May 09 10:38:40 109 PA - Quiet Clash of Meeting Military and Magic
From Chronicles
May 09 10:38:40 109 PA.
MAIN STREET
Ten-thirty in the morning is a good time to be out in Kingsdale, particularly along Main Street, and even better if you're looking be shoulder-to-shoulder with people who may have little to no compunction against shoving a person into the ridiculously thick traffic if it'll make their own path easier. The nice part is that the weather has improved to sunshine and gentle breezes from the west. Enough to both ruffle longer hair and to kick up lighter debris. Fortunately, much of this was predicted by city planners who provided the various green belts. Across from the giant Precinct House, a large crowd has gathered, looking at the shattered remains of what was once a popular burger joint - and will likely be again. Money talks, and cholesterol shouts. One of the people nearby isn't actually in the throng, but standing further back, hands gently in pants pockets. A man, short and short-haired in a neat semi-uniform. He seems to be facing the battered little building, but not actually part of the general onlookers.
St. James has her own uniform. One more familiar to the people of the times. It was probably once a dressy affair, even for an enlisted. Whatever the case, though, it's lost it's sleeves below the elbow. Sgt. St. James is on the name tag, and she has all her little patches in order, at least. Her jump badge, various Coalition awards and rank insignia. The most noticeable defacement of this suit, though, is the phrase F*** Prosek, emblazoned in bright red letters on the back the jacket. Vibro-knife in the boot, a vibro-sword at her waist, and a mean looking pistol at her side show a healthy respect for being armed (especially when you're ex-Coalition in a city like Kingsdale). She's a short thing, but most people tend to bounce right off her when she's jostled, and she doesn't seem to have much trouble manhandling her way through the crowd. Drawing up next to the man in the uniform, she wonders out loud, "Someone get rowdy, Colonel?" She can understand that much from his name tag. Respect is respect, even if he's from some military she's never heard of.
The man turns his head, smiling, brow raised, and allows himself a split second to look at the new woman. "Apparently a bunch of jewelry thieves detonated hostages. Probably like Claymores, based on the patterns." He waves a finger at both the shop, and at a large chunk out of the tree above his head. "Not many people bother to recognize the colonel part, Sergeant. But good eye, bravo, " he says with a dip of his head. His face then splits into a broad and ready smile. "Not a big fan of the Emperor?" He then tacks on, "Saint James. Like the apostle?"
St. James almost absentmindedly crosses her chest as the bit about the apostle is mentioned, wrinkling her nose, "A damn shame, that. Not bright, either." She surveys the damage with something like professional assessment, "Wouldn't be much of a soldier if I couldn't recognize which brass to pay attention to, sir. Not from a standing military that I recognize, though. And yes sir, like the apostle, sir. Dad said no politician got anywhere without religion." A moment's quiet, then she goes on, "Anyway, yeah, the emperor can go do unspeakable things to himself for all I care, beg'n your pardon sir. You know what a 'deniable asset' is?"
The colonel nods at the question. "Yes, though you've got my attention. How does it apply?" A hand is then raised briefly as he further explains, "It's up to you, obviously, but my military no longer exists. I only know one guy who's even polite enough to use my last name in common conversation around here, so if you'd prefer, 'Gabriel' is just fine. Like the archangel. The rank and insignia are more of an honor to those who fell with me when I got here, although my business is going to be run properly." *WINK* "You sound like you just got out of the service, St. James. Clearly not with an honorable discharge, though." As another wisp of wind picks up, his light jacket blows slightly, the elbows flapping just a tad.
St. James lifts a shoulder, "It won't change anything, sir. I'm not sure of the significance of it all myself... Got word that a pack of Griots was terrorizing a human village in the burbs. I was supposed to verify and if possible put a stop to it. But it wasn't Griots. It was Grackletooths. I wasn't smart enough to tell the difference back then, but I found out a few corpses later that they were protecting the village. With the Coalition's reputation, it makes sense, now, why they fired on me at first sight. I was steamed, especially when they send in some forces to 'annex' the place. Then they send me out to go handle a BS bandit attack. Next thing I know, a wolf pack full of killhounds was up my butt, trying to deny me but hard. Officially, I'm a traitor. Shoot on sight. Still, seems a bit much trouble to drop me like that for a simple village. I think there was something else going on. Something above my head. That was about a month ago." She twitches her nose a little bit, a quirk of irritation flashing ever so briefly across her features, "Now I just drive a Taxi, and take Odd Jobs. And if it's all the same, you mind if I call you sir? Foreign military or not, it seems really rude to call you by your given name, sir. Your men die for something worthwhile, sir? If you don't mind me asking? How rude of me, Sergeant St. James, former commando of the Blood Hawks, airborne, at your service sir."
