From Heads Unworthy

[Shae]

Jared Renaux. Staff Sergeant, UNSC. Helljumper. Stubborn bastard. In the most affectionate way I can muster, that is.

Making sense of your world was hard enough. This place gives me trouble. I hate to think of his.

But he’s always thinking of his world, that’s the way it is. You can take the soldier to a remote corner of the battlefield, but the fight will still be in him. The strength of his convictions isn’t easily redirected or dimmed. Not when it’s all he’s known. I respect him for that. That he’s found something he’d die for, as many times as it was possible for him to do so. I have nothing but rancor for the situation he’s in. People, to me, aren’t commodities to be treated as weapons. I would rather see him without such chains. I wouldn’t dissuade him from the fight that gives him such purpose.

Granted, some things are universal, like a warrior spirit, but you have to admit his technology is among some of the most daunting we’ve encountered.

Yes. It is. He’s still just a man. Even if he falls like a meteor from the sky, wearing a suit of armor as a second skin with death wired into his bones. Such things are less important when you dig the meat from the shell. I entertained his questions, flavored with the rust of limited interactions, because they tasted like my own. And he fought me. Every step of the way.

I really thought you might kill him, on occasion.

I thought you knew me better than that. The Staff Sergeant and I, we began our association butting heads with each other. Attempts at diplomacy aside, the strength of his ‘truth’ and the harshness of his ‘reality’ colored much of his interactions with others with a streak of weary disdain. Idealistically we felt at odds more often than not, though I suspect we might have been saying similar things at certain points. He was frustrated with my flexibility, I was frustrated with his sense of superiority. It was a surprise, honestly, when I noticed he’d managed to sneak his contact information onto my phone. I was sure he might feel an insurmountable level of contempt for my own ‘truth’.

That technology. I know why he did it. You didn’t back down.

Perhaps. There’s a deep loneliness that comes with a thankless life spent fighting a war you were drafted into without a choice. Sometimes it can be refreshing to have someone to argue with, because they see you. Not the Staff Sergeant. Jared. Two faces that he spoke to me with, but the one was always there, hiding behind a visor of duty and indoctrination. That was the face I preferred to argue with, and I’m still honored that he decided he could trust me enough to show it to me.

Trust. Maybe he underestimates you, did you consider that?

Of course I did, but I don’t think he’s that foolish. I just think he’s trying to figure out how to handle me. I don’t make it easy.

[Shae]

Texts with Jared, 5/8/15

Text to Shae:: Some say you have wings, but others don't. At least you don't lie about what you are and aren't. I hate this bar when there's no one worth my time.

Text to Helljumper: Encountered some liars, Staff Sergeant?

Text to Shae:: I encountered some who were not as coy as you were when they defended their particular realities. A good showing or a poor lie, one is amusing, the other insulting.

Text to Helljumper: Coy. I'll choose to take that as a compliment. I was aiming for tactful, but what can you do? I take it there are several realities you object to?

Text to Shae:: Should there be layers of idiocy, those willing to lie in the face of mirrors because they can not speak to themselves, I suppose that there might be second worlds. Coy is more feminine, more beautiful.

Text to Helljumper: May I ask, what world are you from?

Text to Shae:: Reach, seven jumps from the sector in which Earth burned. Why?

Text to Helljumper: Ah. Earth again. I ask because that world in particular seems to be...irregular. Many claim it as origin, but time periods...timelines, even, fluctuate wildly.

Text to Shae:: Earth, the homeland of Humanity, was destroyed precisely two thousand years before I was born. Reach was an offshoot colony, a member of the UNSC. Why?

Text to Helljumper: Why do such things fluctuate? Hell if I know, Staff Sergeant. It's not my Plane. It's just something I've noticed while asking my questions.

Text to Shae:: Humans, the weak, place incredible value on what they can hold, what they can see. They ignore truth, which is courage, which is hidden strength that allows a dying warrior to fight on, a struggle in a losing war. That, my pretty friend, is why Earth matters so much to the weak. Earth was a bastion, but I ask you this. When a castle falls, do the ideals die with it, or are they simply moved?

Text to Helljumper: The castle is not important. The people are.

Text to Shae:: And there you have you answer. Earth means nothing unless it means everything to the weak men and women that you blanket yourself with.
Text to Shae:: Earth was an ideal, nothing more and nothing less.

Text to Helljumper: I'm not sure that entirely explains the variations in the Earth described to me. Or why people from what seems to be the same time describe such vastly different realities. But hey, what do I know.

Text to Shae:: You're asking the wrong person for an answer, Shae. You pretend like I know a damn thing past what I can see through this visor, which is actually doing a fairly good job of impersonating your voice. Can I ask you something?

Text to Helljumper: My voice? That's an interesting trick. Sure. Go ahead.

Text to Shae:: She records everything she sees, unless I turn her off. She also repeats what she thinks I need back to me, which is annoying. I'm sure I'll hear it again. I'm not from Earth, nor do I understand people, but I think this is logical. Would you like, at some point, to go out with me? Dinner maybe? A club perhaps?

Text to Helljumper: She? She who? I think I missed something. As to your request. That curious about the wings thing? You know. I have a feeling I might be more backwards to you than most around here. The other space sailor I met couldn't quite seem to translate my words into his reality.

Text to Shae:: Our armor, and by that I mean the helmet, speaks in a female voice. She is intelligent, and based off of your answer, I can only imagine how she will mock me tomorrow. I'm not trying to translate anything, Shae. I spoke the truth. None of the other are worth my time, nor are they worth understanding. Should there be some story behind wings that are not wings, I would like to hear it. I was enraged tonight, I was furious. Was I last night?

Text to Helljumper: Not to my knowledge. But then, I don't know you that well. Which, I suppose, is the point of your asking. Do you have issues with animals?

Text to Shae:: I've seen terribly angry animals. Should I wear my armor?

Text to Helljumper: Fox would only bite if you were a real ass. So, maybe? I know a bar at the docks that serves food as well as *** beer. If you want some practice understanding people and think you can tolerate questions, we can go there of an evening.

Text to Shae:: Fox was the call sign of a man I once knew. He'd have only laughed if he knew. Sunday? I can handle questions, so long as you wear a skirt in trade.

Text to Helljumper: You don't know me nearly well enough to be making requests about my attire. Come as you are. I'll come with my questions. We'll have a drink. Sunday should work. If that changes, I'll let you know.

Text to Shae:: It was worth a try, wasn't it? I should be lacking my armor, circumstance dictate. I'll see you then...........good night.

Text to Helljumper: Be safe.

Text to Shae:: You're absurd, but I like it. Say that title again and ask yourself how that goes. But, then again, there's been little to be safe for. Take care.

[Shae]

Wingless, part 1
The Docks, 5/10/15

Text to Helljumper: If you still want that drink, meet me at the statue on the docks.

He'd not really expected her to text back, but all the same, he found himself taking the day off, the entire day. Quick to leave the barracks room behind him, he ran the same fingers through the same short, martial hair and glanced down at black linen shorts and a rather simple, grey form fitted tee shirt that clung to streamlined features of a working man's arms and shoulders. Did she knew he drove? He'd said he hated walking, not driving.... Bathed in the headlights glow, he peered at the statue before sliding out of the doorless (for now) Jeep and taking up a lazy lean against the large statue she'd appointed meeting place.

Text to Shae:: I think I beat you here?

As soon as the text was sent it would light up a phone. Not one at the statue, but one some few meters away in the fog and held the hands of a woman who had made a perch for herself on crates of cargo left sitting outside the harbormaster's office. Rather than reply, she moved to rise. Sliding from the top of a crate to her feet. Faded jeans, heeled boots, a shirt in dark blue that was long-sleeved with...fur accents? No. As she approached it became clear that the ruffle was a live fox. One lounging across her shoulders. "Hello Staff Sergeant."

"Paranoid, aren't we?" Words slid from lips that hinted at laughter, though no real sound came to follow the hidden murmurings. As always, he peered into the mist until her form fully materialized. It was a habit born more of professional interest, though he'd not deny that this particular study lasted slightly longer than most. It wasn't just the fox, either. That did deserve a question though, it surely did. "A fox. You can call me Jared if you want. I get tired of my title, believe it or not."

"I prefer cautious." Though her smile wasn't above poking fun at herself. "And I did warn you about Fox. You even met him before." She came to a rest at a comfortable distance, looking over his attire with some interest and a little bit of suppressed mirth. Whatever was rattling around in her brain got edited on the way to her mouth. "Thirsty, Jared? The Mermaid isn't far. Though you may have to walk just a little bit. Can't be bringing your car onto the boardwalk."

"Astute, I'd say." He'd not been so careless himself. A keen observer might have noticed a subtle, glowing red light that'd passed at low altitude seconds before he pulled in. While studying her features again, he thought he'd picked up a flicker of something besides just words, he gave a long suffering, quite pathetic sigh. "I told you I hate walking." Her question was laughable, and he finally allowed the ghost of huffed verbal humor puff away from him while hands wrung free from his pockets. "I'm always relatively thirsty, or can be. Lead the way." She knew the city better than he, most likely.

The expression on her face said 'I know' without being terribly apologetic about it. She started towards the seedier end of the docks but paused. "Do you need to turn off..." She gestured to the headlights that were still illuminating the fog around them.

Flippantly, he waved in the Jeep's direction and barked out a word in harsh, stentorian sounding Latin. On command, the voice activated vehicle, clearly not one's run of the mill device, disengaged, shut off and slammed doors that rose from the undercarriage closed quickly. "It'd have done it sooner or later." Still, he found himself suitably chastised. He took in the buildings as they claimed less and less polish but seemed rather at home. Most of his edges were still rough and raw. "How's the day?" Spoken as he followed behind, quickly catching up and falling into stride on her right side.

"I'll take your word on that. You clearly have some quite impressive technology at your disposal." She spoke as she strolled. It wasn't a terribly long walk, but enough of one. The fog slit around them and chased after in swirls of disturbed air currents. In proximity to her was warmer than the temperature of the night air. "The day, or the night, has truly only recently started. I stayed up far too late and slept far too long. Yourself?"

He could not help himself, truly a paranoid soul himself, from staring into alleys and scanning rooftops as they passed underneath shadowy facades that could hide so very much. "Sorry for leaving so quickly from the fair." It was clear that he hadn't often apologized before, at least not about something so mundane. "Maybe one day I'll show you how we fly." Mimicked words drew out the subtle curves that formed a careworn smirk. He took note of the warmth, but kept the question for later. That wasn't something he felt he could approach so quickly. It seemed almost personal? "Regardless of when I go to sleep, I'm up when the sun is. Granted, I did take today off, so there's that. Lazy day."

"I understand why you might have wanted to." Which may have been why she hadn't drawn too much attention to his departure. The corners of her eyes observed his glances into this shadow and that one. "It's good to take some time for yourself, now and again." The canid on her shoulders yawned wide, his tail brushing across her left shoulder. Their trajectory changed. A step towards the buildings. One in particular. Sound from within betrayed a business still in operation. The sign hanging above the door answered the sort. A drunken sailor with a mermaid in front of him doing-- nevermind exactly what. "Welcome to The Mermaid." Offered as she pulled the door open and gestured for him to enter.

Habitually unwilling to speak about heavy matters when not inundated to a satisfactory level of numbness, he shrugged somewhat awkwardly and bit back a wry, highly amused expression when she observed the nature of his self imposed laziness. That didn't quite need to be explained. He'd seen his share of untrustworthy appearing bars, this world, the next and countless others that his people had turned into bloodbaths. Crowds, sounds and lights, warranted another quick study. It was taken before he entered. Steeled nerves pushed him across the threshold as he turned partially and held the door open in turn. "Come here often?"

The crowd within, if you could call it a crowd, was a smattering of dockworkers. Spring was the busy season for sailing, which meant that the local alehouses saw a bit less business with most of their prime customers out of port. Some of the sailors recognized her. The reactions were a mix. Polarized between acceptance and wary superstition. The furniture was also a mix, but of old and new. The floor strewn with straw for easier cleanup. Pretty ale servers had less hands to dodge, but one fixture was ever constant. "Hans!" She greeted with warmth and was returned stoic staring. "A few times." She answers. "Want a table or the bar?"

If anyone mentioned sailing to him, he'd wonder about frigates. Docks were starports, littered with glowing lights and gravitational fields. All the same, he felt marginally at home with these people of apparent ill repute and it showed in the tension that bled from the hard lines of tanned, seamed cheeks. Her greeting was taken in stride, a sign of humanity that seemed tangible enough. Almost absently, he reached for the fox's head, a pointless gesture hopefully turning into a somewhat affectionate stroke. "Bar's are easier?" Tables were more private, however. "I don't deal well with crowds, but this isn't big enough to be an issue."

For her own sake, Shae didn't seem discomforted by the atmosphere in the least. When his hand drew near, Fox drew back enough to give it a sniff before allowing himself to be touched. This close, it was hard to miss the intelligence in the creature's expression. After a careful scenting, Fox consented to further contact. But Shae was moving. "Bar it is." Towards said bar. Hans resolved to be the bartender. Whose stoic demeanor appeared to be a fixture of his personality rather than any personalized reaction. "Bowl of stew, extra meat. Bread and cheese. Some cider." Counting out coins as she slipped onto a bar stool. Hans continued polishing that glass and shifted his gaze to Jared.

After wondering if they took plastic money in this place, Jared shook his head and fished around in a pocket until he'd come up with a folded stack of UNSC bills. They'd worked before, so why not here? The man's stare was returned easily enough while he stared at the bottles. "Rum and Coke, double?" It was a common enough drink, he thought. A safe choice. No food was ordered, he'd already eaten at the bay quite some time ago. Back to the fox, back quite quickly. Jared stared, unblinking as was his fashion, and took stock of the creature's preternatural aura. Another question, maybe? "People didn't seem to happy to see you..." His curiosity had finally gotten the best of him.

Hans moved off to fill the order without any fanfare. The drinks first. Her hands raised so shift Fox down from her shoulders to her lap. The creature settling on her crossed legs with a bit of adjustment. "Oh. Well. Sailors and superstitions. I'm fond of night walks and there's this local legend about a hag that lives on the beach." She was grinning now. "I've made a friend in the community, though, and no one pesters me as a result. I've even started to get some small amounts of business."

Jared did not sit, he rarely ever did. Instead, he leaned against the bar, tilted to that only his right hip was actually underneath the bar, his right hand atop it. The entire left side of his body remained free and open, quite ready for use. It was a common stance, one born of desperate habit and muscle memory. "We have our own, sure. Same general lineage, I'd guess, but ships sail on different oceans." He had fond memories of most of the vessels he'd boarded. She grinned, he laughed softly and under his breath. For such a large man, quite tall indeed, he was quiet and soft spoken in general. "Knowing people's good, yeah? I've stuck to myself. Habit." Business. Another question, another bit of prying. "What sort of business?"

Hans delivered her spiked cider and his double, along with a plate of bread and cheese which she reached for first. Normally she was the one asking the questions. She didn't mind the turnaround so far. But she had one of her own. "Are there currents and storms on your ocean?" Stacking a slice of soft cheese onto warm, crusty bread, she replied to his. "Freelance work, mostly. I just dropped off a contract before coming here with that same friend. Long term agreement to provide enhancement for the ships under his command." Her manners were not such that she talked while chewing, but once she finished that thought she was taking a few bites.

"More so than I think most can understand. Unless you want a lesson in the thermal dynamics based around dying stars, then it's just yes. Incredibly powerful ones." Though he was technically a land based soldier, current, gravity, pull and tension impacted any jump tremendously and required near constant study. Her manners amused a man who'd spent his entire youth in an all male academy, and the majority of his adult life around men, and a few women, of his particular manner. Though not bad, they surely were not perfect. After finding the drink to his liking, or so said the large gulp taken quickly, he turned his eyes and mind back to her answer. "Yeah? And here I thought you were an angel."

[Shae]

Wingless, part 2

His initial response got a good amount of consideration as she washed down her snacking with a draw of cider. The last bit of her cheese slice passed to the waiting mouth of the fox in her lap. Something more to research, perhaps. The star ships made do without sails. That much she knew. Engines. His final commentary earned a soft groan. "Oh for the-- you heard what I said. A flattering comparison to most, I'm sure. But I'm not one. That said, angels should work too. No reason to be lazing about. Unless, of course, they have the silver to do so. Then I'm jealous."

