“Doesn’t seem fair. They get to have fun and showcase their skills while we sit and wait our turn.”
Luen gave a tiny frown as the boy next to her made...a good point, if a little misguided, she thought. She stayed looking forwards as the first fights were prepared. "You're—" She coughed as, for just one syllable, something like her normal voice leaked out before she forced it back down into the quiet, gentle near-monotone that was Lucien's. "Ehem—you're right, it's not fair, is it? It's..."
She grappled for the word she was looking for. It was like...it was like a dogfight, almost. Two people sent to fight for the amusement of the nobility. It just didn't sit right with her. Needlessly... "...Cruel. It's cruel to them, don't you—"
She turned her head, and there her train of thought stopped and her mouth dropped a little ways open. Next to her—how didn't she notice?—there was a boy, about her height, she thought? With eyes like chips of deep blue ice, and stark white hair. Almost unconsciously, she reached up and stroked a lock of her own behind her ear with an almost paper-white, near-bloodless hand. She was...more or less to surprised to really speak for the moment. She had never, ever seen anyone else with hair like hers. Well, in fairness, she hadn't seen many people to begin with. But on the way through the city to this arena, she hadn't seen a single person that had hair like hers—theirs. She knew it was part of what marked her as cursed. So despite the slightly unsettling way he thought of this whole exercise—fun?—she felt an immediate kind of kinship with him. She closed her mouth. What could she say?
The road was still a bit of an unfamiliar sensation underneath the tall white figure's boots as she finally arrived at her destination. And just like before, when a knight looking up at asked for a name, he showed...well. There was a bit of surprise and confusion evident. And curiosity too. But what there wasn't was the dread, and hatred, and disgust that she'd so expected. Which she'd received close to none of on the walk through the city as well, and now the crowd clustered around. Oh, there were a few; people who so thoughtfully provided her with what she'd known was coming; the stares, the glares, the whispers. And yet somehow, despite the nigh-paper white skin, the long hair that nearly glowed such was its stark pallor, and the narrow red eyes...it all felt so normal.
Though, admittedly, her frame of reference was somewhat limited.
"Lucien Navietas." The name felt strange in her mouth. There was an instinctual draw to use her true name instead, but she ignored it as best she could.
Hailing from? "The city Grayle." This voice was okay, right? A little flat affect and it worked? It sounded okay, but who could be sure, really? Not her, certainly. Ah, and from which part of the city? "Along the eastern wall." A small sound of confirmation as he realized that this applicant was a noble.
Family background and rank? "Second son—" Oh gods that felt strange! "of Asceron Navietas. Honorable Lucien." It had all been easy thus far. She just needed to remember this stuff and to not call herself Lady Luen and she'd be fine.
Then came the question she'd expected to encounter sooner or later, if not right away: why did she look like this? She gave what she hoped was a disarming smile without being too feminine of one. "I'm not sure, Ser. I was born like this." And that was all she needed to say, right? No more? And indeed, it seemed there would be no more. She was waved through with a minimum of effort. That was easier than she'd though. Maybe it was because she was from an established (if somewhat obscure) family?
But that didn't matter. What mattered was that, despite her fears she'd be immediately recognized and sent home in laughter and shame...she'd made it through.
And so, head held high, she strode forward, doing her best to exude confidence despite the confusion she felt. Odd looks, certainly; but that was to be expected; her height had a brilliant white dot moving clearly through the crowd around her. But the vast majority just...didn't care. A few moments passed as she threaded through the people before she finally took up a position around the arena. Upon seeing it, her heart began to race. She'd made it in despite her fears, it was true. But that was just the first step. Now she needed to stay in. She twisted her bracer around her arm as her she took a deep breath. She could do this. She just had to keep telling herself that. That she could do this. Despite the misfortune she carried like a cross about her neck...she could at least do this. She just had to keep telling herself that. That she could succeed. That she belonged here.
That whoever stepped into the arena with her would be a fool if they took Luenciel—Lucien—Navietas lightly.
Alja sighed quietly, rolled her shoulders. Reflected briefly. Benkei'd just impressed the hell out of her. There were many words she could use for the fellow tank (though, classes were pretty much gone now), but she'd never thought to call him eloquent. But listening to him, she could feel the telltale thrill of inspiration beat through her chest. Turned out that the surly ass who'd yelled at her for not keeping up her end of the DPS charts that one time had turned, almost without her noticing, into...yeah, into a leader, huh? She'd almost managed to forget that he'd asked her a question, and she shook her head, a little grin clinging on to her face.
"Yeah, gimme a sec, maybe..." She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Ah! I gotcha. Last I checked one of the guild lieutenants was a support named Embla. We played together a few times, and we like each other okay, I think. See if you can search her out. I don't know exactly how useful it'll be, but it's better than nothin,' hey?"
With that said, she nodded at Benkei, at Rael, at Kazuki. "Well then, I'll see ya later. Might go back to the Worg, might join you at Letria. I'll figure it out." Then, nodding one more time to herself, she headed towards the chapterhouse's guts. As she passed by Luci, she murmured to the side, "I'll talk to you after I see Leaves, 'kay?" And then she was through.
And there was the door. Looming closed in front of her. She swallowed, and a bolt of bitter self-recrimination passed through her. You should have come here sooner, you coward. Leaves needed help. And Alja SHOULD have been there to give it to her, instead of...whatever it was she'd been doing. She almost laughed at herself then.
Nicely done, Kelly. What a way to treat the woman you claim to love.
And then she knocked. Gently, gently; nothing like her usual bombast. "Leafy?" she called softly, hating the tremble that she could feel, if not hear, in her voice. "Are you awake?"
- Full Name - Lady Luenciel Aelissia Navietas Age - 15 Gender - Female Heritage - Grayle, The River Kingdom Magical Affinity - Water
-
Gentle As An Autumn Rain Grayle has not been kind to Luenciel—or Lucien, as the case may be. Her mere existence has ever been met with voices hushed in fear—"If you ever see the Ill-Starred child you'll be cursed."—and raised in anger—"Why should we let it live just because it's a noble!?"—for her whole life. And yet, despite everything levied against her...Luen is a soft, kind person. Though her social interaction up to this point has been limited, she hasn't changed, and they all point to the same thing: patient, gentle, caring, almost to a fault. That's not to say that she's gullible or easily taken in, not exactly. Rather, even when someone irks her, gets on her nerves, is a pain to be around; even then, she still cares.
Quiet As A Winter Mist Though, that might not be immediately apparent sometimes if you don't know her. In order for her to show that caring side of her she (not always, but usually) needs to speak first. It's not like she's shy or a wallflower, that's not why she's quiet. She's always tended that way, really. Just a generally quiet person, And the wire that she walks now to avoid being discovered has only made this more prominent. She is keenly aware that her voice is not a man's. And while she can get away with it for now, there's always a chance someone will realize she's out of place. So the less she talks, the safer she is from discovery and expulsion.
Fierce As A Summer Storm And expulsion is something she does not want. For all the noblewoman in her blood, all the quietude in her manner, all the kindness in her soul...she's still training to be a knight. And that means something. It means that despite her alignment to water, there's still a fire in her, one that is impossible to snuff out. And though slow to rouse, when that fire is stoked, she turns from a quiet child with too many rumors floating around about her to a skillful, relentless, and vicious warrior that belies her sheltered and pampered upbringing.
-
Crest Of The Wave Luen doesn't carry a weapon. Ever. But that doesn't mean she's ever unarmed.
The bracers that wrap around her forearms are scored all over with lines of runic script, each of which corresponds to a spell in Luen's trademark arsenal. She uses very little magic directly. Rather, it all gets filtered through the elaborate runes on her bracers. They conduct the water. Run it along their conduits. And finally, the water—whether liquid or simply condensed from the air—takes shape in her hand, and becomes a weapon. A rapier, a glaive, a spear, an axe, a knife; all of these and more are available to her through her bracers, and only dissipate when she lets them, loses focus, or loses consciousness. Her longer left bracer can additionally create arrays—from one to six, depending on focus, time, and available water—of watery knives that launch themselves at her foe.
Some may say that she's vulnerable without her bracers. It's true, she is. Take them from her, and she becomes a normal teenage girl. But good luck getting to them through the storm.
Born Under A Baleful Star Curse-child. Ill-starred. Monster. Thing. Killer.
Rumors have spread a long way from the Navietas household over these past years. Whispers down the lane, growing ever more distorted as they've slithered from house to house, ear to mouth to ear again. Dead-pale skin, like a corpse. And it only spun out as time had gone on, and her seclusion had remained. Red eyes, red like blood. And though she lived in quiet, these rumors—stark white hair, like all the light was drained from it—circled back around to her. Though her father tried to head them off as best he could, he was never able to stop her from wondering whether or not she's really safe to be near. After all, when something is repeated often enough...
...You start to believe it.
Quickstep It might be surmised by her slim lines, weaker physique, and the fact that she uses magical water-blades instead of any real weapon, but Luenciel is not what you would call strong. It's very likely that almost everyone else around her could overpower her through raw strength without a huge deal of effort (except maybe Julian).
And yet, she's still a competent combatant, because as much as she lacks in might, she makes up more than enough for with speed and technique. Doesn't matter if you're weaker if you're too agile for them to hit you, and too good for them to block (she can thank her dad for that one).
Physical Description
Ah, Lady Luenciel. To say that she cuts a striking figure would be something of an understatement. Much taller than her poor late mother was, she falls nearly to her father's height at an unusual and surprising 174cm. More intriguing is that she looks nothing like either of them, really; where her parents have tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, Luen is none of those things. Whispers throughout the courts told of the Navietas child, born under an unlucky star, bleached of color, and light, and life. Quiet. Watching. Waiting. And everyone knows so little about this ill-fated child. Age, creed, name, even gender; all hazy and indistinct. Her father's reticence is proof: something about the second child of House Navietas is wrong.
Though, that's not quite the truth. As far as Lady Luenciel Navietas knows...she's simply unlucky.
Nobody quite knows why she looks the way she does. Not her family, not the soothsayers her father sought, not the books that she's read. But it's probably not from some kind of magical curse like people assume she has or is. Her ghost-pale skin; her stark icepick-white hair; her narrow eyes, dyed a vivid sanguine crimson; just how she is. A strange, unfortunate twist of fate that would perhaps not be called normal, but...harmless.
Tall, lithe, slender. Stick thin and skinny. While once upon a time she wore them openly, she tends to hide these aspects as best she can now, obscuring them with voluminous, billowing cloaks. Lucky she is indeed that she has very little obviously visible curvature, though underneath her clothing, she wears a well-kept, tightly wrapped sarashi to, as she would put it, "tighten everything up." Always best to ensure no clothing laying oddly on what should be a slender boy's frame gives her away, after all. What an embarrassing way to be exposed that would be. Her long, high cheekbones can give her a haughty, arrogant look that she tries her best to avoid.
Since determining her own fate to be a knight (or at least a cadet), she's had to change the way she carries herself quite a bit. Though she can't avoid the graceful, gliding steps that are so baked into her now, the primness in her bearing has gone the way of her her once-habitual curtsies and urge to take up less space. The urges are still there—one does not simply shrug off the years—but she's become quite practiced at avoiding them now.
...For the most part.
Character Conceptualization
Earl Asceron Navietas, Lord of a military family, is a man stricken by grief. His first child, Dicen, was a fine young man. He would've been eighteen now, by Asceron's reckoning. But he was taken young. Not by fire. Not by war. A strange fever that refused to break ravaged him, turning his tall, fit form into a shivering, wasted thing before finally, mercifully, letting him slip softly away into the night. And that, on top of his wife dying soon after childbirth years before, giving him his second child: a girl, who she named Luenciel before she passed. And a bizarre child she was; from the moment she opened her crimson eyes, Asceron knew that something was strange. And when her hair grew in stark and white, he was ever more concerned for her.
Her strange appearance, and Asceron's grief at Enuiel's passing, caused her life to be sheltered, secluded one from the beginning. And the spreading rumors—no doubt house staff who'd caught glimpses of white hair and red eyes, Asceron thought—convinced him quite well that he was right to do so. The outside wasn't just indifferent to her. It was outright hostile.
For years, she sought solace in her father and her brother. Though...at one point, her uncle came to visit. She'd never seen him before, but...he seemed nice, right? And the rumors hadn't truly found their way to her yet. He saw his niece, one of the very few that Asceron had let see her at all. He was nice. Gave her candy, patted her on the head, went to bed, and...the next morning, tripped and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck. And just like that, dead.
More grief from Asceron. Condolences from Dicen. And...confusion from the seven-year-old Luenciel.
A few years later, an elderly woman who lived next door to their house broke several bones from a fall and couldn't get up. She lived alone, and her voice wasn't loud enough. Unable to move, she stayed there until she died.
A year after that, a vendor hawking his wares in the street below seized, and his movement ceased as his heart stopped beating in his chest.
And then, when she was twelve...Dicen.
So very grief-wracked now, Asceron kept Luen inside not just for her own sake, but for his own. As strange as she looked, she was his last family. He wanted so desperately to keep her close. And though nobles came and went, events were held and released from the manor of the Navietas—though he told her to stay in her room, flashes of her were noticed, just barely, and the rumors intensified—the years passed, and Luen remained.
By now, though, she'd heard the rumors. So, so many of them. Enough that she started to believe them some: that her being around someone put them in danger. So she looked at her father. She looked at his glaive on the wall. She looked inward. Did she really want to be locked away like this for her whole life?
No. No, she wanted to make something of herself. She wanted to see the outside for herself. She wanted to talk to people. She wanted to escape her curse. And as she thought of these things, an ember kindled itself in her chest. What she wanted was...
...To fight.
