Rudis was worse for wear. In fact, she was half a month off of being feral. Her hair was knotted and frayed. The end of her ponytail had been scorched and burnt into a frazzled black end--really, it was closer to a donkey tail. Dirt caked nearly the entirety of her skin; the clean parts had been sanded down by road rash. The only part of her that wasn't worn down was her cloak. It wasn't for a lack of trying; it was just a fortunate timing of her having to recently replace her completely demolished one. One could easily mistake her as a beast already. Her current attitude didn't help either. As she rested sitting on a telltale slab of rock, a large pile of ration wrappers had formed by her feet. Though, perhaps littering in a warzone wasn't exactly the most pressing issue at the moment.
Any downtime that Rudis could manage had been filled with shoving her gob full of whatever calories she could find. In most cases, it was the rations that they were supplied with. Now was no different. While others had partaken in sunbathing, stimulants, and stoicism, Rudis had already eaten enough for four constellations. When the commander approached, Rudis hadn't even bothered to stop shoving rations in her mouth to listen. She could multitask. Not very well, but she technically could.
Rudis' answer to the commander's question was obvious. Even though a month's fighting had worn her down, she still had enough gas left for another month. Whether that was in brutal inch-by-inch attrition or to be burnt away in one final glorious strike was of little importance to the blattidaean Constellation.
She still let the others speak first as she ate more rations. Most--their ramshackle pilots, rather--were in simple agreement. Odessa went further and crafted a strategy. She was infinitely better than Rudis at crafting a strategy and the entire thinking thing. That, unfortunately, didn't stop Rudis from chiming in.
"That's your opinion." She refuted with an overdone smirk. "I got all the resources we need to get into the nest right here."
In one fell motion, she stuck her ration bar in her mouth and flexed both arms. It was difficult to tell if she was earnestly joking or jokingly boisterous. After all, Rudis could--in theory--be uncharacteristically subversive in an urban planet. Concrete and cement were simply another form of earth. Of course, her awful efficiency made getting through more than a handful of walls that way an exercise in endurance even for her. Also knowing her, she was moreso thinking of running through walls and going in a straight line.
A brief moment of gravity came over Rudis.
"No but uh--probably what Odie said. I'm ride or die, not a stratestician."
B A S I C I N F O [Name]Rudis Saint-Saëns [Callsign]Rho Ophiuchi [Gender]Female [Age]28 [Rank and Designation]Main-Class [Place of Birth]Forgeship Papillon [Official Statement]"It's just duty, baby. Born into it. Gonna die out of it."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Anti-Barrier Sword]#44: Hard Luck [Anti-Barrier Quotient]80% [Physical Description] The 44th sword is cursed--that's what anyone who worked on it would say. No matter how they constructed it, the blade was a failure. Dozens of reworks made little headway. The more they had attempted to fix the sword or recycle the materials, the more issues it had. All attempts were failures. Even reclaiming the material and utilizing it in other blades was impossible; anything that had even touched the raw material seemed to fail. In a last ditch effort, its final incarnation was formed: a beyond simple zweihander, if you could even call it that. It would be more accurate to call it a sharpened cross.
Of course, that's only its base form. When utilized by Rudis, the blade is little more than a core designed to crack barriers. Buried within layers of pyretic stone, the goal of the weapon is simple: to create the ultimate defense and offense. A single blow that, while revealing the brittle core, is designed to annihilate anything ahead of her. [Attributes] None.
[Armaments]
Acceleration Kit - A set of various mental stimulants designed to push mental processing and reaction time to their absolute limits. A simple answer to combat the more evasive aberrations. Kept on her left hip.
Anchor Wire - A system of high-tensile microchains integrated onto her right arm. Allows for the rapid deployment of a grappling wire for rapid transit or retrieval.
[Anomaly]Tectoniconesis [Origin]Symtropantos [Phenomena] Fundamentally, Rudis can melt down, collect, reform, and supercool nearby stone and earth. Simply put, she can form durable barriers around her weapon and herself. These stones can easily vary in temperature.