Unaware of a fox's eating habits, he seemed slightly taken aback when it devoured the cheese. That's not what he'd expected, not at all. "Does it...he, she, have a name?" There were engines all about the man, at least when he was wearing armor. They'd be a shock to those who were not familiar with thrust based ion drives, though. True flight was impossible, but short hops were managed with ease. Finally, she showed some expression other than smirks that appeared slightly smug! He smiled openly for that, rather proud of the accomplishment. "Somehow, I doubt angels need much. From what I understand, they don't really eat?" He wasn't an authority, sadly. "I wouldn't know. We wear wings, but they don't work."

"His name is Fox. For now. For the foreseeable future, really. He's terribly indecisive so I needed a placeholder that he wouldn't object to." Hard to object to the literal. Her smile suggested she knew that it was quite redundant. The reynard let out a soft huff of air from his muzzle. Another reach for her cider, "I've yet to meet a creature that doesn't have some level of need. There are half-breeds. At the least, this suggests a different sort of hunger." Small shrug, followed by open curiosity. "Do you? What do they look like? Why wear them?"

"Fox." He repeated the word and added his own blend of dry, droll wit that'd been cultivated in a mind turned from the whimsical in favor of a coldly logical approach to life. "It fits him, yeah?" He was, after all, a fox. No complaints there. Pleased to know a little more, the beast's gender, he contemplated her question as he drained another measure of the amber concoction. "Why?" That was, perhaps, a better question than she knew. "Not actual wings. Wings, a metallic medal, on dress uniforms. It's a distinction, I guess. A meritocracy thrives on equality, which demands known, visible differences in skill, I suppose. The descent would rip wings off. It's been tried before."

"It does." Easy agreement. And then there was her stew, prompting Fox to sit up with more attention. The bowl was still steaming hot, the canid would have to be patient. She didn't reach for it, rather listened to his reply. "Fast falling. So what does this distinction signify? Rank of skill?"

Happily enthralled by the creature's rather doglike begging, he spent a moment beaming down at Shae's lap and the small, strangely human like animal that it held. Torn from his point of focus, he tilted his head and studied her, not the animal. It was rare that anyone asked, rare enough that it was worth a second question. "The vast majority of our firepower and real fighting ability is based around heavy bombardments from orbit followed by ground troops, conscripts, landed in a mundane manner. That doesn't work when there's civilians, or there's something we don't know about the ground. They distinguish those who go in first, before the big guns, rather than after." Unable to speak in anything but plain, laconic words, there was no boast, no pretension. To him, it was just a fact.

"So, the vanguard." She concluded after a moment of thought. "Shock troops?" The latter conclusion more of a question as she looked him over. Although he was tall and in shape, something about the man out of armor didn't seem to hold true to that description. Maybe it was the soft spoken manners. There was no whining from Fox. No fidgeting. Just a solid staring at the bowl as if willing it to cool down. Shae reached for the spoon and gave the mixture a stir that released more steam.

"Orbital Drop Shock Troopers." He smiled grimly for her revelation. It was absolutely, entirely correct. The first glass was gone, his expression chased by the ghosts of well aged rum and watered down soda. "We specialize more in hostage rescue, providing a blanket for civilians to get out behind. Anyone can be given a rifle and told to shoot anything that moves..." Losing his train of thought and words into a meditative silence, he lingered in that posture for a few moments before shrugging it away. The truth was in cold eyes that latched onto things, made decisions and acted upon them with no discernible regret or remorse. Again, Fox was amusing enough to distract him. "Is he simply well trained or is there something else behind it? He doesn't seem quite....a standard fox?"

"Mm." Acknowledgement in the sound for his clarification. Eyes sweeping for an additional pass of study. Organizing the mental file attached to his name. His fall into silence draws her gaze back to his. Then a hand lift to signal Hans for refills. The change of subject was lifted and moved with. "He's not a pet, if that's what you're asking. So no, not standard. He's smart enough to know that if he sticks his fat mouth in my stew I'll be cross with him." Shae was spooning out some of those extra meat chunks onto the plate where the bread had been. This was set to her right. Fox slipped from her lap to the empty stool beside her. Paws up on the counter to allow him to reach the plate of meat.

"You'll be cross with him, yeah?" Her choice of word amused him in some strange way. It wasn't quite intimidating, nor could he pass up the chance to subtly poke and tease. "Lord no, God forbid someone's cross." Dark eyes, eyes the color of long dead wood, sparked with momentary mirth, passing like sand between an hourglass' uncaring channel. "I was asking that, actually. I'd not want to disrespect him or you vicariously."

It took her a moment to recognize the mocking in his echo of her words, but it was hammered home with his sarcasm. A manicured brow lifted, eyes squinting towards the fellow. The picture of irritation utterly ruined by the smile she hid behind a spoonful of stew. Eventually her features evened out. "Thoughtful of you." Fox's table manners were more appropriate to the animal he was, but he kept an eye to the two of them, and their conversation. "Normally I'm quite happy to downplay him, as is he. But we've both been stretching out a bit here."

The animal was a soothing reminder of pointless innocence and seemingly elegant complacency. He found, for some strange reason, that it had a calming effect on caustic wit and bitterly judgmental impulses that made him rather poor company, most of the time. "I try to be. I either like someone and do my best or I don't care and wouldn't bat a lash upon hearing they were dead." In his world, things were black or they were white, nothing else mattered. "Stretching? I'm not sure I follow the point."

"I take that to mean that we are on friendly terms." Drawled after a bite of potato. "Especially since you paid for your own drink." Unless, of course, he was just that bored here. "By that I mean we've both let our guard down. Less of the usual charade that was needed for survival."

"You missed the only time I've confronted someone on unfriendly terms as of now." He spoke with a bit of fond nostalgia for the tongue lashing he'd offered in succinct, impactful terms. He was nothing if not volatile. Rather taken aback by her blunt statement, he looked away for a moment while drinking most heartily from the freshly filled glass. "I mean, I'd like to think so." Confidence oozed from him with ease when he found himself in certain situations. This was most assuredly not one of those. "I find no real reason. Why bother?" To her statement, of course. "I doubt you're much of a real danger, though I'm sure you could be."

"Did I? Now I'm curious. What spawned it?" What did he consider to be unfriendly? His reaction to her private joke that he wasn't just using her to buy him a drink was almost charming. The difference of him in that suit and out of it. She was slowly learning the flavor, but now she reassured him. "I find you agreeable company, Jared." His commentary on the risk of her was met with a light shrug and a small smile.

"I've select enhancements, my eyes being one of them. While I can't see through clothing, sadly enough, I can see in an abstract thermal sense. If there's a glamour, we're used to fighting invisible Covenant soldiers, I can see the reality's honest heat move behind the glamour's superimposed lie. Suffice to say, being lied to, and then being lied to again when the person's called out, isn't something I take well." Simple things, small matters triggered frigid blasts of logically induced loathing. He, as well, was starting to know her for an almost coy creature and the small, innocent seeming smile did nothing to dissuade him of that assumption's validity. "I'm quite pleased to know that I've not earned a cross telling off, Shae. Maybe I'll avoid putting my fat mouth into the wrong bowl?"

"That would be an interesting trick, to be able to see through clothing. Unless it were something capable of being turned off, I don't think I would want it. Not sure if I would want it in general. Being able to detect glamour's as a matter of course, though. That's attractive." And good to know. Visually thwarting him would be a challenge. Not that she had ideas toward such an endeavor, but it would be noted and added to that collection of information about him. "Still. People enjoy their privacy. Sometimes they hide what they are because to walk around otherwise, no matter how honest or harmless, could get them killed for existing. Not all of us are dangerous, right?" A few more bites of her stew, a sip of cider and a soft laugh. "You do that."

"It can be turned off, of course. We find ourselves without our helmets easily enough. Granted, I can't see what's behind the glamour, just that something is." He shrugged lamely, already working on his third glass. A heavy drinker by nature, he seemed to take it incredibly easily. "Actions speak louder than words, and if that's the case, deceitful actions speak the loudest, I'd assume." It was only an opinion, absolutely not cold, hard fact. She'd made him think before, she could surely do it again. "We've a few of them up our sleeves." It was his turn to smile lazily, giving nothing more away. "I'm quite partial to my nose, so I think I might?" It'd been broken, that much was evident, but still slanted in an aristocratic, Roman direction. "By the way, you're quite the spectacle when you make T-rex arms, for the record."

"Interesting. And your helmet is an intelligent item. Did she mock you as you feared?" She took her time with the drinking, and the food. After the initial hunger had subsided, she ate in a more relaxed fashion. Now and then spooning a few more bits over onto the plate Fox was using. "So if the only way to save a life was to use tactics of a less than forthright nature, it would be judged for the actions used rather than the result?" As with her questions before, this one was aimed to get a feel for the boundaries of the man's ideals. "It's a good nose." Added with an easy grin. "We picked up the game again, sans arms." Then, after a beat. "Handy shield."

"She mocks me on a day to day basis, trust me." Her question was answered quickly, almost easily, Maybe too easily. She'd run into a wall of conviction that brooked no chinks, something that edged on a fanatic's belief in a just cause's perpetuation. "In that case, the value of the life would be judged in accordance to the nature of the mission's objective. For instance, I'd be pleased if someone came back to get my body, but if it placed the overall operation at risk, I'd sooner be left behind. The same goes for your question. If the life in question was important enough to mitigate ideals, so be it. We, however, often fight insurgencies where morals and said ideals are more productive than actually winning fights on the ground." It was a strange realm, the world of counter insurgency. He couldn't claim to be a true specialist. "I'm just a soldier, though. One with some tricks." There was a reason why, even right now, his left hand remained free and open. As the third glass became sadly empty, he flicked a suddenly displeased glance at a nearby clock. "What you did, the manipulation, was just as well timed."

Shae listened to his reasoning respectfully. And just as respectfully declined to pursue the matter from that point. Few were the topics she would chase for the principle of it. Much of it had to do with the person. Her free hand rested in her lap. An intriguing choice of words. One she had to question on. "What falls into the category of a manipulation?"

"Altering, I'd say, or influencing something's natural state of being falls into that category, doesn't it? Not that it's a bad thing, not always, but it is what it is. There's been plenty of times where I wished I could have manipulated something more." He spoke with introspective words as the sentence faded into obscurity behind yet another glance at the clock and the quick muting of an annoying beep that originated in his pocket. "Morning's come tragically early, and while I doubt I'd find a sunrise as interesting as you, I've obligations." By now, he found himself standing, though he'd not given much thought to the actual motion involved.

One final question. "Are manipulations deceitful by your definition?" Though she made no move to stand.

"Are you asking Jared, or are you asking Staff Sergeant Renaux?" He had not turned yet, though sure steps had taken him some scant distance away.

"I don't know. Which one is the truth?"

A clever turn of words. For that, he could only offer earnest respect. "Circumstances dictate, I'd say, the nature of the action. Intentions are, I think, pointless and an illogical argument, but all the same..." He trailed off again, peering down at her quite curiously. "I pride myself on being flexible enough to do what's best in that very second. By my personal definition, if it's worth the cost of being discovered, whatever is being hidden that is, then it's worth the gamble."

She had turned in her seat to follow his retreat with her eyes in patience for his answer. Rather than offer further thoughts, one corner of her mouth hitched. Her glass was lifted for a sip, after which she spoke a farewell. "Be safe."

The hitch was, he decided, answer enough. He hoped it'd turned upwards, some suggestion of a smile, maybe even the same grin as before. He did not salute her as left, this had become something less than painfully formal. Instead, he inclined his chin and offered a subtle promise given in the form of farewell. "Forward, Shae, always unto Dawn." He left that as cryptic as possible, an intentional question unable to be asked. It'd have to be saved for next time. Far too pleased with the night's spent time, more pleased than he'd planned on being, he retreated through the door and breathed in a sigh when darkness turned him into the faceless, avenging angel that was so much easier when compared to being human.

[Shae]

Heat Signatures, part 1
Rooftops, 5/21/15

Text to Helljumper: Still alive, Staff Sergeant?

Text to Shae:: You're not stalking me? That's strange. I fully expected you to be doing just that. Suffice to say, I am alive. Yourself? Clearly alive, but in what state?"

Text to Helljumper: Please. Stalking takes more time and energy than I care to commit at this juncture. Also alive, yes. Using my disinclination to move as an excuse to touch base with the people I know.

Text to Shae:: You'll come around. If you stalked me, you'd have more time to ask absurd questions and find some odd pleasure in my lack of comfort when answering them, I imagine. The day was a lazy one, or just now is? I find myself in the city again and am quickly reminded why I despise it so.

Text to Helljumper: You find my questions absurd, do you? I haven't seen a lazy day in two weeks, at least. General fatigue has inspired my current state of laying on a roof.

Text to Shae:: A roof? That makes it much easier to find you. Maybe I'm stalking you. Not all of the lights, my friend, are stars. Are we going on a Shae hunt now?

Text to Helljumper: I feel like I should be relocating to a more obscure roof to give you a challenge.

Text to Shae:: You'd be shocked, I think, to know just how easy it is for a person to be found. Heat doesn't lie, nor does it change often enough. I'll start soon. Hide and seek?

Text to Helljumper: Fine. I'll relocate. Hide and seek.

Text to Shae:: Is this the part where I count to ten? I'd suggest picking a rather stable roof and please, not somewhere too close to the water. I do hate landing wet.

Text to Helljumper: You're going to make me move again, aren't you. Fine, fine.

Text to Shae:: It's good for you. Even the prettiest cats need exercise. And yes, if you don't mind. Dockside is a little to close to the ocean.

Text to Helljumper: Just how close an eye have you been keeping on me, sir? It would be a shame to have to kill you.

Text to Shae:: Unless you're able to kill me from a few hundred feet away, or can be said distance away less than a second after killing me, I suggest you wait until I'm not wearing my armor. And also, I'm not quite sure if I can answer that. Giving away a source is never a good idea, is it? Are you going to hide again, or do we end the game?

Text to Helljumper: Yes. Probably. Still sound advice. You'd better think of an answer that's a good one. Giving away a source can often be a needed attrition. And come on down, stalker.

Text to Shae:: It'll have to the street, but I'm quite sure I'll be close enough. Within minutes, of course. Are we staying on the roof?? These things are important, you know.

Text to Helljumper: I'm staying on the roof.

[Shae]

Heat Signatures, part 2
Roof of the Teas'n Tomes, 5/21/15

The light of her phone screen picked her form out of the shadows of the roof. Her back wedged into a corner with the cushioning of a large grey hoodie over black pants and practical boots. Nestled in her lap was a bottle of wine with a screw cap, its volume already diminished. Her black hair hung loose and spilled out of the hood that was up on her head. She'd arrived suddenly in each place, with far less time than should have been required. There and gone. Suddenly here.

Covered in clouds, the moon's face shed no tears, though his descent marred thick, heavy fog with pale grey lacrima, a fitting dissertation on the merits of lonely advance into unknown settings. Cloaked in the metallic wrappings that allowed for such superhuman feats, he landed on the cobblestones with all the force of a poorly aimed meteor. Caught in the throes of his own inertia, engaged blast systems threw him skywards, back to the scene of his crime. Ebon boots scraped along the roof, her text came in time to reveal her speaking voice as it poured through the grates of a helmet he quickly took off and let rest upon his thigh. "Heat signals, Shae. More so when someone's outside and on a series of roofs, aren't hard to find. Are you going to kill me?"

Wrist sagged to let the phone dangle from sleeve covered fingers above the slant of her thigh, eyes reflecting from the raise of her head towards his secondary landing. "I'm going to assume that suit is largely metal. Were this yesterday, the answer might have been 'if you touch me it'll be an accident so mind your hands', but today feels more stable. You can confess the degree of your stalking and I'll grant clemency."

"For the most part, yes." Impossibly light and flexible, the armor was fused metal and ceramic polymers, but her guess was essentially right enough to be accepted as a bland truism. Lantern angles of his old Hollywood chin tilted in a sidelong flare as words were processed, absorbed and consumed idly. "Yesterday was a bad day, I take it?" Ignored entirely, her request. The only answer offered was a skewed grin that tugged one corner if his lips into a teasing expression.

She, it seemed, had lost the script of teasing. The expression returned to his grin was a serious one and the initial warmth was hemorrhaging from her tone quickly. "I mean it, Jared. I'd like to know if you're keeping tabs on me."

"No, of course not. Why would I need to?" Both hands were held high and to the side. For whatever reason, he still seemed too amused, too cavalier, for anything to be taken seriously. "To what end? I'm fairly sure you're not what I'm looking for in that sense."

