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Post by Joe Fischer on Feb 24, 2015 19:01:23 GMT -6
Joe nodded. "Yeah, that's one of the very few good things about wars," he said. "People who usually fight each other join together against the enemy that's trying to kill them all. I just don't get why it takes the possibility of extinction for people to put aside their differences and work together.
"Don't get me wrong, there's people I wouldn't piss on if they were on fire," he said. "But that's only after I've discovered they're a douchebag or a blue falcon. But skin color? Gender? Religion? That's what people get their panties in a bunch about?"
He shook his head. "Sometimes I really think there should be a draft," he said. "Bring in people from all these different backgrounds, make them work together, to put aside that shit in order to achieve a common goal. And they're going to discover they have a lot more in common than they think."
[AUTHOR NOTE: "Blue falcon" is a military term which really stands for "buddy f*cker", someone who will screw over someone else in order to get ahead.]
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Post by Eric Lysander on Feb 25, 2015 11:07:37 GMT -6
“You sound like a turian,” Eric chuckled, remembering the year he spent on Bysorrn when he was younger. "In fact that's part o' fosterin' that 'spirit of community and cooperation' they talk about."
The turian he worked for at the time had a son who was about to enter military service, which was the requirement for all turian youth. While the boy felt eager and obligated to fulfill his societal duty he had doubts as to whether he would remain and become a career officer or take up his father’s business once his term of service was up.
“That could work. But then you run inta th’ mind thing again. Some folks will tolerate it just to tolerate it… ‘til they don’t have to anymore…”
Eric had another bite of bacon and eggs and swallowed, remembering another figure from his past: Shepard’s father.
“Ya know… years ago I was talkin with… this guy about pretty much th’ same thing we are right now. He was big on psychology. I was tryin’ ta understand myself why other people hadda problem with other races when I didn’t. He told me ‘bout this experiment they did ‘bout two hundred years ago on Earth where they hadda buncha people rate how they looked to themselves in a mirror. They used two types o’mirrors: one was the regular, old-fashioned kind ya have in your bathroom or bedroom. The other one flipped around yer reflection so that ya ended up seeing yourself like other people see you. Like lookin’ at your own selfie.”
Eric took a sip from his glass.
“… overall, people tended to think their regular reflections were better lookin’ than their ‘real’ reflections… even th’ folks that thought they were ugly! Few of them liked their real selves better or didn’t think much either way. The point the guy made was that prejudice was a lot like lookin’ in a mirror. You get used to how ya look in it and ya tend to see yourself in only that way. Then along comes that reverso mirror – another species – with a different view of you. One ya may not be thrilled with but it is still you. He said that… maybe the real fear when two different species meet is not so much the strengths they'll find in each other when they compare… but the weaknesses they may find within themselves…”
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Post by Joe Fischer on Feb 25, 2015 19:23:41 GMT -6
Joe nodded, finishing off his breakfast as he mulled over what the senior N7 said. "Interesting," he said. "All the more reason for people to work together, don't you think? To make up for those weaknesses?"
[Insert Lysander's response]
"Whew, this is way too much deep thinking for me right now," he said. "I'm going to talk to the boss, I've got a few ideas I'd like to bounce off him. See you around, Pops."
After cleaning off his dishes, he made his way out of the galley and opened up a channel to his employer. "Boss, it's Fischer," he said. "Got a few minutes? There's a couple things I'd like to talk with you about."
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Post by Esteban Bridges on Feb 26, 2015 5:05:22 GMT -6
"...Today? I could go for a double, straight up. I don't much care which."
Esteban opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of thick amber liquid. He turned the bottle, holding it up to the dim light. The liquid shimmered, dancing to an unheard song. "Cognac," he read the label with a slight smile. "This will do."
He popped open the bottle and poured the cognac into two available glasses. He half-filled each cup, giving both men an easy way to forget the day and relax.
"I believe it is custom to only fill cups by an 8th," he said over his shoulder to Maelstrom while he put away the bottle. "I'm giving us four times as much. I suspect we earned it."
He closed the cabinet and headed back over toward Maelstrom. Esteban couldn't put much thoughts together, except the sudden desire to get drunk. He handed a glass to the mercenary.
"What shall we toast to?"
(insert response here)
Esteban agreed and raised his cup, dinging the two drinks together. But before he could sip, the comm channel came to life.
"Boss, it's Fischer. Got a few minutes?"
The Engineer looked down at the cup, then over to Maelstrom for the briefest of moments. His eyes betrayed his thoughts... considering if he was ready for what would come. "Come on up," he finally said to the comm channel before sipping from his cup. "Maelstrom is already here. If you want privacy, you'll have to wait for a little while."
He did not want the mercenary to feel like he was being pushed out. In fact, Esteban found himself enjoying his company.
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Post by Joe Fischer on Feb 26, 2015 5:37:48 GMT -6
Joe muted his channel, muttered "Nuts", and then opened his channel again.
"Good copy on that, boss," he said. "If Maelstrom is okay with me coming up, I will. Otherwise it can wait."
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Post by Eric Lysander on Feb 26, 2015 11:18:49 GMT -6
"Interesting," said Joe, finishing off his breakfast. "All the more reason for people to work together, don't you think? To make up for those weaknesses?"