Typically, Rudis uses her phenomenon to cover her weapon. However, she can also form larger barriers of stone nearby to both limit movement and defend against attacks.
These barriers can, with some effort, stop most attacks from bishop-class aberrants. However, more focused attack require constant unkeep as Rudis must constantly rebuild the defensive layers around her weapon. [Limitation] Ultimately, their phenomena requires earth and stone. Rudis is significantly weakened when outside of these environments as she's forced to recollect the stones that typically cover her blade. As her phenomena focuses on the collection rather than acceleration of mass, she is extremely limited in range. In addition, her power consumes a significant amount of energy. It's not uncommon to see her completely on the verge of collapse whenever she goes all out, nor is it uncommon to see her devour enough food for three constellations.
Profile
[Surface-level Impression] Rudis is a simple person to understand. She's someone who wears her heart on her sleeve; that heart also happens to be beating hard at all times. While hot-blooded, she's a woman of inscrutable will. When she needs to achieve something, she'll risk life and limb to achieve it. To her, dealing with risky situations comes just as easily as breathing. There is no subtext to her actions; to do so is cowardly. She'll openly state what's on her mind regardless of tact.
Emotionally, it's rare to see her angry or sad. She's more commonly some mixture of excited, joyous, and satisfied. Only during the most dire situations does she ever opine a more serious nature.
Like her people, she has a great pride in keeping with tradition--especially with the traditions of her people. Also like her people, she has a characteristic denseness to her understanding. Playful remarks are seen entirely at face value.
[Personal History] The sole daughter of her parents, one would expect a sheltered upbringing for such traditional ideals. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Her father had passed early, so the typical upbringing of someone of her lineage was abandoned. Born into a Forgeship, Rudis had spent her learning of the duties of the ship. She practiced operating the hammers and played in their few training mecha. However, her duty was not of the ship. No, being from a warrior family, she was tested like all other constellations. They found her aptitude was enough. It would appear that her duty would be among the stars.
She had easily taken to conscription. It was her duty she was born to, so it would seem. Her training was noticeably harsh even for a constellation. She pushed herself to collapse every night. Not a single word of complaint came from her lips. She endured--no, she enjoyed it. No matter how much she sweat, no matter how much she bled, she pushed further. Her training was accelerated to the point of early combat merits. She had seen and participated in battles long before her training was completed.
Her career as a constellation was built on this same determination. However, her career was not one of pure success. No, her failings were obvious. Her weaknesses were apparent. But no matter what, she'd always return home. Ending a mission with critical vitals was common for her. When on the verge of collapse, she'd shatter the aberrant before collapsing. Even when nearly bisected, she'd hold her guts in until medical arrived. One thing was clear throughout all of her missions: not a single constellation or pilot had died while fighting alongside her.
And such was her career. Not one of mounting success and accolades, but one of survival and narrow victories.
Home World
[Planet Description] Penal flagships. Forgeships. Planet crackers. No matter what you call them, their role is the same: to support the war effort. The forgeships move through the stars with this single goal in mind. Forgeships are honoured for their contributions. Without them, the war effort would be crushed under megacorps.
Of course, forge ships were not always this venerated. Long ago, they had a simple purpose without honour. They were penal labour. Debtors, exiles, and other such rabble were sentenced to mine the stars without regard to their health. That wouldn't last forever--especially when convicts sought any comfort available. As generations of children who had only known the metal and stars lived and died, they began to seek determination. The right to grasp their freedom.
Thus began the rebellions. With no regard to their life, they staged mutinies and raised their own flag. Few were convicts. Most were born on the ship. They fought with mining equipment. To call it a losing battle would be an understatement. One thing stopped their simple annihilation: aberrants. With a newfound common enemy, their former wardens had decided that perhaps a mutual solution could be found.
The children only knew of the forges and stars. As such, they'd continue their work. But they'd have their freedom.
The Papillon was the flagship of the rebellion. Industrial and utilitarian, there are few besides the star born who could call it home. It's a brutal ship, but the children of the forge have an intense pride for it. It's their home among the stars. With grand forges and mining, the ship traverses space to ensure that their war effort is fulfilled.