Phone disappeared into the voluminous front pocket of her attire. Replaced in her hands by the slow unscrewing of the wine bottle. Her eyes remained on him without the need to squint to define his features in the dark. "What are you looking for?"

For just one moment, a split in the fabrics of this impromptu meeting, Jared turned serious and pensive. How much to say, how many answers? He caught himself in the fine webs of a seemingly innocent smile and careless shrug. After fumbling in compartments built into the plates that covered one thigh, he came back with an unmarked bottle. "That's a broad question, isn't it?"

And then she was rescrewing the cap. "Let me spell it plain for you. I have a bit too much on my plate to risk this continuing if it turns out that you and I are diametrically opposed for some reason. As entertaining as you are to talk to, I can't afford to flirt with that vulnerability right now. I've made it clear, I think, that I'm uncomfortable with the idea that you may or may not have been paying attention to my movements. This isn't a selfish thing. So broad as it may be, I'd really like some kind of definition so I know if I'll have to now waste more energy watching the sky."

"Unless you're wonderfully adept at hiding who you are, I doubt that you're a six and a half ton, twelve foot alien wielding a blade formed of naked energy, are you?" Sarcasm layered itself thickly upon words that rasped around the bottle's neck. Forced to pause due to the harsh liquid, he peered across, flat and even eyes. "Given all of that, I'd say that you're relatively safe from that. I won't lie, I keep track of a **** ton of people, but you've yet to give my any real reason to watch." A bitter part of him almost spat the word care, but it was caught in the sleeper agent's impassive facade. "I'll let you know if I've reason to suspect you. How's that?"

His response was processed in stillness, almost as if she was neglecting to breathe during it. When he was finished, she moved. The bottle was lowered to nest in her lap again. Sleeve ends brought up with palms to scrub at her face with a sigh and mutterings of a language possibly foreign to his translation software. It didn't require a translator to recognize the universal cadence of tired cursing. Low at first, but then raising to a normal volume of speech as her hands dropped to join the bottle in her lap. "Alright then, Staff Sergeant. We're square. Apologies for ruining your post hunt glow, but it was important."

"I'll show you." A moment of compassion grew like some starved flower. The woman was clearly stressed, that wasn't hard to see even if he had no idea what she'd said. He took a knee, his right wrist held out. An orange glow shined, dull and translucent, as a map of the city was projected onto the roof between them. Marked blips moved here and there, a vast sea of moving light. "If you'd been tagged, you'd show up." One finger prodded the map, pointing to where they were. "And you're not showing up, are you? When you mentioned hide and seek, it wasn't hard to just hover, scan the roofs for organic heat and blow up the images. That's how I found you."

Another moment of stillness, broken by the sharp sweep of her eyes as she attempted to decipher what he was showing her. "You suspect all of those little blips to be your aliens?" Something in her tone expressed a measure of doubt, but it was trumped by her native curiosity in meaning. Tired, but inquisitive still. "This...is technology. Not magic?"

"No, not all of them. We deal with the Covenant, but the UNSC also deals with homegrown insurgents that often pose a much larger threat. RhyDin is a free port, Shae. That's why I was sent here." Sent, such an important word. It was his turn to bring one hand to his cheek even as the map faded and obscured itself. The bottle found his lips, quickly followed by a sigh. "I didn't come here accidentally, nor do I work for the Air and Space Guard. That's just a convenient story, and yes. It's all technology based. The Covenant uses some sort of magic. At least we know it's not based on technology even close to the levels we have, but we don't have that option. It's simply electronic tags that shoot infrared packets of information back to the armor."

Fingers laced together as she absorbed this new information. In her mind a process of combing previous conversations to tug loose the bits that fit these words and stitch the patches into place. "What is the UNSC?" First one question, then another. "Why is this group a threat to the port city?" His work for the Air and Space Guard as a consultant...she didn't need to ask. A story. "Were you hoping that networking here would help you understand the magic in play by this Covenant? What makes you sure it is not just a technology beyond your comprehension?" Here she gestured to his map.

"United Nations Space Command. When humanity moved past Earth, it was decided to unite the planets under one government." Answers came slowly, though that was the easiest, the first and safest. "I couldn't give half a **** as to the safety of this city, I'm concerned with the safety of the Space Command, Shae. Those aren't people I suspect, those are people we know to be insurgents or human agents of the Covenant." He shifted idly, the motion a nervous one, before sitting on the roof's edge and letting his feet dangle into the drop off below them. Both arms folded, palms grasping his upper arms."Because we can scramble technology with ease, almost all of it. There's that chance, but we're fairly sure that's not the case. Some of these people, for instance, are using some form of cloaking devices to hide the fact that they are Covenant. If it was technological, I'd see through it, or at least be aware of it. As it stands, all I can see is hazy after images. That's evidence enough." He'd rarely spoken this much about anything and the tirade seemed to have fatigued him.

Slow answers gave time for her to register and adjust to new information. Shae was willing to assume that Jared was giving her a truth substantially less edited this time. "So. That would explain your dislike for glamours." Fingertips faintly tap on the glass of the bottle in her lap. Half full, but she didn't move to consume more at the moment. After a small stretch, two words that were genuine and warmer than any others that had passed her lips that evening. "Thank you."

"I grow weary of being forced, over and over again, to relive the memories that said glamours hide. There's a hauntingly beautiful, yet poignantly tragic quality to seeing a beam saber erupt from thin air and disembowel someone." Though he laughed softly, the sound was caustic, introspective and filled with the crushing weight of self guilt. Her thanks were brushed off with a vague gesture, a third drink and a hopeful stare. "I don't think I need to tell you that this stays here, and to everyone else, I work for the Space Guard, do I? There's little that won't be done to protect anonymity in the sea of people."

A smaller pause this time, less was needed for the words she now formed. "I appreciate you showing me to ease my mind. My reasons for concern aren't for universally nefarious purposes, but rather motivated by the need for discretion. I'm conducting my own investigation for the sake of a friend, while balancing a few other plates." The weight of her regard was sincere. "You have my word that I will not compromise your activities here. I wouldn't betray that."

"That's good to know, yeah? While I'm not against the idea of playing a bit rough in bed, I'm not one who gets any real pleasure from actually having to interrogate someone. It's not something I'm fond of." Flippant words trailed by the night's second smirk sounded quiet, soft spoken when compared to the vastness of the night's sky. "Then we've a deal. No tracking, no talking."

The smile that was beginning to form on her face from his interjected levity faltered slightly at the mention of interrogation. A stumbling block quickly recovered from as it settled into a wry smile. "No tracking, no talking." The woman echoed in agreement. Now. Now she reached for the bottle again without sloth in her motions, unscrewing the cap and bringing the glass towards her lips. "I can drink to that." Offered quietly before drink she did.

[Shae]

Heat Signatures, part 3

"Does this mean..." Curious in his devil may care, rakish manner, he paused for effect while slashing a sidelong look in her direction. Here, wrapped in a blanket of darkness that blurred edges, she seemed to look more natural. He decided, quite quickly and internally, that she looked somehow more correct in half light. Her toast was met easily enough, drink for long drink. "that I can't look through your windows?" Any student of assassination understood mannerisms and expressions. Her strained look wasn't missed, but there was nothing to be gained from probing or questioning. Not yet, at least.

She hung on his pause, lips lingering on the bottle with eyes peering over it. The night did not blur his edges to her eyes. He was too close for that. It did, however, wash him of color. Something she lamented. Did that mean..."Metaphorically or literally? Metaphorically, as long as you don't earn my ire. Literally...I don't think you know where I live, or else you'd be aware that I only have the one window." Her smile quirked for another sip.

"You know, seeing naked people in thermal vision isn't quite the same. I can see through walls, you know." In an offhanded sort of way, he glanced down and pointed towards the other corner. "For instance, the owner of this place can't sleep, so he's writing. Likely in a journal?" It was easier with his helmet, but he surely did not need it entirely. "I have no idea where you live. I've a loft. I spend a large amount of time on the frigate, but I've still got to have a place here."

"I'm afraid you'd find it much harder to peer through my walls without permission. I thought I recall you saying you couldn't see through clothing?" A brow arching at him slowly. "Or was that a tiny lie?" Her eyes shift to the corner when he points it out, just as soon back to him. She couldn't see through the building in that way so the corner was a boring place to let her attention linger. "I may be moving soon, but I've been staying at the Red Dragon for the past few months."

"Oh no, I can't see detail through clothing. For example...." With a hint of mischief, he stared in her direction. Were she keen enough, she might notice the subtle shift in his eyes, dark brown to bright, vibrant blue. "all I see is what I can see normally, given that I'm seeing you as a heat sign, not a person. The other spectrums would be much the same." Suddenly rather awkward, he turned his face away and managed, around a drink, to speak. His words were quick, almost unsure. "If you do move and need help, you know, moving....stuff? Strong back and a weak mind, or so they say."

If he expected her to blush or shy away, he would be disappointed. He said he couldn't see detail, and she took him at his word. Her interest resting on the slight change in shading in his eyes. "So it's like looking at undefined person-shaped things?" She was trying to envision that manner of perception and so missed the initial awkwardness in his avoidance. The quicker pace of his offer dragged Shae out of her imagination and back to the rooftop and her wine. "I'm afraid I don't have much to my name, but I'll need to buy furniture at some point if I do move. I'd be more than willing to pay you in food and drink for a hand getting it all settled in."

"Here." He was quick to offer a better explanation. Cradled in his hands, he offered over the scarred, marred helmet. It was an impulsive choice, but one made easier by the soft moment, one where walls didn't need to be so high. "If you put it on, you'll see me how I see you when I'm looking at you in that way. Granted, I'll be lit up pretty heavily." She had not said no, therefore he found his breathing once more and collected some small amount of composure. "I won't tell you no, but conversation and, you know, time spent is payment enough, even when unasked."

Moment taken to screw closed that bottle and set it aside. Her own hands reached out to accept the offer he made of that piece of himself. Careful of the weight it may have, her slender fingers could still muster a strong grip. Leaning her head back, the hood was let to fall off her hair. The hair was let to fall behind her shoulders. Then she eased her sights into the roughened confines of his mask to try on his anonymity and his sight. As it settled into place she spoke. "You'll find I'm funny about debts, even perceived ones."

Much as his did, her voice sounded, to his ears strange as she spoke through the open tubes. Rasping and wheezing, he momentarily regretted his decisions to alter the smooth, sibilant tones. He would have appeared like a resting ball of light, supercharged armor bleeding light profusely. Specks of it behind walls were bodies, street lights flared and floated seemingly independently. "You're funny enough as it is, Shae. But yeah, anyways. That's how I see most of the time. It can be turned off if needed. It's easier when fighting, you know? It's easier to shoot something that doesn't have a face." Somber confessions, words uttered before another drink pushed regret back down.

The turn of her neck allowed a slow and careful scan of the field of view presented with that helmet on. After that initial sweep, the motion of her eyes hid her focus on this point or that one. She even looked down at herself and then forward at an outstretched hand. "I think I'd prefer it off." Came her quiet murmur through whatever distortion the helmet would muster. That light seemed imprecise. "Does it respond to thought or to voice?"

"If I'm wearing it, either or, depending on what level of threat it discerns. If the ***'s on the fan, it'll react to voice. Thoughts become panicked, confused, when things are going badly wrong. If everything's fine, it reacts to my thoughts. Or this." Quickly, he reached across and, with two fingers, flicked a switch on the helmet's lower grating, perhaps causing knuckle to throat contact, quickly there, gone even more quickly. By now, the visor offered a more normal sort of vision barring the heads up displays that showed status, a locating system and targeting suites. "I leave it off until I need it, personally. Helmet or eyes, I can see in that, which is thermal, pure low light vision, infrared or telescopic. I won't make you wear the rest. I doubt it'd be very flattering."

The quick motion was a surprise and he would be rewarded for that brief contact with the sensation of a small static shock from her skin. That brush of a knuckle would have felt something lurking there. Like a current. A hum in her flesh capable of raising the small hairs on an arm. "Sorry." Offered simply, too captivated by the distraction of the altered display to grant more than that. Each little display of information analyzed, the design appreciated for enhancing the view without obstructing it in an undue manner. "Fascinating..." Also sincere, though her hands were shifting to take the helmet off. Nose wrinkled as it cleared the protection of that scarred shell. "I doubt flattery of form was the objective." Granted calmly as she offered his shared vision back to him.

Somewhat startled by the sharp jolt that shivered a path through his armor and flesh, he broke into sudden, free laughter. It lasted for a moment, the sound that wasn't impeded by dire cynicism and jaded honesty. In explanation, he caught her in the full focus of his eyes while settling the helmet back atop his knee. "Odd, that. Convenient though. The armor repairs itself and electricity helps. You'll eventually see me, I'd imagine, literally plug myself into a wall socket. It's… embarrassing." Her observation, entirely correct, drew the twinkling of a star drenched grin. "The entire purpose, visor, voice alteration, is designed to make us faceless, anonymous figures. Almost not humans. It's equal parts horrifying in an abstract sense and liberating. So no, beauty isn't the purpose here."

The startling sound of his laughter spawned her sheepish smile in reply. "Like I said, yesterday I might have warned you to watch your hands." Her own hand charting a raking path through her hair, but she left the hood down after the helmet trial. The mental picture of him forced to crouch next to a wall with his fingers in a socket, however inaccurate, was the impetus for the first appearance of a grin from her this evening. "Why not just fall through a storm cloud?" It was possible that while she understood the concept of electricity, or what her people called caged lightning, that she hadn't a firm grasp yet on the variances of voltage tolerance. Yet, he's said the suit had been designed to handle electricity. "I follow the psychology of it."

One brow crept higher and higher, an expression that was all too amused and likely spurred by her own flashing, dazzling grin. "A wall socket is one thing, but it's not enough. A generator is just enough, but a **** lightning bolt?" He didn't laugh, he simply shook his head. "That'd be far, far too much and I'd likely ended up with said armor melted to my corpse. Not a pretty picture, is it? Solid idea, and with other suits of armor, it works. This one's much lighter, not capable of handling that. Outside of the field craft, my technical designation within a military group is scout work, something that values speed over staying power."

One comment was considered and discarded for being something that might sour the fleeting mood. The reply chosen was more lighthearted. "I suppose that means I'll have to be gentle." Friendly wink as she reclaimed the drink she had set aside and a slight shift in place. The evening was cooler than the season might warrant, and while the temperature didn't bother her, she still had a lingering restlessness that prompted her to stretch the occasional group of muscles. "The heavier suits must be quite a sight."

"I'm not sure that you should be too worried. Just don't kill me, like I said before when we were texting. The suit's rather against that and tends to explode in an arc in front of me. It'd be messy." A single, flickering red light in the center of Jared's chest hid formed plastic explosives linked to the beat of his heart. In seconds, he became serious. Serious, somber and tentative as he flicked a glance towards her and then tore it away quickly. "Can I tell you something?" From the tone of his voice and the nervous fidgeting of his hands, it was clear that the forthcoming revelation was of great importance to the young man.

"In front of you?" Teasingly she scribbled with a finger against her thigh. "Note… to… self… attack… from… behind." When she looked up again that note of sobriety became infection, and her gentle mirth died away. Another pull of wine from the bottle, red and dry and doing nothing for her thirst. "Well, sure. No talking. I agreed to that. If you want to share something, it'll stay with me." There was, beneath her calm words a restrained interest in just what it was that could be so important for him to say.

"No one else has ever worn, well, you know, the armor." He, at a loss for words, shrugged softly and ignored, or so it seemed, her observation about the armor's technical failure. She was right, but there were so many caveats, layers upon layers of them. "It's not often that we allow someone else to wear it, you know? It's sort of, I guess, a big deal." A lame ending to a suitably awkward conversation.

Silence. A small stretch of it as she reordered his words in her mind. "I'm honored that you would allow me to do so. I realize that it is a part of you, and I hope that the sharing of the experience is not something that will get you into any trouble if it is a 'big deal'. If that was just meant to mean to you personally, then now I really do owe you a debt for such a gesture."

