2020-09-16: A Real American Hero
| A Real American Hero | |
|---|---|
| Vivian meets a real American hero. Somewhere, a tear falls and becomes a bald eagle that calls out in front of an American flag. | |
| IC Date | September 16th, 2020 |
| IC Time | Unknown |
| Players | Killian and Vivian |
| Location | Technocracy Construct, Zeta Sector - Training |
| Spheres | Mage, Technocracy |
Zeta Sector: Training
Having the latest and most advanced technological devices is only part of the equation for maintaining the upper hand in the war of ascension -- another part is having better trained operatives, whose faith in the Technocratic cause is unwavering. To that end, the Zeta Sector deals with training and indoctrination: the rows and rows of white pods, modern brainwashing apparatuses, can be found in a chamber in this very area. Firing ranges for both mundane and energy weapons are also a section of Zeta, as well as a fully equipped gymnasium and melee slash hand-to-hand combat training area.
Finally, the very latest in holographic simulators can be found within these halls, as a better method of emulating social-based scenes, as well as assisting to put training into context.
It's your typical day in sunny Prospect California. Although, of course, the word 'typical' rarely applies to those brave citizen-soldiers that make up the Technocratic Union. The training center is largely empty for the most part, aside from a couple junior Black Suits going over some notes in a corner. Quiet and subtle, as only the very best agents of the New World Order can be. But there's one presence that does stand out--largely due to his sheer size and mass, not to mention the low, deep belly-grunts he's emitting. Captain Mason 'Mace' Killian is seated at the hydraulic press, his face flushed and glazed in sweat, cheeks puffing out as he pushes at the bar. Biceps and extensors flex and ripple, pecs strain at the t-shirt stretched over them, and combat-booted feet plant firmly on the floor. The digital counter on the press reading '500'. Impressive enough, until one remembers that the Union, like the rest of the world, uses metric. That's 500 -kilograms- the big man is currently benching.
Into the training room comes Vivian, the blonde woman hefting duralumin briefcase along in one hand. She begins to make her way towards the firing range and passes by the mountain of a man bench pressing an ungodly amount of mass, the blonde doing a double-take. Her eyebrows arch and a wide smile spreads over her features as she peers down at the slab of raw power.
"Damn, that's impressive," she says, "Augmented?" That kind of strength would almost -have- to be.
Captain Killian gives one final grunt as he brings the press back to its ready position. He sits up in the bench, wiping his face and the back of his neck on a towel located conveniently at the foot of his bench. He looks up as he's addressed. The big man does a double-take himself. One can almost see the effort it's taking him to bite back a reflexive wolf-whistle. "That's right," he says, tossing the towel over the back of his bench. "I got shot up pretty good awhile back. The Xers had to cram a bunch of synthetic fibers n' things into me to nail me back together." He rises to his feet, lumbering over and offering his hand. "Can't say as we've met. Captain Mason Killian, Void Engineers Border Corps."
If she is at all perturbed by the evaluating look, Vivian hides it well. Instead, her smile widens into a full on grin. "Ahh," she says, nodding and taking the offered hand, shaking it firmly; her own are a bit rough and calloused, a worker's hands, "Never got beaten up that badly myself, thank the Maker. One-hundred percent Terran-grown human here." With her free hand the blonde makes a fist and thumps her chest twice.
At the full mention of rank, Vivian waits for her hand to be released then immediately straightens, squares her shoulders, and salutes crisply, "Sir!" Then folds her hands behind her back and adopts a parade rest stance. "Private First Class Vivian Starr, Void Engineer Pan Dimensional Corps. Pleased to meet you, Captain."
Killian breaks into a broad smile that tugs up the corners of his mustache and deepens the craggy lines at his eyes. He releases the hand and returns the salute, briskly and briefly. "Nice to meet you, Private Starr," he says with a nod. "As you were. And I was born in Nowheresville Kansas myself. I'm pretty partial to the dirtball myself." He tucks his thumbs in his beltloops, assuming a relaxed, easygoing stance that wouldn't be out of place in any Midwestern farm one might care to name. "So, what brings you to Prospect?" he asks, keeping his tone light and conversational. Or, at least, as light as that gravelly rumble he calls a voice can be.
Vivian relaxes as she's given leave, the blonde woman absently rubbing the back of her head, "Kansas, huh? Never been there, myself. I really should take a visit sometime." Her lips twist into a wry grin as she rolls her shoulders in a shrug, "Orders. I was transferred here about a month ago now. And thank Christ... Prospect is orders of magnitude better than the majority of places I was assigned to the last few months."