[Culture] Filled with the descendants of exiles, criminals, and debtors, the mining clans are highly influenced by their past. Fragmented and anachronistic, their culture is filled with artifacts of their convicted heritage.
Those of forgeships are driven by duty: an inalienable purpose given by one's birth. To not fulfill one's duty is to lose one's purpose.
Remnants of their criminal past remain at the forefront of their culture. While explosive collars have long since been outlawed as apart of the Forgeship Accords, those of the Papillon still wear a variety of strings around their neck. Their recreation is typically mind-altering. Those of the Forgeships are known for their consumption of narcotics and booze--and their ability to carry them on any restricted planet.
Their culture, while not formal in the slightest, is highly traditional. They prefer doing things the old ways, good and bad. Their beds are hard as stone. Children are raised in the opposite of safety. How they strip planets bare for rare ores, ensuring that no terraforming will ever be conducted, is never questioned. Their drive to complete their duty at any cost is dogma.
Traditional arts had long since been abandoned. Instead, focus had been put on the quality of one's creation and ability. Performance had been replaced by athletics. The only painting they conduct is on their mining mechs. Their philosophy focuses on the relationship of body and reality rather than mind. As a result, those of Forgeships are often considered even more of dullards than those the frontiers.
Society on Forgeships is highly stratified in accordance to their duties. One is born or conscripted into a job and barring exemplary service, are expected to retire and die in the same role. Few will ever leave the Forgeships, but fewer wish to leave. However, their society remains communal. All of them understand the necessity of each other's role.
[Warrior Family] One would not typically expect a warrior family on a Forgeship. But, love finds a way. The Saint-Saëns had married into the Forgeship Papillon. The young master of the Saint-Saëns, a weak and timid man, was immediately beset with infatuation upon seeing his future wife. Of course, his attempt at noble courtship and romance had been met with a quick response as she (quite literally) swept him off his feet.
The Saint-Saëns are itinerants known for their logistical support of the war effort. Though, their lifestyle is not of choice but instead a requirement to understand the logistical needs of the frontier first hand. As such, they have a reputation of being warrior-academics. It was once said that there is no greater planetary administrator than a Saint-Saëns who had decided to settle--someone who could ensure prosperity in times of peace and war.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Jean "Okab" Rasker
[Relation to Subject] Retired constellation, trainer.
[Analysis] It was a surprise when the infamously reclusive Jean Rasker had chosen to train a recruit. A retired Red Giant-Class constellation, Jean had been known for his sheer combat intelligence and agility. His career was devastating. It was expected that he would become one of few Supernovas, if not for his first failure. An unexpected attack on a frontier world that had served as a logistics hub. Jean was permanently disabled. Even the best medical technology could not return his agility and his intelligence could not compensate.
He's a harsh and stern mentor. Brutal, but with foresight and acting in Rudis' best interests. While he had taught Rudis his fighting method using anchor wires, he quickly adapted it to be more suited towards his trainee.
In truth, Rudis' ever timid and cowardly father had passed saving Jean.
[Name] Dr. Arvi Malvis
[Relation to Subject] Personal Physician
[Analysis] It's no surprise that a constellation would have a personal physician, especially one that gets as injured as Rudis. Dr. Malvis is likely one of the few doctors who can properly deal with people from Forgeships. Curt, rude, and uncaring, Dr. Malvis isn't exactly the picture of a good doctor. Despite this, her talent and skill make her a useful.
A hobbyist pharmacologist, Dr. Malvis often develops concoctions to be utilized by Rudis to shore her weaknesses.
[Name] Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara
[Relation to Subject] Comrade
[Analysis] A damn good fighter.
On the field, Odessa is someone Rudis can leave her back to. Off the field, it's fairly hard for a constellation to find a good sparring partner considering that most of their expertise revolves around the usage of specialized techniques and weaponry. Finding someone whose modus operandi is to pummel the shit out of things with their fists? Now that's something that Rudis likes. Of course, Rudis takes no issue with her personality. Sure, she ain't like the roughnecks Rudis can call family. But she's nice and is willing to spare a snack from the occasional meal kit.