Two more years passed in the blink of an eye. She trained with her father, learning from him how best to leverage her water magic and creating her bracers. She remained inside. And then, as she packed to leave, she sat down with her father again. She talked to him about names. About how she wouldn't be able to go by hers, and would need to find a man's name. Her father—upset she was leaving, but unable to bring himself to stop her—thought for several minutes as they sat together in silence one last time.
"...Lucien."
And so, Lucien Navietas—scion of the Navietas family and a cursed child born under an ill-fated Star—left her—his—family home. To see. To talk. To escape.
- Full Name - Lady Luenciel Aelissia Navietas Age - 15 Gender - Female Heritage - Grayle, The River Kingdom Magical Affinity - Water
-
Gentle As An Autumn Rain Luenciel—or Lucien, as the case may be—is a soft, kind person. Though her social interaction up to this point has been limited, she hasn't changed, and they all point to the same thing: patient, gentle, caring, almost to a fault. That's not to say that she's gullible or easily taken in, not exactly. Rather, even when someone irks her, gets on her nerves, is a pain to be around; even then, she still cares.
Quiet As A Winter Mist Though, that might not be immediately apparent sometimes if you don't know her. In order for her to show that caring side of her she (not always, but usually) needs to speak first. It's not like she's shy or a wallflower, that's not why she's quiet. She's always tended that way, really. Just a generally quiet person, And the wire that she walks now to avoid being discovered has only made this more prominent. She is keenly aware that her voice is not a man's. And while she can get away with it for now, there's always a chance someone will realize she's out of place. So the less she talks, the safer she is from discovery and expulsion.
Fierce As A Summer Storm And expulsion is something she does not want. For all the noblewoman in her blood, all the quietude in her manner, all the kindness in her soul...she's still training to be a knight. And that means something. It means that despite her alignment to water, there's still a fire in her, one that is impossible to snuff out. And though slow to rouse, when that fire is stoked, she turns from a quiet child with too many rumors floating around about her to a skillful, relentless, and vicious warrior that belies her sheltered and pampered upbringing.
-
Crest Of The Wave Luen doesn't carry a weapon. Ever. But that doesn't mean she's ever unarmed.
The bracers that wrap around her forearms are scored all over with lines of runic script, each of which corresponds to a spell in Luen's trademark arsenal. She uses very little magic directly. Rather, it all gets filtered through the elaborate runes on her bracers. They conduct the water. Run it along their conduits. And finally, the water—whether liquid or simply condensed from the air—takes shape in her hand, and becomes a weapon. A sword, a glaive, a spear, an axe, a knife; all of these and more are available to her through her right bracer, and only dissipate when she lets them, loses focus, or loses consciousness. Her left bracer can create arrays—from one to six, depending on focus, time, and available water—of watery knives that launch themselves at her foe.
Some may say that she's vulnerable without her bracers. It's true, she is. Take them from her, and she becomes a normal teenage girl. But good luck getting to them through the storm.
Born Under A Baleful Star Curse-child. Ill-starred. Monster. Thing. Killer.
Rumors have spread a long way from the Navietas household over these past years. Whispers down the lane, growing ever more distorted as they've slithered from house to house, ear to mouth to ear again. Dead-pale skin, like a corpse. And it only spun out as time had gone on, and her seclusion had remained. Red eyes, red like blood. And though she lived in quiet, these rumors—stark white hair, like all the light was drained from it—circled back around to her. Though her father tried to head them off as best he could, he was never able to stop her from wondering whether or not she's really safe to be near. After all, when something is repeated often enough...
...You start to believe it.
Quickstep It might be surmised by her slim lines, weaker physique, and the fact that she uses magical water-blades instead of any real weapon, but Luenciel is not what you would call strong. It's very likely that almost everyone else around her could overpower her through raw strength without a huge deal of effort (except maybe Julian).
And yet, she's still a competent combatant, because as much as she lacks in might, she makes up more than enough for with speed and technique. Doesn't matter if you're weaker if you're too agile for them to hit you, and too good for them to block (she can thank her dad for that one).
Physical Description
Ah, Lady Luenciel. To say that she cuts a striking figure would be something of an understatement. Much taller than her poor late mother was, she falls nearly to her father's height at an unusual and surprising 174cm. More intriguing is that she looks nothing like either of them, really; where her parents have tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, Luen is none of those things. Whispers throughout the courts told of the Navietas child, born under an unlucky star, bleached of color, and light, and life. Quiet. Watching. Waiting. And everyone knows so little about this ill-fated child. Age, creed, name, even gender; all hazy and indistinct. Her father's reticence is proof: something about the second child of House Navietas is wrong.
Though, that's not quite the truth. As far as Lady Luenciel Navietas knows...she's simply unlucky.
Nobody quite knows why she looks the way she does. Not her family, not the soothsayers her father sought, not the books that she's read. But it's probably not from some kind of magical curse like people assume she has or is. Her ghost-pale skin; her stark icepick-white hair; her narrow eyes, dyed a vivid sanguine crimson; just how she is. A strange, unfortunate twist of fate that would perhaps not be called normal, but...harmless.
Tall, lithe, slender. Stick thin and skinny. While once upon a time she wore them openly, she tends to hide these aspects as best she can now, obscuring them with voluminous, billowing cloaks. Lucky she is indeed that she has very little obviously visible curvature, though underneath her clothing, she wears a well-kept, tightly wrapped sarashi to, as she would put it, "tighten everything up." Always best to ensure no clothing laying oddly on what should be a slender boy's frame gives her away, after all. What an embarrassing way to be exposed that would be. Her long, high cheekbones can give her a haughty, arrogant look that she tries her best to avoid.
Since determining her own fate to be a knight (or at least a cadet), she's had to change the way she carries herself quite a bit. Though she can't avoid the graceful, gliding steps that are so baked into her now, the primness in her bearing has gone the way of her her once-habitual curtsies and urge to take up less space. The urges are still there—one does not simply shrug off the years—but she's become quite practiced at avoiding them now.
...For the most part.
Character Conceptualization
Asceron Navietas, Lord of a military family, is a man stricken by grief. His first child, Dicen, was a fine young man. He would've been eighteen now, by Asceron's reckoning. But he was taken young. Not by fire. Not by war. A strange fever that refused to break ravaged him, turning his tall, fit form into a shivering, wasted thing before finally, mercifully, letting him slip softly away into the night. And that, on top of his wife dying soon after childbirth years before, giving him his second child: a girl, who she named Luenciel before she passed. And a bizarre child she was; from the moment she opened her crimson eyes, Asceron knew that something was strange. And when her hair grew in stark and white, he was ever more concerned for her.
Her strange appearance, and Asceron's grief at Enuiel's passing, caused her life to be sheltered, secluded one from the beginning. And the spreading rumors—no doubt house staff who'd caught glimpses of white hair and red eyes, Asceron thought—convinced him quite well that he was right to do so. The outside wasn't just indifferent to her. It was outright hostile.
For years, she sought solace in her father and her brother. Though...at one point, her uncle came to visit. She'd never seen him before, but...he seemed nice, right? And the rumors hadn't truly found their way to her yet. He saw his niece, one of the very few that Asceron had let see her at all. He was nice. Gave her candy, patted her on the head, went to bed, and...the next morning, tripped and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck. And just like that, dead.
More grief from Asceron. Condolences from Dicen. And...confusion from the seven-year-old Luenciel.
A few years later, an elderly woman who lived next door to their house broke several bones from a fall and couldn't get up. She lived alone, and her voice wasn't loud enough. Unable to move, she stayed there until she died.
A year after that, a vendor hawking his wares in the street below seized, and his movement ceased as his heart stopped beating in his chest.
And then, when she was twelve...Dicen.
So very grief-wracked now, Asceron kept Luen inside not just for her own sake, but for his own. As strange as she looked, she was his last family. He wanted so desperately to keep her close. And though nobles came and went, events were held and released from the manor of the Navietas—though he told her to stay in her room, flashes of her were noticed, just barely, and the rumors intensified—the years passed, and Luen remained.
By now, though, she'd heard the rumors. So, so many of them. Enough that she started to believe them some: that her being around someone put them in danger. So she looked at her father. She looked at his glaive on the wall. She looked inward. Did she really want to be locked away like this for her whole life?
No. No, she wanted to make something of herself. She wanted to see the outside for herself. She wanted to talk to people. She wanted to escape her curse. And as she thought of these things, an ember kindled itself in her chest. What she wanted was...
...To fight.
Two more years passed in the blink of an eye. She trained with her father, learning from him how best to leverage her water magic and creating her bracers. She remained inside. And then, as she packed to leave, she sat down with her father again. She talked to him about names. About how she wouldn't be able to go by hers, and would need to find a man's name. Her father—upset she was leaving, but unable to bring himself to stop her—thought for several minutes as they sat together in silence one last time.
"...Lucien."
And so, Lucien Navietas—scion of the Navietas family and a cursed child born under an ill-fated Star—left her—his—family home. To see. To talk. To escape.
But, she reflected as she walked quickly down towards the front of the hall, at least it had sucked successfully. She'd done what she wanted to do, which was to draw eyes; hence the stares she could practically feel still burning into her back. Burning into, warming; they were the same thing in the end, right?
As she continued roughly shouldering her way through the crowd, she passed by Tentacles and a few others talking, though she couldn't hear what about over the noise of the hall. She sighed quietly. She'd made an enemy already. God. God, she hated this, and she hated how much she craved it. A small, bitter smile came to her face. It was almost funny in a mundane kind of way, wasn't it? Here she was at a hero school. A really good hero school, too. One of the best in the entire country, where she could eventually learn to help people, most especially by way of her Quirk. After all, a hero without a Quirk wasn't much of a hero at all.
So in a place designed around working with Quirks, wasn't it funny how much she hated hers? It almost made her laugh.
Or, no. She didn't hate her Quirk, not really. Otherwise she really wouldn't have come to Ishin. What was the...ah. That was it. She didn't hate her Quirk. She resented it. Perhaps she wasn't mad at it, but she was definitely mad about it, that it had been inflicted upon her. And as she walked by the crowds of people with their multiple arms, metal hands, and cat heads apparently, she did laugh. Quietly, but not too quiet; rather, just loud enough.
No one here knows what it's like, huh?
Good for them. That sucked too.
Ah, there we go. Right up front, row second to the front. Perfect. She plunked herself down in the chair, distractedly fiddling with a strand of her hair. She was surrounded by people on all sides now. No way it'd go unnoticed if she disappeared. She felt the tension in her stomach unknotting as much as it ever could. There. Safe.
Full Name - Quinn Loughvein Callsign - Ablaze Age - 16 (b. 2662) Birthplace - Denver-Vegas Pilot Type - Assault -
P S Y C H E
Cheerful!! Quin is something of an anomaly sometimes. With all the nightmare that piloting can be, especially for one as young as she is, it comes as a genuine shock to some people when they find that not only is she personable, but she's downright chipper. She's overall just a genuinely nice presence to be around, especially if one's been beaten down by the dark side of piloting for any length of time.
Supportive Hand in hand with that cheery nature comes the next symptom of Quinn's terminal case of positivity: somehow she's become a highly supportive and empathetic individual. While she is, of course, a pilot and thus has devoted much time to becoming skilled in the art of war, she really would rather talk it out with whatever's going on than jump straight to the nuclear solution.
Volatile Still, despite all that, Quinn is a pilot, and she does have that skill. And it's hard sometimes, for her to reconcile who she is at heart—that cheerful kiddo—with the things that she's done. She's formed a kind of...semi-stable suspension of emotion, where as long as she doesn't think about all the awful stuff behind her she can ignore it. But because that delicate balance is so tenuously struck, it can have dramatic fallout if it should ever be lost.
G E A R
Thermal Lances Something of a misnomer, as they're not really thermal lances, or any kind of "lance" a all. The thermal lances are a pair of small fuel tanks strapped to the underside of her forearms when going into combat proper. Though they're generally subtle and harmless, when Quinn flicks the toggle rings attached to them (which can be done with the thumb of the same hand, with a bit of stretching) nozzles pierce out from said tanks. At that point, flicking her wrists backwards triggers the tanks, which proceed to produce a stream of cohered thermite that can burn through nearly anything she points them at. They're small, so each one is a single use before it's refilled, but really, one use is all you need of something like that, and luckily refills are just iron, aluminum, and petroleum.
Journal Quinn chooses to eschew the modern convenience of the datatool for a normal, old-fashioned pen-and-paper journal. Given to her as a gift by Becca years ago, it's very important to her. There are memories years old written in there now, and every time she reads the first few pages, a kind of melancholic smile plays over her face. It all feels like it was just yesterday, after all.
Framed Picture Kept far away from the insides of Ablaze, her nightstand holds a framed 4x6 picture that shows Quinn standing front and center, with Becca on one side, leaning against her so Quinn's head falls into the crook of her neck, and Delia on the other side, giving her a side-on hug with a big smile on her face. Quinn looks at this often, and is open about the fact that it's her most prized possession.
N E U R A L C O M B A T A N T
Armor Ablaze is a slim, quick, lightweight NC, jet black and accented with silver metal; the relative weight of her primary armament and the propulsion system means that if she wants to be light on her feet, she needs to forgo a lot of armor. And she has. This Assault-tyle NC is quite vulnerable to anything that Quinn's shield doesn't protect it from, so its principle defense is high mobility, skirting around the edges of a fight with the propulsion system on its back.