Gabriel shakes his head, "Sir is just fine, Sergeant. I only wanted to give you the common option. It's good to meet someone with the balls to be a traitor." It may sound like an odd statement, but he obviously means it, based on tone of voice and facial expression. "You'll forgive me the details - I'm not familiar with all of those monsters, or D-Bees, whatever they may be." After that, he frowns. "Did my men die for something worthwhile? No. They were slaughtered in the open by supernatural beasts, slavers and various types of natural killers that we were in no way set to handle. We had no weapons that could counter modern battle armor or even the latest beasts. No armor even that could stop anything more than a distantly-fired seven-point-six-two. We moved south, just because there was no other good direction. Most of the crew were dead when we got here. The rest, twenty-five hundred, they died on the way." He raises his right hand, tapping the small silver ring. "A slaver shot my wife in the back just short of the tree line that would have been safety. I carried her with me, ran across the city, and buried her outside the walls. Ended up living in that little clearing for about a year, too." The ring is raised to his lips for a quick kiss before he fully turns his body to the woman who is just shorter than he is. Likely not by much. "Should I know the 'Blood Hawks,' Sergeant? I didn't know that anyone bothered with airborne anymore. It's been a year and a half since I've made even a practice drop."
St. James nods her head to Gabriel, "It was one of the more noble goals of the Coalition sir, taking back the forests the wastes from the monsters and marauders. Some people in some parts of the world still believe that dream, too. Still some good men in the states. They're just far too outnumbered to make much of a difference just now. The Coalition makes progress because it has more cohesion than any single force to date." She shakes her head, a sad expression crossing her eyes, "Still, being shot in the back... Slavers were the kind of thing I was sent after, more often than anything. But for everything good, seems like there's ten more things that're wrong." She shakes her head, though, clasping hands behind her back, "No sir. Shouldn't know us, if we're doing our job. We deploy in hostile territory with HALO jumps. Expected to survive behind enemy lines with little to no friendly support. My specialty was as a sniper, as well as instructing locals in self-defense when necessary. But if you don't think anyone bothers with airborne, sir, then you've never seen a Death's Head transport. Or the Firestorm, capable of deploying two Death's head transports, and hundreds of SAMAS, robots, and other troops, probably equal to a deployable compliment of a couple thousand troop, or a few hundred giant robots and power armors. I mostly jumped from APC's, helicopters, and the like."
"Parachutes?" Gabriel asks quickly. "We didn't encounter the Coalition, it was just mercenaries, slavers, creatures... too many with what we had. I took one of them down - or, some of the last of us took one down - and grabbed some gear, but that was it. Natasha was a hell of a soldier, too. Good operative. What made you join up, Sergeant? Belief in the original Coalition dream? It might have been noble at one time, but things change, yes." He runs his right hand through his hair, then stops to scratch at a small and unimportant spot on his neck. His own military service isn't mentioned, though he clearly listened intently to his new guest's.
St. James nods to Gabriel, "Parachutes, sir. And yeah, if you'd have encountered the Coalition, you probably would've received a warm welcome. Most of the grunts love the chance to proselytize to outsiders. Probably would've offered you standard service for citizenship." She rolls her neck, cracking her shoulders a bit. "We were a military family. Tradition is to do a year's service, then go to school, and then politics. Or, go to school, then go be an officer, and still do politics. I pissed my father off by running full tilt into the service, staying enlisted. Eighteen years. I liked that it was real. I felt locked up, you know? Probably wanted the same thing your Natasha did, I bet. Dad wanted me to finish up and go get married off. His little trophy piece. I figured I'd serve 'til about eighty or so, then maybe give the private sector a try. Then the dream dried up. Still not sure I'm comfortable around D-bees, but... something wrong about shootin' unarmed children, you know? No matter who they belong to. Kids are kids. What about you, sir?"
