paradisalost | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who:

inmylight_comdr
What: A Spartan and an X-Men walk into a bar ...
When: May 12th, after this thread
Where: Death Match
Rating: None ... yet ... ?

Out of armor, free from grease and oil (mostly), Kat arrives a few minutes late. A bit abnormal for her, but recently she'd been out of sorts, dwelling more and more on her team and the fact that she wasn't quite sure what to do without them. Building the Falcon helped, a strenuous task that kept her mind and her hands busy, but it wasn't enough.

Hopefully meeting with someone who was more familiar with the Lone Wolf tactics would help. At the very least, she was still fascinated by the similarities and differences in her and Wolverine's programs and augmentations, and any chance to pick his brain more about it, she'd take.

She walks in, ducking a little to miss the doorway, and glances around.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Pretty much. There were still those who were far enough removed from the Covenant threat that they thought it was a hoax, the UNSC trying to scare them into compliance. When the going got rough, they'd send us in, we'd take care of it." She gives a little shrug.

"So then I end up here. It's been an adjustment period, I'll tell you that."

"Hmm," he murmured, dangling his glass between two fingers. He was still curious about her little set-up, but stuck with a more basic question for the time being.

"How long you been here?"

Now's as good a time as any. She was never really good with the whole 'classified' thing, and if she continues with the beer she'll probably start loosening up a little more. She's already starting in on her second pint.

"Seven months. Seven goddamn months."

"Some people are sayin' years when I ask 'em that. Good to have somethin' to look forward to," Logan mused bitterly. To be honest, this place itself wasn't so bad. Hell, if anything it was kind of nice: 'least here he actually wasn't seen as a freak by anybody, which was ... different. But the fact was he didn't like being anybody's plaything, and he needed to know what was going on back home.

"You got somethin' worth gettin' back to?"

"York and Delta have been here at least two years. They're from my world." She gives her head a shake. "I wonder if I can even handle being in a place like this that long. Between the magic and the downtime, it's been pretty rough so far." Caught somewhere between itching for action and listless, missing her team, the past month or two have been particularly hard for her.

At that question, she has a definite answer. "Yes. Saving humanity."

"Pretty big on that duty, honor, hero bit, aren't you?" he asked, and despite the amusement and cynicism battling in his tone, there was real respect there as well. Wasn't like he could argue that he was much different - just didn't take orders on how to do it very well.

She shrugs. "Doesn't really matter what I get out of it, so long as I succeed. Covvie bastards glassed my planet, Spartans are the only weapon capable of stopping them. That's what it boils down to."

She worked with her team and took orders because she was conditioned to do so, and being a somewhat secret program, she didn't expect to get any sort of 'heroic' recognition. Spartans in general couldn't even expect acknowledgement of their death, being marked as MIA or WIA to keep up public morale.

Edited 2011-06-10 03:16 (UTC)

"So what kinda other tech are you sportin' in there?" Curiosity had to get the better of him eventually. "Or is it all space age crap that I wouldn't recognize?"

"Heh. Maybe a few hundred years from your last New Year's but it's evolved from all the tech that man's created before it, I'm sure some of it will sound familiar."

She reaches across the bar and tugs out a napkin, wishes up a pen, and starts sketching some chemical molecules.

"Our augmentation process involved four separate chemical concoctions; carbide ceramic ossification catalyst, fibroid muscular protein complex, retina-inversion stabilizer, and -- I can't remember the last one offhand, it improves the colloidal neural disunification solution." She side-eyes him a little to see if she's lost him yet."

She slides the napkin with the molecules over to him and pulls out a fresh one, starting mecanical schematics. "The armor plating is titanium alloy. The undersuit is finely woven titanium-alloy mesh with an inner surface of liquid crystal that links up with a neural implant to reduce twitch-time reactions." She pauses a moment to turn her head and push her hair aside - which was badly in need of a shave - to show off her own neural implant, before turning back to sketching out the backpiece of her armor. "The suit is powered by a localized miniature fusion reactor."

"Anything you didn't recognize?"

Edited 2011-06-10 04:41 (UTC)

Logan watches over the rim of his glass, keeping a close eye on her doodles even if he only appears to be half-interested. Just because he mostly relies on brawn doesn't by any stretch of the imagination leave him an idiot: he's lived too long of a life for that. He can push past the techno babble to get the drift of what's she going for and just nods for her continue.

He drew the napkin closer with just one finger, frowning down at it as she kept going. "Fusion reactor," he repeats, locking on to one thing. "That's packing a lot of power." Dangerous amounts, really, and his tone makes it clear that he's aware of that. "What happens if something breaks down?"