"Get into trouble?" He shrugged, a hand waved into the darkness. "There's very little that I can get in trouble for, if you will. We operate alone, given full independence. It's a personal choice, the armor. The suits are made specifically for one person, one at a time. They are..." He struggled to frame the idea, but she did it well enough. "us. Entirely. Our lives are spent inside of said armor, our worth is found in what we can do while wearing it." Having grown sequentially more silent during the course of his words, he managed to spit out another soft, slow sentence. "I wanted, I think, for you to understand. You don't, and if you do, you're paying it back right now. Understand how I'm seen by people who recognize what this armor is. It's depressing, Shae, to be so needed, so badly required, and then when the fights over, hated for being a killer. It's sickening, pulling a father and mother from a firefight and having them scream, hands beating against one's armor, and ask why you couldn't save a child, or vice versa. We aren't human, we can't ever afford to be. Right now, here, I can be a person with emotions, troubles, laughter, whatever makes someone a human. Outside of this, this right now? I'll go back to the visor, the walls."

"A personal choice." Echoed softly. He might choose a different path, but of course he was a soldier. Of course he would say it was not that simple. That the symbiotic link of man and suit was not something he could so easily withdraw from. She could hear those answers, so she didn't suggest them, it was something she had understood from their first conversation. "The trouble with trying to make machines of people, Jared, is that it can't be done without killing a soul in the process. You're a human with me right now, and you pretend to be just a visor when you put it on. But clothes don't make the man and it's still the man that's doing the work. I know the psychology of it, I said. There is something freeing in anonymity, but there is something damning in silence too. I don't envy you your society, though I do wish it were different, for the sake of those humans who've been trapped inside that thing meant to protect them and others."

"To damn one, to condemn one, is worth it in the long run, so long as that one can prevent the same fate for thousands." It was, for once, not a soldier's answer. It was Jared's answer, quite and firm in the conviction that had formed such an enigmatic persona. "You're right, of course, but there's a gulf between being right and what's applicable, isn't there? The moral of what you said, is, well..." He stopped, he paused and drank deeply before cutting the sentence short and shrugging again.

It was a refrain she was familiar with. Different words but the core of the sentiment was there. Service, sacrifice. There were many ways to wage a war, and it wasn't just one, for he'd already mentioned others. "How long?" Was her quiet question. "Your war, how long?"

"How long have I been fighting in it? I left Corbulo when I was sixteen, Shae. I'm almost twenty three. How long as it been happening?" He could only shrug, dark plates shifting naturally as he peered into the darkness and drank further, hoping to drown the rising demons. "The Covenant doesn't wage war against the Space Command. They wage war against humanity, the insurgents don't fight against humanity, they fight against the Command. How long?" He chuckled at that, bitter and low in his throat. "The very second humanity moved past the known planets, the nine, we found the Covenant. Seven, eight hundred years? The insurgency is a relatively new thing."

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she appraised him. Twenty-two. The armor, the aging effects of combat. She could almost see it as she looked at him. Almost. "So what is this insurgency doing here?"

"Importing weapons, securing recruits, planning attacks, organizing resources. It's easier here, there's only one of me here right now. No more can be risked. RhyDin is a sovereign nation. It's bad enough that I'm here, but someone had to show." The presence of force was often enough to dissuade an intelligent enemy. "Wars aren't won on the front lines, surely not this kind. They're won by what's not fought over."

"I see. And is it working so far? Your presence?" The wine was gone. Empty bottle set to lean against the edge of the roof. Free hand reaching over the lip of the building to dangle out over empty air and the street below. "Do you think they will need to send more, or recall you?"

"It is, yes. There's been a slow down of operation in certain sectors, which is due to a lack of shipments. I can draw upon hundreds of trillions of dollars, an insurgency can't. If I spend ten million to stop ten thousand from being moved, we win that day." Brutally effective was what he didn't say, interrogation and assassination. Terror tactics. His flask was almost empty, though not entirely. Without giving the action a second though, he offered the rum filled container over. "More, no. A large presence is counter productive. Recall, no. This is my duty station, and here I am."

"Trillions?" Brows raising as she took the flask. Its contents considered before she sampled from it and offered it back. "That much money would have been useful..." This trailed off statement not one that was meant to be directed to him. It was sad, almost. How familiar she was with what he didn't say. How soon the memories would be refreshed. "In perpetuity?"

"This armor cost more than this entire district, Shae. And it's expandable, so long as the loss outweighs the gain. My training cost more than some planets make in a year." Words spoken passively were still true, lazy and easy. "My presence? Until I'm dead, yes. I'll die before the insurgency does, so for the most part, yes."

Low whistle as she considered this. "I had a kingdom on my head just now. Eesh." She was almost jealous of his funding. Almost. They system that granted it still turned her off. "You're confident their efforts here will outlive you?"

"Absolutely. One doesn't win a war against ideals, Shae. It's not possible without nation building, and that's not something the Command is interested in. But what the **** do I know?" This time he made no attempt to hide the bitter anger that permeated his words. "I'm just a soldier, not someone who calls the shots. I take them, nothing more and nothing less." So spoken, he stood slowly, tired muscles lifting the armor with a stretch and a yawn. "It's late."

The space of time it took for her to lever herself to her feet was all that she needed to look down and process his shift of emotion again. "Mm. It is." Pause to feel for her feet. They were still there beneath her. The wine had been consumed over a long enough stretch that she was steady. Warm, but steady. Hands delved into her front pocket. "Be safe, Jared."

He, however, was far from steady. Feet were poorly balanced, his armor felt heavy. As he found his balance, he vented a rare showing, abject fury. The flask was crushed between his hands, broken and shattered quickly enough, before the shards were thrown into the night. "That's not up to me. It never has been. Forward, Shae, unto Dawn. Thank you." Thank you for what? He did not explain, nor did he extrapolate before secondary thrusters rocketed him into the air, pushed away and gone.

A moment of lamentation for the destroyed flask wherever it had landed, then Shae was walking to the edge of the roof above the alley, peering down to make sure it was empty. Moments later at street level she walked out of that same alley and considered where the morning would take her.

[Shae]

Whiplash, part 1
The Inn, 10:23 PM, 6/1/15

Annoyed words spoke volumes when regarding the man's mood, though archaic Latin was something so many had forgotten. As he shoved the alley door open and wound his way through the bar's break, the omnipresent assault back that clung to his shoulders was tossed to the floor with an audible thump. Dressed for the gym, Jared seemed human enough when devoid of the metallic carapace that was so comfortable.

Upstairs the opening of a door, letting out first a draft that carried the hint of ozone, and then a woman. Dark circles beneath her eyes did little to diminish the slow burning determination that lingered in her expression. Black hair was braided yesterday, by the timekeeping of the flyaways that had escaped the plait, but her attire was in order. Dark pants, heeled boots to the knee, and a long sleeved shirt in pale green whose sleeves Shae was just pulling down to who wrists from where they had been bunched to the elbows. Door pulled shut and locked, she turned for the stairs down. Lo. Someone was on the stairs already. A familiar face, even. Shae paused and gave space for the one that ascended.

She was going to count each and every step, biding time she didn't have to borrow. … seven, eight, nine… ten, eleven… eleven. She paused as if caught in the act of a sin. It was only counting. Aoife would try for a smile that was as careless as the elegance afforded her person. It was more of a nod and a crooked thing. Twelve. She was there and the stairs were free for safe travels. Watch Five. It was a tricky one.

Five was that squeaky bastard, aye. Nod to Aoife, her friendly smile just a tad slow in coming but no less genuine, and then she was on the descent.

Callous, cutting attention stole across the room as if it was nothing more than a cloudless moon's shadow chasing skeletal fingers across barren fields. Neither distressed nor vacant, interested or apathetic, he lipped a bottle of white rum heavily before casting baleful eyes upwards. The world was, in his mind, a three dimensional battlefield. The stairs were crowded, the room was not. Red tinted eyes lingered on green against black, black against pale white that graced the steps with such careless elegance.

On the ground floor, Shae got her bearings. Faces at the bar, some familiar, one not. One more so. Her smile flickered back to life for the soldier out of armor and her stride angled to join him in that space behind the counter by way of the break. "Off duty tonight, Staff Sergeant?" Offered by way of greeting. Her ultimate aim was the burners and one kettle in particular.

Calloused tips of uncaring fingers hammered out sequential patterns across the seamed wood, quite as uncaring as his countenance seemed to be. As if forcing himself into a moment of serenity, he drew deeply from the bottle. Peace was his madness, though that was disturbed quickly enough. He did not shift in his lean, Shae could avoid him or draw as close as she liked. Instead, he shrugged and afforded her a cynical smirk that spoke of wry secrets and dry eyed confessions. "I'm on leave. You've not slept."

"Forced leave?" A stab of a guess given his body language, what she perceived as restless impatience quelled with a thin layer of alcohol. "You're observant." Kettle filled, a marking at the bottom caught the light briefly before it was placed on the burner. Switch on, hands moved to collect the sundries for tea. "I've been working."

"Oh no, just squad rotations. The Air and Space Guard's pretty good at making sure everyone gets a few days off from time to time." This time, laughing eyes chased his finger's shadows on the bar's stained, dew wet edges. "The tea you make, it's always smelled interesting enough." A passing comment. Interest was washed away under the flood of rum.

Ah, her expression said with simplicity. "Would you like some? Rum can be added to such things, you know. I was considering requesting a splash from your bottle once my tea had steeped." Fingers combed along the tops of single serving paper bags, skimming the rainbow in the bar's tea tin in search of inspiration.

"No, no. Don't trouble yourself on my account, please. It's faster if it's not bothered with anything else." As if intent on proving his point, he choked back another three shot's worth of the clear liquid and laid the bottle to rest before him. Fingers rolled towards it, a gesture that ended in a subtle point towards her form. "By all means, please do. Tea's too human, you know? Too close to the chest."

Slow blink, followed by a grin as she selected a tea bag at last. Raspberry today. "I do believe that is the first time I have ever been accused of being too human." There was no disguising her amusement. "So, rum is less human?"

"The effects make one less of a human, don't they? Or maybe more of one, but more of a human simply because when you're hammered, you lack the *** filled pretenses that spew like so much garbage from a broken sewer vent, yeah?" Casually caustic words were brushed aside with a shrug and a shake of his head. "I mean you as a figurative representation of humanity, myself included, and not you. Not Shae."

"Dropping pretenses does make things easier from time to time, that's true. Unfortunately, a splash is all I'll take. I can't afford to get hammered tonight." No Shae, eh? Her smile wasn't the least bit offended."Good to know. I'm not sure I could give you competition as a representative tonight." Familiar faces trickled in one by one. She lifted a hand in greeting to the arrival of Sal, Cane, and Cris just as the kettle began to whistle.

"That it does. How's work, by the way?" It seemed, at least to him, that they'd entered some strange agreement, subtle lies and truths masked effectively enough to be spoken of only in passing. Genuinely interested and at least marginally curious, he followed her looks with bleary eyes, bloodshot orbs haunted with spider like fingers. "I'm sure whatever you could give would be more than enough."

"It fills the space of time in which I would prefer to be active with repetitive tasks. Contingencies for contingencies. I am becoming paranoid in stillness." She was pouring herself a mug of tea, and she gestured with the kettle to Cris as an offering. Upnod to Cane, still speaking to Jared. "You've probably noticed that I lack the main qualification for this hypothetical comparison."

"The people who say that someone who doesn't move leaves no tracks are **** idiots." In his brusque, laconic way, he agreed entirely. In fact, he couldn't agree more. "I have, yeah. But still, I felt the need to explain myself on the off chance that you might get your claws out." Note this moment, Shae. It was not often that he ever bothered to justify his actions to anyone.

Not a tea night then from the lack of answer to her wordless offer, no matter. The kettle was replaced and she reached a hand for Jared's rum. The brew had only just begun to steep in her mug, so she took a sip from the bottle instead. The twist of her lips into a half-smile, head bobbing once as the bottle lowered. "I am tired. General snark and sarcasm is a risk you take this evening. Still, my claws aren't aimed for you yet, so I'd say you're alright." Impatient, the next splash of rum met her mug rather than her lips. Back towards Jared the bottle went.

Honey snared, likewise added prematurely, and perhaps in a higher volume than was strictly needed. Simple energy to soothe her sweet tooth, it wouldn't last long. The faint scent of static lingered on her edges, but she didn't carry the same frenetic energy that she had that evening on the roof. A slight sway to accommodate the passerby behind the bar.

"I like it when they scratch." He managed to frame a pout, the teasing tone of his words thick with liquid courage. He imbibed once more, another frigid, slick shot wrapping around his tongue and burning his throat with a silk whip's touch. Noted as before, he peered at the radiant aura that seemed to permeate Shae's space, though no questions were asked. "Snark's alright, however. I can live with that."

Soft snort of laughter for that pouting tease. "So do I, but the mood has to be right. You can't fake a good scratching and expect to enjoy it. Needs inspiration, or it's work. And that's just a damn shame." The liquid in her cup slowly swirled and the steam twisted to match. "Snark usually isn't lethal. Usually."

"Well damn it, Shae. I guess I'm just not that inspiring tonight, am I?" Self deprecating wit slashed against the curl of his lips, clearly an amused smirk shining through stormclouds and thunderheads. "We've been over this, Shae. It'd better not be fatal. I think we went over it on a roof, yeah?"

Casually, the woman extended an arm to the side until, unless stopped, the back of her hand bumped pointedly against Jared's t-shirt clad sternum. "Unless you were misleading about the placement of that reason, I'm not feeling particularly concerned." Free hand calmly lifting the mug towards her lips. Her eyes were smiling to take any and all sincerity out of the vague threat assessment.

"Would I ever mislead anyone, Shae? Come on now, innocent ol' me. Is there a distrustful bone in my entire body?" Though his voice slunk across the bar, his eyes matched her livid, vibrant expression. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, barely able to hide laughter before it turned his words to dust. "And if there is, do you want one in your's?" Fully expecting to get slapped, he leaned back quickly, lips practically ripping with the width of his smile.

Cris hadn’t taken tea but had set himself up with a bottle and a shot glass. Blink for that smooth talk down the bar. It almost made him neglect shot one. Almost.

At his first question a brow arched, features reading: 'Surely you jest.' His claim to innocence was summarily dismissed. "I could always cut you open to find out." Calm sip of tea. One beat, two. Shae processed the man's *** grin. The hand that hovered nearby from her early tap withdrew to dart fingers in a pointed poke for his nearest side. Lacking proper force to be harmful, but well on target for a kidney shot. "Aren't we feeling confident tonight?"

"You should've asked if he'd like a distrustful bone in his own body." Shot two splash poured for Cris.

Laughter was an antidote, her touch was a feather's brush against harsh, rigid walls of bone and dauntless muscle. His body was nothing if not filled with iron and steel. As she struck, he twisted deep, heavy laughter towards the smoke stained rafters and took the chance to drain yet another long drink. "Less fingers, more claws. Didn't we just talk about that?"

Cris' sideline commentary earned him a gentle smirk. "I don't have one handy that I'd want to risk losing, though I suppose..." Gaze turning back to the nearby Jared. "...I could use the ones you have?" Tone terribly innocent for the implication it accompanied.

Notable squeak as Aoife headed back downstairs. Five was such a tattletale. Four, three, and two were silent and one sent a songbird on her way into a room that had filled with bodies not there before. "One," she said with an anxious tug to black coiled around white. Morning mist gray filled the doe of her eyes where they bounced first for the door, the nearest windows, the faces and places that would be could be towers.

Gesturing between the two for Shae's benefit. She understood. He swallowed and took the bottle, and turned to find both Canaan and Salvador staring at Aoife.

"Come here for a second, yeah? I've something to show you." Suddenly rather serious, he beckoned Shae slightly closer, eyes wide and apparently intent upon imparting a message.

The continual position of a scalding hot beverage in the space between them seemed to discourage any funny business as she took a single side step closer. Suspicion in her eyes. The abrupt change in demeanor too convenient in timing. Mug raised to her lips as she waited.

Without skipping a beat, Jared reached fingers into the deep neck of his tee shirt and pulled it down ever so slightly. "Recall the little red beeping that's designed to tell people why cutting my armor's a bad idea?" The same, or at least something very akin the the first light, faintly pulsed near his sternum, buried under his flesh. "The same applies. Suicide soldier is a real thing, Shae." Morose and quickly quiet, he let go of his shirt and went back to the bottle.

Nod of greeting for Riya, but her focus was on that little bit of show and tell she had been presented with. The corners of her lips fighting off a frown. "Are you **** kidding me?" Of course this question was rhetorical. Tea set aside as she stared at the space his shirt now covered.

"Absolutely not. When conviction is worth more than life, the powers that be make decisions that ignore the welfare of a few while protecting the safety of the masses." He was, for the moment, deathly quiet, painfully serious. "It's essentially a landmine, Shae. It faces forwards because, without a doubt, the UNSC's darling will die walking towards an enemy, not away from him."

