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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Jul 9, 2017 14:42:22 GMT -6
“It only makes sense that they do,” she said. “When you see everyone as an enemy, you do everything you can to be ready for them.”
Something that can apply to me, she thought in regards to her dealings with her people once the biotic amp scandal had broken. The responses had ranged the gamut from simply shunning her to all-out physical attacks, spurring her to learn hand-to-hand combat as well as creating nonlethal devices for incapacitating the more aggressive attackers.
She looked back at the human.
“I’ve been studying unarmed combat for over two hundred years, and I’ve never seen anything like what you were just doing,” she said. “If it weren’t for your opponents I would’ve sworn you were dancing. What is that style you were using?”
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 9, 2017 22:48:39 GMT -6
"When you see everyone as an enemy, you do everything you can to be ready for them."
The comment nearly made him laugh out loud, which would have caused water to spray at least four feet. Still, he was unable to stifle the chuckle which came after swallowing the mouthful of water. He wondered if, being asari, she was able to perceive how much her statement applied to him as well. He doubted it. For some reason, he was almost certain that only the twins and their fellow Consorts could be so perceptive. With a smile, he said, "True enough."
Looking to him again, she added, "I’ve been studying unarmed combat for over two hundred years, and I’ve never seen anything like what you were just doing. If it weren’t for your opponents I would’ve sworn you were dancing. What is that style you were using?"
"It's a martial art even few among my own species know about, except for enthusiasts of fighting as an art form rather than a pure means of survival. It's called 'Capoeira.' A culture once enslaved on my homeworld developed it a few centuries ago, during the period they were being exploited. It was actually designed to appear as a dance while training, so that their overseers would not realize the danger," Maelstrom explained. "It was designed around three facts of their circumstances. The first is that no one except the practitioners could be allowed to realize it was a fighting style... at least until it was too late for them to do anything about it. The second is that the practitioner will likely have their hands bound if the circumstances are ever severe enough to warrant its use in light of the first circumstance. The third is that the opponent will likely be armed, which, when taken with the second circumstance, necessitates the need for evasion rather than blocking and for any strike to be crippling, if not lethal."
He shrugged. "It's evolved somewhat with the times, though. My limited use of hand-strikes is one way. Incorporation of biotics is a more significant one, though, for all I know, I may be the only current practitioner to employ them in the form."
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 10, 2017 16:29:18 GMT -6
Thrak was surprised by Lysander's question. He thought about it for a moment, as he set down his helmet and began and inspection of his chestplate. He shook his head, "I need to finish going over my gear, and I already had some spicy varren sausages for lunch."
Already, his omni-tool had detected several micro fractures from when the mech had grabbed him. Unlike in the weapon, they could be reliably mended in the armor, especially since they ran no deeper than the outer plates. The inner components and other armor layers appeared intact.
"Besides," he added, "my idea of fun doesn't include spending any more time than necessary in those tin cans you call shuttles."
With care, he withdrew a specialized tool designed to mend fractures caused by crushing forces. It was a completely different process than sealing a puncture in the suit, requiring the armor to be gently stretched back into shape before sealing the crack with the original material and flash-welding it into a single coherent piece. It was one of the most expensive tools in his possession, almost as expensive as his guns.
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 10, 2017 18:00:49 GMT -6
After several more pulses Izahm gets up stretching and says, "Well I think I'm going to take this for a spin in the simulator," tapping the handle of his new sword, "Good discussion hope to do it again," he then heads for the simulator he walks up and finds Maelstrom outside his characteristic armor talking to Geneenh. He walks up and says politely, "Excuse me are either of you currently using or going to use the simulator?" He then waits for them to absorbs his presence and question.
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Post by Eric Lysander on Jul 11, 2017 13:47:09 GMT -6
"Good discussion hope to do it again."
With that, Izahm left Eric and Thrak for the simulator, eager to try out his new weapon. Thrak began to repair tiny cracks in his chestplate armor using a very sophisticated tool that utilized the existing armor rather than grafts. Eric looked over him as he worked.
"... 'minds me o' th' time I got hit in th' chest with a plasma bolt from a Collector. Just about wiped out my shields; left a pretty good dent, too. Fun times... doubt you'll be spending the next mission inside a can. But we'll definitely need ya ta open up a few."
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 11, 2017 16:27:32 GMT -6
Thrak let a small chuckle rumble from the back of his throat. "Yeah. Collectors are tough bastards. Haven't fought one of them in a couple hundred years, anyway." Stopping his work and cocking his head, he added, "Another Shadow Broker job, come to think of it."
He wished he could talk about the mission, but tasks for the Shadow Broker came with the understanding that silence was required. "Can't talk about it, though. You understand. What about yours?"