Hands Quinn's calling card is Undying Light. Though it's not a quick or lightweight weapon by any means, what this enormous thermal cannon lacks in maneuverability, it makes up for quite thoroughly in sheer blistering firepower. As tall as her NC is, it has a long cycle even by default. But if she takes the extra time to let it charge, the devastation that it can wreak could only be described as spectacular. Not only that, but when Quinn is in fullsync, she can reroute some of the additional power through induction plates in Ablaze's hands, letting her substantially increase the power of Undying Light. Precise? Not nearly. Less 'shoot this NC' and more 'shoot in the general direction of this NC and watch the thermal bloom envelop everything.' But when you want to blow a particularly bothersome foe off the map entirely, accept no substitutes.
Back The back slot of Ablaze is taken up by a large, heavy propulsion system. High-powered and versatile, it allows for sudden bursts of directional movement. Once Quinn hits fullsync, the additional power allows for much high propulsion, as well as a far longer duration to the time she can spend in the air. If she's willing to really commit, she can even reach limited flight. Which, as you can imagine, can be absolutely devastating when combined with her cannon.
Right Auxiliary Ablaze indeed.
The right shoulder of Ablaze plays host to an innocuous-looking fuel tank. Now, for a girl that uses a thermal weapon, 'fuel tank' probably sounds strange. But if her cannon was her only weapon, well, where would she be then? No, this fuel tank—with attached barrel, of course—serve a very simple purpose, one shared by her thermal lances.
It is a flamethrower. A very, very powerful flamethrower.
At a brief impulse, she can set loose a stream of cohered thermite, burning in a flare as bright as the sun at thousands of degrees. There isn't much time in it, so she needs to be careful when she uses it; wasting it is a big waste indeed. But when employed properly, this weapon is an absolute nightmare for anything unshielded.
Left Auxiliary Slightly more pedestrian than the insane contraption on her other shoulder, her left auxiliary is a much more typical shield generator, though it does have a slight quirk to it. Weighing her odds, Quinn figured that she was probably more likely to run into ballistic weapons than anything else on the battlefield. So with some tinkering, the Perihelion SP actually gains energy from kinetic impacts instead of losing it. That benefit, however, doesn't come for free. While it's true that ballistic weapons don't do much to it now, it's lost pretty much all of its thermal dispersal qualities as a result, meaning thermal weapons will pass just about right through it. Just like her flamethrower, it needs to be used carefully and correctly to work well, but when it is, it's a very powerful tool.
R E L A T I O N S
Rebecca Darroux (goes by Becca) Quinn's parental figure for about eight years now, Becca is a bit of an interesting case study in care and contradiction. To pretty much anyone else (bar one), she's like...the dictionary definition of a hardass. She talks tough, fights tougher, usually carries a gun, and does her job very well. To Quinn, though...to Quinn, she's an incredibly empathetic, caring, and motherly figure who tries her best to not refrain from her vices; doesn't smoke, doesn't drink if she can help it, hides her gun, even tries not to swear. Always an interesting reaction from people that know her, but haven't seen her with her definitely-not-daughter-I-promise; she really is like a whole different person.
Shannon and Luke Loughvein Quinn's biological parents, and a deeply, deeply problematic presence that hangs over her head even now. They are a pair of scientific authorities, specifically the foremost scientists in DV with regards to the study of Neural Combatants. This is the root cause of the extremely problematic relationship that they cultivated, and still to some faint extent have, with Quinn, and the horrifying situation that Becca saved her from all those years ago.
Delia St. Seine Delia St. Seine has been referred to as many things over her 18 year life. People have called her a prodigy. A genius. A menace. A disaster. A symbol of the problems inherent in the system.
Quinn calls her a sister.
After her parents' untimely demise when she was very young, she was taken care of by a family friend for several years. During this time, she demonstrated an amazing aptitude for engineering, and Rebecca Darroux took notice of that and took her under her wing, begin teaching her all about the process of weaponmaking. As she learned from Rebecca, Delia heard rumors that she had an adoptive daughter, which of course, Rebecca mercilessly crushed down, and so Delia didn't really put much stock into them. Until one day when she was eleven, when she--completely by accident, when she was looking for Rebecca--ran across a shy, quiet girl, must've been eight or nine years old, with a long black and yellow braid and wide, apprehensive yellow eyes. Or...eye. The right one was gone.
To make a long story short, the two of them eventually grew close to each other, and Delia to Becca. And when Delia's adoptive father Mendez died, she was (informally) adopted by Quinn and taken into their family.
Now, though...she's been missing for a few months now, with no word at all. And both Becca and Quinn are getting very, very worried.
Physical Details ◢
Quinn is a shortish girl, no more than 5'3" in height, with an extremely ordinary build. Despite that, she is extremely recognizable whenever she walks into the room thanks to a few very specific and unusual pieces of her appearance. And first and foremost is her hair. While dark gray streaked with yellow isn't exactly impossible, is is highly unusual. But moreso is the sheer volume of said hair. When tied up in a tight (if large) braid, it ends up going down to her upper thighs. Untied, it goes all the way halfway down her calves. Needless to say, she keeps it braided near permanently to avoid tripping over her own hair. She's reasonably athletic, another piece of her that is fairly average; but that average is applied to the average of a teenage girl, so she's not going to be running a marathon any time soon.
Next are her eyes. Or, well, her eye, singular. Only her left eye is intact, and it is a bright, sharp, violent yellow, wide and expressive, roving around with constant curiosity. By contrast, the other side of her face displays a black eyepatch, dyed here and there with goldenrod yellow. Faint echoes of scar tissue peek out from underneath, barely hinting at the mangled, mutilated mess that sits where her eye socket used to.
For the most part, she wears functional clothing; not out of any real desperate need, but simply because it's her taste. She's never really liked super restrictive fancy clothing. As a general rule, she likes duller, darker shades much more over bright colors or pastels. When asked for a reason, she simply claims that dull colors set off against her eye and hair a bit better, and that anything else would look weird.
Background Information ◢
Quinn Loughvein's background is a bit mysterious, all told. With the exception of her parents, nobody really knows much about it, especially her. And she certainly doesn't want to spend much time around her parents. What can be loosely speculated is that she was born in Denver-Vegas in the summer of 2662, upon which her parents immediately tested her for NC compatibility. And upon discovering she was neurally compatible, they began feeding her and pumping her with a staggering array of neurochemicals and other morally dubious drugs in an effort to crank her neural compatibility up: to turn her into the ultimate NC pilot. She was steered away from ever leaving their sight; and so never being exposed to the world.
Unfortunately for her parents, working where they did meant working reasonably closely to Rebecca Darroux, the poster child of the jerk with a heart of gold. And, on top of that...canny. She noticed that there were some things wrong with the Loughveins; they were exceptionally cagey, so it took more or less eight years. But when she did notice, she decided to tail them with a drone to figure out exactly what was going on.
She did.
She called them in the next day and reamed them, tearing them apart for their mistreatment and giving them an ultimatum: either they give child up and forfeit parental rights, or she'd see them in court. With all the evidence she needed from the drone footage.
Of course, it was obvious to everyone that 'court' was a sham in a city like this. But Becca had a bit more cachet and notoriety; and thus, she made the rules.
It took a bit for parental rights to be ceded; and during the process, Becca decided to spend some time with the child to avoid leaving her alone with her parents. She didn't know exactly what had cause her to have an eyepatch at eight, but whatever it was, it was not good, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But then...something interesting happened: She got attached.
Quinn's life changed unbelievably quickly as soon as she found herself adopted by Becca. She chose to keep the name Loughvein; it just felt wrong to leave it behind. She was a child, after all. And her life going forward was...nice. Sure, Becca had her share of detractors. But she'd never been anything but wonderful to Quinn, and as time went on, to Delia as well.
Rebecca hoped that she could keep Quinn out of the NCs permanently; completely disregarding that pilots typically didn't live very long, she didn't know the full range of effects that the drugs that Luke and Shannon had given her had. But it was fruitless, because Quinn gravitated to them in the end; and at 15, she became one of the younger pilots out there. The notably sensitive Quinn didn't fare too well on the battlefield, but she was a pretty skilled pilot, and DV probably wasn't going to let her go easy.
To make a long story short, Becca eventually bought her out of the military. It wasn't exactly cheap, and it wasn't exactly easy; but Quinn was much, much happier. But still...she loved piloting, but didn't want to be in the military. So...what?
It was then that Becca put in her head the idea--the contract was free now--to leave DV, and go freelancing.
So she did.
She's been doing so for a little while now, and has happened across Lost Hope.
(She still calls Becca every night).
Polaris Shift ◢
Quinn's a little bit of a special case in the way she thinks about her Shift. Not only does it not bother her overly much, but...she actually likes it.
Quinn's Shift manifests as a voice inside her head. As far as anybody can tell, it's got nothing to do with personality drift regarding any old pilots of Ablaze, it has nothing to do with anybody else at all. More likely it's just a kind of persistent psychosis. But whatever the cause, the manifestation remains the same: there's another person inside of Quinn's head, or at least that's how she puts it.
This personality--who she says also wants to be called Quinn and so she that's what Quinn calls her--as far as can be gleaned, is rather different from the Quinn that most people know. That bouncy positivity is markedly absent. In the fragments of conversations that can be observed, she seems much more cynical and aggressive. But regardless, Quinn seems to put a great deal of stock into the other Quinn's opinions and thoughts. And not only that. Quinn has...
...She's made friends with it.
A small side effect of her Shift and this bizarre situation is that Quinn can sometimes have difficulty in knowing whether she's talking to her internal Quinn through thoughts, or spoken out loud. Sometimes she'll cut in and out of a conversation, bits and pieces of it out loud and the rest remaining unspoken. It can be someone disconcerting at times.
Personal Mission ◢
For Quinn, family is above all.
So her current goal, while it may not be filled for a long time, is finding out where Delia went. She's rather worried about her, as is Becca. So she is fully committed to tracking her down sooner rather than later.
Perhaps it was fine that she was in the class of this 'Justice,' Kayo though, her smile for a moment turning almost catlike in its satisfaction. On one hand, it did rankle her slightly to be called Mi-Me. She didn't know exactly what it meant, but she could probably guess, given, you know, her eyes. But on the other...in her experience, at least, cutesy nicknames led to being thought of as cute quite efficiently. And she craved the compliments that would come with it (or at least, what she perceived as compliments).
So this...kid would—just like the newly-introduced fish girl Izuna, who she was glad wasn't a third year, this was far better than what a third year would've gone for her and she privately congratulated herself for introducing herself to her—just ease a journey that was already going to be remarkably easy.
Not to mention, there were insecurities there in Mr. Justice. Kayo was no mind reader, but it didn't take a mind reader. Just someone like her, who was smart enough to notice it. Losing his train of thought. Eyes staring into the distance. Losing control of his Quirk, like only an idiot would. That turned-down smile, covering what was no doubt pain and fear and someone that was looming over him, watching him watching everything he did and punishing him whenever he did something wrong and making him look into the mirror into her eyes—
Her face twitched again as she violently wrenched her mind back into shape.
The point was, something was eating at him. She didn't know what, but she knew that she didn't have any doubt. She was 100% right, this boy was someone she could pick slowly at, and watch as he fell apart piece by piece and left her at the top, as she so rightly deserved. But that could—would—come later. What was important now, was...well, getting to the hall. Nigata Kayo was not late for things. If she ended up coming in after the bell rang, then it was their fault, not hers.
Speaking of "their," oh boy, Izuna. Could she just...not control her Quirk? It was almost sad, seeing her shiver like that.
Returning her smile to its normal oblivious innocence after the moment had passed, she cleared her throat a little bit. Affected her own shiver, clutching at the sleeves of her big fluffy sweater (she'd be sad taking it off, honestly).
"Yeah, I think I'd like to get inside too, it's so much colder in Hokkaido than Kyoto!" Heading off towards the door, she shot a sidelong glance at the other two as they went. "Justice-san," she had to swallow the disdain back into her throat, "Izuna-chan—can I call you Izuna-chan?—where do you come from?"
Full Name - Mia Anastasia Hartley Callsign - Absolution Age - 27 (b. 2651) Birthplace - Fairbanks Pilot Type - Heavy -
P S Y C H E
Mediating A veteran of many battles and at least as many intra-squad conflicts, Mia's seen a lot of yelling. With the lunatics she's been paired with over the years, she has found it necessary to become an expert in conflict resolution. And the...diverse personalities that Tartarus Squadron attracts have only made it more necessary. Thus, she's a calming presence when she needs to be, though unerringly firm with people who are escalating a conflict and stretching her patience, which does have a hard limit, even if it can be a little tough to reach.
Friendly And this one goes hand in hand with the conflict-resolution side of her. When she doesn't need to tell people to get along or else she'll crack their skulls together, she's largely easygoing and friendly. She's reasonable, knows when she's wrong, and isn't afraid to admit it. With some...notable exceptions, she'll try to get along with anyone once, and generally tries to give people the benefit of the doubt. That's not to say she's a doormat, though. If you cross her, that friendliness and reasonable nature goes right out the window in record time.
Hardened When it goes out of the window, what it leaves in place is something that people sometimes forget about her when she's hanging out with them. For all the amiability she projects, she's one of the most experienced and skilled NC pilots in all of Fairbanks. She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing very well. Name a technique used in NC combat—any technique—and odds are she hasn't just read about it, she's done it. So when that cheer flees, she is a reaper of a soldier who knows exactly what you're going to do, and exactly how to kill you before you can do it.
G E A R
'Arbiter' The Arbiter might not have the highest ammunition capacity of any handgun, holding only three rounds in its internal clip. It might not have the fastest fire rate; Mia's lucky if she pops off a shot once every two seconds. It might not be easy to tote around or carry surreptitiously, given that it's nearly a foot and a half long. But what it loses here, it more than makes up for in sheer power, firing fifty caliber sniper rounds with enough force to punch through plate metal. This monstrous pistol has been with Mia for a long time, and she's found it more than serviceable. Let the kids have their fancy SMGs. You don't need a fast fire rate when one shot annihilates a head at a hundred paces.