Her brows furrow in thought and her lips press into a thin line. "Mason Killian... Mason Killian... I -swear- I've heard that name before..." Her voice fades off for several beats before her eyes widen as an eureka moment flashes over her features. "Oh, hell no! Mason Killian of the Zyris Minor Incident?! Is that you, sir?"
Killian rumbles a low chuckle at that. "Aw, hell. Not much to see in Kansas. Touch down pretty much anywhere that isn't Wichta or Topeka, and you've pretty much seen it all." He nods his head with a grin at Vivian's estimation of Prospect. "It's a bit different from what I'm used to. Rent's a sumbitch. But at least the weather's nice." It's when she mentions Zyris Minor, however, that his good humor falters, if only slightly. His broad grin fades to a smile, and he clears his throat softly. "Uh... heh. Yeah. That's me," he says. Outwardly, he hasn't changed much. But there's a tensing of his posture, and that faintly haunted air that passes through his eyes, that any combat veteran would recognize as the classic thousand-yard stare. "Still trying to figure out how everything happened. I should've cashed in out there. But... I got Enlightened instead. And now, here I am." He clears his throat again, straightening his spine slightly. "So... PDC, yeah? Guessing you're a DimSci specialist?" It's not the most subtle of segues, but what do you want? He's a space marine, not an operative.
Oh just look at the sparkly hero worship in Vivian's eyes! "Oh hot damn!" she exclaims, her grin reaching nuclear core levels of radiance, "The whole Zyris Minor Incident is absolute -legend- in certain circles out on the Frontier, sir. Wow, I never actually expected to meet a bonefide fuckin' -hero- here!"
Her cheeks flush and she reigns herself in on seeing that tell-tale stiffness, smiling sheepishly in embarrassment. "Er, sorry, sir. I didn't mean to get all fangirly on you. No one knows exactly what you did, other than blow away one of those Nephandi fuckers. Rumors are that you did everything from smuggle an atomic grenade and experimental personal force field on mission to challenging the Nephandus to a honor duel and sending down a clone with a plasma bomb inside."
As the conversation moves away from Zyris Minor, her grin returns in full force. She seems just as thankful for the somewhat awkward segway as she nods. "More or less. It's what I have the most training in, at any rate. I'm more a general techie, though," she motions vaguely to the area, "Higher Ups apparently noted that you guys are missing a tech VE to deal with local incursions and here I am. From what I've seen, most of the other Engineers are assigned mostly to watch the planetary border with only occasional missions dirtside."
Well, whatever it was the burly marine was expecting, it certainly wasn't getting the stan treatment. His leathery cheeks actually flush a bit (or rather, a bit more, considering the strain of his recent workout), and he actually ducks his head sheepishly. "Aww..." He rumbles a soft chuckle, his good humor returning and his teeth flashing white under the gunmetal gray of his mustache. It would seem that a good dose of fangirl is just what the jarhead needed. "I was just doing my duty, Private. Takes a lot more'n that to make hero. But... thanks. That's flattering." His grin broadens, turning sly as he taps the side of his nose. "My prevailing theory is... when faced with the moment of my death, I released every ounce of Badass Marine Mojo I had stored up. And there was just so damn much of it that it formed a singularity of Ultimate Badass, and the quantum waveform resolved into a thermonuclear explosion." At least he doesn't pronounce it 'nuke-ya-ler'.
He nods his head as Vivian lines out her specialty and training. He perks a bit at the mention her being a techie. "Ooh. You're a -techie-? Hah! Hot -damn-! I -love- techies! You guys make -toys-!" His grin broadens again, and he nods his head. "I'm always up for a good bit of field- testing. Can't ever have too many guns. Handguns, shotguns, machine guns, laser guns, railguns... I like all of the guns." He nods his head again. "Most of our efforts here have been focused dirtside. Things've been pretty quiet, though. Suits me just fine. I'm all for cutting loose and having some fun, when there's no asses in need of kicking."
"Not flattery, sir, just facts," Vivian replies, smiling broadly and ending with a wink. Her eyebrows arch as the colorful theory is presented, the blonde's smile widening into another sunlike grin. She can't help but let out a tangle of amused laughter, clapping her hands lightly in applause. "Oh, man, that's -awesome-," she says, still grinning like a madwoman, "And I can so see that, too! I bet the explosion looked like the 'ol stars and stripes from orbit, too!" She collapses into a fit of giggles before she manages to get control of herself again, merely smiling in cheery delight. "But seriously, sir, whatever happened... know that the story was an inspiration to a lot of us out on the Frontier."