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Post by Eric Lysander on Jul 12, 2017 7:50:58 GMT -6
"It was with Esteban Bridges," said Eric. "Our - my former boss. Turned out he was tryin' ta dig somethin' up that they wanted so they took out his dig crew and took over the site. B hired me, Mal and a few others to snatch it back. Heh - tip o' the iceberg... went on a coupla more missions against 'em... lost some good people along with him... put up a good fight right until the end."
Eric sighed. "Collectors, Reapers... now Cerberus. If they teamed up we'd be in for some major shit. But then it's just more fun for you, right? Maelstrom's got dibs on Cerberus, though."
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 12, 2017 13:53:04 GMT -6
"Collectors, Reapers... now Cerberus. If they teamed up we'd be in for some major shit. But then it's just more fun for you, right? Maelstrom's got dibs on Cerberus, though," Lysander said.
Thrak was quiet for a moment, considering, as he worked one of the microfractures back into shape, filled the damage, and began the flash-welding. No quarian could have done a better job, and he was sure of it. He had once saved a quarian, coincidentally, from a band of batarian slavers, not much after the quarians lost their homeworld. Thrak had told the quarian plainly that he would either teach his krogan savior how to maintain his armor and weapons perfectly or would find himself just serving a different master. It was a threat, but the rather cowardly quarian, who Thrak nicknamed "Blinky" after a modification to his helmet's light that flashed rapidly in sequence with tone of voice, never questioned it and readily complied. Thrak would never have done it. Aside from disapproving of slavery, a discontent mechanic held captive would sooner or later become a threat. It took several weeks, Thrak insisting on reaching technical profession, but the skills he needed to maintain his own gear were learned.
Oddly, Blinky kept in contact with Thrak after being released and informed of the bluff, as did several generations of his offspring, right up until current day. Thrak, never being much good with alien names, simply called each subsequent generation of quarian he kept in contact with "Blinky," and the family seemed to consider the nickname something of an honor. Over extranet communications, they kept him up on the latest developments in armor and weapons, and he occasionally left behind one piece of tech or another in a non-spoken sort of exchange.
As he concentrated on the repair, he found himself wrestling with what to call the different members of the crew. Looking up, after the flash welding, Thrak fixed his eyes on Lysander. "I'm not much good with alien names. Already named that odd one in the Vengeance 'Girlie.' Still working out what to call the rest of you, if I'm going to stick around." Cocking his head to the side, he said, "I don't usually give folks the option, but I'm having a hard time with you." He grumbled under his breath a bit. "What do you think? Boomy? I like the sound of 'Chief,' but we haven't fought together enough yet. I'm thinking I should call the big one something like, 'Jokes' or 'Tanky.' Can't call you 'Smiley.' Our friend in black has that one coming."
He turned his armor slightly, bringing the next microfracture closer, so he could work on it.
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Post by Eric Lysander on Jul 13, 2017 8:28:10 GMT -6
"Maelstrom does have the market cornered on 'smiles,'" Eric smirked and thought a moment.
"... after Basic, my first C.O. took ta callin' me 'Stick.' Me bein' green n' naive at th' time, I couldn't figure out why. Then I noticed how I was almost always the one who ended up taking point, the one who seemed to be catchin' hell, sometimes from my own side as well as the enemy's. One day I just happened to be within earshot of him and his trusted toady. And I heard it: 'sometimes there are unknowns presented to you where you have little choice but to poke it with a stick to see what will happen. Mr. Lysander is the stick.' Naturally I was pretty pissed off but I kept quiet about it.
"It was only after I helped evac my unit from a Cerberus base that I lost it and let him have it, feelin' that I earned the right to. I said: yeah that's right - I'm th' Stick. Ya need ta poke at somethin' you're not sure about or need the biggest pair ya can find, I'm th' Yardstick. Ya need someone to start some shit, light th' fires, I'm th' Matchstick. Ya need shit flattened, pulverized, fucked up six ways including Sundays, I'm th' Boomstick...! I was this close to a court martial but I guess he changed his mind when I was invited into the N7 program. Been a sharper Stick ever since..."
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 13, 2017 16:40:35 GMT -6
Thrak chuckled deep in his throat, the story of a military career far more relatable to him than the stories a lot of humans gave about their past lives. "Stick, huh?" The krogan laughed again. "Heard a quote from one of your people once... Came from some old chieftain or so... How did it go? 'Talk quietly and carry a big stick'? Works for me."
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Jul 14, 2017 2:19:02 GMT -6
Geneenh looked over at the unfamiliar human.
Must be the one who joined us on the bridge.
"Maelstrom was using it--though I don't know if he's done with it--and I was about to use it myself," she said. "But how about some introductions first? I'm Geneenh T'Loris, and you are...?"
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Post by Eric Lysander on Jul 14, 2017 7:44:28 GMT -6
"'Talk quietly and carry a big stick'? Works for me."