The old colonel smiles. "Actually, Natasha only began to fight as a partisan. I only started to fight because it was the best way to defend an early family - believe me, I know kids." Gabriel's face splits wide at that, some great humor barely covered by his face. "Otherwise, I was looking forward to being a carpenter, like my dad. As for education, Mom had gotten everything, but he couldn't read, and only knew the numbers that he needed to be a good craftsman. I didn't get anything more than an abbreviated elementary education until they decided that my head was dense enough to be taught. College education, but never a diploma to show for it, " he chuckles. "As for citizenship? I know that every last man and woman who arrived here with me would prefer Kingsdale. We'd just finished defeating an enemy that was surprisingly similar to the Coalition. My country no longer exists, but I'd bet it was the best country, empire or other group of people ever gathered in history. But you? Private sector, huh? Looking for military work, or just sticking with the taxi?"
St. James nods her head back across the street towards an extended cab Diplodicus painted classic New York taxi colors, "I mostly stick with the taxi, but I take odd jobs here and there, provided the job is right. Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss Chi-Town, sir. It's the cleanest, safest, healthiest place on this damned planet, and that's one hell of a creature comfort to leave behind. My family's probably still being questioned for 'traitors' even now." A sigh, "None of it matters, anyway. That's the past. Only the future left, now. Still... a carpenter... that's an honorable profession. Non-manufactured items are in vogue back home. You wouldn't believe the price a wooden, hand-made chair would go for."
"Oh? Perhaps I'll give up this life of crime and go into a respectable profession making chairs!" Gabriel laughs it off, enjoying the conversation. "You're a special forces, type, am I right, Sergeant? Not a front-line grunt, or someone dropping from twenty-five thousand feet between the two FLOTs?" He leans his head back, inspecting. "You've certainly had time to gather ribbons, though I'm sorry to say that I don't know what any of them mean. How long were you in, versus how long you were driving a taxi? And as for clean and healthy, I was very happy living in a little clearing by a stream for a year, even through the absurdly cold winters that Missouri has these days."
St. James actually chuckles as well, "You could end up a wealthy man... jealously coveted by old women with more money than sense. They'd all be clambering for the next Piece de' Blaze." Yes, she can read. "Yes, sir. Well... the joke goes, there's the Special Forces. You look one rung up from that, and that's where I am." She still laughs at that, "The exact term is 'elite special forces'. We're what you send when you absolutely positively need something ended. I enlisted when I was eighteen, I'm thirty six now. And the ribbons are all for things I'm very proud of, and two or three things I'm not. I've been driving a taxi about as long as I've been out, though, a bit over a month. Like you observed. I'm 'recently discharged'. Anyway, yeah, there are places like that even today... but it's the locals you have to be careful of. Not everyone's cut out for surviving alone. For a lone human, it's suicide, these days."
"Hmm, interesting, " Gabriel offers congenially. He smiles, and in rather matter-of-fact tone, says, "They say there are people in my organization, and you look down one rung, and there's God. I don't break out the medals unless it's a real occasion. But like I said, no one knows what they mean anyway. Might just look like a Generalissimo of some kind. Still, that's a good length of service, and I believe you when you say that you're good at what you do, " he confirms with a nod. "It's not so bad, really. Staying alone, that is. I'm nothing to look at, barely had a thing. Just hunted for the right spot off to the northwest. Good thicket, safe with a water supply and the equipment that I had. Made a decent living working over at Pro-Tech for a little cash, taking the odd job here and there, like you said. Still. I've become something of a celebrity." His face almost blushes - doesn't, but almost. Otherwise, he seems to politely stop his ramblings so that the enlisted woman can get a word in edgewise.