There is a tick in her jaw as she finds herself chewing over words. Disgusted anger in her eyes, but the target wasn't him. It was the location of that light. "You say the word, ever, and I'll find someone who can extract it. If not, fine." She'd respect it, but she'd dislike it. However, where there was a righteously hacked off witch there often manifested a way. Shifting her eyes from his chest, back to her tea. Retrieved for heavier sips that burned the tongue.

"I understand the sentiment, and trust me, I don't think you can hate it more than I do, but while I'll thank you for your concern, I'll have to decline." Almost sadly, his head shook slowly, side to side in a ponderous motion. The bottle seemed safer, contact was broken entirely as he stared down at the bar. "It'll be alright."

Shelves lined with bottles and coolers full of beer all Aoife wanted was a mug of hot water. Her fingers were already disappearing into the patchwork quilt bag at her side. A stool here, another there, she waited for the catch of eyes from behind the counter. Any would do.

"Mmn." The straying of her gaze to...Aoife? That single utterance of sound was the very incarnation of her displeasure, and it was followed by a sigh. Distraction in the form of watching the female to ascertain what it was Aoife was after.

One hand lost in the bag, it gave the other fingers freedom to trace whirls and swirls on the counter. She eyed the girl from the stairs, the one with the smile covered in blankets less of sleep. Win. A catch of her stare saw a songbird's hand falling flat to cover whatever it was she drew in beads of water. "Can you--" it was a start. "Can you--can I have a mug of hot water?" Then. "Please." It was only seconds later.

Disgust became all encompassing self loathing, a quick transition that stole through his mind before it reached his body. Swiftly, he twisted away from the bar, bottle still in hand, and stalked towards the front doors with shockingly straight steps. No amount of alcohol, it seemed, could hide the rigid, martial nature of his footwork. As the door slammed open, he found himself leaning against the porch railing. Cold air and the open stars were a balm.

"Of course." Clean mug to the counter and hot water coaxed from the recently heated kettle. It was still steaming. Enough to steep whatever she had in mind. The requested vessel was delivered, handle turned towards Aoife, onto the far side of the bartop. Eyes tracked the soldier's retreat.

Her name pulled Aoife’s attention over her shoulder. It was always just in time. In time for Salvador's linger, for a stranger's stalk outward, for the click of a mug against the counter. Shae found herself wrapped up in attention. There was a smile and she reached to hook two fingers through the handle for a tug closer. "Thank you.”

"Anytime." The easy exchange offered space for Shae to review the past minute in detail on the edge of her thoughts.
_________________

[Shae]

Whiplash, part 2

Her mug was empty and she couldn't quite place when that had happened. Somewhere along the lines of angry consumption, no doubt. It was left, discarded, on the back counter. Arms folded, brief consideration given for the front door. Shae chose the alley exit instead, hand dipping the pocket on her pants as her shoulder nudged the door open. The cool air that greeted her was more invigorating than the tea had been. Slipping out and letting the door fall shut behind her, she didn't go far. Out came her phone.

Text to Helljumper: You're worth more. I know you may disagree, but that's all I wanted to say.

Calloused fingers swallowed the light that flared from a suddenly hated phone. Quickly swallowed within his hands, the light was blotted out, thus casting him in shadow on the porch once more. A quick answer, a few words.

Text to Shae: Could that I would, Shae, I would never have been this. But given that I am, what more can one do but be what they are? Worth more? I would argue against that. There is nothing worth more than the lives of those who cannot or will not, through choice or personality, fight. Should the life of one Helljumper spare the life of ten civilians, my job is done.

Steps turned with the initial intent to depart down the alley. There was a pause for technical alchemy with her phone when if buzzed in her hand.

Text to Helljumper: If I'm right, that bomb doesn't discriminate. Your armor is one thing, you aren't meant to be apart from it in battle. This, this is another more like to take the lives of civilians than save them. For who else are you around when you walk free of your second skin but the people they aim to have you protect? No. You are worth more. That is a step too far. One aimed to control someone already loyal to a fight. So we'll argue that. So be it. I've my own bombs to plant tonight. Be safe.

The phone, simple plastic and glass in his hand, felt as it if would soon erupt into shredded technology, bits of humanity spread around his feet. All of the sudden, he longed for his armor. Soothing defense it was, sure solidarity. Eyes the color of a blood red sun stared across the expanse, taking in the pressure he felt from another. They were red, though not bloodshot. He'd been drinking, but the color was mechanical, calm and calculating.

Text to Shae: Do you *** wonder why they keep us on the bottom of a frigate, locked away, hidden until we're needed, loved when people want us and hated when we're used up? I get it, I get what you're saying. See ya.
Text to Shae: You think you know that more than I do? I'll keep that in mind.

So much for her intentions. He wasn’t in the alley with her, but she felt the need to stop, tuck herself against the wall of brick, and reply as if he were.

Text to Helljumper: Let me guess, you think I'm writing you off? I wasn't. I'm furious. Not at you. Just furious. Your fight may be noble, but what it does to you gives me great disdain for the organization that conceived of such a thing.
Text to Helljumper: I don't claim to know what that's like. I only claim to feel fury on the behalf of someone I find I would consider a friend.

Text to Shae: I hate myself for what I've become, Shae. Make no mistake. I will keep that until the day that I die for a liar's cause, a wasted government's purpose. But what can I do? What can I do right now? All I can do is be the best that I can in the hopes that when this bomb explodes in my chest, it'll help further a cause that will see such bombs never placed in another person's body. That's my conviction. *** the UNSC. *** everything. I'm fighting to make sure this doesn't happen to someone else. That's pure, to me. That's honorable.

Text to Helljumper: This place. This place is a jurisdiction of its own. You're here for life. Maybe I'm wrong but I think that gives you the right to put some of your own terms on how you spend that time. Fight so it doesn't happen to another? Yes. By all means. But please don't give up on the possibility of excising that poison from yourself.

Text to Shae: If I had any intention of killing myself for no reason, I'd have done it. There's been ten thousand times where I could have. This world, Rhy'Din, is not a world apart. The UNSC recognizes it, we are aware of threats within this world. My own terms? At what cost? Too expensive, that price.

Text to Helljumper: You've been assigned. You're fighting those threats. Clarify something for me, if you will. Do you know from personal medical expertise that that device is impossible to remove? In the face of such powers as you might have encountered here? Or is that just what you were told?

Text to Shae: I know that the bombs are rigged to our arteries, and as soon as those are cut off, even for a second, they explode. With no blood, they have no power. Trust me, Shae. There's a reason why there's so much more armor on my right side than my left. I'm right handed. There's been times where I've been leaning over a wounder jumper, attempting to patch him together and it's been nothing by my own armor that saved me from the explosion. If my heart stops or that blood flow stops, they will explode.

::Lucy turns the corner towards the Inn, boots moving quietly across the cobblestones, her head down, attention on her phone as she nears::

Eyes, once more, snapped to the woman approaching. Attention was a curse, Jared could never be oblivious. Manners dictated, they demanded, a quiet acceptance of the redhead's presence. A flicker here, a tight lipped smile there. All lit by the subtle glow of a phone he wanted to throw.

::She looks up from her phone when she senses that the porch isn't empty like it often is. A quick scan, she nods to those collected there, and then smiles faintly at Jared:: Evening. ::Starting up the steps::

These people were, he realized, those he'd given his life over to. Instead of simply staring, he managed a ghastly smile, spectral figures haunting the lines of his sun seamed features. "Beer's cold, liquor's good." Nothing more, nothing less. The phone drew him back quickly.

::She presses a hand to the door and nudges it open so she can slip inside, intent on getting herself a drink::

Text to Helljumper: Nevermind the details for a moment. If there were a chance, would you want it gone? This whole discussion is all moot if the answer is no.

Text to Shae: You think in black and white. If there was a world where they were not needed, where men like myself were not needed, then yes. I don't live in utopia, however, so that's a moot point in and of itself. Your fingers smelled like cordite and blasting caps. Are those needed?

Text to Helljumper: I'm not using cordite or blasting caps. And what I am using isn't going in someone's ribcage. But if you think what's in yours is needed, I'll drop the subject.

An empty bottle, that and only that, prompted Jared's mind. With no real option, he slammed a closed fist into the door as it settled backwards, forcing it open once more. Leonidas would have been pleased, laconic hearts would have swelled with pride had them seen the composure on a young soldier's face as he wrapped fingers around another bottle. one hand still flying across his phone.

Text to Shae: I'm baffled at the arrogance I'd not seen before. Understand this, Shae. We fight a war with no lines, no fronts, no ends, no wins. Nothing but losses. We sell lives as dearly as we can in the hopes of buying time. Can you fathom entire worlds falling? Can you understand defending a homeland, only to see another world fall behind you? We fight alien terrorists and we can not fight within the rules. I can't, at least. There is a risk to civilians, yes. Surely. We don't make the rules, Shae. We simply fight by the laws someone else has made. I'm sorry for that, I wish it wasn't so, but it is what is is.
Text to Shae: Undying vigilance is the price of safety. Forward unto Dawn, Shae, and if my life furthers that Dawn, than it is given gladly.

A sense of prudence drew him away from hard liquor. That wasn't going to do it, but the cost was more than he could afford to handle. Not monetarily, mind you. Metaphorically. Instead, he grabbed a trio of beers from the open cooler and snapped one open with a deft twist against the bar's edge. A solitary corner was worth his time, a bottle and a dull phone.

Text to Helljumper: You mistake me, Jared. Arrogance, no. Empathy, yes. I see you. I see the way you regard yourself because of the eyes of others and I would change it if I could. I offered to drop it because I know well the prices we must sometimes pay. That doesn't mean I have to like the one I see you paying, does it? I'll respect it, but I'll be damned if I like it. I won't apologize for that. If my concern has made you uncomfortable or upset, -that- I will apologize for. I am blunt, I know this. Does that really make me arrogant? To give a damn where you insist that others discard you when not dressed for war and duty?

Text to Shae: I've lost the ability to understand when I'm dressed for war and when I'm not.

In the alley, with a lean of her back against the wall, Shae slowly pecked at her phone. The muted, flat light of which served only to illuminate in brief flashes the tired lines in her face. An expression that held the ghosts of concern and fury and the weight of too few hours of rest over too many days. She almost considered returning inside for a drink, a real one, but that would be no help to her already compromised itinerary for the evening.

Through the fog of rum drunk eyes locked onto the mirror, he chased Serah's bubble gum hair across the distance. Lazily, he lifted one empty beer before letting it clatter into the sink. With one down, the second top was rested against his wrist and ripped open against enhanced dermal systems. As quickly as it'd come, he tipped it back.

Serah waggled her fingers to Lucy as she slipped behind the bar and went directly to making herself a much needed beer. She didn't like this feeling that was chasing her even now. Like something was wrong or someone was still following. Lurking in wait.

"Evening, Serah." Manners, once more, demanded a simple answer, a simple acceptance of her presence.

Text to Helljumper: I think that's up to you to define. Be it as simple as being in your armor or not, or a matter of crossing a territorial threshold. Or maybe it's just the quiet moments when you're having a drink or stalking someone onto a rooftop to have some company.

Text to Shae: The fact that I need someone else to draw me across that threshold is a dangerously clear answer, I think. Too much, too far. Too many times.

[Shae]

Whiplash, part 3

"Keeping an eye on you," at the bar, Kate pointing two fingers toward her own eyes and then turning them around to point at Lucy. "How's the gallery coming along?'

"An art gallery?" For a moment, he perked, his attention shifted. "Drawn art only, I'd imagine?"

::She quirks a smile at Kate for her hand gesture, then she nods:: It's coming along well. ::Then she looks over at Jared:: Well, it's still sort of in the planning stages, but I think I'll be willing to consider different types of media.

"I paint. I paint and I caption the paintings." It'd started with messages scratched into the hollow drop tubes that spelled doom for so much. Quiet words unfurled like a ruined flag, soft touches in hard edges. His phone buzzed.

Text to Helljumper: I don't think so. If anything, it means that making a few more friends might be the key to dressing casual. I didn't have that luxury. I'm actually somewhat envious. I know too much. I know too far. I know that saints have pasts and sinners have futures. Living in the moment was ultimately what kept me sane. And now I have the luxury I didn't have before. It's not something I would have predicted.

Is that right? ::She looks back at Jared with a raised brow, surprised. Then she dips a hand in her back and pulls out a business card (though it's really just a calling card) with her name and number on it. She leans a bit to offer it out to Jared without getting up from her seat:: Give me a call if you have something for me to look at.

She nearly jumped out of her own skin when she heard her own name. Her eyes shot over to Jared and she gave a little smile. "Ohhey!" Wow did that totally shoot out of her didn't it. She sheepishly lowered her eyes and scowled at the mug of Guinness.

Text to Shae: Living in the moment is what keeps us dead or dying, at least willing to accept the idea. Frankly. I just wanted to get drunk, Shae. That's all. I just wanted to finally have a day off, a day where I wasn't going to kick in someone's door and shoot him in his bed. That's all. You think I had that luxury? Or want it? Instinct it a powerful motivator. I've been training for this life, immersed in it, since I could walk.

"I do, yeah." She might not like what he painted, she might not approve of the smoke filled images, blurred shapes wreathed in fire. All the same, he shrugged softly and placed the card into the hoodie's front pocket. Serah, he had thrown the words at her, was graced with a subtle expression, neither pleased nor upset. This man, of all men, was a master of deception.

Text to Helljumper: I'm sorry to have soured your day off.

"Oh, a card...." He'd not focused on that. "Do you have a phone?" He didn't have cards, that was for sure. Instead, he held his hand out, palm and fingers spread wide. "I can shoot you a contact number. I've come to realize that we're a few thousand years ahead of most, you know...humans here." A moment for a reply. "Or I can write some information down?" A napkin would likely work.

Text to Shae: You pretend like I have one.

::Both brows lift at Jared, and she smiles, a little confused:: My number's on the card.

"Oh, yeah. **** me. My bad." He shook his head quickly, a silent shudder. Out of his element, he shrugged and pointed back to the bar's surface. "I can show you now, if you want. Or not."

Text to Helljumper: You haven't shot anyone since walking into the bar have you? Notice I removed myself to help you suppress the urge in my direction that I wouldn't blame you for.

Text to Shae: Do you realize that when we finally have sex, I'm likely to slap you?

Text to Helljumper: You're awful sure we're going to have sex, I see.

::She looks back at Jared:: Show me now? Here? ::She tips her head at him::

"Again, ma'm, I'm a few thousand years ahead of most of you. Here, sure." She'd made him bold, Shae had, She'd torn down walls, she'd ripped them apart with simple words. "I can shoot it into the bar, onto the wall, onto the floor."

::She lifts both brows, then nods, mostly out of curiosity, even though she was skeptical that she could actually look at art just anywhere:: Sure, go ahead.

Once more, fingers spreads, his palm was held above the bar. Should one look, they might see the flash of a jump drive looking device buried just beneath his palm, The painting was clear once it became visible. A soldier in dark armor, a man with no face, humanity replaced by a dark visor, stood on the edge of a cliff. His armor was battered, shell struck and broken in places. As the grim, anonymous man stared down into the gulf, a blood red sun creeped over his shoulder, light conflicting with the darkness that was black armor, a black mask, a black rifle, a black world. The sun stared down through dark cloud, storm clouds to be sure, and bathed one half of the man's form in orange, leaving the other half darker by contrast. Scrawled beneath the image in abstract handwriting, words read Forward Unto Dawn.

Text to Shae: I suppose sarcasm fails in text.Would you sooner I slapped you in public? I'd not shoot you, but I was close to punching you.

Text to Helljumper: I know. I'd stand my ground. We'd blow up. It'd be a real social faux pas.
Text to Helljumper: Jokes also fail in text. So if you still want to slap me I'll consider it.

Text to Shae: Then don't cut any part of me off. You can bite, if you want, but don't make my chest bleed. And if I can, at least take your shirt off.

::Lucy's brows raise, then her expression shifts, eyes narrowing as she considers the painting with a serious expression. She presses her lips together as she looks at the bartop:: Interesting. Dark. ::She leans forward a little more:: I'd like to see it in person, I think.

Text to Helljumper: I'm confused. Is this for the hypothetical slap or are you hallucinating about that sex again?

Text to Shae: It's hypothetical right now, but it could be physical if you wanted.