Though, the fact that Odessa is younger is something that always catches Rudis by surprise, no matter how many times she hears it.
B A S I C I N F O [Name]Rudis Saint-Saëns [Callsign]Rho Ophiuchi [Gender]Female [Age]28 [Rank and Designation]Main-Class [Place of Birth]Forgeship Papillon [Official Statement]"It's just duty, baby. Born into it. Gonna die out of it."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Anti-Barrier Sword]#44: Hard Luck [Anti-Barrier Quotient]80% [Physical Description] The 44th sword is cursed--that's what anyone who worked on it would say. No matter how they constructed it, the blade was a failure. Dozens of reworks made little headway. The more they had attempted to fix the sword or recycle the materials, the more issues it had. All attempts were failures. Even reclaiming the material and utilizing it in other blades was impossible; anything that had even touched the raw material seemed to fail. In a last ditch effort, its final incarnation was formed: a beyond simple zweihander, if you could even call it that. It would be more accurate to call it a sharpened cross.
Of course, that's only its base form. When utilized by Rudis, the blade is little more than a core designed to crack barriers. Buried within layers of pyretic stone, the goal of the weapon is simple: to create the ultimate defense and offense. A single blow that, while revealing the brittle core, is designed to annihilate anything ahead of her. [Attributes] None.
[Armaments]
Acceleration Kit - A set of various mental stimulants designed to push mental processing and reaction time to their absolute limits. A simple answer to combat the more evasive aberrations. Kept on her left hip.
Anchor Wire - A system of high-tensile microchains integrated onto her right arm. Allows for the rapid deployment of a grappling wire for rapid transit or retrieval.
[Anomaly]Tectoniconesis [Origin]Symtropantos [Phenomena] Fundamentally, Rudis can melt down, collect, reform, and supercool nearby stone and earth. Simply put, she can form durable barriers around her weapon and herself. These stones can easily vary in temperature.
Typically, Rudis uses her phenomenon to cover her weapon. However, she can also form larger barriers of stone nearby to both limit movement and defend against attacks.
These barriers can, with some effort, stop most attacks from bishop-class aberrants. However, more focused attack require constant unkeep as Rudis must constantly rebuild the defensive layers around her weapon. [Limitation] Ultimately, their phenomena requires earth and stone. Rudis is significantly weakened when outside of these environments as she's forced to recollect the stones that typically cover her blade. As her phenomena focuses on the collection rather than acceleration of mass, she is extremely limited in range. In addition, her power consumes a significant amount of energy. It's not uncommon to see her completely on the verge of collapse whenever she goes all out, nor is it uncommon to see her devour enough food for three constellations.
Profile
[Surface-level Impression] Rudis is a simple person to understand. She's someone who wears her heart on her sleeve; that heart also happens to be beating hard at all times. While hot-blooded, she's a woman of inscrutable will. When she needs to achieve something, she'll risk life and limb to achieve it. To her, dealing with risky situations comes just as easily as breathing. There is no subtext to her actions; to do so is cowardly. She'll openly state what's on her mind regardless of tact.
Emotionally, it's rare to see her angry or sad. She's more commonly some mixture of excited, joyous, and satisfied. Only during the most dire situations does she ever opine a more serious nature.
Like her people, she has a great pride in keeping with tradition--especially with the traditions of her people. Also like her people, she has a characteristic denseness to her understanding. Playful remarks are seen entirely at face value.
[Personal History] The sole daughter of her parents, one would expect a sheltered upbringing for such traditional ideals. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Her father had passed early, so the typical upbringing of someone of her lineage was abandoned. Born into a Forgeship, Rudis had spent her learning of the duties of the ship. She practiced operating the hammers and played in their few training mecha. However, her duty was not of the ship. No, being from a warrior family, she was tested like all other constellations. They found her aptitude was enough. It would appear that her duty would be among the stars.