More laughter bubbles up from the blonde at the enthusiastic reaction to her vocation, though her face takes on an apologetic cast. "I might be disappointing to you there, sir," she says, "I'm not a lab rat. I just handled technical tasks for our coterie of marines and on assignments when I was put back down here on the mudball. At best, I just kept our stuff operational in hostile environments, occasionally opened some doors or fixed a few oxy re-generators, and cobble together some kind of usable tech from the stone knives and bearskins of electronics we had lying around."
But her eyebrows go up at the mention of cutting loose, "What a coincidence, Captain! I'm exactly the same! We should definitely go out and have a few beers sometime. Er, if you wouldn't mind me tagging along at any rate."
That bubbly laughter is contagious, and sets the burly marine to rumbling with amusement himself. "Damn straight," he says. "And there was a bald eagle screeching too, loud enough you could hear it through your hardsuit." He snickers a bit as the moment passes, his laughter calming to a low chuckle. "Well, like I said, Private, I'm flattered. I may not exactly be poster-boy material, but... if I can serve as an inspiration to a few of our soldiers, I consider that a win."
He shakes his head as Vivian elaborates on her technical skill. The downcast look has the big man smiling again. "Hey now," he says. "So what if you don't design new stuff? -You- know how hard we are on our gear. I mean, I can pull duct tape as good as the next jarhead, but we need someone with us to fix our toys when they break. Can't really speak to the others, but that'll damn sure make you -my- favorite squadmate." His grin turns sly once again. "Though I'd love to see what all you could make out of stone knives n' bearskins. Bet -that- was something to see."
He chuckles again and nods his head. "I like the way you think, Private. I got a good feeling about you--and my gut never leads me wrong. Beers it is. And I'd be happy to have you along, any time." He rests his hands on his hips with a grin. "Ask me -real- nice, and I might even invite you to dinner some time. It's not in my official dossier, but you're looking at one of -the- best backyard grillists on the West Coast." He lifts his right hand, palm out. "I swear it's true, my hand to God. I grill up some damn fine barbecue ribs."
A cascade of surprisingly girlish giggles tumbles out of the blonde as the image is amended to include a bald eagle crying out into the void. She can't help but grin broadly and rolls her shoulders in a shrug before winking impishly, "Hey, I happen to think you'd look mighty fine on a recruitment poster." Her grin slides into an easy smile and she nods, "Then a win it is. Facing down what we do, having stories like that and the people in them... it can really help." For a brief moment, there is a melancholic look in her eyes, but it last just long enough to make one think it might be imagined.
Vivian smiles sheepishly at the compliment, cheeks flushing faintly as she scratches the side of her cheek. "Thank you sir," she says, "It is always nice to be appreciated. And yeah, we are damn hard on our gear. It's a bit easier down here on the mudball, but up in space field repairs are mission- critical; can't always get to a resupply base for maintenance in a timely manner. I didn't mean to downplay my role so much as say that my skills tend towards the more practical than the strictly proscribed." Another grin alights her face, "I should tell you about my time in India if you want to hear about stone knives and bearskins, sir. Hell, we barely had sharpened sticks at the Constructs down there. Bangalore was better, but still primitive. And polluted."
Vivian's eyebrows arch and she flashes a bright smile. "Oh ho! I love grilled food! Not much of a cook myself -- my culinary expertise is mostly limited to boiling water and things that can be put in it -- but I'm all for anything on the barbie! Ribs definitely included!" A rumbling chuckle tumbles from the blonde as she gives a lopsided smile, "That is one thing that is better down here than in space for the most part: the food. The only exception is Mars." She cants her head to one side, "Ever been there, Captain?"
Killian nods his head, his smile quieting slightly, but there's still a soft twinkle in his gaze. He doesn't miss that moment of melancholy either. Only one who has faced the things beyond the walls of the world can truly understand. And the Void Engineers hang together, perhaps more than any other Convention in the Union. He reaches a meaty hand to settle on her shoulder, giving it a surprisingly gentle squeeze, considering the quarter-trillion dollar hardware beneath the surface of his skin. "I do appreciate you, Private. You wear the uniform, same as I do. You -know- what we're up against. But when you were given a choice. You could've chosen to sit safe and sound behind a desk, or poke at DNA matrices, or push the envelope of human innovation. But -you- chose to stand with -us-. And -fight-." He regards her with that earnest gaze of his, one that could only come from a down-home farm boy (though he hasn't been a boy for many years). There's much that that gaze says. He knows. He understands. And he's got her back, come what may.
He withdraws his hand with a chuckle, resting it back on his hip. "India, huh? I was deployed in Afghanistan for awhile, that's about as close as I got. Heard good things, though." Her question has him grinning again. "Mars is fun. Did HALO training out on Phobos. You wanna talk about a rush? How about a skydive that goes for six thousand klicks? -Man-, that was fun." He glances around the training facility, then back at her. "You hungry? I'm hungry." Of course, he's a marine. He's always hungry. "If you're up for barbecue, we can head to my place. I can pick up some ribs n' some beers on the way, and you can tell me all about India while I'm cooking."