After taking another drink, this was clearly a drunk artist, Jared shrugged and reached for a slip of paper found behind the bar. An address was written, a few short numbers and a street's name. Slid across the bar, he collapsed the image back into his hand and nodded slowly. "Painting isn't speaking, and silence is what we prefer."

Text to Helljumper: I'm not that much of a masochist. I don't need to be working with a swollen eye tonight.

Text to Shae: That's why I said take your shirt off. Easy answer.

Text to Helljumper: How does taking my shirt off solve this problem, exactly?

Text to Shae: Because while your mouth might piss me off, one can hope that *** you might dull that far enough and I'd only want to slap your tits. Pardon my language, but I felt that clarity would be better.

We? ::She looks over at Jared, as she takes up the slip of paper:: Is it a collaboration? ::She looks at the paper, then folds it and puts in her purse::

"No, no. We as in the unit I'm in. Helljumpers." Having spoken enough, he shrugged lamely and drained the next bottle of beer entirely.

Unit? You're a soldier? ::She watches Jared with interest, twisting her glass on the bar::

Text to Helljumper: Tell me. Do you only put up with my mouth because you want to sleep with me? Or do you want to sleep with me because I don't pull punches with my opinions?

Soldier. The word burned in his mouth, he shook his head. "No." That, at least. was the truth. His phone, however, kept drawing his attention. "Sorry, issues." As he cleared his throat, he turned back to Lucy. "Intelligence Operative is the correct term, though I've United Nations Space Command organization, yes."

Text to Shae: The latter, surely. There's been few people who've dared to speak to me with any measure of honesty before. The latter. Make no mistake.

Oh. ::She nods, then smiles faintly, and nods towards his phone:: I won't distract you.

"Trust me, please do. She's pissing me off and she's not even anything more than a friend." Suddenly quite awkward, he shrugged around the next bottle's rise. "What's your name, or should I call you Red?"

::She tenses immediately at the nickname 'Red.' A flare of anxiety in her eyes. But she swallows it back:: Lucy. Call me Lucy. ::She lifts her glass for a drink, trying to hide her discomfort::

"Lucy it is, ma'm." He had seen the flash of stress, though no comment was made. That was not, he realized, his place. It wasn't his business. "I'll keep it in mind."

Text to Helljumper: Mm. Noted.

Text to Shae: If I wanted a whore, I'd go to the red light district. That's easy to find. I prefer intelligence.
_________________

[Shae]

Whiplash, part 4

::Then she nods to him:: I didn't catch your name. ::A faint, strained smile, though she assumed his name had been on the piece of paper he gave her::

"Jared, Staff Sergeant Jared Renaux." He, for once, gave his rank and title easily enough. "But, Lucy, I prefer my name, nothing more, nothing less. In the name of honesty, the rest was given."

::She smiles, then nods. Her eyes narrow a little:: I think you were at the street festival, weren't you?

He nodded, pulling his gaze from his phone. “Yes, briefly, played that drinking game with you and Shae.”

Oh! You know Shae? ::That name sets her at ease a little, and she nods::

"She's who I've been texting, yes." Good or bad, it was the truth.

Oh. ::A little humor sliding into her eyes:: The not-even-more-than-a-friend?

"She, above all people, has the ability to either piss me off or set my mind alight with quiet smiles. I'm not quite sure what she is yet, but I'm interested in finding out, I guess." Shoulder shrugged as he stood, a tight, quick motion. "When not in my armor, she's the object of the majority of my thoughts."

::Her smile softens, and she looks at Jared a moment. Then she nods:: I hope it works out then. However you want it to be. ::She twists her glass in her hands, then lifts it for a sip::

Text to Shae: Why am I explaining the fact that you're the person I think about most when not in my armor to Lucy? This is awkward. I can't tell her what I can tell you, clearly, or should I?

Text to Helljumper: I---what? I suppose that depends. What do you mean by what you can tell me?

Text to Shae: Fine. I'll tell her, and then I'll text you what I've said. Courage is our hallmark.

Text to Helljumper: Sure, but is this going to bite me in the ass when you're sober?

"She'll likely punch me for saying what I've said." After staring at his phone for a moment, he burst in sudden, rasping laughter. "I wish, Lucy, that I could tell you, and I don't mean to say that I wish to ignore you, you're a gorgeous woman, but all the same, I wish that I could tell you that she and I are more than friends. I can't however, and I won't lie. Were I to wake up tomorrow and be able to say that she and I were together, I would do so with pride. A hopeless romantic, but aren't all artists?"

Did she hear Jared right? Talk about something to wake up to.

::Both brows lift and she smiles softly, then nods:: Don't worry, I don't feel neglected. My own--::she stumbles over this and then shrugs and smiles, blushing::--thoughts lie elsewhere too. ::She looks over and gives a nod to Jax, then looks back to Jared::

Text to Shae: I wish, Lucy, that I could tell you. and I don't mean to say that I wish to ignore you, you're a gorgeous woman, but all the same, I wish that I could tell you that she and I are more than friends.I can't, however, and I won't lie. Were I to wake up tomorrow and be able to say that she and I were together, I would do with pride. A hopeless romantic, but, aren't all artists?" That's what I said, and the answer is no.

"Lucky him, Lucy." Still standing, he started slowly walking towards the doors, more than able to walk backwards with ease. "It's nice to meet you." Serah did wake up to that!

Goodnight, Jared. ::She nods to him, watching him go, then smiles and lifts her glass to take another drink::

She totally did. Was probably why she was staring after Jared. Gawking? No. Totally not. Okay maybe a tiny bit.

Text to Helljumper: Wow. I... wow. Okay. I think I have whiplash. In the space of this conversation we have gone from 'Shae I could deck you one' to 'We're going to hate ***' to 'Lucy, I want to be with her'. *** -your- sobriety, I'm going to need a little time on this one.

Text to Shae: You wanted the truth, and when you're not around to drag that from me, rum does the job well enough, doesn't it? I'll say this. I've lied to a lot of people, I'll keep on doing it. I lied to you tonight, but you knew the truth. When it's the two of us? There's been nothing but truth. Do I need to say this to your face? Take your time.

Text to Helljumper: You lied, huh? What lie did you tell me?

Things had quieted in the interior, so Shae risked a peek back inside. There was no fist flying at her face so she made the steps to enter fully.

::The sound of the door opening has her looking over her shoulder. She smiles softly and nods to Shae:: Hi.

Once inside there was a small debate. Lucy seemed to decide it with that single syllable. "Hi." And then it was a beeline for the whiskey. The good sort, at least. Her mug was still where she left it on the back counter. Rather than dirtying another glass, she poured into the container that smelled of raspberry and honey.

Text to Shae: I spoke of my unit grouping to her. To you? Nothing. About you? Nothing. I lied to you the first time we met, and on a rooftop, I told you the truth. Crucify me if you'd like.

Text to Helljumper: Crucifixion is a bit extreme, so let's table that for later, hmm?

I was just chatting with a friend of yours. ::A little smile. Shae's arrival helps her make a decision of her own, and she tops off her glass of scotch::

"Yeah I was given a summary." She placed her phone on the counter by the mug. No sooner had she set it down, it buzzed again. "Vith uns'aa." It had the cadence of profanity.

Text to Shae: My bed's less comfortable, I think, without you. Let’s table all of this and talk over during dinner on Wednesday? Even I have to sleep at some point.

Oh. ::Her smile wavers, especially at that thing that sounded like a curse, but she keeps looking at her::

One moment. Shae needs a few draws from that mug first. "He's been drinking."

I hadn't--I hadn't really noticed. ::She noticed him drinking of course, but not that it might make him drunk which is what she thinks Shae's implying::

Text to Helljumper: I can offer no promises about Wednesday. Not avoidance, but a simple fact. I have some matters that may be ignited at a moment's notice.

It is what Shae was implying, but now it's what Shae was doing. Steadily, that first half-mug of liquor was decreasing in volume. "I'm sorry if... that is to say, I had no idea he would say that to you."

Oh. ::Again, her brow furrowing, her lips settling into a frown:: I take it--I take it his feelings are not--::she pauses cause she needs to remember the word::--reciprocated.

She had sent a reply, but now the phone buzzed again. Shae glanced at the phone and sighed. "Call it a surprise and a bit of a sudden one."

Text to Shae: Then call me when you're ready. I can take time off for you. As of now, I need to sleep. Goodnight, sweetheart, can I call you that?

Text to Helljumper: Stars, Jared, go to bed. We'll talk later.

::A slow nod. Her eyes drop to the phone, then she looks across at Shae again, her frown deepening:: Are you alright?

Clearing her throat, she clarified on her hesitance. "The man doesn't even really know me. We just piss eachother off and apparently...he likes that?"

Some men do, I guess. ::She lifts a shoulder in a shrug:: I can't--I'm really the last person to try to explain men.

"I'm hardly an expert, myself. I barely can navigate." A gesture towards the Inn, but it was devoid of what she was trying to point to. "People. In general I make a mess of people. Certain situations, sure. Personal ones? Forget it."

::Lucy nods slowly:: Maybe it's--it's small consolation, but--but I um--I think everything's fine between us so--so there's a good relationship you've got.

The woman was tired, frazzled, and running on nowhere near enough sleep. There was comfort in Lucy's statement, but Shae saw enough humor to laugh. Or perhaps it was just a relief of stress to do so. "S-sorry." Scrubbing at her face with the palm of her hand. "Thank you, yes."

::She nods again, offering a wry smile to her, but then she repeats the question she asked before, because frankly, Shae doesn't look good, and Lucy's just too polite to come out and say that:: Are you sure you're alright?

"Again, sorry that you got side swiped with any of that. I'll...I'll figure out something." Sketching a smile. Later, she meant. "It's been a bit of a stressful week. I've had cause for concern regarding several people I consider to be friends. Thankfully, one such matter seems to have resolved itself. The other two are still underway. Poor Jared has very poor timing."

I see. ::She eyes Shae, having left the refilled glass of scotch largely untouched, she just watches her:: I'm a--a decent listener. If you need to talk.

Thumb sketched across her lower lip as Shae's eyes dropped to the bar. "I..." She says after a final moment of reluctance. "The ongoing concerns are sensitive matters. So, my needs aside, I couldn't speak on them at the moment, save to generalize in a way that would probably defeat the purpose. I appreciate the offer, though. You're quite kind, Lucy."

::She nods and smiles faintly, but reassuringly:: I understand. ::And she does, even if she wishes she could be of greater help. With the opening of the door, Lucy glances that way, then double-takes to watch the new arrival make for the hearth. She looks between Shae, and the newcomer. But then her attention is pulled back to her buzzing phone. She pulls it from the bar, lips turning up in a little smile. Then she starts to slide to her feet:: I should get going. ::She plucks up her phone from the bartop, then her handbag. But before she moves towards the door, she looks back at Shae again:: Take care of yourself, okay?

"I try. Be safe Lucy." Nodding her head to the departing.

::She nods and smiles faintly again, then heads for the door, her head down to tap away at her phone as she goes, her smile warming as it buzzes in her hands::

[Shae]

Hypothetical Piece
Porch of the Inn, 2 AM, 6/13/15

The evening had been a long one. The closing of the Isle's portal and what might remain beyond it after Ragnarok's cataclysm weighed on her mind and it translated to her steps. The light of the interior couldn't beckon with the same siren song as the swing, steps turned along the worn boards to deposit her frame on the bench seat. Setting it to motion as Fox jumped up into her lap. The ozone scent of arcane workings clung to the edges of her breeze even as it worked to refresh itself with her movements. Night seeing eyes reflected the light that came from the window as they turned to survey those inside. One or two familiar faces, but none that could yet move her from her respite on the porch.

Broken storms spat inverse spires of twisting flame coated in cynical ideals and warped logic. As the falling meteor ripped a path towards the Inn's front yard, Jared's secondary thrusters screamed into brilliant light as he caught himself split seconds before catastrophic impact. Composed and collected, he breathed a rasping, wheezing breath through faceless plastiglass and brushed through the front door and towards the bar.

From the dark of the swing, Shae watched the landing and entrance of Jared in silence. The door closed behind him before she exhaled a sigh. "Vith." Murmured softly into the night air.

A blip on his radar, a star's collapsing orbit presented to eyes that'd seen galaxies erupt into terrible, personal conflict. Against his better thoughts, Jared snatched up a bottle of mid grade tequila and spun on a heel. Undeniably martial, he turned on a heel, the motion crisp and clean. For the second time in as many moments, he snapped a short, sharp punch to the door and stepped back onto the porch. Arms, each covered in finely woven black, crossed over his chest as he sucked in another ghastly, robotic breath. Before he left, however, he tossed a wave towards Lucy. Manners, you know. He didn't have many. He had none. Silent on the porch, nothing moved but the faintly glowing red dot that centered itself on his chest as he breathed with no pattern and no purpose. "Quiet night?"

Eyes for the creature in her lap, meeting Fox's gaze in a quiet conference. That is, until the door opened again. "Anything but." She offered to the space between herself and the armored man, eyes lifting from their wordless conversation.

With no ability to understand that which he could not see, he stared with impassive panels and black glass at the ongoing conversation. After a suitable pause, he'd assumed it was as much, he shrugged slowly, rifle rattling against his chest quietly. "Productive?"

"Destructive. Unfortunately." She had slept, but another sort of weary had settled into her bones. "There's a mage isle connected to this city. Was. Was a mage isle connected to this city."

"So long as there's a purpose behind the destruction, who the **** cares?" He, clearly, was not one of those that might be concerned for any parcel of land. As he unfolded broad, thick arms from his chest the bottle rose, a violently quick drink that ended with a downward swerve that offered the bottle over. "Carry on -...." That sounded terse. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure if there was a purpose. One came with the intent to destroy the Isle. He was defeated by a large group of mages, but the destruction carried on in his defeat. The damage was too widespread." One hand gestures out past the rails of the porch. "The portal was closed to keep the tremors from carrying over." Then it was a reach for that tequila. She hadn't the energy to brave the bar for a drink, but she would accept a delivery instead. Glass met lips bruised by the worry of her teeth against softer flesh.

"Damage control is, perhaps, the most depressing nature of any soldier's job." He'd been there, he'd one that. In this regard? No. In so many others? Yes. Happily, she'd have a hard time seeing compassion flare across a face that was hidden behind the dark tinted glass. "I'm sure it'll work itself out. I mean, this is Rhy'din. What's not possible?"

There was a moment where the bottle paused between sips. Eyes that lingered on his visor to wonder whether he registered the irony of offering her those words when there were matters he deemed irreversible. Just a brief flicker, then the pull of tequila resumed. Bottle offered back. "It will. Work itself out, that is. Nothing has everlasting permanence. Entropy gets us all, in the end, even if it has to do so by digging the ground out from beneath us."

Irony was worn as well as his armor, though it darted into the shadow of applicable reality. Sadists spoke of irony and regret, soldiers lived in the black and the white. "Chaos is the great equalizer, isn't it? We plan, we expect, we work within time. We fail to realize that all men mark their goals by time's slashing hands and forget that time has watched countless worlds fall. It'll be what it will be. How're you?"

Her lips curved. "Marking time, catching up on rest while awaiting the signal that I need to move again." If he declined the bottle, she'd take another draw before seeing it placed on the sill of the window with a slight cough. "Needs lime." Absent remark before she continued. "Sorry I haven't gotten back to you yet. How are you?"

"Needs time, doesn't it?" In full control of his bitterly edged senses, he shrugged and finally went through the expansive motions that ripped breathing cords from his mouth and tore the barren glass from all too human features. As the helmet curled under his arm, he caught the bottle and lifted it for another deep swig. "Chasing ghosts in the night, Shae. That's what I've been doing, and it's a losing battle. Annoying to say the least." He'd been honest once before, why not now?

"Whose ghosts?" In view now, she studied his features as he nursed himself with the mid-grade liquor.

"Names that will likely mean nothing. I don't need to know names, I need heat signatures." Information wasn't given to those who worked on it. Too much could be lost in the bright lights of a room that didn't allow for leaving. "We spoke about who I chase. Not you, not your's."

"Ah." Signal ghosts. The concept wasn't entirely in her purview, but she was familiar already with his manner of tracing people from above. "I recall, trust me." Again a small smile. "I haven't been out and about to chase, really. Save for work and this evening's misadventure."