"Okay, then," agreed Eric, drumming his hands briefly on the tabletop before straightening up. "You're busy thinkin' up names for everyone here but what do we get ta call you, big guy?"
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Jul 14, 2017 8:01:15 GMT -6
"You're busy thinkin' up names for everyone here but what do we get ta call you, big guy?"
Thrak chuckled. "I thought you humans were one of the bright races! One of the ones that could handle a little thing like remembering names!" He belly-laughed, pushing away the repaired armor. "No one's ever asked me that before! A few upstart whelps have tried over the years, but they didn't have good imaginations. I knocked some teeth out of each."
His laughs dying out, he said, "There's always 'Battlemaster.'" He cocked his head, grunting as he thought. "Honestly, Stick, I've never thought about it. Maybe it's time to test your imagination."
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 14, 2017 8:14:30 GMT -6
"Maelstrom was using it--though I don't know if he's done with it--and I was about to use it myself," Geneenh said.
He had not planned on being done, but he was not sure he quite felt like practicing in a group of three or having an audience after he was already pushed beyond his usual limits. What was more, he felt he needed to watch his tongue around Izahm. Their debriefing with Feron had explained the young man's presence, but Maelstrom was not so quick to trust. He wanted to talk with Lysander about it more, but the timing was not right yet.
"But how about some introductions first? I'm Geneenh T'Loris, and you are...?"
Maelstrom downed some more water, as he watched the two. He found himself wondering about Emily and what she was doing, and he still found himself puzzling over what to rename his VI. The VI had been his closest companion for a long time, but he felt it unwise to reveal his VI's original designation around his new companion. For that matter, he was unsure what to make of that new companion and of how long their association would last.
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 14, 2017 16:26:07 GMT -6
"Izahm Kanokah, assassin and information broker," Izahm says casually leaning against the wall behind him, "Ah T'Loris, that name is famous or rather infamous in Asari space. Come across mention of it a couple times on Ilium and Thessia," he pauses in thought, "Well more than a couple times really but hey I don't care about your past. If the Broker wanted you I'll accept their decision."
After answering Geneenh he then looks over at Maelstrom addressing him, "Kinda odd seeing you outside that characteristic Collector armor of yours. It was like your second skin last I saw you. Well if one or either of you are going to use the simulator I'll come back another time." Izahm then waits for Geneenh and Maelstrom to absorb and reply to his words.
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Jul 14, 2017 16:43:43 GMT -6
Even though the human said he didn't care about her family's past, the casual manner in which he mentioned its notoriety bothered her and she quickly realized why.
He had been the one who brought it up, not her, and now it was out there for the rest of the others to know. Her relationship with the team was still new, and while the team was mostly human, she did not like being cast in such a negative light so soon among them.
"Thank you so much for revealing my past without even asking my permission," she snapped. "I hope you're a better assassin than you are an information broker."
With that, she stormed off.
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 14, 2017 17:11:23 GMT -6
Izahm inwardly sighed, 'Well she's pissed though I never told anyone else and Maelstrom is good at keeping secrets, after all his real name probably isn't Maelstrom, sounds too much like a codename or a chosen name,' outwardly he says somewhat sarcastically,"Well that went well. I didn't realize she was so touchy about her name. After all I only knew about because my previous career as a reporter. And you are good at keeping secrets in addition you seemed to have a rapport with her so I figured she had already told you. Sorry If I read that wrong, I'm gonna go apologize to her," he then leaves Maelstrom and goes after Geneenh.
Catching up with her he says, "I apologize for revealing your past but I figured Maelstrom already knew judging by his casualness around you. That's the first time I've ever seen him out of his armor, and as far as I know only me and the Shadow Broker know of your past though the Broker may know even more than me."
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Jul 14, 2017 20:22:21 GMT -6
"And then there's every asari over one hundred years old," she snapped. "Information about a person's past belongs to them, not you, so it should be up to them to decide the circumstances of such revelations--or even if they want to share it."
She looked him over. He looked young, even for a human, which meant he had a lot to learn but also begged the question how he had made this far--as well as why the Broker would hire such a person to be one of his operatives.
"So, what do you know about my family?" she asked.
She suspected he knew about her parents--their lives were a matter of public record and it would have been impossible to completely erase their records.
But Veyarika...
Some had not been satisfied with her mother bankrupting the family to make reparations and then joining the justicars--they wanted blood. After the third attempt on her sister's life, she knew she had to bury her so deep she could never be found. She planted false information about her death in the system and then checked her into a private hospital under an assumed name where she would live out the rest of her days in simple-minded oblivion.
If he knows about Veyarika, I'll kill him.