Luxury Datatool You don't make a lot of money in the Fairbanks miitary. But what money Mia has made, she's invested into a really nice datatool. With an unusually high amount of storage and not only an exceptionally high-fidelity display but sound that actually works without any crackles or glitches out, this is the most expensive thing she's got and she's pretty damn protective over it. A good chunk of the memory is spent on a video diary that she's taken and kept for her entire tenure in Tartarus Squadron every single day. Maybe ten minutes, maybe five seconds. But every. Single. Day. There are well over ten years of daily memories on that high-capacity memory.
Faded Picture Pinned up on the inside of the cockpit of Absolution is a wallet-sized photograph. Time and the elements have not been kind to it; the photo paper, once so glossy and white, is yellowed, dulled, and curled in at the corners, and the image on it is nearly indecipherable by now. The faces are all gone; all that's left is the indistinct and blurred silhouettes of five people.
N E U R A L C O M B A T A N T
Armor Absolution is an absolute tank of an NC. Heavy composite tungsten-nickel-iron ceramic, backed with tungsten-steel plate mean it's nigh-impenetrable by anything ballistic for a good long while. Between them is a thin layer of lead added to block attacks from ion weapons as best as possible. Between operations—if there's enough time—the surface is coated with a low-density Teflon-carbon-epoxy mixture to serve as an ablative and absorb thermal thermal energy until it's burned off. Consequently, Absolution sports a different appearance depending on mission circumstances. If there's not enough time or she's certain they'll be facing exclusively ballistic or ion weapons, it's a dully gleaming gunmetal-gray. If she has time, on the other hand, it's a dull matte black. The Fairbanks and Tartarus Squadron insignias are displayed proudly on the left and right should pieces respectively.
Hands Mia is, deep down at her core, a demolitions expert, and she always has been. Consequently, her primary weapon is the Emperor PGMl-10, a very large, semi-automatic rocket launcher. Firing heavy PGM ordnance as long as Mia is tall, it's not exactly the most subtle weapon, nor is it the most consistent. She needs to pace herself, and maintain extremely strict fire control to stop herself from spinning out her weaponry too fast. But when she's able to do so, she can clear whole battlefields with her baby.
Back Covered in several layers of heavy armor plating to avoid stray damage, the back module of the Absolution is a powerful shield generator. It doesn't exactly make her the most nimble NC, and the weight would make it prohibitive on anything smaller than her beast of a machine. But pretty much anything that isn't ion radiation isn't going to have a hell of a time even getting to her armor to be stopped. She can even lock the rest of her NC down and reroute power straight into the generator, creating a bubble of space nearly sixty feet across. It doesn't—can't—last a particularly long time, but it's come in real handy quite a few times over her career.
Auxiliaries Rockets. Lots of rockets.
Her auxiliary slots are occupied by rocket pods. Since her NC is so heavy and rock-solid, she can get away with loading a whole hell of a lot of rockets on her broad shoulders. Each pod can hold ten large guided missiles, as well at thirty addition smaller swarm rockets. Drawn by a more sophisticated guidance system than the rest of her ordnance, the swarms can be launched one by one or all at once, and are coded to relentlessly hunt and seek whatever they're sent after. Finally, there's a row of row of four dumbfire rockets at the base of each pod, just for the sake of completion.
In addition to all of this, there's a comparatively small weapon that could be conservatively called a hand cannon locked into a mechanically-released holster at her hip. It's a functional copy of her Arbiter, just...MUCH bigger, and with a higher ammunition capacity. As fond as she is of her rockets, there's something to be said for having something she can use up close.
R E L A T I O N S
Alice Louanne Aimes (Deceased) Mia's elder half-sister by the same mother, Alice was her closest friend and confidante since they were both children, and they shared their dreams like they shared everything else. They spent their time together as children. They enlisted together. They went through basic together. And eventually the two of them, just about inseparable, were scouted for the original Tartarus Squadron together, and she became the first Melinoë.
Around two years ago, though, Alice died, in a terribly sad way. Her Shift was far worse in the end than Mia's: sudden panic attacks, beginning mild and then slowly escalating. Eventually, she suffered a panic attack of such intensity, such horrible fear, that her heart seized and she died. It was like having a leg cut off for Mia, and even these years later, she still misses her terribly.
Donovan Thatcher Mia's been with Donovan in Tartarus Squadron since the beginning. The most experienced Fury by far, this Lyssa knows exactly how they both think, and Donovan respects her years of hard-won experience. So with her almost exclusively, it's less of a commander-subordinate relationship and more equal, both of them bouncing ideas off each other and perfectly willing with telling the other without hesitation that they've gotta rethink whatever's going on up there.
Sirona Laurier Only just after her half-sister's death, she was replaced as Melinoë with a tiny thirteen year old child, scared of the world. In any other circumstance, she would have been nice to her, almost nurturing. But so soon after losing her sister and best friend, and watching her be replaced by a kid who seemed just as afraid as Alice was in her last few months, she...well, she wasn't exactly nice. She was actually quite cruel to her. And though a year or so later she finally let it go, she knew by then that it was a lost cause, and Sirona was afraid of her quite intensely. So she just...awkwardly stayed out of her way as much as she could.
Physical Details ◢
Standing at 5'11" and lean, Mia cuts a recognizable figure as she walks into the room. Slightly wavy and pale brown hair habitually tied up into a loose low ponytail—she has a tendency to fidget with it—and tanned, callused skin contrast themselves quite nicely around the eyepatch that clings to the scarred wreck that her right eye has been turned into. Jagged lines of white scar tissue peak shyly out from just underneath the patch. Her slim build has been reinforced with tight, lean whipcord muscle. She's not quite as strong as she used to be, since she can't push herself nearly as hard due to her shift, but she is absolutely still quite fit.
Her eyes are a piercing brown-black and dart around with a striking degree of speed. Though she's held at a general relaxed friendliness, it's not particularly difficult to see how tense she is at any given moment, and the cheerful smile on her face can collapse into itself at any given moment. All it would take is the space between heartbeats for her to tear the handgun from her hip, draw a bead, and fire in one smooth movement.
She wears casual, functional clothing for the most part. There's no point in trying to hide the holster, so she mostly wears things like tanktops and jeans. The faster she can move in combat, or the faster she can jump into her cockpit, the faster things get done. And she knows from long, long experience that a second is the difference between winning and dying.
Background Information ◢
Message received Mia A. Hartley (Lyssa)
Donovan,
I think I told you I was doing this, right? Going back through all of the video logs and finding a few of the really important ones? Well, here they all are. Was a hell of a time compositing them all, but got 'em all done. Fun stuff.
Oh, and try not to share it with the other Furies, okay? I know we're tight, you and I, but you know I can still be scary when I want to, and if Anya gets her hands on this I'm gonna be PISSED.
Gotta say though, it's been weird as hell to see my right eye again.
These are the ones up through when I enlisted. I was such a kid. Well, I was literally a kid, haha, but that's not what I mean. So innocent to everything, it's kind of cute. But goddamn, I just—
No. Nope. Just went through thousands of these little clips. Years and years worth. I'm already dehydrated as all hell and if my eyes could be sore I think they would be. I'm not crying again just writing this.
And don't you dare laugh at how I used to wear my hair.
—ome on, Allie! Get over here! Hi! It's me, Mia!
What are you gonna do with the video anyway?
I'm gonna give it to mom as a gift!
Really? That's all? Don't you think she'd want something from just you, Mi?
Pleeaaaaase?
...Okay, fine. Hi! It's me, Alice! ...Was that really—
Allie keeps telling me that it's dumb to make these, 'cuz I'll give up soon anyway. I so totally won't though! Not after dad gave me the datatool! I'm gonna use it forever! So...Hi! My name is Mia Hartley, I'm eight years old, my birthday is the second of June, that's today! And my favorite color is orange!
See Allie! I told you I'd use it!
Wait—no way, it still works!
Wow, I totally forgot about this thing. Hey, Allie, check this out! You won't believe it, but it's that basic datatool my dad got me for my birthday a few years back! And check it out, it still turns on! There are the videos that we made!
Yeah, yeah, you were right. I really didn't use it in the end, haha! I wonder if maybe I should try again though. Still sounds kind of neato to make a video diary. I saw a movie about a guy who did that recently, he survived in a huge wrecked NC for a whole three months in the middle of the Sea of Thieves, and the only way he could keep himself sane was video journaling. Cool, right?
Shut uuuup, no, I swear I'll do it this time! Oh yeah? I'll make a week easy, and I'll keep doing it after! It'll be—
Hey! Alliiiie! Give it back, give it back right now!
Well, ah...ehem...I guess I'm doing this now. And definitely not just because Alice told me I couldn't yesterday! So...here goes.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. Okay, that's not really my full name, but my middle name is such a mouthful, god, I'm totally not going to say it every time I start this up. Who still gives someone a name like Anastasia these days, it's so old fashioned, you'd need to be—
Dang okay, getting waaaaay off track. Let's try that again. My name is Mia Ana Hartley, the date is August fourth two-six-six-three, and I'm twelve years old. My dad is Jacob and my mom is Emily, and my sister—half-sister I guess but basically my real sister—is Alice Aimes, she's the greatest, the best friend a girl could ever have.
We've been talking about the military recently. Our mom says we're still too young for it, but other kids have joined at like thirteen so it can't be too long, right?
WHAT?
Anyway my dad is calling me so I need to go bye!
Hiii, I'm Mia Ana Hartley, the date's November fourteenth two-six-six-three, and I'm twelve years old!
I'm starting to really get into the swing of these daily log thingies now, it's fun once you get it down! I don't have a lot lot to say today, but I'm really glad I found this old datatool and Allie told me I couldn't do it, I'm gonna keep doing this as long as I can! So I guess I'll just—
Oh, hey Allie, you're back! You were away for a while, what did you—
You did? You are? Ohmygod no way, wow that's so COOL! Hang on, let me—oh, the—? Yeah, I'm still logging, see, I told you I would!
Okay! I lied! Something really really big did happen today! Allie went to the doctor and tested, and apparently there's something right with her brain, I don't know exactly what but she can be a pilot! She's gonna be SUPER important soon! No, you definitely are, shut up! You're gonna be the best and most famous pilot ever!
What about me? Naaah, I'd never be as good as you, you're so cool!
Heeheehee, look how embarrassed she looks! Isn't it adorable?
Oh. My—okay um my name is Mia Hartley and it's January sixth two-six-six-four and I'm twelve years old, but OH MY GODDD!
So I went to the same place that Allie went, the doctor she was talking about right, and she took a bunch of scans and stuff with this big machine and looked at 'em all for a long time, pointed out a few spots—it was my head, scan was my head and she pointed out spots in my brain that she said were super important, she called 'em neuromarks or whatever then she smiled and—
I CAN BE A PILOT! EEEEEEEEEE!
I can't wait to tell Allie! We're gonna go enlist together as soon as mom lets us, and we'll both be pilots together and help protect everyone like all the grown ups say! It's gonna be the best and I'm so excited, dad says he's really worried about it, he seems really sad but I don't know why, but I just know the two of us are going to be the best, it'll be like—like—I dunno but it'll be great! I just can't believe it we're so lucky!
Okay I'm too excited to keep talking into this thing, I'm gonna go tell Allie, I bet she'll be so excited! Bye!
Hey, my name is Mia Ana Hartley, the date is June second, two-six-six-four. I'm thirteen. As of today! Because it's my birthday!
Don't tell mom or dad—or even Allie!—but I snuck out today! I know they don't want me to go outside without them because they say it's not safe, but how unsafe could it be? I'm thirteen, I'm basically grown up now! So I went through the wall real quick, cause I found a little chink in there I never noticed before and I'm definitely not telling anybody else about.
I didn't stay out for long, just to look around, because I was—no, I wasn't scared, I was just...being careful, because I didn't want to get caught! It was really dirty out there, and all the buildings are WAAY taller than mom and dad say they are. I did get yelled at by some guy in really dirty clothes for being a 'filthy spoiled rotten rich sheltered princess bi—' Well, you get the idea, right? Dad always says to ignore people like that because they're just jealous they don't have what we do, so...I think that's what I'll do! Then he ran at me, and I ran back around the corner and snuck through the little hole in the wall so he couldn't see where I went.
I'm gonna ignore him obviously, but...I wonder what he meant.
But, good news! Dad saw that I'd been using this thing for ages now, so he got me a new one with more storage! I had to transfer it all over, but, yay! I was so worried I'd need to start deleting stuff!
Anyway, I think that's about all I got for today, and Allie said she has a birthday surprise for me. So...bye!
We're doing it! We're doing it! We're really—
My, um, my name is Mia Ana Hartley, the date is October eighth two six six five and I'm fourteen and WE'RE DOING IT! Mom finally said we can enlist! TODAY! She was all cryptic and junk about us not being able to come back and she's sorry but this needs to happen eventually and all that kinda stuff but I wasn't really listening and I don't think Allie was either, we're actually gonna make it, we're gonna be FAIRBANKS PILOTS it's gonna be SO COOL! I can't think straight can barely talk so gonna be done for tonight bye!
... ... I... Haahhh. My...my name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is October ninth, two-six-six-five. I'm fourteen.
Well...we did it, Allie and I. We both enlisted last night. We're both pilots. She's in an NC called Blue Sky. Mine is called Absolution. We haven't gotten our units yet. We...we really did it. My log from last night...I sounded so excited, just like I was twelve again. Being a pilot was always my— ... God...god damn. I didn't think—this isn't—I—
...I don't want to talk about it.