"There's no time for that in my world, Shae. The problem with an insurgency is that I can be right nine hundred and ninety nine times, but they can be right once. I lose that fight, that entire set of one thousand conflicts, none seen, none heard of. I wish I had time to save." He did not. This much was obvious. Once careless eyes were ragged and worn, laughing lips were flat and derelict.

"Sorry, no time for what, exactly?" She was distracted by the passage of the Drow inside before she asked for that clarification. "I wasn't still, if that's what you're assuming. I've been doing a different sort of work."

"Saving. Nothing can be saved, everything has to be given at a moment, a second's notice." He hinted at what they'd argued about some time before, one hand resting on the central plating of his armor.

The hint was caught, even without the gesture. "Mm." Motioning for the tequila again. "With that purpose in mind, what about the time before such a final giving?"

After passing the bottle across, he stared down with a powerful, calculating stare. "As long as the time is mine, it clicks like the subtle demands for haste when an idiot tries to cut one of too many wires. If the time, or the consequences of the cut, if you will, impact someone else on a personal level, I'd still the hand that held the blades. We're supposed to be anonymous, Shae. I suppose that was my first mistake, if it can even be called that. Years ago, I'd have seen it as such, but today? I'm no longer so sure."

Rather than sip, her fingers tapped at the glass and balanced the vessel on her skirt covered thigh. "What would you do, if you could light that fuse and have the chance to wake up again when it all was over and done?"

"If I could...." He shook his head quickly, thoughts too close, too deep. "If I could end it as it should end and have a second chance? Is that what you're asking?" Clarity was, at the moment, of so much importance.

"Yes. If you could go out as you should and have a second chance at the freedom of saving time. Would you want it?" Her gaze on his face, studying.

"As a human being, yes. We all want that." Slow words poured from his lips, though she'd taken the bottle. Smart girl, he thought. Hateful girl. Without the defenses he wore so well, he showed a second's worth of pained anguish at war with dangerously deep conviction. "I would take it, and I'd hate myself until I could use the second chance to further the first goal."

One finger lifted from the glass. "You'd be absent all the additions you use now, you know. In this hypothetical. You'd pursue that war still, but you'd do it without that light in your rib cage and whatever other tricks lurk in you. Maybe even without your suit, if that got destroyed. They'd send another here to take over, I'm sure. Still desire it?"

"Ah, Shae." He wagged a finger between them, the single digit teasing, taunting and amused. It was in this moment that the reality was so easily seen. There was no zealot's blind devotion, no fanatics absurd love of absurd ideas. There was, simply put, a human standing on two feet, a person willing to fight for so many others. "Think I give a **** about this armor? About these weapons? Take them all away, Shae. take 'em all. These aren't weapons." He stared down at the armor, the rifle, the glowing red light and shook his head slowly, still smiling softly. "You hit the nail on the head. You can give anyone a billion dollars worth of equipment, they aren't fighters. Take all of that away and I'll still be the weapon. Not the armor, not the guns. Just the Jared. Kick me, I'll walk. Shoot me, I'll crawl. Nothing would change. Not a damn thing."

Fox shifted from her lap as she sat up into a posture that was less fatigued leaning and closer to social graces. The creature slunk down from the swing and off the porch, bent on an evening hunting mice in the crawlspace. "So you'd still desire it." Concluded as she made room, crossed her legs and sipped from the bottle. "Do you think you could fight that war with more cautious tactics? You'd have to or that second chance would be a short one indeed. A longer, slower game to move the pieces without the firepower and financial backing you're used to."

"Have I never told you the mission of a Helljumper?" He stared curiously, honest eyes bemused and slanted slightly. "Understand this, however. No matter what you're asking, and I'm sure that there's some ulterior motive hidden behind all of this, that my first priority will always be the preservation of the UNSC, not Rhy'din. As far as money goes, leave that to me." He tossed hand in flippant disregard, mirth showing clearly. "We're agents. not soldiers. Take the weapons away, we'll find ways to get more. And if the time was there, I'd take it. It's not, not right now. If I could play my hand slowly, if I could make one moment count more than ten small fights, I would."

"Humor me. I realize we might be covering some old ground. What would it take to get you that time? The UNSC sending another after your death? Again, assuming this hypothetical." Not denying his accusation, but not addressing it either.

"Realistically? They would watch as I died and ignore this region as pointless, assuming that if I can't handle it, a team of Spartans would be required and that's too expensive. We're talking about high politics here, Shae, and that's what I don't know. It'd be a gamble." This time, he made no motion outside of the obvious. With lightning reflexes and sure hands, he snapped the bottle up and stole a quick drink.

She wasn't going to fight him for it, not after she'd been strategically denying it. Her grip was loose and the bottle went easily to the thief. "Hmm." His answer had given her something to think on. "And if they realized you were still active, what then?"

"If there armor was gone, if the final resort options had been wasted, they'd not know anything more than my death." For that, he could only shrug and offer his sardonic grin once more. "If you're going to kill me, hypothetically, please let there be a potential blowjob at least."

One blink. Two. She needed a moment to process what he was implying, so different was it from the thoughts swarming through her mind. Then she was laughing. "You really think I would kill you? Hypothetically speaking? I promise you that wasn't what was on my mind. Dying sure, but not by my hand. If I were that cruel I would have slept with you already." Low chuckle and a shake of her head.

"The answer is still the same. The armor can go, I can make more. The device in my chest is what tracks me. If it is gone, they will assume I am dead, I'll be buried by proxy as another hero, another medal winner that's just another point of emphasis, another star in a night's sky that's growing darker and darker. You speak hypothetically." He, for a second, lowered the bottle. His eyes stared down, a poignant gaze, though the second time the bottle rose it blotted out his vision. "You deal in grey, Shae. I take the world in black and white. Tell me what you're speaking of, ask something."

Accused of being black and white, then accused of being grey. "You want me to ask something? Fine." Humor seeped into her voice as an arm slung along the back of the swing. One foot pushed off the boards to set her to motion. "Have any body parts you aren't particularly attached to? A toe, maybe?"

"A toe, **** sure." Willing to play along, his laughter was akin to a dry streambed's plea for water. "Sure."

"A toe." She echoed calmly. "Think about it. Get back to me. Because I'm guessing the rest of you would be little more than a smear should someone light your fuse."

"Someone else." He pondered that as he turned aside and began down the porch steps. "That someone else would be me. Give me a reason not to, because that hour grows close. Give me something else to worry about and I'll stay." Dire words were spoken so easily, though he was gone as they ended.

For a time she silently let momentum carry her on that swing. He'd taken the tequila with him and left her with a sort of ultimatum she wasn't fond of.

[Shae]

Ships
Pier 24, The Docks, 10:30PM, 8/6/15

There was something to be said for the late night quiet of the docks. Serenaded by the sea breeze whistling, the quiet percussion of water lapping against hulls of wood and metal alike. Laughter spilled out of lit doorways, bawdy music and ambiguous shouts. The alleys and corners held darker shadows, and the occasional victim. People moved in groups, for the most part, save for those confident enough or alert enough to risk otherwise. Down one deserted pier, on a ship stripped of sails, lantern light betrayed signs of life where none might be expected. That, and a quiet singing in a foreign tongue that had sailors pausing to cast fearful glances towards the moored boat and then hurry on their way.

Thought no wind could compare to the gentle rush of solar flares screaming across a painted visor, Jared's need for restless exertion prompted him towards the salt encrusted gusts that wafted so poetically away from the silver surface so adept at reflecting the myriad stars he'd fallen in love with some years ago. Hands stuffed into the pockets of knee length running shorts balled into tight fists as noise cascaded across his senses and sent a shiver across shoulders marred only by a sleeveless shirt's ripped and cut ends. Drawn by the ebullience he heard cascading off of a docked vessel, he turned bright eyes towards bilge pumps and sails, curious and confused. Never short of confidence, he leaned against a dockside railing as he stared into the haze of cordage and rigging.

Nothing in the rigging. The masts were bare skeletons save the discarded ropes, pulleys, and winches meant to hoist them. The light came from the deck, as did the singing. However, closing in on the end of the pier in question, Jared might find a pair of eyes staring at him from the railing of the ship. The perk of ears revealed the silhouette of a familiar vulpine figure. A brush tail flagged once for the man down on the docks, and the music ceased. Wooden clatter, then the slow cadence of footsteps towards the port side rail. A second set of eyes reflecting at him in the dark, these higher up. Silence and then amusement in a voice that carried forth. "My what a surprise."

Somewhat baffled by these archaic excuses for ships, Jared studied the absent cordage and pondered metaphorical propulsion devices that utilized nuclear fission like sport utility vehicles burned common gas. Absently curious and more than slightly amused by his jaded thoughts, he pushed away from his lean and made to walk away. Without his storied armor and wonderful defenses, he was essentially blind in the darkness. Caught between leaving and staying, he turned on one heel, the gesture clearly ripped from some parade ground, and shot his eyes through the murky haze. Her voice was, as it'd been before, more than enough to identify a wayward siren hindered by mundane burdens. Like gravel strewn across so much sand and ashes, his voice speared the darkness with undeniably laconic tones. "The same could be said, couldn't it? I'd say the cat dragged something in, but it's a fox."

It became clear that her night vision was better than his native dark sight when he made to turn away. His hearing, with the way she threw her voice to him, was not hindered, thankfully. The reply she got earned laughter, spawning a sense of deja vu. "One of those days. Last I saw you, you were rushing out of the Inn with a frown like murder. Been meaning to ask you what that was about for weeks. So. You going to come up or shall I come down?"

"Murder?" Cynical and somehow honest, he held both hands wide, scarred and calloused things that they were, while shrugging deeply. "That's a pretty absolute answer, ain't it? If the end justifies the means...." He let his words trail off, a dead point along his weathered, craggy features. Gifted with a baffling smile, he let loose the sunlit cannons as peered down at the boardwalk before him. Having spent the majority of his life navigating such things, he traversed it with deft ease. "It could have been anything, most likely something you said. Is it worth asking, really?" Balanced perfectly, he passed the space between himself and ship with ease and settled his feet on the slowly rocking boards of an upper deck, or so he assumed.

"You have this way of scowling. It's adorably homicidal looking. I wasn't implying that you killed anyone, just that you looked like you wanted to. Don't think it was me, though I know I tend to inspire people to such ambitions. No. Your armor was looking a bit worse for wear that day." Seems she did think it was worth asking about, as she was doing so on his approach. The gangplank would allow him to board the ship without much trouble, but a ship that large wasn't going to be riding in the water at pier level. On deck, the missing sails could be found. They were drying, if the glint of damp in the moonlight was any indication. The lanterns were near a sail on the other side of the deck that was clearly half-coated with some sort of liquid from a nearby bucket and roller brush. Shae was near to where he could come aboard, barefoot, wearing jeans and a light plaid shirt with rolled sleeves and loose buttons. It clung to the small of her back, hairs likewise trapped by a sheen of sweat against the back of her neck where they escaped a messy bun. "Still fighting the good fight?"

"What's new? My armor's always ***, Shae." An honest answer, a quiet one that spoke of half finished verbal intimacy and less guarded verbiage. "If I wanted you dead, you'd know. If I had a reason to light you up in the night and find you, you'd be found." He spoke with quiet confidence, simple conviction that she'd argued with before. Likely that very night. As he settled atop the wood and stepped between folded cloth, he stared down with a mirthless laugh. "What do you get from this, Shae?" He explained with a wave of his hand, one that took in the entire vessel. "You move with sails, the wind, I assume? Have you ever sailed between real stars, moved at the beck and call of a nuclear reactor? Have you seen a worm hole created before you as your stomach hits the floor when lightyears become measurements of speed?" All of it, his entire rant, was a preamble to another tired shrug, another bemused expression that stung when her question touched jaded nerves. Seeing her in person seemed to do away with a partial amount of the burn, however. He still didn't openly smile, nor did he grimace. Rather, he lifted a nearly full bottle of rum to his lips and shook his head while drinking. "Tell me what fight ends in anything but death, sadness an' blood and I'll laugh at you. Show me a good fight and I'll laugh even harder. From my perspective, sure, whatever. From everyone else's? Hell no. Who's right? Does it even matter? Suffice to say, sure. Whatever. Yes. How're you?"

Ah yes, that was Jared. No mistaken identity here. "Yes, well it was more regarding where it was *** and the fact that you weren't *** right along with it that had me a little alarmed, you know. Call it concern, that's what I was aiming for." Somehow she always seemed to miss, if his reactions were any indication. "Not the night for joking about past conversations. Noted." The bottle of rum was noted too. "Willing to share or do I have to get my own?" She asked with a hand outstretched towards the bottle. "As for what I get out of this," began with a nod towards her work, "should be pretty easy to guess. Money. Less obvious might be a repetitive task that lets me use my muscles and frees my mind to work through some of my other concerns. Even more obscure is the fact that it's a favor for a friend, I am no sailor." She didn't go near his quiet diatribe about whether or not a good fight existed, not in that moment. "I have been in the void once before, but sailed it much as you have, no. That is not something I have yet to experience. I have stepped from one plane to another." Small shrug there. "I'm well enough. Moving forward with my own battles one day at a time."

"Common experience, isn't it? Everything else is broken but Jared's fine, right?" Bitter and resentful, he pulled the bottle back in order to take another long drink before extending it in her general direction. "Same ol', same ol', right? Seems legit." A bark more than laughter, he swallowed the words and his drink with equal ease as he dropped one hand back into his pocket. "I'd not have pegged you for compassion. I assume that's what spurs most favours, isn't it?" He spoke as if he didn't know, but there loomed a dark cloud of sardonic amusement as he shook his head, hoping to dissuade an answer. The fact that she ignored his minute rant drew honest, open, even scathing laughter from chapped lips, though it lacked any belligerent twist. "One day, yeah? I s'ppose that's all you can do. Having any luck?"

Shae claimed the rum from him, taking a healthy pull before setting it on the rail between them. From her other side, Fox's head craned around her midsection to offer a simple stare at the man. "What would you have pegged me for then?" She'd not describe herself as excessively compassionate, but she'd shown a measure of empathy in some of their past interactions. Not that Jared always made it easy. "Spurs most favors from me or in general? I suppose in general. The reasons for my favors are my own." His laughter didn't draw humor from her direction. This close those gold eyes betrayed that yes, compassion was in her. Not pity, though. She was studying him, and not hiding that. "Some. There may be a bit of violence that bleeds over into the light of day soon. I'll try to warn you so it doesn't interfere with your operations."

"You think I'm going to answer that? I'll pass." Easily able to blow the question aside, he laughed and shook his head. He'd walked enough minefields to know one when he saw one. "Let's be real, Shae. If it bothered anything I did, you'd know within hours, if not minutes." Tit for tat, golden eyes found purchase on chillingly blue eyes, glaciers locked within human life and hidden under the guise of freedom's need for defense. "You see, Shae, that's where we're gonna differ. I may be drunk, but understand that the second somethin' comes between what I need to do and what they're doing, there'll be a lot of violence in any light. We don't make exceptions." Clandestine and hidden in shadow, those he answered to cared little for personal affairs.

"That wasn't a trap. I was just curious about your impressions of me." The woman had kept a fairly level tone after that first exchange. Her responses absent playfulness as if she were the one navigating the minefield. "Alright. I'll forego the courtesy and assume you are already aware from this point forward." Easy shrug and another stolen tip from the bottle. If he was drunk, she was willing to bet he'd gone through one or two of those already. Fox pulled his head back as the woman let an idle hand find purchase combing through the creature's fur. "Have you ever flown without that suit of yours?"

"If I was, we'd be speaking about it. Since I'm not, it's not important and not a bother." Flat and succinct, he spoke words with no meaning through a voice as hollow as that which bled across his armor's dangerously obscure features. "Flown in what context?" An important question, given his various means of travel.

"As you like. I just would hate to find out I blew up some location you were scouting or caused one of your marks to be flushed ahead of schedule. So if it's not a bother, as you say, well and good." Her manner relaxed slightly, willing to dismiss the subject as readily as he seemed to want to. On to the next. A bit of confusion before the cultural divide closed and she found his meaning. "Through the air. Not in a vessel. Or in the void, even."

"You'd be held accountable for more than a spanking." Dangerous eyes hinted at the wolfborn monstrosity that'd walked through the warp with such incredible ease. Pure of heart and pure of soul, perhaps too pure in terms of flawless, perfect justice. Devoid of emotion for short seconds, he peered over her form and wrapped the bottle in his hand before pressing it to his teeth once again. "In a plane, you mean? Often, yes. We've a need to not be seen from time to time. I dislike and distrust it, but I've done it before. Why?"