She had easily taken to conscription. It was her duty she was born to, so it would seem. Her training was noticeably harsh even for a constellation. She pushed herself to collapse every night. Not a single word of complaint came from her lips. She endured--no, she enjoyed it. No matter how much she sweat, no matter how much she bled, she pushed further. Her training was accelerated to the point of early combat merits. She had seen and participated in battles long before her training was completed.
Her career as a constellation was built on this same determination. However, her career was not one of pure success. No, her failings were obvious. Her weaknesses were apparent. But no matter what, she'd always return home. Ending a mission with critical vitals was common for her. When on the verge of collapse, she'd shatter the aberrant before collapsing. Even when nearly bisected, she'd hold her guts in until medical arrived. One thing was clear throughout all of her missions: not a single constellation or pilot had died while fighting alongside her.
And such was her career. Not one of mounting success and accolades, but one of survival and narrow victories.
Home World
[Planet Description] Penal flagships. Forgeships. Planet crackers. No matter what you call them, their role is the same: to support the war effort. The forgeships move through the stars with this single goal in mind. Forgeships are honoured for their contributions. Without them, the war effort would be crushed under megacorps.
Of course, forge ships were not always this venerated. Long ago, they had a simple purpose without honour. They were penal labour. Debtors, exiles, and other such rabble were sentenced to mine the stars without regard to their health. That wouldn't last forever--especially when convicts sought any comfort available. As generations of children who had only known the metal and stars lived and died, they began to seek determination. The right to grasp their freedom.
Thus began the rebellions. With no regard to their life, they staged mutinies and raised their own flag. Few were convicts. Most were born on the ship. They fought with mining equipment. To call it a losing battle would be an understatement. One thing stopped their simple annihilation: aberrants. With a newfound common enemy, their former wardens had decided that perhaps a mutual solution could be found.
The children only knew of the forges and stars. As such, they'd continue their work. But they'd have their freedom.
The Papillon was the flagship of the rebellion. Industrial and utilitarian, there are few besides the star born who could call it home. It's a brutal ship, but the children of the forge have an intense pride for it. It's their home among the stars. With grand forges and mining, the ship traverses space to ensure that their war effort is fulfilled.
[Culture] Filled with the descendants of exiles, criminals, and debtors, the mining clans are highly influenced by their past. Fragmented and anachronistic, their culture is filled with artifacts of their convicted heritage.
Those of forgeships are driven by duty: an inalienable purpose given by one's birth. To not fulfill one's duty is to lose one's purpose.
Remnants of their criminal past remain at the forefront of their culture. While explosive collars have long since been outlawed as apart of the Forgeship Accords, those of the Papillon still wear a variety of strings around their neck. Their recreation is typically mind-altering. Those of the Forgeships are known for their consumption of narcotics and booze--and their ability to carry them on any restricted planet.
Their culture, while not formal in the slightest, is highly traditional. They prefer doing things the old ways, good and bad. Their beds are hard as stone. Children are raised in the opposite of safety. How they strip planets bare for rare ores, ensuring that no terraforming will ever be conducted, is never questioned. Their drive to complete their duty at any cost is dogma.
Traditional arts had long since been abandoned. Instead, focus had been put on the quality of one's creation and ability. Performance had been replaced by athletics. The only painting they conduct is on their mining mechs. Their philosophy focuses on the relationship of body and reality rather than mind. As a result, those of Forgeships are often considered even more of dullards than those the frontiers.
Society on Forgeships is highly stratified in accordance to their duties. One is born or conscripted into a job and barring exemplary service, are expected to retire and die in the same role. Few will ever leave the Forgeships, but fewer wish to leave. However, their society remains communal. All of them understand the necessity of each other's role.
[Warrior Family] One would not typically expect a warrior family on a Forgeship. But, love finds a way. The Saint-Saëns had married into the Forgeship Papillon. The young master of the Saint-Saëns, a weak and timid man, was immediately beset with infatuation upon seeing his future wife. Of course, his attempt at noble courtship and romance had been met with a quick response as she (quite literally) swept him off his feet.