Alice isn't answering my calls.
Night.
These are some of the recordings that happened between when I enlisted and when you scouted me. I don't think I've ever shown you any of these. I don't know if I EVER showed anyone any of these except...well, yeah. You get it. Probably because a lot of them are mostly just me being really upset and stuff because I hadn't reconciled the reality of Fairbanks with the sanitized garbage my parents put in front of me when I was a kid.
So consider yourself lucky. You're getting to see some things that only Allie saw before.
(See how nostalgic I am? Calling her Allie like I'm a kiddo again. Leaving that in for the sake of it so you can see what looking at these does to me, haha).
Mia Ana Hartley. December fourth. Two-six-six-five. Fourteen.
Everything hurts.
I didn't think it would be like this.
I'm an idiot.
Bye.
I'm Mia Ana Hartley. The date is March first, two-six-six-six. I'm fourteen years old.
I'm starting to get a little better. Physically, I mean. I was always bigger and stronger than Allie—Alice was, so I'm not doing so bad on the physical side of things. It's...almost satisfying, looking into the mirror sometimes.
Alice hasn't talked to me since November. I feel like I should be worried about her. But I just...never mind. I'm not doing much better. Every time I think about the things that I'm going—that I need to—that—every time, I feel sick.
I feel sick now.
I don't want to think about it.
Bye.
I'm—I—
Mia Ana Hartley. Date, April twentieth two-six-six-six. Fourteen years old.
I—I can't—I don't—how do I...?—
Deep breaths, Mia. Deep breaths.
I...I killed someone today. Not an NC, I mean, I just—I tripped an alarm or something and Absolution booted me out, so it got opened up on the battlefield. Someone tried to climb in after me. He was—he couldn't be older than me, and I didn't think about it, I pulled out my gun and—
God, I'm going to be sick. I swear to god I'm going to be sick, I've puked twice already and it's going to happen again.
They can't get the stain out of the cockpit. I just...
I miss Allie.
Mia Ana Hartley. Date, June second two-six-six-six. Fifteen years old.
Happy birthday to me.
When I turned fourteen I was living at home. Allie—ALICE spent the whole day with me. I don't really remember the details, but I remember that I was so happy. So I spent all day remembering as much of it as I could. I even played the video I recorded on that day. And I'm...just...I spent the whole day crying my eyes out. I couldn't even get out of bed. I'm pretty sure that someone's going to come by and break my fingers soon because I missed training today. Fairbanks is a hell of a place. I don't know if I would even try to stop them.
Well, at least something good happened today. For the first time since Novemmber last year Alice talked to me. Or, messaged me. Just the two words 'happy birthday.' But...it's something, right? So it could always be worse.
It can always be worse. And it's damn sure not going to get better.
Bye, I guess.
I'm— My name is— I'm Mia Ana—Mia Ana Hartley. It's July seventh. I'm—I'm fourteen. I'm—I—I...
I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go—
HEY! HEY, GIVE THAT BACK, JESSIE! No! Give it back! Give it back, that's—NO! No, don't you dare, you can't—PUT IT DOWN! I SAID PUT IT DOWN! Put it down, please, it's all I—no, no, put it down! Put it down or—or else—DON'T—
THOOM
Thump
Oh god, I—
No, I didn't—I didn't mean to—oh god, oh god, I—
Oh god...
I held my gun to my head today.
Please help me.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is July twelfth, two-six-six-six. I'm fifteen years old.
Crazy thing happened today. Real crazy. Maybe the universe listened to what I said a few days ago (if were to delete any one of these, it would probably be that one. God, my eyes were swollen as hell.
Or...well, I guess two things happened. Both crazy. One good, one bad.
Bad news: my Shift started showing up. Came out of the cockpit today and my fingers were numb. Could still flex 'em and anything, but couldn't feel a thing. Went away after about an hour. I've got a bad feeling it's not just going to be my fingers if it gets a chance to develop. When it gets a chance. Trying on optimism again. It's hard.
Okay. Good news: I've been scouted. And not just me; Alice too. We've both been scouted for what apparently going to be some major super elite squad by Donovan, Demon of Fairbanks himself. Says we've both distinguished ourselves on the field of battle enough to be chosen as Furies, whatever those are. And it's true, we are pretty good. But I saw the way he looked between us. We don't have the same last name, but he definitely knows, and he wants to keep us together.
Not a very demonic thing to do, huh?
For the first time in a while, I feel...I feel hopeful. Like things are looking up.
And it really, really didn't hurt that I finally got to talk to Allie again when he called us in. And by "talk to," I mean "we both ugly cried for half an hour while hugging each other and both of us apologized for not being there for the other." Apparently a lot of the reason she hasn't been talking with me recently is cause of her Shift, showed up before mine. She gets panic attacks now and then. They're rare, but they're bad. She didn't want me to worry about her.
She's still the best sister and best friend a girl could ever ask for.
So I guess I should say good bye, huh? Things might really be getting better. I know that's tempting fate, but...here's hoping. Thanks for always listening to me.
I can't believe I'm talking to a fucking datatool.
And now we're getting into the stuff that you know personally! This encapsulates everything that happened in Tartarus, up through...well. You know. When things started going downhill (poor Addie). Still can't believe I had the good luck to be scouted for something like this. I'd pretty much given up at the time. You could probably tell from the one right beforehand, but I was definitely considering GIVING UP in a very concrete and PERMANENT way. If you catch my meaning.
You'll notice that not once in any of those logs did I smile. Not really. But you'll see as this goes on I start getting there again. It'll never be the cheerful smile I had as a kiddo, but it's still there, right?
So...thanks.
Sorry to get sappy, haha!
Hey, my name is Mia Ana—
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley.
It's not that bad, I guess.
Anyway. My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is August second, two-six-six-six. I'm fifteen years old.
So. Tartarus Squadron, huh?
Some of the people from the old unit are pissed that I'm getting out. Tyra especially, I think if I didn't have my gun on me all the time she already would've tried to gut me. But I'm out of there now. New barracks, new quarters. My OWN quarters. I—
I haven't had my own room since before I enlisted. It's small, it's spartan, it's utilitarian. But I have my own room. The luxury is...almost inconceivable.
And you know who else has her own room? Her own room really close to mine?
ALICE AIMES.
I don't know if I can really—it's just...so much. So much has happened. Too much. I don't—
Good...good bye. I'm...
Good bye?
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is November seventh, two-six-six-six. I'm fifteen years old.
Lyssa and Melinoë, huh?
I've never had a code name. I've had a callsign, obviously. For a little while. And I do keep it during normal stuff, but I don't do as much normal stuff now. So now I have a CODE NAME. We have code names. Mia "Lyssa" Hartley. Alice "Melinoë" Aimes. It's a weird feeling.
Hades said he was scouting a third. Said he wanted a total of five, but it would take a while to find them. Apparently he found someone he thought might be "Alecto." I don't really know what he means by it and I think he knows that. I think I'm just...worried. It's taken a long time for Allie to really start opening up to me again. Seeing her Shift attacks has made it better, but it's also really, really painful. The look in her eyes reminds me of when she was having nightmares when she was a kid.
...God, it was only a year ago, wasn't it? I think? Or, not even a year. Time kind of runs together. It feels so much longer than that. Days seem to take a long time when you're worried each of them might be your last, don't they?
...I'm starting to upset myself now, so I should probably stop talking. I just...bah.
I'm going now. Good bye.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is December nineeteenth, two-six-six-six. I'm fifteen years old.
Well, I'm starting to see what Donovan's getting at now. Tartarus Squadron, I mean.
We have our Alecto. She's a girl a little older than I am, a little younger than Allie is. Her name is Adelaide Taylor, callsign Second Sun, and she's a really good squad support from Unit E-13. Really knows what she's doing, really good at holding groups together and keeping stuff going. Here, check out this picture of her.
See how annoyed she looks? She's always like that. So no-nonsense! She's one of those people that always thinks they know best and everyone else is always wrong. Though in this case, she's, uh...usually right? I mean, it's not like she goes out of her way to tell everyone else they're wrong or anything. She takes other opinions and junk. But she's just really smart at tactics, way better than Allie or me.
Donovan's already definitely starting to plan out ops with her, so I have to try at least a little less during strategy meetings.
So that's the pro. The, uh, con is that I don't think she likes me.
And by that I mean she told me she hates me. She hates me a lot. She thinks I'm dumb and I don't care about what happens to anybody else in the squad as long as I get to blow things up. Which is obviously really wrong.
Well...we can at...at least work together...? I guess that's something.
Allie's starting to get better. She got prescribed medicine that she's supposed to take whenever her Shift is getting at her. She can't take them herself, so she's given them to me so I can give them to her whenever she starts panicking, and they really do work. They only last thirty seconds, maybe a minute afterwards, which is waaay better than the five or six minutes they're starting to get to.
My Shift has started getting worse too. It lasts longer now, and it's starting to go further up my arms, and my legs now too. It's still going away, which is nice. But I feel like it won't always.
Things aren't...they aren't good. And I don't think they will be. But they're at least getting better than they were, I think.
...Not like it could get any worse.
Good bye, I suppose.
Don' ask how I gotthish black eye.
And uhhhh...'m Mia Hartley, 's NEW YEARSH!
But anyway Allie tol' me that I needed t'get tbed, n' I tol' her back that I was gonna have 'nother drink firsht. Then 'Delaide said I gotta sleep'n'I said to fuckoff, so then she PUNCHED me'n the FACE! I tried t'punch her back but I fell down, 'n then she'n Allie picked me up 'n locked me in m'room.
YOU PUNCH HARD, 'DELAAAIIIDE!
I'mna go shleep now. Niiiightt!
... ... ... God. I look and feel like shiiit. ... I don't have anything to do today. ... ... I'm going back to bed.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is February fifteenth, two-six-six-seven. I'm fifteen years old.
We've got a fourth now. Here, this is a picture: Priscilla Lee, probably the best sniper I've ever seen. Came from E-13, just like Addie. Donovan calls her Tisiphone now, callsign Snow Shadow. She's also the cheeriest person I think I've seen since I enlisted.
Seriously, it's...it's almost scary.
She's so cheerful, all the time. It's to the point that I don't know if I can believe her or if she's hiding something really horrible underneath that constant laughing. Either way, she looks at me really weirdly. I'm not scared of people very often, but...yeah, I think I'm scared of her. But at least she seems to get on really well with Addie. They must know each other from E-13 already.
The very tips of my fingers are permanently numb now.
It's been a bad day.
Bye.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is April tenth, two-six-six-seven. I'm fifteen years old.
According to Donovan, Tartarus Squadron is done now, because we have our Megaera. Quiet, personable, okay to talk to, okay with talking to people.
It's nice, it really is.
With Addie's painful acid tongue (she still says she hates me, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't actually, she's just showing an image) and Priss being kind of scary with all the laughing like usual, having someone else other than Allie who I can actually let my guard down a little near is nice.
Ah, right, I almost forgot to show her picture! Check her out, this is Lucy Santiago, callsign Claw Hammer. She's pretty, right? It's almost amazing to me how clean she looks, y'know? I know she's right out in the middle of everything swinging at everything with thermal brass knuckles, but I guess that's just in NC, huh?
Point is, well...I like her. Allie likes her too. Says she actually reminds her of me. Makes me feel kinda nice, I think she's a good person, so having Allie say that makes me feel like she thinks I'm a good person too. I hope she's around for a long while.
So, Tartarus Squadron is all together now. I guess now we just need to figure out how to all work together. Especially me and Addie, because she seems to get on well enough with Allie and Lucy, so apparently it's just me? I need ask her about that and work it out sometimes, we need to trust each other. Donovan says we're gonna go out on more missions, just the squad, so we can figure out how to work together better before we start taking real elite sorties.
It's wild, isn't it?
All five of us. Wow.
Goodbye.
Hey, my name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is June second, two-six-six-seven. I'm sixteen years old now!
I looked back at the log I made on my fifteenth birthday today. Man, was some sad stuff, huh? I still feel a little of that now and then, I have to admit. As much as I'm so much happier in Tartarus Squadron than Unit 12-F, I just...I...
No. None of that! Today was a good day! I got to spend it with Allie again. I missed her so much. We were only apart for a little while, but it feels like it was centuries. We're in the military, so we obviously don't have the most means at our disposal, but she actually got me a gift. Yeah, it was just that she'd sewn a patch in my favorite shirt to wear during down time. It certainly wasn't anything like the extravagant stuff that I used to get back home. But for some reason it feels so much better anyway.
And you know what? She wasn't the only one!
It had to all be kept on the down-low, of course, because if the higher-ups knew that they were actually daring to give me things on my birthday I think at least one of us would be beaten. Probably all of us. Badly. But hey. What they don't know won't hurt us.
Point is, I got a few things. Little things, obviously. Allie patched my shirt. Lucy gave me a ring. Tiny little thing, see? I think she cut it out of a shell from one of Allie's guns, actually. Girl's really good with stuff like that, good with her hands. It's pretty impressive. Priss somehow fitted a new part into my pods without me noticing. A few rockets on the bottom that I don't guide, she said she couldn't hook it up to the guidance without me there and that would ruin the surprise. I might leave them like this. Might be handy sometime.
And Addie. Oh, Addie.
I didn't think she'd give me anything. And she didn't until just, like, half an hour ago, I think she was hanging out with Priss. But then she knocked on my door and—well, you see how my hands are closed over something?
Look at that! She set her datatool somewhere so she could take a picture of the five of us when we were eating, and then she called in a favor from her old unit to have it printed out! Isn't that just the sweetest—
Whoa! Oh, uh, hey, Addie! How...how long have you been standing there?
Uh oh. She's giving me the Adelaide Glare. I better go.