"Hence why I offered the warning in the first place. I don't want to have to go toe to toe with you because you assured me you'd be aware of a problem and you actually weren't." As far as Shae was concerned, if he turned down that offer of warning she was in no way accountable for the troubles he might incur as a result. Her expression said as much. "My due diligence only extends so far, you know. It's not like I have any insight into where your operations are to deliberately *** with them. Would be counterproductive to your attempts at covert, wouldn't it?" Then came a soft snort. "I just said not in a vessel, Jared. As the birds, nothing between you and sky."

In absent reminder, he tapped his chest but did not slide the black cloth away and reveal the flickering, beeping light that assured him of so much safety. What was someone willing to lose? To what ends would one chase a job? That, nothing more and nothing less, fueled a suicidal soldier's blind confidence. He'd never met someone who would, at the blink of an eye or the blink of a plastered explosives device, lose so much to prove a point. "The nature of being covert is hiding in the obvious, Shae. I don't hide a damn thing, but people assume I do, so I suppose I confuse those who are looking? I'm a drunk, washed up member of the Air and Space Guard with fancy armor. It's convenient, really." Forced to answer, he shrugged and shook his head. "I've fallen, but no, we don't fly."

There came a sudden, fleeting urge. The temper guided impulse to give him a prompt shove over the side. She went so far in indulging it to look over the railing of the ship to the water below and then back up to him. No, no. The risk was there that he'd hit the pier on the way down to a sobering dip in the salt water. "Maybe one of these days you can show me what it's like to sail your stars and I can show you what it means to fly."

Far too lazy to ask about her gaze, he fixed her with a quiet stare, silent laughter, as she panned her eyes back in his direction. Knowing that there was some hidden meaning, he shrugged both shoulders as if to say how little he cared, could care. With the bottle still in hand, he tilted it backwards and relished in the wash of bitter, potent liquid as it burned down his throat. "You know, I feel like this is where I should spit some romantic line about never being higher than I would be so long as I stood on the mountain top of your approval, but I think that this is a poor time, so I'll accept, yeah?"

"We have a trade, then." Shae pushed away from the rail to pad the narrow path towards the lanterns, chuckling as she went. "It's a good thing you refrained, because that wasn't the moment for that. I was weighing the pros and cons of 'accidentally' tipping you overboard just there." There she picked up the long handle of the roller brush and dipped it into the tray of viscous looking liquid.

Dark laughter rippled from the all American boy's throat, jaded laughter past a face that should have been working on some Oklahoma farm and falling in love with an innocent beauty at a dead end church. "Tell me, Shae, just how much do you value your ship? Can it float with a gaping hole in the side? I don't swim well, and if I'd have drowned...." He showed fangs then, a smile that curved around New York teeth and showed California's disregard. It's too bad he'd never been to any of those places. Still and impassive, he followed the switch and shift of her hips, a curious sort who never gave up on a dream.

"Oh please, enough. I get it. Your heart stills, there goes the neighborhood. I would not have let your drunk ass drown. I was just speculating on the positive gains of a sobering dip since I doubt my ability to catch up with your drinking at this point in the evening." Soon that roller was being applied to the as yet untreated patch of sail. It made a sticky sound and seemed to require some effort to apply, but it seeped well into the fibers of the heavy canvas.

"Maybe I don't hold your skills in high enough esteem?" He peered and stared, endlessly curious, at her strange motions. Sails, in his world, were built to catch solar flares and force ships further into hyperdrive states. "You're seemin' pretty weak right now if you're doubting your ability. I might lose some respect, though it ain't the worst of things." He sighed and stared down at the water, though he'd never get in. "Work's early, yeah?"

"That's your mistake, not mine." She said, regarding his suggested lack of regard for her skills. "At what point did I even suggest I was doubting myself?" Confused by where he had picked up that notion. When he expressed a reason for taking off, she paused to lean on the handle of that roller brush. "Sure. See you soon, Jared." Moments later this farewell was followed by a small, belated epiphany: "Oh right, the drinking... Mind's on other things."

"Your ability to catch up, Shae. That's what you doubted." Dismissed more cleanly than he'd been by so many drill instructors, he quirked a quiet smile, more honest than so many had been before. "You know, what I said stands." Wooden boards or not, he held a hand up and watched as the armor began circling his body with simple, complacent ease. As it adorned his form like a thorny crown, he rasped out a harsh throated, entirely different, "Goodnight, apparently. I'll be around. You know the number, Shae." She understood at long last, and for that he smiled under the grim visage of a black sheet of glass and metal. In a burst of flame that sprouted from his heels, far, far too fast and hot to burn, he forced himself into the night's sky and became another lost comet.

[Shae]

Rogue Particles
Dockside, late night, 8/13/15

Stars played a dappled light show along black clothing and even darker eyes. Trapped in the heat, he'd ever despised a natural furnace, Jared slammed a door shut behind him. The walls here were closer, signs were dark, old and blurred for good measure. No one wandered into this section of the market, or better yet, very few wandered out of it after having gotten lost in the first place. He didn't always need or wear his armor, but when he did not, he favored running shorts, tennis shoes and simple, mono colored tee shirts that clung tight the the oddly lean and lithe, when not in such bulky armor, form he'd been gifted with naturally and hardened through the years. It was a chemist's shop and not one that most bothered with. He didn't hold a pretty white bag, rather he let a locked briefcase dangle from his fingers as he wound his way through the twisting paths that formed a warren of existence. His path, slow and measured, seemed to lead towards the docks, or at least the sight of a distant lighthouse growing closer by the moment and an ever increasing smell of salt proved.

The door slam cut across the still air of the street, carrying where few bodies lingered to interfere with the sound bouncing off of brick and mortar before being funneled skyward. Just another noise in the background a few streets away where Shae was taking a stroll along the invisible border between the haze of the docks and the lights of the market. Doors to taverns opened and closed as nocturnal bodies orbited the lights within. There was no obvious goal to her walking, though she'd been somewhere. In one hand a convenience store bag, in the other an ice cream bar melting in the evening heat. The clack of sandals and the swish of a sundress whose muted green tones might be confused with blue. Black hair became an inky snake down her spine where braided.

Perpetually aware of his environment, Jared's subtle grasp on motion, light, sound and perception did not rely on what was heard or seen. What should be heard was ignored. Drunken cursing, bar fights spilling into back alleys. Breaking glass, quiet, private laughter. Those, in this place, were what could be disregarded as utter, boring normality. The things that should not be heard, however, drew his attention like spotlights shining against rain pregnant clouds.Sandals and the silent, feminine swish of a dress. Alien noises almost too demure for this rough and tumble district attracted him quickly. Too curious for his own good, he cut through alleys until he caught glimpses of the sea green dress fluttering past blind corners and around unknown walls. For a moment, he paralleled the only interesting topic of study, though there was at least a full wall of buildings between them. Two streets joined in one foyer, a quasi plaza before the wide, monolithic base of the glowing lighthouse. Forced almost face to face with the person he'd been haphazardly stalking, he much preferred following, he stopped short and blinked in surprise. Familiar, rather familiar indeed. Confusion showed itself in the sheen of his eyes, though he replaced it with the typically laconic solemnity easily enough. "The most random places, huh?"

The face that met his registered an equal amount of surprise, but the confusion only came after his own. Not that this stopped her from taking a bite out of her cold treat as she registered just who she found herself face to face with. "Mm. Can't say I was expecting to see you out here." For all that she might be an alien to the region of coarse laughter, calloused hands, and hard eyes, the woman carried no fear with her here near the docks. Calm confidence was the order of the evening. Surety in safety that bordered on somehow being threatening for no real reason at all save just for the absurdity of it. Watch her smile; confusion melting to curiosity. Her gaze hopped from him to the bag on her arm, to the lighthouse on its island out past the water. "Were you..." Glancing over her shoulder, then to him and that case. "That is, what brings you out here this time of night?" And back the ice cream went to her lips. Vanilla with dark swirls that might be chocolate and cherry breaking up the cream color of the bar.

Intensely curious and highly able to latch onto singular moments, he brushed aside her latter questions with a quick shake of his head. His thoughts, however, trailed back to what he'd said. He should not, truth be told, have been surprised. She'd always seemed to fit in precisely where she was, somehow. One didn't often ask questions of women and a nagging reminder told him to ask even less about this most enigmatic specimen of feminine wiles. "Was I what? You didn't finish your question." There was something disarming about the ice cream, though this only proved his earlier assumption. It spoke of simple, subtle disregard for when and where; she would do what she so desired. An interesting thought, something to drop into a proverbial pocket for further study. "My skin burns easily and I ran out of sunscreen, so I thought I'd go get some when it was dark." Teasing and always bordering actual mirth, his lips drew into a tight smirk before he returned conversational fire. "You? Late night ice cream? That's what I'd assume. You are, after all, a woman."

"Waiting to meet someone, expecting to meet someone..." Filled in as a leading response to his request for a completion of her aborted thought between lazy samplings of her midnight snack. "You seemed confused. As if you anticipated me being another person entirely. Which brings me back to what brings you to, well, here." Nodding to indicate the quasi-plaza. Wrist burdened with plastic handles shifted. "As I can't imagine sunscreen requires such fancy transportation as that case, I'll assume something sensitive or nefarious. How exciting." Teasing grin to pair with his smirking face. "For me, yes. Plain, boring, late night snacks." The bag rustled again for emphasis.

"Truth be told, I followed the swish of a dress and expected to run face first into a whore, upon which I'd laugh at her and walk away." At the very least, no matter how crass he could be, Jared was almost always honest when there was nothing for him to lose. "How cliche, meeting someone for something nefarious, something criminal, under the stars and before a beacon that, by its very nature, draws random people towards it. I think I likely saw that on some movie before, actually. You've pegged me, Shae. My cover's blown." Mocking self pity drew his features into a dour expression of feigned annoyance, though it bled away even before the paint had settled on his ever changing mask. "Fine, fine. I'm a hamster smuggler and these are precious, rare little beasts. Is that better? Truth be told, I needed something and the person who had it keeps odd hours. It's as simple as that." What had he needed? That'd likely not be spoken where walls had ears. The cut of his high cheekbones said as much quite clearly. "Then all things add up, you're obviously female. I'd been wondering, but with the way you wear a dress...." He unfolded his arms and waved one hand in the general direction of the mercurial dress' errant fluttering, "and you're odd desire to eat terribly unhealthy things in the middle of the night confirms it. Thanks for settling that, by the way."

"You were following me? Were I a whore you needn't have chased, Jared. Dropping a coin or two would have gotten the attention of a night flower, I'd say. Well, that and a small handful of pickpockets. Still begs the question of why you'd stalk after a whore to laugh at her in the middle of a district that has its share of houses of ill repute." Drawling tones adopted a smile for good measure. "You must be the worst agent possible, to be so discovered." No pity for his farcical bemoaning of his situation. "Okay I'll buy all that. One question though, what sort of creature is a hamster?" Yes, that was a serious inquiry. After which she scoffed. "You've seen me in a dress and you were wondering? Well, what a good thing I fit into some arbitrary stereotype of female behavior. I'd hate to let you linger in uncertainty."

"Because one that wasn't in said house would clearly be a pretty terrible whore, no? Was I following you? For a moment." Seemingly rather upset, he wore so many lies cleanly, he glanced down at his body and ran one hand across the three day's growth of stubble that decorated the powerful lines of a stentorian chin with careless, unplanned ease. "I like to think, Shae, that I wouldn't need to pay." Clearly sarcastic, he dropped the night's umpteenth charade "What's a hamster?" That, of all things, put him off ever so slightly. He motioned with one hand, he gestured as to the size that such creatures claimed. "A rat like thing, a common pet for young humans. I've seen one before." On a whim, maybe a sporadic one, he reached to tug at the dress' flailing hem and shrugged. "Maybe I like this one most of all that I've seen or maybe I didn't want to tell you that you look beautiful tonight in so many words. Secondly, if you fit some stereotype, I'd already be bored." A truism once more, simple and logical. "Were you going somewhere important? I'd hate to keep you away." Polite words fueled by respect and manners hammered home through years and years of an academy life. His tone and his omnipresent half grin hinted dispelled any truth in statement.

"I don't know about that," clearly not at all uncomfortable about debating the business strategy of sex workers. "There's something to be said about aggressive advertising, hmm?" The admittance that he'd been following her for a brief time wasn't commented upon. "I'm not sure if your charms could warrant a free night, but you're easy enough on the eyes that I shouldn't think you'd suffer for company." Bluntly feeding into his games with a warm hum of humor to her voice. 'Hamster' clarified, she paid more attention to the small pull at her attire and the words that followed. "I take it back, you can be charming when you want to." Even if sometimes that charm was delivered on the heels of what seemed to be insults. "Nowhere important. Stretching my legs. Likely to sit upon the dock and conjure more rumor about the wanderings of the scary hag that lures men with false beauty." Referencing the way local myth and her own behaviors had somehow been blended in the eyes of superstitious sailors. "You're free to join me if the hamsters will survive the detour."

"Then who's to say I simply wouldn't take her? There's plenty of alleys, isn't there? I'm creative with gags, it's a trick of the trade. Tell me, do you think I'd do that?" For once, he posed a serious question that saw him lean back against a nearby wall as he waited for an answer. An impressive display of something close to comfort, the showing was. Not that he'd lost his defenses, but he'd dropped his facade almost entirely. "False beauty? A hag?" He laughed at that, a rich baritone that brought smooth alcohol to mind. The sound was pure, it lacked regrets entirely. Given his past and present, that might be something that most wouldn't consider pleasing at all. "Lies, all of them. Beauty's an abstract topic, anyways. If it's actually a matter of perception, we can't consider anyone's perception a lie given that it's a personal opinion, no? An insane man who hears voice isn't a liar, though we might not understand his perception. Therefore, if I say that you're beautiful, you are. Idiots, all of them." Blatantly willing to discard entire groups of people for a singular sentence, he shook his head and sighed as if dealing with some hidden remorse. "I can be, if prompted. I am, after all, a man." Spoken quietly, he shrugged his assent and pushed away from the lean that'd been but a momentary lapse after all. "Heavy water, actually, if you must know."

A serious question deserved a serious response. There wasn't a delay indicative of uncertainty, nor the hasty reply of lack of thought. When she spoke the word, it was with the weight of judgment passed in his favor. "No. I don't think you would." Popsicle stick turned sideways to balance the consumption of melting food against gravity. "Haven't heard the tales of the dock hag? I hadn't either until they were being whispered behind my back amidst gestures to ward off evil." For whatever reason, this made her grin quite genuinely. "Apparently she takes on a pretty face to trick the unwary. I appreciate the vote of confidence in my favor, truly. You are full of things I didn't know were assumed about men and women. I should pick your brain for more of these wisdoms." His offering of an answer to a question she'd let lie at an earlier facial expression from him threw her briefly. "Heavy...water?" The woman had no frame of reference for it. There were no nuclear pursuits in her world. "Is it...denser somehow?"

Satisfied with her answer, it was a rather correct assumption, he let it slip past the threads of conversation and fade into the residual darkness that feeble lights did little to push aside. Back to his full height once more, he tipped his chin down in her direction and stared for what felt like rather heavy, lengthy moments. "There's few stories I haven't heard, but there's no chance that I'd have given you credit for that one. Much less in a city like this. I'm there's a real hag here. Maybe there's even a whore that specializes in hags?" There really was no end to what this absurd amalgamation of so called society would accept and tolerate. Loose, limber shoulders rolled stillness away in the form of a shrug as he stepped into the light and gestured her forward to places unknown. She was the one with the agenda and the snacks, of course. "It's amazing what you learn about humanity when you spend time fighting to save a mother's children only to have her scream insults at you for only rescuing two, not three. More importantly, what you learn about how irrational the human sickness really is." When asked, he went so far as to attempt to hurry her along, one hand potentially pressing into the small of her back as he sought to create distance and fade back into the murky soup of silence and shadows. Anywhere, really. "Actually, it is. Essential in nuclear reactors, massive sources of energy. The....do you understand what an atom is?" It might be easier to start there.

Fusion, fission, the conversation that followed them along the dockside streets was laced with foreign words and concepts from both parties as they strove to find a center point of understanding from which to build on the primer in nuclear physics. The witch consumed them doggedly, countering with pointed questions, snacks forgotten. Further research would be warranted, but by the time they parted ways Shae’s head was spinning with conjured images of ships sailing the void on the energy of carefully controlled destruction.