St. James chuckles to the man, "Pro-Tech? Mmm. Doesn't matter if I'm good at what I do, sir. No offense meant. Still only takes one lucky shot, or a trip in the tub to end me. We're fragile, sir. Very fragile, in a not-so-fragile world." A shrug to that, and then she lifts her cap to scoop back her hair into a semblance of togetherness, "Celebrity or not, I'm actually more impressed by your rank than anything else. Colonels still have enough dust on them to remember the field, after all, but enough talent to get the attention of a general. That's braggable. For me, though, I prefer anonymity. Before I 'went traitor', my file was stuffed full of papers covered in black lines, you know? Attention is only desirable when it serves a purpose. In a place like Kingsdale, the purpose is to say: I may be squishy, but I know how to bite. We're small fish here, you and I. You hunt, sir? I know a place with some very trusting deer about ten miles from the city."
"I hunt when I need to, sure. It's a good way to get out and relax; I know my own place. Little game trail ran right past my previous home. As for the celebrity, I didn't look for it. I have been enjoying complete anonymity, but I don't think that this one's going to be lived down. So, I'm turning it into something better. As we speak, they're putting the finishing touches on the third floor of that building." Gabriel points slightly to the southwest, where a four-story office building rises among the others. "Now, colonel, yes. One rank. As you say, I'm happy to have it. Still, it wasn't really about rank by the time I got it. There was another organization. But that's for later, among us small fish, " the older fellow finishes with a wink. "I prefer to not mention that I'm squishy at all... and my odd personality, I've taken my life leading threats strangely. I don't *try* to do it. It's just me. I receive a threat - I say, 'Okay.' It either turns out to be bullshit, or I need to handle it. Most of the time, it's just bullshit, and people walk away because they don't know what to do with a crazy man who'd tell them to go ahead and shoot 'im in the head." He pauses, then asks, "Gear. Military gear, do you still have some?"
St. James nods as she listens on, apparently curious indeed, "What's going there when you've finished? A business of your own, perhaps? Never hurts to capitalize on your celebrity. You could do a lot of good for people." She sniffs, idly resting a hand on the sword at her side, "As for threats, if the only thing in danger is my own pride, I'll back down, one hundred percent of the time. Often times, I'll back down if it's just material possessions on the line, to be honest. But sometimes, if a person is too accustomed to making threats... things happen, or need to happen. You know how it goes." Still, when she's asked about 'gear'. "Yeah. Some of it, the Coalition would kill just to get back."
Gabriel nods along, idly brushing his thigh once. "I only get upset when my life is really on the line, or if someone *else* is being screwed with. Specifically, someone who can't stand up for themselves. But that's part of being in the business, right?" An eyebrow arches. "Otherwise, you're correct. Capitalizing on celebrity because it's not going to go away, so I might as well use it. I actually got an offer - a very nice offer - to run a club over in the 'Dregs, after my bit of action that led to the recent celebrity. But it was ultimately working for a gang known as the 'Family,' so I couldn't do it. You can't work from the inside, it just doesn't work like that. Not over the long haul." He ends, holding one hand out, palm up as if cradling the explanation. "The building, yes, I'm starting my own business. The Office of Strategic Services. It is *not* a mercenary group. I hate those. Pisses me off, people who take jobs for money and nothing else. I've put together a small flier that I'll be putting in the news once the office is finished. Here, take a look." His hand folds up and reaches inside of his back pocket, pulling out a standard letter-sized page, unfolds it, and holds it out to be either taken or denied.
St. James streeeetches as if exercising bunched up muscles, "Direct confrontation was not how I was taught to wage war. But I'll agree. Sometimes, the best solution for heading off violence is an unsolicited headbutt." She nods to herself slowly as she opens the pamphlet, turning it over, left and right for a time. "This a job offer, or a sales pitch?" She examines it for a moment, "If it's the latter, I've no need. If it's the former, then you should know I'm a qualified robot and power armor pilot, sniper, and counter-insurgency expert."
Leonard returns to the scene of the crime, as it were, walking north along the main street. He even has a passenger at the moment, in the form of a raven perched upon his left shoulder. While it could fly much farther and faster than the man can walk, that would distract Leonard's corvid companion from studying the passersby with black eyes.