Good day. Bye!
Name is Mia Ana Hartley, October twenty-fourth two-six-six-seven, sixteen years old, yadda yadda yadda. Not important, cause hooooly shit I saw something wild today, seriously I am just in absolute disbelief. Not 'cause it doesn't make sense cause looking back it totally does, just...whoa!
Last night I couldn't sleep, was heading out to do some maintenance on Absolution, always seems to help when my thoughts keep me up. I think there's...maybe something a little messed up about that. But anyway, the point is, I was halfway through cleaning out scorch marks from the Emperor, right? And then I hear voices. Quiet ones, ones I recognize. And it's hard to see me 'cause I'm half in and out of a big gun, so I just stay quiet. Look, I know I shouldn't eavesdrop but they were talking 'bout some heavy stuff, not depressing heavy but like, sweet heavy, I mean—
Look, I poked my head out and right there next to Snow Shadow, Priss and Addie were making out. And not like hot passion making out, I mean like the kind of tender thing people who are really serious go for, talking in between kisses. Not that I would—never mind, shut up Mia! Point is, if that doesn't describe the kind of sweet heavy I meant, then Iunno. But oh god they're treading a dangerous, dangerous road. I'm not going to turn them in obviously, but if the higher-ups find out, they'll be lucky if their families are threatened. Real lucky.
I'm happy for them, you know? I am, really. But...I don't...
...I hope the two of them are happy. But Fairbanks is...
...Well, I should shut up before one of both of them hear me. So...bye, I guess. Hopefully things don't implode here. For them. For everyone.
Promished myself an' Allie I wouln' get sloshed this year like I did last year. 'N I'm not, 'm jus' normal drunk.
Oh uhhhh...Mia Hartley, 's NEW YEARS AGAIN BABY! 'N I'm still sixteen.
Look, y' can't blame meeee for how Priss suddenly got her hands on thish much vodka! 'N wha' was I s'posed to do, let it all go t' waste? Iiiii dooooon't thiiiiiink sooooooooooo!
Allie called me a stick 'n the mud for going to take my log, but come oonnnnn I do thish every night 'n she knows it. Plush, when I left, 'Delaide and Priss were starting t'make the eyes at each other, I bet there'sh gonnabe somethin' goin on between 'em tonight f'sure ehhheheehh...
SHU'UP, DONO—hic—VAN! 'M NOT GOIN'T'SHLEEP TIL IT'S TWENTY SIX SIXTY EIGHT AN' I'LL TALK INTO MY TOOL AS MUCH 'S I—WHAT?
Fuck, fuck, gotta go, Allie'sh having a Shift 'ttack an' I'm the one with her meds. Gotta—hic— gotta do that, oh fuck.
HOL' ON ALLIE, 'M COMING—
... ...I guess I look a little different, huh. Everything does for me.
Sorry for no log last night. I'll need to make up for it somehow. But I was recovering after...well, yeah.
Op yesterday with the rest of Tartarus. Going behind enemy lines and fucking with supply vehicles so their lives get harder. It was pretty by the books, went well, even had a rapid exfil for if and when shit went downhill. Which is...well, why I'm still alive.
Was taking a last shot at an armored transport, mulching everyone inside. Something feels weird about how clinical I feel. Like I should feel bad about it. But I really don't. Anyway, we were just about to leave when a few NCs came over the ridge across the way, 'cause they'd noticed that something was wrong when they were on patrol in the area. Bad luck. They took some shots at us, but they all deflected 'cause they were far away and we were getting out anyway. But right as we were about to disappear, a shell hit Absolution dead on. Dunno how, maybe one of them had ion tech, but it went right through the shield, then went right through the armor. Didn't hit me dead on; it hit the inside of the cockpit, came apart, and bounced around, is what Adelaide said. And when it was fragmenting like that, one of the fragments, well—
Well, you get it.
I don't know why Donovan had an eyepatch handy for when they got me back to base after I disconnected spontaneously right about as we were getting back over the border of the demilitarized zone. But lucky he did. I don't think I could take looking at that ruined mess that used to be my eye anymore.
...Goddamnit. This really sucks.
Fuck.
Good night.
Name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is June Second, two-six-six-eight. I'm seventeen today.
Well, it's certainly not as sad as my log two years ago, where I seem to have just given up on life entirely. But today also definitely wasn't a high point like last year's.
The higher-ups are apparently cracking down on frivolous activity, by which of course they mean anything that isn't training or active duty. Like that's all anyone needs to live, apparently. Thank god Donovan has a little wiggle room since our squad's a small independent unit and we've done a lot of pretty hardcore things, or else who knows, they might even take this tool away.
You see this finger? That's about what I think of that.
So the point is, no gifts today. Just caution. Well, Allie gave me a bit from her rations, but...I feel bad about it. She's doing well, but that's not really an excuse for taking her food.
I ate it anyway. Selfish, right?
So, anything else...oh, I'm starting to get more used to the eye thing. It helps that when I get into the NC I get the same kind of full-angle vision I always have, but I mean in waking life, just walking around. Starting to figure out how to work around the depth perception thing and lack of perspective. It took me ages, but I finally started figuring out how to actually hit the target with my gun, finally. I'm not a deadshot like I used to be—that's a joke, I was never a deadshot—but I can at least hit the thing now.
What else, what else...ah. Right. Shift. Getting into fullsync more often, and so it's gotten worse. Goes all the way up to my shoulders and mid-thigh now. Completely numb elbows and knees down. And the permanent numbness is about halfway up my forearm and shins.
...This is going exactly where I think it is, huh.
Well, it wasn't a bad day or anything. Didn't lose my eye, nothing like that. Just...kind of normal. Adelaide and Priss are spending a lot of time together, like you'd maybe expect. It's kind of sweet, honestly, and it's starting to temper both of them. Priss is a little less...I dunno, laugh-creepy? And Adelaide's actually smiling and junk, even though her Shift is starting to cause more acute pain than before.
That said...it's also more noticeable. I'm worried about them.
Well, Mia Hartley, almost an adult now, out. G'bye.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley...
Feels weird to go back to that, huh?
...and it's July twelfth, two-six-six-eight. I'm seventeen years old.
It's the anniversary today. Like a second birthday. The anniversary of Donovan scouting me, I mean. Pulling me out of actual hell and giving me a slightly nicer hell where I have my own room.
Walked around and thanked everyone today. Priss, Addie, and Lucy looked at me like I was cracked in the head. But Allie gets it. We spent most of today together. I mean, yeah, we were sparring and working out so we had an excuse, but we spent it together anyway.
Oh, right. I split my knuckles bad when we were fighting and didn't even notice until she told me cause of my Shift. I'm not going to be able to do this for much longer am I? God. Well, at least the drugs are still working on Allie's, though she says when I'm not around to give them to her the attacks are getting longer and more intense. Really worried about her. Hope she stays okay.
Anyway, I need to change the bandage on my hand. No pain, but I can see the blood leaking through. I'm gonna go do that. G'night.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is October fourth, two-six-six-eight. I'm seventeen years old.
Oh god. They're playing a really dangerous game.
Sorry I'm whispering, because I don't want anyone to hear this but me. But I overheard the two of them in Priss' room, and thank god I'm the only one that overheard. Because I think even Donovan would've needed to report hearing two elite pilots discussing desertion.
They know they're not gonna be able to openly be together as long as they're in the military like this, or Fairbanks is going to metaphorically and possibly literally tear them apart. But desertion from Fairbanks is a pretty dangerous thing to discuss. They find you, you're lucky if you get shot.
I'll cover for them if they ask me, obviously. Which...might not go well for me, but I still have my principles, damnation. But...man, I hope they know what they're doing, because if they don't, Tartarus Squadron is fucked.
That's all. Nothing else really important went down today. So, g'bye.
Okay. Okay, today...today Priss was part of a normal op. Totally normal easy stuff, she's done it a thousand times. She was miles away, she shouldn't have been in any—any danger.
Apparently it was a stray shell. A stray FAIRBANKS shell. Priss—our Tisophone...I—fuck, I just...at least they say it was fast, she didn't...didn't suffer. She...
Addie is absolutely beside herself, of course, just about losing her mind. I've never seen her like this. I mean, I've seen her crying, but—but never like—I've never seen her sobbing like this. Wailing. It's like she got her arm cut off. I tried to comfort her, but, what do I even say? I wasn't supposed to know about their relationship, so I obviously can't say anything about that or anything, I just...I can't do anything. She's falling apart.
I guess...I guess one of us had to go. I think maybe I just let myself forget it.
I'm not going to do that again.
Fuck, I—god, I can hear her screaming at Allie. I don't know what's going on, but I should go try and break it up.
I'm sorry, Priscilla. And I'm sorry I was afraid of you at first. You deserved better.
I suppose it's time for me to indulge myself in a great deal of self-pity now, isn't it?
I smiled a lot back then, didn't I? It's...almost hard to look at. Blinding. Like looking at the sun. Painful. I wonder if it's sad that I can say with confidence they were the best two years of my life. Back home? I was...I don't know, coddled. Treated like, well...what did that guy say again? Hold on, let me check the video again.
Ah, there it is. He called me a "filthy spoiled rotten rich sheltered princess bitch." In basic I was...well, you saw the logs, didn't you? You saw that I was really close to...doing something, ehm...something that I would regret, and not be able to take back. But being in Tartarus with with all the first Furies...it was...it was nice.
Bah-ahaha! Listen to how maudlin I've gotten! It's not bad now, with Jackie and Anya and Marina and...well. I suppose that...that we'll need a new Melinoë soon.
...I know you blame yourself for what happened to her, Donovan.
Don't. Please.
...God, I can't believe it's already been ten years. And only three since...well...you remember her.
...It's not fun this year.
I didn't drink. I get the feeling I'd just get sad. Priss is...Priss is dead. Addie isn't falling apart anymore at least, so that's good, but any trace of sympathy for anyone has been burned out of her, like her soul died along with Priss. She's just angry now. Only comes out of her room when she needs to. Lucy's holding it together, but she's clearly upset (obviously), even if she tries not to look it.
And...I don't know how Allie would normally be holding up, but she's really on edge right now. Because we're down a Tisophone, we've all needed to fullsync more, so her Shift's gotten waaaay worse. They won't give us any more medication for her in this hellscape of a military, so we need to ration it out carefully and only use it after a few minutes to make sure that we have enough for the really bad attacks.
Oh, god, yeah, speaking of Shifts, mine's also getting worse. Until now the permanent numbness was just creeping further up my arms and legs—it's starting to move past my elbows and knees now—but everything else was pretty stable. But I got out of the cockpit this morning and my whole chest was half-numb. Like I was pressing on it through, I dunno, a thick layer of cloth or something. It hasn't moved above my legs yet, but...it will. God.
So...yeah. The kind of uneasy stability that we'd found is all but gone now. Donovan said that he's going to find a new Tisiphone soon, scouting for her right now. But man, the look in Addie's eyes when he said that...
...The photo in my cockpit is the best thing that I own now.
Oh, god. I almost forgot, I'm nearly out of storage. I need to find a way to expand it soon. If I need to delete one of these or stop making them, I think I'll come apart at the seams. Just another problem.
Well, at least I always have Allie. G'bye.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is February tenth, two-six-six-nine. I'm seventeen years old.
Well, we have our new Tisiphone.
Here's a photo. Great sniper, one of the best out there apparently, though she's been in reserve pretty much her whole career, so her Shift hasn't even shown up yet. Cheerful kid, a few years younger than the rest of us. It's nice to have her there; we're all pretty dour right now, so having someone who isn't so upset all the time is kind of a breath of fresh air. Callsign is Moonshot. Big ol' ballistic sniper rifle. Got some ion fire in there too, which is really nice, since it's starting to get more common these days and we really need to have the edge. Her name is Jacqueline Brake.
Things is, though...you remember that "it's a breath of fresh air" thing? Well...I think so. Lucy thinks so. Allie thinks so, I can tell.
Addie...
God. God. I feel so bad for her, I do. But she's...
I used to think Addie hated me, and she even told me she did. But she wasn't really serious about it. She didn't like me, but she didn't have a grudge.
But oh, man, poor Jacqueline.
She's still reeling from Priss being gone. So I think it's 'cause she sees another cheerful sniper girl as Tisiphone as angling to replace Priss, but...she is very vocal about how she really, truly hates Jackqueline, and she's always going to hate her, and she's never going to forgive her. And it makes my heart bleed seeing Jacqueline look so hurt and confused. I can almost hear her thinking, forgive me for what?
God. I don't want to discount Addie's grief, because god knows we're all still upset, and her most of all. But she's just being needlessly cruel.
I might talk to her later. Wish me luck. God, will I need it.
G'bye.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is June second, two-six-six-nine. I'm seven—eighteen years old.
Hear that? I'm an adult now.
I got a gift today again. Not from Lucy or Allie, and definitely not from the ball of rage that our Addie has become. Nah, I got it from Jackie. Lucy told me in confidence that Jackie'd told her she held me in some kind of awe. Me and Allie, that is, the first two scouted Furies, but it's a little harder to talk to Allie now than it used to be. Not only is she still grieving a little bit over Priss—she always took things like that hard—but her Shift has her really high-strung all the time. So apparently Jackie sees me as kind of a role model.
I think I'm going to be sick. Please, Jackie. I am not a role model you want to follow. Not after I—Jessie—
Never mind. Don't be like me, Jackie. Please. Be like Allie. Better yet, be like Lucy. Hell, even be like Addie. Just as long as you're not like me.
Never mind. Those aren't birthday thoughts. This is supposed to be a good day.
