush stroke. God, Ana's eight now. He remembers when she was just an itty bitty baby, still wrapped up in blankets and huffy from crying her little heart out - the lil chubby cheeks, the cute little button nose that absolutely had to be squished, and her hands - god, her hands were so, so very small. Now look at her. His tiny, squishy baby girl was eight now. Where the did the time go?
Oh, wait, he actually knows the answer to that - or, at least, he knows where the last year or so's gone. It's gone swirling down the shitter. It started with when he got that positive compatibility test, and it only got worse from there. The recovery period from the surgery was hell on them both (Ana had to be his little nurse for a good while); the first few missions he, Eli Jackspar, and Madison Cole went on together were.. well, nobody died, but it wasn't a walk in the part - the first mission definitely was not, given how non-cohesive the trio were; then the attack on Smith's Rest happened just this past June - Ana still has nightmares about it.
Setting the brush down at his side, he wraps his arms around Ana in a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of her head. He felt her trying to turn and look at him, but she is sufficiently trapped in his embrace. She giggled a little, flinching in obvious preparation for some kind of silliness to go down.. But then she relaxed again, curiosity prompting her to ask, "You ok?"
Percy didn't reply right away - he needed that second to gather all of his thoughts. He knew that Ana knew all of the things he was about to say, but given the hell she's been through lately, maybe she needs to hear it all over again. Maybe she needs to hear how she's strong, intelligent, resilient, hard-working, persevering. Maybe she needs the extra reassurance that everything's going to be alright now. Maybe she needs to hear him say I love you. Shit, how long has it been since he's just said those words out of the blue to her? He used to do it so much, but then everything went all fucking crazy - he could only say them just before he had to go off and do something that could kill him. "Ana, I-"
"This is Commander Graham."
The both of them just about leapt out of their skin when those words boomed over the intercom.. Well, not literally boomed, but it was loud enough to shatter the relative quiet that was there.
"I know many of you are still adjusting to the change in military administration, but the new pilots will be arriving within the hour and I need things to be in order. I want all personnel to look busy by that point. I will be reassigning the NC squadron sometime following the acquisition of these new pilots. Thank you."
Percy mouthed a bit of a mocking "Thank you" and grimaced, causing Ana to stick her tongue out with him in solidarity. After about a beat of silence and recognition, they both giggled. Ruffling up Ana's just-brushed hair, Percy stands up, stretching from sitting there cross-legged for so long. He's already gotten bitched out a couple times for not doing what he was told to do - not usually by Graham himself, but by other staff - and he'd rather not continue to get bitched out - or worse, getting bitched out by the Big Guy himself. Yeah, nah. Not today.
"You better go, Dad," Ana says, apparently having the same idea as Percy.
"Yeah yeah, I know," Percy leans down to kiss Ana on the top of her head, "You sit tight, ok? I won't be gone long."
"I love you."
Well, shit. She beat him to the punch. He smiles anyway, though - something about hearing your kid say I love you makes everything feel... right. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he replies to her, "And I love you, ya brat."
Percy used to be far more of a mess than he is now, but there's things that haven't changed. For example, his light blue eyes contrasted with the dark circles; his often unwashed, unbrushed red hair; slightly unkempt facial hair; fair skin with a smattering of freckles on his face, arms, and shoulders; his schnoz, which Pinocchio would be jealous of; and the ever-present air of constant anxiety. He's a few inches short of 6' (5'8" to be more precise) and he's not really the most fit guy - being a stay-at-home dad does that to you. That's not to say he's all soft, though! Only mostly.
While he's never really been that picky about clothes, his outfits consist mostly of a combination of jackets, single-color shirts, and either jeans or sweatpants, depending on his mood. The most common look he wears is a dark hoodie over a long-sleeved gray shirt paired with slightly torn up blue-gray-ish jeans over long underwear, and taupe brown hiking boots he's worked to the brink. He's also occasionally seen wearing an obnoxiously pink pair of gloves, but it's only because they have pockets for Ana to stick her cold little hands in.. plus they're like, absurdly soft. Also, his ears are pierced. He doesn't usually wear earrings, but when he does it's just a little metal stud - nothing super distracting but they make him feel sexy as fuck.
Personality Traits
Adaptable Empathetic Well-intentioned Funny (he thinks he is, anyway)
While Percy's first instance of a Perfect Sync was actually during the attack on Smith's Rest in June, the effects of the Polaris Shift didn't show up in full until after the next time he hits that sweet spot.
In Percy's case, the Polaris Shift is a severe case of personality bleeding, which could be categorized as a case of Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD). Dissociation, memory lapses, the sudden onset of uncharacteristic behavior, and visual/auditory hallucinations are all symptoms. The visual hallucinations are what scare Percy into trying to get information from whoever's willing to give it.
When Percy is in the dissociated state, he has no doubt in his mind that he's the previous pilot of the Papa Mike - Michael Carpenter. So much so that he takes on Carpenter's mannerisms and even gains his memories until the dissociation stops. When it does, whether it takes a few minutes or a few days, Percy has little to no recollection of what Carpenter may or may not have done. Eventually, he'll end up losing all sense of either identity, becoming an amalgamate of both.
Background
Percy was born and still lives in Smith's Rest, a settlement not unlike the small, quiet country towns of the old world; everyone is at least vaguely aware of everyone else, your drug dealer is probably also your kid's school teacher, and the most fun anyone has is while drunk at the bar that really should've closed down a long, long time ago. Continuing this analogy, Percy is absolutely a white trash guy birthed from white trash parents - while he was ditching school at 10 with his teenager friends, his parents were getting high at home not giving a shit about their son or his whereabouts.