"The former, " Gabriel replies pleasantly. "I wouldn't be out hawking my wares to fellow soldiers to drum up business." He takes a moment to fold up the piece of paper and put it back in the pocket from whence it had come. The day continues to be reasonably nice. In fact, the weather itself is great, and lunchtime is a good time to be out. The details come in when one looks at the shattered remains of Happy Burger and the crowds of interested pedestrians who are pressing up to look and see what they can see. Perhaps to grab some kind of creepy trophy. Fortunately, there's no rubbernecking on the streets, where the vehicles are flowing properly. The owner or owners of Happy Burger are already on top of things, with a few working starting to straighten out bent metal and trying to keep others back. Gabriel and a short woman are standing back on the green belt, out of the way but close enough to watch. Both of them are dressed in a military way, though Gabriel being far cleaner.
Valeriya is following not far behind Leo. But her own companion is contrasting his greatly. A long snaky lizard is skittering along beside her. Looking to be trained much to the same level as a dog. And drawing a fair share of studious glances from common passersby.
St. James purses her lips a little bit, "Eh. It'll give me purpose. Something I've been lacking somewhat. Sure. Why not? Be nice to have some proper structure in my life. I'll need to clean up the armor a bit-And what the hell is that." Catching sight of the lizard, her hand goes to rest on the hilt of her sword. She doesn't draw it, but one doesn't tend to see those in Chi-Town very often, so she's a bit skittish at the sight of it, "Ever get used to seeing that stuff in the middle of a city?"
The skittering and long strides draw the raven's eyes, as well. Leonard cracks a grin after and his steps slow. Not that Valeriya couldn't catch up before. "Do you think the culprits found their payment worthwhile?" Gabriel and his companion are not noticed until the woman puts a hand on her weapon. Leonard adds, for Valeriya, "I think your pet has an admirer."
"Oh, sure. See all kinds of things in the city, Sergeant. It's Kingsdale, after all, " Gabriel replies to the woman beside him. "I don't know what the big lizard is called, or what it is, but the woman is Valeriya. She's our resident... Valeriya." The tone is flat, but his shrug is obliviously friendly enough. "We should sit down and talk more about the job. I wouldn't ever expect anyone to take a job based on a hand-written sheet of paper pulled out of a guy's pocket." His unusual drawl thickens slightly as he covers two topics in one set of statements.
Valeriya shrugs after following Leonard’s gesture to the woman beside Gabriel. "She can get in line." She remarks calmly before taking a moment to consider her opinion on the catch. Leonard's slowing letting her catch up to walk beside him the lizard walking between. "It earn them immortality in a fashion, many would strive for that unconditionally."
St. James shakes her head and slowly hands back the pamphlet, eyebrows quirked a little bit. "I've done worse on words alone. But yeah. We can find something to eat, or we can hit my cab, or I can come discuss it with you when your office is built. Not like there's any shortage of people who need to get around, after all." Still, she twitches a little bit, at the mention of the dead, and actually kneels near the edge of the rubble of Happy Burger, "Pardon sir, but... I'm more inclined to have little time to ponder the motivations of greedy murderers. When their victims are more deserving of notice." She closes her eyes and mutters, "In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever." She crosses her chest, and turns to begin edging towards her cab.
Leonard chuckles at Valeriya's comment before turning towards the other pair. "Out recruiting again, Gabriel?" He nods to the older man before commenting to the blonde, "If you hope to be united with the dead, you've come to the right place. Gabriel is very talented at escorting others there."
Gabriel is surprised. Not because someone chose to pay homage to the dead, but because someone did it in Christianity. He's rather stunned into silence for a while, something that others have failed to do in the past, when they attempted to do so on purpose. Eventually, he simply crosses himself, touches the small crucifix around his neck and offers a quiet, "Amen." Leonard does get a look as he approaches. "I don't believe that I've led any operation yet, or been on an operation yet, where everybody didn't come home and end up walking the streets again. Not over my entire life, of course, but since I've been here. Leonard, Valeriya, this is Sergeant St. James. Sergeant, Valeriya and Leonard. Leonard is our resident bender of dimensions, a useful method of travel, I've found. You guys come down to see the remains of a blasted fast-food joint?"
"Just passing through really. It's a lot cleaner than the last time we were here," Valeriya answers, dropping a pretty big hint. She then looks to Leo considering him a moment before deciding on a soft comment. "Take enough time to step on ants and you'll lose sight of real competition." She says before considering St. James again. "Hello, one of the better looks I’ve seen for such a suit."