Oh, right, I never actually showed you what Jackie gave me, haha. And that's nuts, cause it's super important. Apparently they pay better in reserve than they do in active duty. For some reason. So she spent a bunch of it a new storage drive for my datatool. I guess Allie told her I needed one.
Thanks, Jackie. I'm trying to keep Addie away from you. I swear.
Happy birthday, Mia.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date's September thirtieth, two-six-six-nine. I'm eighteen years old.
That's my fuckin' girl, Allie!
God. God. I know she's older than me, but I feel a little like the older sister recently because of the whole Shift thing, she's a bit of a nervous wreck sometimes and it dependent on me sometimes. So I can't help but just be so proud of her.
Sortie last night. We were pinned down by an absolute hellfire of machine guns, missiles, thermal lances, ion fire...the whole nine yards. I couldn't get the hell out, and my shield was all out of juice. Jackie had been flushed out and needed to scramble, she wasn't going to be in position for another few minutes. Addie's been scratched out, of the fight, NC crippled, barely managed to get Second Sun outta there. Lucy was alone out in the middle of everything. I was pretty sure I was gonna say goodbye to her.
Then my fucking sister hits fullsync, jumps into action, and comes blasting out of the ravine next to me, pulling the last of my big rockets out of the pot as she went. Jesus, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. Then she pitched the thing. Blackstoners were so surprised they could barely react, couldn't shoot it down in time like the rest of 'em, so she nailed them right in the middle of the line. Huge explosion, blew a cloud of dust into the air two hundred feet up, easy. When it'd cleared, she was back down there with me, and Lucy was with her. I felt like the sun had come out. Then Jackie got into position again, started picking them off, and we circled around under her cover, got into place, and wiped them out.
My big sister is fucking awesome.
Good day. Real good day! Night!
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date's January first, two-six-seven-oh. I'm eighteen years old.
I don't think I can ever get drunk on New Years again. Ever. It is just not a good idea.
Additional note, and a reminder for future Mia, because come on, let's be honest, we all know you look back on New Years video logs constantly: whatever you do, never ever let Jackie and a drunk Addie be in the same room again. Holy fffff—
Short log tonight. Because on that note, I need to go get something cold (god, Allie's gonna need to help me, I can't even feel it anymore) to ice Addie's knuckles, and another something cold to put on Jackie's eye. Well, look at it this way: at least Addie's not punching me out this time. Ugh, I can hear Jackie groaning in the next room, and Addie's still frigid. I need to go take care of 'em.
Is this what being a mom is like? Jesus.
Night.
My name is Mia Anastasias Hartley. The date is June second, two-six-seven-oh, and I am officially nineteen years old.
Shit birthday. Shit, shit, shit birthday.
Jackie's Shift manifested today. She joked that now she's a member of the cool kid's club, but she's shaken up, it's really easy to tell. Allie's...well, busy with her own Shift a lot these days. Lucy is trying to not lose herself to this asshole guy named Aldis Follen, the previous pilot of Claw Hammer. And, well...Addie. So it's just me now, who's really present to help her.
Got out of Moonshot after a fullsync, and she was like...dead. Not out of it, I mean, and she didn't fall over or something. But for a minute or two her emotions were just gone.
Screwed up to see her like that. She's always been so cheerful and emotional, having her lock up like that...it hurt. But I talked her through it, talked about Polaris Shifts and stuff. Had her scratch me on the neck, watch me wince. Told her that yeah, it seemed awful, but I'm still not totally numb, and I've been in constant active duty for almost five years, and see? It takes a lot more time than she thinks for the Shift to progress. She seemed better after that. I hope she turns out okay.
Bah. Not what I wanted on my birthday. But hey, that's just how it is, right?
Night.
F—fuck, I—no, no I'm not gonna cry anymore, I..goddamnit, I let myself somehow get lulled into that sense of security again, I, she...
Fuck, no I can't say it, I can't say it. It's too painful, like stabbing myself, I can't...
Fuck, I—I watched it happen, I saw the thermal lance coming, I—I could've—I could've done...done something, I don't know, I saw it punch right, right through Claw Hammer, I dragged it off and opened it to see if she was okay, and she...I just...
..We—we're...we need...we need a new Megaera.
I'm gonna puke. I'm—she didn't—it shouldn't have—
Hurrgghhhhgkkk!
F—fuck, I need to go...I need to go wash my face and clean this—clean this up, I just—
Lucy...I'm sorry—hrrrgkkkkk—
... I don't want to log today.
Mia Hartley. March Thirteenth, two-six-seven-one.
Anita Lawrence. Callsign Megavolt. A ballistic SMG and an ion hand cannon. Vanguard. Our new Megaera.
I'm not getting attached to this one.
She's going to die too.
...I don't want to talk about her.
Mia Ana Hartley. March twenty-first, two-six-seven-one.
I couldn't do it.
I can't—I can't not get invested. Anita is...just...Jackie is withdrawing from her because she's worried about getting Anita too attached and then losing everything. Addie is...well, she's still Addie. I can't...god. It's so sad what happened to her after Priss died. She just can't do human things anymore. I don't know. I just think it's sad to watch Jackie avoid her, and watch Allie avoid her. They used to be such good friends.
The point is, Anita was just...all alone. And it was horrible to watch her avoiding everyone, just going back to her quarters, trying not to make eye contact. So I...
Well, I started talking to her. Apologized for being unfriendly because I'd just said goodbye to a very close friend, but that wasn't her fault, introduced myself, and told her she could come to me no matter what.
She gave me a hug, and cried. Then I started crying too.
Fuck. She's just a kid. And...god, god, I can't help but feel like she's somehow my kid, even though she's only a few years younger than I am. Nobody else is gonna help her.
So...fuck, what was I supposed to do?
Ugh. Bye.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is June second, two-six-seven-one. Come on, Anita! Get over here!
...Are you sure? You said this was important to—
Yeah, exactly! That's why you're gonna get over here and do it!
I dunno, Mia...
Hey hey, remember! It's my twentieth birthday! Think of it as a birthday gift!
Well, if you're sure, then...yeah!
Hey! Take a look, this is Anita, the little sparkplug!
Hey! Sparkplug? What's that supposed to mean?
Well, you're Megavolt, right? And you're a little firecracker, aren't ya? So you're the sparkplug! Psst! She's not actually a firecracker!
Ughh, come onnn, Mia!
Ha! You hear that! You hear that, Anita? You sound just like me when I was a kid! Ah-ahahah! Come on, Anita! Come baaack!
She's great, isn't she? Ahaha! See ya!
My name is Mia Anastasia—YEAH, SPARKPLUG! MY MIDDLE NAME IS ANASTASIA, WHAT ABOUT IT? CLOSE THE DOOR AND LET ME LOG, KIDDO!
Ahem.
Well, tomorrow's the big day. Training period's just about done, Sparkplug's 'bout to come on her first real Tartarus op! She's...well, she's nervous as all hell, y'know? Obviously, I mean, who wouldn't be? But I think she'll be okay. She's actually really good. And it helps that she's actually got some range, unlike—
...Never mind. Point is, Sparkplug's great, and I'm positive she'll do just as good as any Fury!
Man, I can't remember the last time I've really been excited for one of these ops. Maybe back when Priss—
God. I need to stop thinking about that kind of thing. Those days are over, and they aren't coming back. But...if Sparkplug's around, then things aren't so bad.
Anyway, I'm doing better than I have for a long time. Allie's also starting to warm up to her with me on her side. She agreed that she reminds her of me when I was a kid. Jackie's still holding herself apart, and I don't think Addie's ever going to like anyone ever again. But...well, two out of four isn't bad, right?
Dang, I really like this kid, haha.
I'll see you again after the op with the good news!
My name's Mia Anastasia Hartley, date's October twentieth, two-six-seven-one, twenty years old and stoked as hell!
Sparkplug is an ace. A fuckin' ACE! She crushed it so hard that even ADDIE needed to admit that she did good!
Stealth op deep into Blackstone, puttin' on the Blackstone flag and cracking open a reserve barracks to start turning 'em on themselves. There was retaliation from a few NCs, obviously, we were assaulting a military installation, after all, and WOW, she tore them up! Ion in one hand, high cal SMG in the other, man she was popping 'em like nothing! Knew that training this kid up—
God, sometimes it's weird to realize she's only five years younger than I am. Feels like a bigger gap. Wild, right?
The point is, she absolutely shredded the op. Went like a breeze. This girl's gonna go the distance, I can tell! Man, oh man am I thrilled!
I'm gonna go clap her on the back and maybe punch her in the shoulder. She kicked ASS today! See ya!
M'name's Mia An-Anas-Anstasia Hartley, 's NEW YEARS BITTCHHHH! Gonna be twenny-six-sevenny-two in a few, and I am DRUNK AS FUUUUCK! 'S great, I love't, missed this shit on New Years! Sparkplug somehow managed to get 'er hands'n some gooooOOOood shit, and fuckin...everyone's sloshed, I'm sloshed, Jackie's slooshed, Allie's already fuckin gone, fuck, Addie's here hatin'll of us but she hatesh everyone now, she'sh not the same person I used t'know.
Fuuuckk now I'm sad. I'mna go back out'n hangout with 'em.
'S happy here for once. Nice.
See yaaaa!
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date's April twenty-second, two-six-seven-two. I'm twenty years old.
I knew it would happen eventually!
I was walking out, and I saw Jackie and Sparkplug talking in the common area. I knew Jackie wouldn't be able to resist her for too long.
Though...that reminds me. Jackie's Shift has started to get a little worse. It's not bad! Nowhere near as progressed as mine. Nothing permanent. But it lasts a lot longer after she fullsyncs. I think it was almost an hour last time. It still only happens after fullsync, but I'm...still worried about her.
Sparkplug still hasn't had any noticeable Shift yet, which is nice to see. I'm worried about what's gonna happen to that kiddo too. I seem to worry about these girls a lot.
But the point is, the two of them are talking now. Jackie's finally, finally stopped holding herself back, maybe after seeing me spending so much time with Sparkplug.
God. More worry. Person I'm worried about the most. Allie is...there's something wrong with her. She's twitchy and paranoid, and never seems to relax unless it's around me. I hope she's dealing with nerves or something. She takes a long, long time to process grief, so maybe she's still upset over...well, yeah. I don't know. I just really hope it's not her Shift starting to go permanent. That would be a nightmare.
Well...that got a little upsetting. But the point is, I'm glad Sparkplug's starting to get along with Jackie. It's nice. I've been worried she hasn't bee talking to enough people other than me.
Gotta go talk to Donovan now, he has a briefing he wants to go over with me. Down to business, huh?
Anyway, see you.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is June second two-six-seven-two, and today I'm twenty one years old.
Sparkplug asked me some hard questions recently, and they're back on my mind now, since they've all gotta do with my birthday anyway.
She asked me about the ring first. Then I let her see my cockpit, and she noticed the picture. Recognized Allie and Addie. Asked who the other two are.
I've been quiet today. I think she thinks she's done something wrong. I've told her she didn't.
Fuck. I love Sparkplug—er, Anita. I love this kid, and I love Jackie. But...god. God.. I miss...I miss Priss and Lucy so goddamn much. I know I'm a soldier. Death is my business, I kill people, I've killed a lot of people. But...those two have left such a hole in my heart, and I don't think Jackie and Sparkplug can ever fill it.
Allie isn't doing well. And we're running out of medication again.
Haaahh. Happy birthday to Mia, I guess.
... ... ... ... ... ... I... I just...
Fuck. Fuck! How? How? WHY? I don't...I...
sniff Hello...?
Oh. Oh, hey...fuck. Hey, Sparks.
Yes, yes of course I'm crying alone. Hahaha...I've cried—cried alone more than you can imagine, kiddo.
God...why? Why did she have to go like that? She—she was better than that. She didn't—
Fuck. Fuck. Why?
Look, kiddo, you...you don't need to stick around me right now. You...you didn't—you didn't know her like I did. She was just...I know she was mean to you and Jackie, but...but you just...you can't understand. She just—she just missed her—Priss—she—hhgghhhh
Why? Why did this—why did she need to go like that? It's just...it's just Allie and I now, there's nobody else...there's...I miss her, I miss her smile, Ighhhh I just miss her so much, she didn't deserve what happened to her, she was just—just lonely, I just... ... ... ... sniff ... Fuck, I—
Do you mind if I—if I tell you about her, Sparks? About...how she used to be?
...Thank you.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. It's January first, two-six-seven-three.
The other three are drinking right now.
I don't feel like it.
Fuck off, Mia. Don't judge me for smoking. Don't I have enough stress to have earned it?
Fuck. I can't believe—I know I've said it almost every day, but I just...I still can't believe Addie's gone. And she should have gone out better. She earned so much better. We all would've died so many times without her in the field. So what right does some asshole commander have to shoot her in the back of the head because she's taking out her frustration on another unit's NC?
She deserved more. She deserved better than this.
Hello?
Oh. Hey, Allie. Fuck, fuck, sorry, I know I shouldn't be smoking. I just...
...Yeah, I know. They didn't know her like we did, they wouldn't understand. C'mere.
F—fuck. I'm gonna...hggkkh—
...Yeah. I'm...I know.
I know I smell like smoke. But can...can you hug me like you did when we were little, Allie?
Thank you. Thank—thank you.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. It's May thirty-first, two-six-seven-three.
Alecto #2. Mina.
God. I still feel like my soul got squeezed out like a dishrag. I know I said that I wouldn't get attached to Sparkplug. But this isn't a won't so much as a can't. I don't have the energy anymore. I can't bring myself to care about another girl who isn't—
Never mind.
Sparkplug showed her Shift. It's bad. It's just...it's just psychosis. She starts hallucinating, getting delusions. She's only made one fullsync and episodes are already starting. She said that I was trying to kill her, ran away, and shut herself up for eight hours.