Vivian's eyes widen at the gentle squeeze to her shoulder and the smile on her face turns soft. "Thank you, sir," she says quietly with a nod, "I... really do appreciate the vote of confidence." Her smile widens slightly and she straightens up, seemingly taking strength from words given, "I couldn't let our boys and girls go out into the Universe without -some- way to fix the kit that didn't need a full manufacturing facility."
"India was fine, I guess," she says with a somewhat sardonic smile, "There's still a -lot- of superstition there and very little in the realm of health-and-safety. Mind you, I didn't really get to see much of the nicer areas. But the food was -great-. Real curry is awesome." Her grin returns full-force as she hears about the training on Phobos, "Wicked! I have to admit, I never got a chance to do that. I was mostly learning hypertech Procedures; most of my microgravity training was on Darkside. But did they have the clone beef herd at Ares station when you were there? Man, perfect marbling, right off the assembly line. Best. Steak. Ever."
The mention of beef and hunger causes the blonde to pause, pursing her lips in thought before shrugging quickly and offering up a grin. "Sure, if you're okay with that, sir. I'm not about to turn down free food, especially barbecue! Though I better return the kit before I go." Vivian motions down to the metal case beside her, "And I figure you probably want to clean up a bit. Though I'm not sure if you even sweat."
Killian grins, nodding his head. "Sure did," he says. "This one guy there, he made the best beef jerky. Had strips of it in this teriyaki marinade he made that he'd hold outside in the atmosphere for about twenty seconds. Instant freeze-dry. Once you got it back indoors and let it warm back up to room temperature, it was some of the best jerky you ever tasted. But I'm with you on the steak. Just... pass on the potatoes. Seems like the hydroponics guys got some wild hair up their asses after watching The Martian one too many times." He snorts, making a dismissive wave. "Who needs genegineered potatoes? We got perfectly good -shit- to grow in! Guh. Fuckin' Progenitors, man."
Her answer to his invitation has the big man beaming wide. "Hey, I wouldn't have offered if I minded." He looks down at himself with a wince--he's got quite the sweat-ring around the collar of his t-shirt, and the dark damp patches under his arms probably aren't much better off. "Yeah, I should probably grab a shower." He considers, rubbing his stubbly jaw for a moment. "Tell ya what. I'll head home and shower. How about you stop n' grab ribs, beer, n' whatever else you think we'd like to have, and I'll reimburse you when you get to my place. Then we'll have us a feast. Sound good?"
Oh, just look at Vivian's eyes light up at the mention of the jerky. "Oh yeah! They still do that there! It's actually offered as a snack now in the off-duty bar. I wonder if it's run by the same guy?" She can't help but laugh at the crack about Proggie Potatoes. "Yeah, I agree with you there. The ones down on the mudball are much better. I bet it's got something to do with micronutrients or the balance thereof in the hydroponic fluid. I donno, my forte is more machinery that goes boom and zap rather than the life sciences, so I could be talking out my ass there." She grins lopsidedly and winks, "I never thought about the whole 'The Martian' angle. I think I did sneak a peek at several of the botanists reading it. Maybe they were looking for inspiration. Or forgiveness." Vivian suddenly affects an over-exaggerated Eastern European accent, "Oh, Mark Watney, why have you forsaken us?!" before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
"Sounds great!" Vivian states with a firm nod at the proposal before raising a hand, "But I insist on paying for the beer. Rules of my old CO... when going to someone else's place for food, always be the one to buy the beer." She digs in her pocket for a moment and pulls out a smartphone, tapping on the screen. Tap. Tap. Tappity-tap. "Just gimmie the address and a contact number and I'll be over with beer and sundries."
Killian rumbles with laughter at the invocation to Mark Watney. "Oh shit... that's -funny-," he says, snickering softly. "Those poor eggheads. First time they set foot on Mars, they think it's some huge, holy, divine thing. Then they get a real good look... and it's just desert far as the eye can see. Nothin' happens on Mars. Now Jupiter... that's where you get some -fun- shit."
He digs out his own phone, thumbing the screen and brings up his contact info. "Here you go. House in Glenhurst. Just come on in when you get there, I'll leave the door unlocked for you." He pockets his phone once she has his contact information in place. "And hey, if you insist on paying for the beers, that suits me just fine." He chuckles again, reaching up to flip her a jaunty, two- fingered salute. "All right, Private. See you soon." With that, he turns and lumbers for the elevator.