The Saint-Saëns are itinerants known for their logistical support of the war effort. Though, their lifestyle is not of choice but instead a requirement to understand the logistical needs of the frontier first hand. As such, they have a reputation of being warrior-academics. It was once said that there is no greater planetary administrator than a Saint-Saëns who had decided to settle--someone who could ensure prosperity in times of peace and war.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Jean "Okab" Rasker
[Relation to Subject] Retired constellation, trainer.
[Analysis] It was a surprise when the infamously reclusive Jean Rasker had chosen to train a recruit. A retired Red Giant-Class constellation, Jean had been known for his sheer combat intelligence and agility. His career was devastating. It was expected that he would become one of few Supernovas, if not for his first failure. An unexpected attack on a frontier world that had served as a logistics hub. Jean was permanently disabled. Even the best medical technology could not return his agility and his intelligence could not compensate.
He's a harsh and stern mentor. Brutal, but with foresight and acting in Rudis' best interests. While he had taught Rudis his fighting method using anchor wires, he quickly adapted it to be more suited towards his trainee.
In truth, Rudis' ever timid and cowardly father had passed saving Jean.
[Name] Dr. Arvi Malvis
[Relation to Subject] Personal Physician
[Analysis] It's no surprise that a constellation would have a personal physician, especially one that gets as injured as Rudis. Dr. Malvis is likely one of the few doctors who can properly deal with people from Forgeships. Curt, rude, and uncaring, Dr. Malvis isn't exactly the picture of a good doctor. Despite this, her talent and skill make her a useful.
A hobbyist pharmacologist, Dr. Malvis often develops concoctions to be utilized by Rudis to shore her weaknesses.
Politically, Justice didn't care for the internals of an enemy nation. She could surmise that there were doves and hawks vying for control of foreign policy. If there wasn't, then the state of the war would either be over or intensified to absurdity.
An angered look washed over Justice's face. It would appear that they wouldn't get a moment's respite from shit happening. It was really just their luck.
As much as she wished that they could just drive through like an actual convoy, colliding into an overturned truck would not be a good plan. Even if they did manage to break through, driving through Etherium spillage sounded like a fun way to die horribly.
"Search for a way through." Justice gave a callous command that ignored the RV. She then turned towards the princess. "Keep your head down and stay out of sight."
Taking a deep breath, Justice began to sense the flow of the mist around them. The fuel made it difficult to parse what was ahead of them, but she would at least attempt to detect any ambush.
Thankfully, the truck didn't require an engine rebuild--something that would have taken days if not weeks. Just some realignment and resealing. What tubes had exploded and bolts had been shorn across the rest of the truck were replaced. Additional parts that had given out were--with enough looking--swapped out with scrapyard equivalents.
What Justice had been doing while everyone was conversing was mudding up the burn marks, kicking out some dents, and patching the canvas cover. Of course, the patches were noticeable. But it was certainly less attention grabbing. She'd rather the truck look like it was damaged long ago rather than recently. If that were the case, someone uninterested in it would simply think of the vehicle as old surplus that found its way to a private buyer.
Though, that didn't mean she wasn't listening to the group.
"If that thing came back, it'd probably not care what we're driving barring a bigger, stronger airship." Justice said over the noise of her kicking out dents from the inside of the cab. "I'm more worried about the hicks. We have a bad track record with them already."
The final kick was significantly louder than the last few as her annoyance finally boiled over. The dent popped as it somewhat returned to its proper form, though the metal still had a warped outline where the dent once was.
"With our luck?" Justice replied to Gerard. She didn't elaborate further.
"I like fighting." Justice said plainly. "But I'm also the one who has to write reports and do paperwork." Justice paused carving the details on the bullet shark. "And I prefer not having to spend time trying to figure out what's true and what's bullshit."
Then came the topic of how they were to continue their road trip.
"We probably salvage a less damaged gasket from somewhere. Fix the fuel lines and injectors. Pray that none of the important bits were damaged."
Justice never actually slept in the RV. Instead, she had been sleeping in a chair adjacent.