St. James purses her lips at Leonard, "If that is the case, Mr... Leonard, and I can certainly believe it, then... I feel very sorry for the Colonel. The dead get very heavy, over time." To Gabriel, she more directly says, "Really, I mean that. I'm sorry you have to be so good at such a horrible thing." She gets a distant look in her eyes at that, then shakes her head, "You civies can call me Margot if you want." A pause. "I guess I'm technically one now too. Huh. How novel."
"I do like the decorations, Margot, " Leonard admits as the raven stares. "I take it you know him well? Also, there's nothing wrong with a talent for survival. It's better than the alternative." Gabriel gets a simple nod before Leonard returns Valeriya's study with an arched brow. "Is that a challenge?"
“I see," Gabriel says, allowing the ants comment to float past on the wind. He looks as if he's about to continue along similar lines, but in the end just shakes his head slightly. "We've just met, Leonard. Discussing life in a custom that I know you can't understand, " is offered. "Magnificent lizard, Valeriya. Nice to see you up and around. Now..." he turns back to the short woman of the pair of double-X chromosomers. "If you'd like to head north, I'll buy you a cup of coffee or two. Leave the good folks to discuss arthropods and inspect carnage in peace." Though while he sets out the offer, he makes no move to actually lead St. James one way or the other.
"If it needs to be." Valeriya answers with a level stare at Leonard. "Binding a god to this plane doesn’t make you one. The moment you forget that is the moment you start living on borrowed time. Coming from someone who's lived on it. They may only be human. But they are the landlords. Best not to encourage them to look in on us." She advises before turning a smirk to Gabe. "Thank you. Thank the kind man Styx." She instructs with a few clicks of her tongue and a gesture at Gabe. The lizard looks at the man and opens wide before a short belch of flame goes off in its serrated beak. It never leaves its mouth, but a neat trick none the less.
St. James nods to Gabriel and starts walking, "Sounds like a plan, Sir. We in walking distance, or would you like a lift?" She holds up a remote key fob, and clicks the alarm on her vehicle, then gestures, "I promise I'll leave the meter off." As for Leonard, "There's a price for everything Mr. Leonard. Even survival. But thank you and your companions for their... kind compliments. Afternoon." To Valeriya, "Ma'am." To the lizard? She merely raises an eyebrow, clutching the hilt of her sword in an uneasy manner, with a look that suggests she is perhaps eager to be off.
Leonard nods again, now to the military pair changing their bearing. "Of course. Enjoy yourselves. Now, " another brow lifts to Valeriya, "Did you have a preference on where we should pass through towards? We could visit the would-be escapees, but I think that they'll wait as long as we care to make them."
Gabriel offers a final departure note to the pair who came with pets. It's a vague thing that looks like a salute, if a salute was dipping your fingers in shit and then trying to flick it off with a motion of your wrist. "Hey, Styx. I know a river named after you. See all of you later - I'd like to talk to you Leo, if we run into each other again." After that, it's a simple movement to the nearest crosswalk. "It's within walking distance, but if it's not trouble, you might as well bring the car up with you, so you don't have to walk back and get it, right, Sergeant?" When traffic stops, he heads for the taxi.
Valeriya shakes her head. "No best let me cool off more before we do that. We don’t need any piles of rubble after all." She says to Leo as the continue south. "How about home? Could use a good night's sleep."
St. James clicks the fob, causing the engine to start and then again, causing the doors to open. Climbing inside the driver's seat, taps something into a keypad, and then adjusts her seat and the mirror while she waits for her passenger. It may be a taxi, but it's armored like an APC at least, "Hop in, then. Man, I have a lot of fun with this outside the city. You get a hill going top speed and it bounces around like all get out!" She makes sure to turn the light overhead off, "I'll let you drive sometime."
"True. I think we've had enough rubble made recently." Leonard turns to accompany Valeriya, bringing his back to absorb any gestures that may or may not potentially flick shit. "You have an idea of where to find me, Gabriel, " is made in answer to the man before they move off.
Gabriel slides into the passenger seat, then looks to his driver with a bright look to announce casually, "Yeah. I forgot how to drive cars. Forgot a lot of things that I still have to re-learn." He taps his temple with his knuckles a few times, and then the duo is out, heading north on Main Street.