Maybe predictably, his parents died of an overdose when he was 14 (and he could tell you that walking in on such a scene while you yourself are stoned is not a fun time, not one bit), and just before his 23rd birthday, he rushes into a relationship with someone just as much of a disaster as him, just in a different way. It was like putting gasoline in a fire, or a mentos in a pepsi bottle. The explosion is impressive and maybe, just maybe even beautiful, but the mess makes you wonder if it was worth it.. When he finds himself looking back, he wouldn't change a goddamned thing. If he did, he might not have been blessed with his 8 year old daughter, Ana.
With how much he loves his daughter, it makes you wonder why he would chose such a dangerous line of work. The simple answer? He saw the paycheck first and asked questions later. He didn't really know much about NCs other than they were giant robots - and honestly, who the hell would pass up that chance? He got the test, passed it, and slowly was horrified to realize that he made a major fuck up that he now must live with in more ways than one.
Tactical Preferences and Skills
Self-Taught Shooter: Since inheriting his mother's pistol at 14, he's taught himself how to shoot a multitude of guns - at first it was to impress his peers, but after an accidental misfire that could have just as easily been a lethal one, he became a lot more trigger-disciplined. He's not better than a properly trained soldier, and he absolutely would be no good in a real firefight, but he could keep up in the firing range.
Jack-of-all-Trades: Because of how many jobs he's held (and lost) in the past, he's picked up a multitude of random skills, none of which are mastered - just a few of them are wood-working, sewing, teaching, engineering, carpentry, hunting, locksmithing, welding... Some may say that having so many skills is a waste, but you never know when that kind of stuff comes in handy.
Fighting Dirty: It's pretty self-explanatory - he'll do whatever it takes to make the fight end quickly, and with him on top - he'll use every single advantage he's aware of in the hopes it makes him the victor of whatever scuffle he's in. It usually doesn't end well for him, but at least the other guy is hurting just as bad as he is.
Being on the smaller end of the Medium category and having few, unspecialized weapons, its nowhere near the tank it was before, and the old squad would be infuriated to learn the callsign has been sullied by what they consider to be a coward.
Having a beige undercoat detailed with a darker shade of brown and the rare flourish of green, it would a very bland mech in comparison to the more flashy colored ones beside it, if not for the unique touches that only a squad using what they have to repair a mech can do - the trained eye can see the shade variations in the paint, the oxidation, how some pieces of the armor don't quite fit correctly - along with many other small things that give the Papa Mike character.
When the Papa Mike was first located, that wasn't even what it was called. The original call-sign, as designated by the computer, was Bullfrog. An odd name, but it was likely due to its coloring and general stature - bullfrogs are known for eating basically everything that comes at it, and the Bullfrog NC looked like it could eat anything that came its way, with all its missiles and armor. When a member of the motley quartet of aspiring mercs that called themselves the Dissidents found it just sitting in a locked up warehouse around the same time a fresh new pilot had joined their ranks, they declared it destined to be. They gave Michael Carpenter the NC and the callsign associated with it.
As Carpenter integrated himself into the Dissidents, he found himself taking a faux-paternal role to the group. He was the eldest member by a week at most, so eventually one of the other four jokingly called him "Papa Mike," probably in some attempt to get him to lay off the pep talks and moral support. The name stuck though, and the callsign was formally changed. Carpenter wore it like a badge of honor the four years he was with the group.
But then disaster struck.
The mission was just to help defend a settlement from some raiders, it shouldn't have gone as downhill as it did. By the time the quintet got to the settlement, it was already obliterated, and they only had a few seconds to understand that they were surrounded by raiders. The last thing Carpenter remembers is holding his ground while his team scattered to the winds.
After the (metaphorical) dust settled, the team all came back to the battlezone to bury Carpenter and retrieve the mech - which was shockingly untouched aside from the obvious battle damage. Why the raiders did that, they don't know and they don't care - in fact, it's a blessing that they left it alone so it could be taken back and fixed. After fixing it, they basically sit on that mech for two years - aside from selling the weapons to other mercenary pilots to maintain their hangar, anyway. They discussed selling the mech, but "to who" was always the question. They didn't want to end up selling it to someone who would misuse it, or someone that would dirty the call sign.. That's when a certain Sophia Torres came to them, offering both the money and the solace they needed to finally let go of the machine - and by extension, Michael Carpenter.
Weapons and Armaments
• Stock neural computer > determined to call Percy "Michael" for reasons not known to Percy > customized colors - from green to orange; took Percy far longer to do than he'd like to admit > occasionally gli͢t̶c͡hes͝ out; usually not too much of a bother
• Above-average thrusters > specifically designed for short bursts of speed > best used for dodging maneuvers
• Slightly above average generator > to support the thrusters enhancements more than anything
• Surprisingly sturdy armor > surprising only because of the mech's size - usually larger mechs would have this sort of armor > if not for the updated thrusters and generator, it would more or less be a sitting duck for the enemy
• Auto rifle > 35 rounds, mid-to-long range, can switch between full auto and single > right hand > average power
• Laser sword > standard white in color, no special effects > left hand > average power; due to Percy not being fluent in swordsmanship, the effectiveness is... less.
• Missile launcher > 3 missile burst, long-range, semi-homing > left shoulder > average power