She no longer wore the outfit of someone who just screamed "I'm in the military and this is my day off." Of course, her current outfit wasn't good. It was built from the scraps of middle of nowhere gift shop/gas station clothing. If anything, it screamed "I forgot to do my laundry and I'm wearing what I'm wearing." Graphic design t-shirt of some bizarrely local reference, hoodie that was a size too small with a local business' logo printed above the breast, stretchy pants without pockets, and a bulk-made cap of a different but equally local business.
Of course, Morden's attempt at secret communications wasn't as hidden as he would of liked. Unfortunately for him, Justice had honed senses and specialized in the covert. Doubly so, she was now walking towards him and Veld like a raging hellion. Fortunately for him, Valerie had already stepped in and put what she was about to say... very politely. Justice was about to obliterate this man for assuming in a direct report.
Fortunately for him, his chewing out would wait. But Morden could definitely see the veins in Justice's neck bulging.
When Silje gave descriptions of the mist, Justice just nodded in affirmation. She couldn't put it in a better way. The changes in mist felt gross, alien, and were rather indescribable.
"Sir." Justice said to conclude their little meeting. At the very least, she wouldn't have to write a direct report about this incident. That was the one silver lining.
It was better than having to camp outside of a crashed ship. That's all Justice could think about their current arrangement. She hated sleeping in anything stopped with a suspension. At least when a vehicle was moving, the movements blended together when she tried to sleep. When it was stopped? She could feel every single small adjustment in the vehicle. Truly, it was a miserable experience. She'd rather sleep outside under a bit of tarp.
Of course, Gerard didn't volunteer to take the first shift, nor did he request a specific time zone. That means he gets voluntold to take the worst shift.
Justice didn't blame Val for immediately going to bed. If Justice had to exfil the princess alone, she'd probably be in a similar position. However, she couldn't just let Val go like this. Moving in front of the entrance of the RV, Justice stopped Val from entering. "Aegis." She bluntly said. Placing her hand over Val's device, she repaired the damage. The mist shifted and aligned to form an orderly lattice: dozens of straight prismatic rivers that flowed above, below, and besides each other. The order would soon fade to a homogeneous store of magic as the damage was repaired. Without saying another word, Justice walked back towards the fire pit.
Of course, Silje running off was expected. At the very least, whoever was on watch duty wouldn't fall asleep with her around. Though, she'd probably have to give Silje a juice box and some crackers when she woke up. Something like that.
Kalina asking for Justice's opinion on the matter had the latter form an annoyed expression for a brief moment. Though, it vanished as quickly as it came when Justice.
"Convenient if your only goal is to fight. A civil war maybe causes a dozen micronations to try to claim some power. And that's if one of the sides doesn't crush the other. If that's the case, then we have to deal with robots too. And thinking about that gives me a headache. So right now, I think it's better if we treat this like it never happened for tonight. Get rest. Deal with it tomorrow."
Her hammer had been replaced by a familiar knife. In the other hand, she held a thick wooden stick she had broken off a tree earlier. Perhaps this time she'd carve a nice bullet shark.
"I'll take first watch with Kali." Justice announced. "Then Kali will swap with Gerard. Then Gerard and I will swap with Morden and Silje."
She gave a brief pause as she felt an absence around them.
The princess's etiquette was lost on Justice. While she would have begrudgingly saluted someone of higher rank, "Princess" was not a military title. Add in the fact that she was from an enemy nation and the most that Justice could muster was an inattentive nod.
"We'll try to get some rest. Get up the road to somewhere safe, then take it in shifts. Wait for further orders and all that." She announced the plan. They were basic, but basic was what they needed--especially after everything that just happened.
Kalina's aside certainly got Justice thinking. Kalina's view of war was a bit expected. Though, Justice wasn't personally sure if it was an adherence to numbers or an instilled jingoism that most WARDENs had.
"It's better to be soft than cause a diplomatic crisis. Even nations at war have basic decorum when it comes to that kind of shit. It's part of the reason why prisoners of war aren't summarily executed. Neither nation wants to cross the Stygian river and they certainly don't want a bunch of rookies to do it. Plus, if we push things too far, it's our asses being court martialled. If they tell us to do something, we do it. If they don't we just make sure we don't do something irreversible."
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