They aren't giving us the drugs for Allie anymore. So now she just has to deal with the panic.
I can't feel my arms and legs at all anymore.
I'm going to cry.
Mia Hartley. June second, two-six-seven-three. Twenty two now.
I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.
I'm sorry. Sis, Sparkplug, Jackie...even Mina, whoever you are. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If I was good enough then Priss would still be alive. Addie would still be here and happy. I didn't want—I didn't mean—
I'm sorry.
Fuck. No. Sortie in a few days. Maybe that'll help me out of this funk.
Bye.
I've...
I... ... ... ... I haven't...I haven't held my gun to my head since basic. ... ... ... Sparkplug's—Anita, she's—
...I'm sorry. God, Sparkplug, I'm so—I'm sorry. You trusted me to—to cover your back. But then I, I didn't check all the angles, and I, I, I just—
Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! WHY SHOULD'T I? WHY SHOULD I JUST PULL THE TRIGGER? I COULDN'T—
...Oh god. Allie, I... ... ... ... You're a shit sister, Mia.
...God.
I still feel so bad about Sparkplug. I mean, it was just...it was just my fault. I can't even get around it, I just didn't watch all the angles.
I'll...god. I'll be glad to move on from this topic. Or...well, the next topic isn't much better, is it? As you can probably tell from the section name. And you also probably remember how awful things got around that point. So I'm gonna try and gloss over things. Not going to put in my birthdays, all of the New Years...it's just going to be the highlights of awfulness. So it'll be a bit shorter, since I don't really like rewatching these and don't want to go over them again.
Which ends with...well. You...know where this is going.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is February sixth, two-six-seven-four. I'm twenty two years old.
Siobhan keeps trying to talk to me. Sorry, kid. I mean, I'll talk to her, obviously. I'll be nice, I'll make peace between her and Mina whenever things go wrong, it's basically my job. But I'm not making a real connection with her. I can't. Not again. It hurts too much.
So I've been spending most of what little spare time I have with Allie. Well, and Jackie, but...less so.
God, if Allie saw me now, she'd be pissed. I mean...I know she can smell the smoke, no matter how much I try and hide it. At least I keep it out of the common area, out of the NCs and stuff. I've...I've earned this. It's fine. Fuck everyone else.
...It's so quiet now.
Allie's all quiet now because her Shift has messed her up. Mina and Siobhan are both quiet by nature, even if they get at each others' throats from time to time. Jackie's...well. Her shift has started to get to her a little more. She's still cheerful and stuff, but...less. Her smile isn't as real, I guess, and she keeps to herself more.
Whenever I walk out to the common room I feel like I'm seeing ghosts of the past. Like I can see young me and cheerful Allie, Priss laughing, Addie shaking her head with a smirk on her face, and Lucy smiling as she whittles in the corner. It's just...I don't know.
Is this what it's like to feel old?
Maybe. Who knows. Bye.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is April twenty-eighth. I am twenty two years old.
I'm glad I don't get attached.
It hadn't been a full year, and Mina died. Nameless, faceless. What's the point of it all?
Donovan said he found a new Alecto right away. Her name is Marina Martinez. Mina. Marina. I don't know. Maybe I'll start talking to her more once she makes it a few months. I dunno. At least Siobhan's still alive. I mostly expected her to die right off. Maybe she'll survive another day.
At this point, I only care about Allie and Jackie.
Poor Jackie. She can feel her emotions slipping away permanently, little by little. She's started keeping a journal like me, and the look on her face is just constant anguish. I feel so horrible for her. And Allie. God. Fairbanks. Fucking Fairbanks. I've tried. I've tried so hard. Donovan tried too. But they won't renew her modamerizol. Watching her fall apart in panic more and more often is breaking my heart.
Fuck. Where's my lighter? I need another cig.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is October fourteenth, two-six-seven-four. I'm twenty three years old.
Today, Marina saved Allie's life. Jumped out in front of her and mulched fuckers down while her drones fixed up Blue Sky.
Maybe I'll start being a little more involved with her. At least she deserves thanks for that. Cool shotgun, too.
Allie is really torn up, though. It's bad. Really bad. I need to actually force her into her NC so the higher ups don't come down and, I don't know, use me as leverage on her like they used her once on me. It feels awful. I don't want them doing it to her. So even though I feel like a fuckin' monster, I gotta keep doing it. The panic is getting worse, and the permanent effects are starting to ramp up too.
Speaking of shifts, everything below my shoulders and thighs are permanently numb now. When I come out of the cockpit—doesn't need to be fullsync anymore—the temporary numbness creeps further across me. Last time the only thing that had sensation on my entire body was my sternum.
I'm going to die soon, aren't I?
...I...fuck, I promised Allie I'd try to stop smoking. I can't light up.
I'll try to deal without it.
Good bye.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. Date is February sixth, two-six-seven-five. I'm twenty three.
Everyone's still alive.
And you know what, I'm starting to get fond of Marina. Bear in mind; not attached. But fond. She's a bit devil-may-care and wild, and it's nice to have someone more excited back around here. I mentioned it already, but...everything's so quiet now. Jackie has to try even harder, and she's slipping. It's horrible. I hate it. So Marina, a fuckin...eighteen year old, I think? Eighteen year old kid with no shift just kinda throwing her weight around...god. It reminds me of...
Well. You know. Before Priss died.
Haaahhhh.
Allie said she wanted to talk to me about something important tonight.
Does it make me a bad sister that I'm terrified?
Well. I should go do that now.
Bye.
My name is...fuck this. Fuck the stupid introduction. I know who I am.
Siobhan's gone. That's three Megaeras down now. I miss Lucy. Got a new kid already again. Revolving door. Angry kid, calls herself Anya. I try to be nice to her, but the world's like a blur.
I've got an intense feeling of dread building, and building, and building. Something's about to go wrong. Something's about to go horribly, horribly wrong.
Fuck.
Bye.
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There's... ... I just...
Why?
Why
Why? Why? Just...
I don't...I don't understand.
We were—so many years. So many years that—
I can't—
How...how do I live now?
I can't...
What do I do without her?
I...
Please.
Please, god, please, please, please, come back, you deserved better, you needed—why couldn't they just—why didn't they—
...Why?
I...
Fuck, it's still so raw.
It's hard for me to write much about that. So I'm just going to try and move on to what happened afterwards. Because while it's not good...at least it's better.
Anything is better than going back there.
...What's the point anymore?
It's like...it's like being cut in half.
Donovan said that he's looking for a new Melinoë now.
OVER MY DEAD BODY.
I...I guess I'm...I'll try to...to keep going.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is August eighth, two-six-seven-six. I am twenty five years old.
...Look at this.
HEY! COME BACK HERE, FUCKING BRAT!
Look at this. Look at this! This is what they're trying to replace Allie with! This! Fucking...what did you say your name was? HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU!
Ah...I...I'm...Pl—please—
You see what the fuck I mean? God, it's some cruel fucking JOKE. Sirona. Your name is Sirona!SIRONA! SAY IT!
...p...please...
Fine. Fine! Get the fuck out!
What a fucking joke.
My...my name is—fuck, ow—Mia Ana Hartley. The date is December nineteenth, two-six-seven-six. I am twenty five years old.
Jackie punched me in the face today.
'Course she went for one of the only places left that I've got sensation. Fuck. I was yelling at that little shit that they're trying to replace Allie with, she was being afraid as usual. Fuck, it makes me so MAD! Then Jackie spun me around and punched me in the right cheek. Hard. You can see the bruise already. Told me in her cold voice...god. She used to be so cheerful. Told me that I was acting like Addie when she joined and that I stopped her from picking on Jackie back in the day.
It's not the same! It's NOT! Allie is—was—
FUCK!
I...
I realized something today.
I...My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is May nineteenth, two-six-seven-seven. I am twenty five years old.
I realized that...
Sirona is terrified of me.
The only one that seems to tolerate her is Jackie. Marina ignores her. Anya screams at her.
So why is she the most scared of me?
...I've done something awful, haven't I?
I...god. Allie...you...you wouldn't want this.
I'm sorry. I'll stop smoking. I'll—I'll try to be nice to Sirona. Please. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
My name is Mia Ana Hartley. The date is August fourth, two-six-seven-seven. I am twenty six years old.
That didn't work either.
Sirona is never, ever going to forgive me, is she?
Or, not forgive. That's the wrong word. She's just...always going to be terrified of me. God, Jackie was so right. I'm just...there's no excuse. There really isn't. Sirona, you poor child, I'm sorry.
I gave her something. She looked at me like it was going to explode. It was just one of the shells out of Arbiter that I scratched a pattern in. I guess I channeled my Lucy for a minute, ha ha.
I hope she keeps it.
Sirona, Allie, I'm sorry.
Sirona's dead.
God. I feel sick.
I don't even have much I can say. I never tried to know her. That poor, poor child.
I need to do better next time. Sirona, I'm sorry. I won't do it again.
My name is Mia Anastasia Hartley. The date is September fourth, two-six-seven-eight.
I waited for the emotion to come back into her voice after she got out of the cockpit, but it never did.
Jackie's all gone.
And now I've got nothing left either. There's no feeling. I need to be so careful. I can't do anything. I feel like a doll on a shelf, like if I breathe too hard, I'm going to fall apart.
But...no. I can't.
Donovan's gone AWOL. Nobody really knows why. With him gone, there's no formal commander of Tartarus Squadron anymore. So if it's going to stick around, then it's gonna need someone who can hold it together.
I looked back and my last few logs. Look at me, wallowing in self-pity now that Donovan's gone. Hating myself for the fact that without him, there's no more Melinoë, there's no more Lyssa, there's nothing left. But no. Fuck that. Jackie's right. I've been such a stupid fool.
Tartarus Squadron is my life. If they want to tear it apart, they're gonna need to go through me,
Sorry, Allie. Sorry, Priss. Sorry, Addie. Sorry, Lucy. Sorry, Sparkplug. I'll kick the cigs. I'll stop drinking. I'll get my shit together.
I'll do better next time.
I promise.
Well...I guess that's all.
I doubt this is going to reach you. Donovan. I doubt you're still using this datatool after deserting. But you never know. It could get there. And I think this was maybe more for me anyway.
But if you do get it...thanks, Donovan.
For everything.
Mia A. Hartley (Lyssa), Interim-Commander of Tartarus Squadron
Polaris Shift ◢
Mia's been a pilot for a long, long time, so it's lucky for her that her Shift is pretty mild compared to a lot of others. No debilitating sickness, no mental lapses, no panic attacks or personality bleed. No, her Shift has steadily removed her sense of touch. When she first started, she would just get numb fingers after fullsync, the kind you get in cold weather, that would last for a few hours before sensation would return. But after years and years of rigorous and constant military work, she's reached the point of permanent full-body numbness. She needs to be really careful how she exercises, how she moves; she can't box anymore or anything, and she tries to let other people do the cooking instead of her since she can't feel the burns. But all told, she tells herself, it's not too bad. She's seen worse.
Much, much worse.
Personal Mission ◢
Mia is an old hand at this. She's been though a lot of good times, and a lot of bad times. And much of her life has been spent and devoted to her home, Tartarus Squadron. She's done a lot of bad things, and she knows that very well. But that doesn't mean a damn thing to her. Because all she wants right now is—Commander AWOL, Melinoë unassigned, massive friction between members—is to keep Tartarus Squadron together. Because if she doesn't, she just doesn't know what she's going to do anymore.
Quinnlash's teeth grit together and her offhand clenched into a tight, vicious claw. Then she slammed Undying Light into the stones barrel first with a loud crack, echoed in rapid time by the same from her metaphysical center as the golden flash seared across her chest. Her ember, already a lump of molten steel within her chest, redoubled itself with the familiar white-hot sear that had poured through her veins so many times now. The newborn soulfire within her cannon began to swell with a terrible light, and she growled along with it as her blood began to boil. She faintly heard the other Hunters introduce themselves, and somewhere within her their names registered, but fuck them, she had other things to worry about right now.
"Quinnlash! Quinn! Lash! My name is Quinnlash, maker damn you, and you know it!" Her voice grated like steel on stone as she kicked the massive gun to her shoulder with a practiced twirl and leveled it at Fianna's face, teeth bared in a furious snarl. A moment of quiet passed. The pained grimace turned to a fierce and jagged smile.
"But you know what? If it's a fight that you're offering, then step right up and I'll blow you in half just like last time!"
Time froze for just a moment there as her finger tightened, trembling, on the trigger. It would be just so maker-damned easy to blast her right in her stupid arrogant face. It wouldn't even slow the woman down in the end, she'd just put herself back together like she always had, so what was the damn harm anyway? It's not like she cared about anything anyone in the shit backwater city had to say, right?
I’m sure the Pyromancer-Queen would be disappointed if she heard you talking to me like this.
With a barely suppressed scream of frustration, Quinnlash tore her finger from the trigger. Her eye flashed with a brilliant golden light as the soulfire winked out and rejoined the rest of her soul, and she slung the cannon across her shoulder. Her voice, when she spoke, was husky with anger and pain, and some other emotion buried deep down in there that even she couldn't quite identify, and certainly didn't want to. She forced her boiling blood to still some. "Next time I'll burn you down until there aren't even ashes left. Even you wouldn't be able to put yourself together after that, Freakshow." But the energetic fury had gone, and she was going through the motions for her own sake more than anything else.
She turned away to the Hearthfire tower, unable to even look at the smug expression that was no doubt slithering over the woman's face right now. And unconsciously, her own face was twisted into something that struck between anger and anguish and fear.
"Galiel will be down soon anyway. Wouldn't be any fun."
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