She's quiet a moment, considering her beer before answering. "There are fail-safes and redundancies in place, don't worry, and I keep it hyper-maintained."

"Usually, in the case that it gets damaged enough to be an issue? It's not making it out of the battle. Hopefully the resulting blast to take out military issue equipment would take out a few of Covvies with it."

"Oh, hyper maintained, even," Logan repeated, putting a sarcastic, but amused emphasis on the word. "You're right. I feel better already."

Now that was interesting. Not surprising, really but... "I'm supposin' that counts you along with all that other 'equipment' then."

She can't help but give a wry smile at that. "Trust me, I know what I'm packing and I don't intend to let it get out of control."

Here she just looks back at her beer and nods. "We are considered 'mankind's greatest weapon'. Definitely puts us more on the equipment list than personnel roster. But with the size of the fights we got into, it was usually a non-issue."

Edited 2011-06-12 03:08 (UTC)

He can respect that. It's not as if he's not walking around with lethal kitchen knives grafted into his skin, that could leave a lot more than a nasty papercut if he's not careful with them in every day situations.

"What was a non-issue?" he asked, "Your status as government property, or the possibility of using the self destruct button?"

"By the time it was bad enough to facilitate armor destruction like that, there wasn't anything left to destroy." A weighted pause, "I lost two teammates in two seperate explosions in which there were no remains."

Ah. Now he gets it. He feels a stab of sympathy at that too, even if he can't fully explain it.

"Even more certain than death and taxes is that the bombs'll keep gettin' bigger."

Kat just gives a little shrug. "We were out-manned, out-gunned and out-maneuvered. Whatever it took to bring one of their ships down, that's what we did." But even that knowledge didn't stop her for blaming herself for Thom and Jorge's deaths.

"Sounds like a helluva change from this place," he couldn't help but observe. "So what's someone born and bred like you do with all this free time?"

He already figured he knew the answer, seeing as how he knew how he spent most of his own.

"I've got a fairly decent armory started, extra ammunition, just in case." She fishes out her data pad and brings up the schematics to this (http://halo.wikia.com/wiki/Falcon). "Also recently started work on something a little larger."

"That's on top of my daily routine. I don't get my morning run and calisthetics in, I feel on edge all day. What about you? You have to have been here long enough to get an idea what it's like."

Well, well, well. That perks him up a bit. "You know what you're doin' piecing one of those suckers together, I take it?"

He chuckled the slightest bit. Calisthetics. "Danger Room, six days a week, coupla hours every mornin'."

Smirks, she knows she's brilliant. "It's not that hard to figure out."

For what it's worth she doesn't want to involve anyone else in her relieving-stress tactics; plenty of accidental casualties of the handlers just in Spartan Basic alone. She eyes him a little warily for a moment, because she's certain York mentioned everyone who had keys to his Danger Room and Wolverine wasn't one of them, but then she nods. "Ah, that Danger Room. I keep forgetting there's two. What sort of simulations do you run?"

He let out a grunt of laughter at that. She was confident, at least.

Logan wonders for a second what the other Danger Room's supposed to be, but he figures one's enough for him.

"We program 'em to take advantage of our strengths and weaknesses. Lots of real world scenarios, that kind of thing."

Because, yes, to Logan, a giant robot scorpion is a 'real world scenario'.

Good to know her intellect was appreciated.

She can't help but shake her head a little at him. "That's generally the idea. You got any specifics? Aliens, vampires, robots?"

"Personally, I'm a fan of the alien scenarios." Nothing like head-shotting a few grunts to make one's day just a little brighter.

"Vampires. There's an idea." He looks like he's quite serious about that too. "Considerin' how many of 'em are runnin' around the place, kids better be prepared."

He smirked at that, as if it were a joke, because man, it's still hard getting used to ... aliens. His life back home sure ain't the comics. "What, little green men?"

"Hard to prepare for what you're not expecting." This place, what was it even with all it's stupid magic and mythologies. She's thoughtfully quiet a moment, pulling at her beer, until his comment makes her scoff.

"If only. Try a conglomeration of several alien races out to annihalate humanity. The smallest, Grunts, were about four feet, Elites about eight feet, Hunters up to twelve feet, with a few others inbetween. Anything but your 'little green men'."

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I-I am so sorry. I couldn't stop her.

hahaha it's ok!

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(just saw First Class last night, squeed like a little girl! :3)

WASNT IT GREAT??

It really was!!! :D