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Post by spartan560 on Jul 14, 2017 20:45:32 GMT -6
Izahm sighed slightly, "No more than what is discussed when people think no one is listening." He then notices her slightly tensed posture and adds, "I only know what was public record or as I said discussed when they though no one is listening, anything else I have absolutely no knowledge of. Also my condolences on your sister, I lost my entire family to Collectors on Horizon so I can sympathize." Unknown to her he had positioned his arms in perfect position to block any attacks should she throw any while also attacking with the hidden blade.
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Post by Maelstrom on Jul 14, 2017 22:22:52 GMT -6
Well, Maelstrom thought, as Geneenh stormed off and Izahm made his comments before following, he just manages to make friends with everyone.
As he downed another mouthful of water before wiping off with the towel again and returning to the center floor of the simulator, he wondered if the young man had any concept of how many people would kill him and rest easily about it if they even suspected that he had information on them. After the abduction of his parents and the lengths he had gone to hide them, Maelstrom was among them. Of course, from Maelstrom, it would have been a quick biotically-empowered kick, a biotically-propelled knife, or a large explosive that killed the man. If certain other parties were to decide to end him, Maelstrom knew it would be something more subtle. A odorless and tasteless neurotoxin on the lips of an asari "dancer..." A small misalignment of his ship's drive- just enough to cause a gradual build in pressure which would result in a cascade reaction. A sabotaged weapon.
His secrets were safe, though. A pile of the dead so tall and thick that the young man would probably not be able to believe its extent walled off any information about who he actually was. All those who remained who could connect him were high-ranking Cerberus personnel, too high to be bought, and a few trusted members of this crew, too trustworthy to sell him out. He thought maybe his mother might have figured it out after Naetilia, Fischer, Shala'Bekk, and Lysander had helped Maelstrom rescue her and his father, but he was fairly certain he had put to rest any real possibility of her making any inquiries. Even the Shadow Broker was clueless about who he really was, so far as Maelstrom knew.
With a quick motion, he summoned opponents into existence again. This time, the program generated dragoons and guardians as his foes- a more sturdy breed of opponent than he was used to. He absently considered that the young woman who had taken up residence in his shuttle was the real wildcard. Dancing biotic whips and thrusts of riot shields, Maelstrom wondered if she truly knew nothing more than that he was the bane of Cerberus or if she had managed to find out more about him than she admitted and was simply wise enough to keep quiet.
As he managed to get behind the rim of one riot shield and strip it away from its wielder with biotics, he wondered why he was so willing to end someone like Izahm if he felt his past was threatened and yet so protective of this new incarnation of Emily Moore. He supposed he knew, as a spinning kick shattered the holographic guardian. The young woman represented more wholesome feelings he once felt without baring the guilt for her predecessor's betrayal. He almost laughed, as he just barely evaded a biotic lash, before hitting the dragoon who unleashed it with a biotic blast of his own which was powerful enough to crush a real man's rib-cage even through armor. As the dragoon broke into a shimmering spray of photons, Maelstrom reminded himself again that the young woman in the shuttle had no claim to the emotions her predecessor had once cultivated in him. As a biotic kick sent the remaining guardian stumbling back into the dragoon, he also acknowledged that she seemed to have her own feelings for him, despite never saying or doing anything to make them unavoidably obvious. He wondered if she even understood them, pausing just long enough to allow the pair of figures to rise. For now, Maelstrom decided, he was simply acting as protector to another soul wronged by Cerberus and hunted by them.
Shaking thoughts of Miss Moore from his mind and yet still feeling the rage of being abused by Cerberus, Maelstrom abandoned any pretense at retaining the aspects of his form in Capoeira. He ripped the riot shield away from the guardian using the hand-to-hand techniques the Alliance had taught him. He then tore the holographic vessel of hate apart with a series of quick punches, each empowered biotically with the force of a sky-car collision. When the guardian exploded in a spray of photons, Maelstrom used the footwork only someone with his unique experiences possessed to dance around the biotic lash which the remaining dragoon unleashed. When he reached the dragoon, he kept his biotics to minimal levels, using only enough to compensate for his foe being encased in armor. His punches, elbows, knees, and kicks were all aimed at the key points of his foes armor. With methodical precision that only hate could cultivate, Maelstrom knocked out the biotic whip generators, the most key servos, and the visual and auditory sensors on the hologram's helmet.
Maelstrom was tempted to make the destruction of the hologram slow, continuing to refrain from any strikes lethal in their own right, but he remembered that the simulator was a public area on the ship, and he fell back into Capoeira, delivering an elbow strike to the jaw which ended the simulated man.
Though he kept a composed exterior, he found himself wondering something he rarely allowed himself to. Will the day ever come when I don't have to be a weapon anymore? As if to punish the part of himself that asked the question and dispel any such notion, he called up another round of opponents.
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