“That’s the general idea. Accentuate th’ positive ‘n all that. They win or lose together.”
Joe quickly stood up. "Whew, this is way too much deep thinking for me right now," he said. "I'm going to talk to the boss, I've got a few ideas I'd like to bounce off him. See you around, Pops."
“Later, Junior. Thanks for breakfast…”
Eric was alone again after Joe collected their emptied plates to be washed and then left the galley. He drummed his fingers on the table. Half the team was in the infirmary, the other half engaged in repairs or debriefings. And the crew was too busy making sure the Valiant would be able to reach Citadel space intact and unpursued. Eric switched on his omni-tool and scrolled up an old vid program he had saved on it, a show he enjoyed as a child.
“… the improbable, unbelievable, spectacular adventures of DUUUUUTCH NEL-SON, GALAXY GUYY!...”
[Author’s Note: Dutch Nelson is an actual CGI short you can find on Youtube. It’s a sci-fi parody featuring the last person you would want saving the universe!]
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Post by Maelstrom on Feb 26, 2015 11:26:36 GMT -6
"What shall we toast to?" Bridges asked.
Maelstrom considered it for a moment before replying, "To surviving long odds." With that, they made their toast.
Maelstrom rose the glass to his lips, before Fischer piped in over the comms, asking Bridges and Maelstrom if it was alright to join them. Maelstrom shrugged, "It's no bother to me." More softly, so his employer could hear but not the younger N-7, he added, "If you wanted, you could invite Lysander up here and make it a party. Even invite Karn, if you don't want to leave anyone out. Or leave it just the the two or three of us. However you want."
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Post by Esteban Bridges on Feb 28, 2015 3:07:20 GMT -6
Esteban liked Maelstrom's idea. It was simple and direct, a nice way to get everyone to connect again. He raised the glass to his lips, letting the amber liquid splash against his slightly parted lips. The liquor tasted unexpectedly sweet to him. It was a treat for a long day.
"That's a great idea," Esteban replied before activating his omnitool to access the ship's comms system. He punched in a command to Data to connect him to everyone on this ship.
"Of course, sir." Data obeyed, getting to work. After a couple seconds, his omnitool display showed the connection was estblished.
Esteban took another sip from his glass to whet his whistle before talking. "Attention crew, mercenaries, and guest," Esteban began, setting his cup down on the coffee table. "I am throwing an after-mission party in the captain's quarters. Alcohol will be provided. Please bring snacks. Esteban out."
He cut the comms channel, grabbing the cool glass to take another savory sip. "Ahh..." was all Esteban could say, starting to lose himself to the moment. "A party is exactly what we need to work off steam. We all earned it."
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Post by Joe Fischer on Feb 28, 2015 9:04:24 GMT -6
"Damn it," Joe muttered.
He had no problem with an AAR, but a party? The mood would be all wrong for just about everything he wanted to discuss with his employer. But how could he say that without coming across like a complete asshole to everyone else?
None, he realized as he opened up a channel to Bridges.
"This is Fischer," he said. "I'll be there, and you're in luck, I managed to track down a DJ calling himself DJ Big Boy."
He closed his channel, cursed again and made his way back to the galley to get some party food.
[AUTHOR NOTE: "AAR" is another military acronym which stands for "After Action Review", which is basically all the participants reviewing the mission.]
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Post by Maelstrom on Feb 28, 2015 14:10:37 GMT -6
Bridges seemed to like his idea of inviting everyone up for a party, quickly connecting to ship's intercom. Snacks sounded good; he was famished in the wake of the mission and all the biotic energy he spent. Whether or not his stomach could tolerate food at the moment, though, was another story.
"We all earned it," Bridges said.
Did we really? Maelstrom wondered, remembering the bodies strewn throughout the prison block corridor. He tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, taking a sip of the dark amber liquid.
Fischer piped back in, his usual jovial manner which bordered on cavalier still apparently intact. He could hardly blame the other man, though. His and Bridges' team had faced an entirely different set of circumstances. They had survived the Collector onslaught and achieved their mission objectives. Not like Lysander's team.
"Don't forget the pretzels!" Maelstrom called over the comms before the channel closed, trying to match the mood.
Damn it. Another group of scum that I have to wipe from the face of the galaxy...
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Post by Eric Lysander on Feb 28, 2015 19:17:46 GMT -6
Dutch Nelson had freed his belt from the handle it was caught on, opening a trap door which eliminated his pursuers when an announcement came over the Valiant's PA system:
"Attention crew, mercenaries, and guest. I am throwing an after-mission party in the captain's quarters. Alcohol will be provided. Please bring snacks. Esteban out."
Eric looked up at the ceiling incredulously as he paused and closed up the animated vid. He's kidding, right? A party...? What's to celebrate?
Eric wondered if the failed assassination attempt on his employer had affected his reason. In his own experience parties were only held to celebrate successful missions. For those missions where the only victory was in returning alive there was contemplation, mourning or mulling over drinks. Eventually those gathered would be more or less their normal selves again after the cathartic rituals. The banter would lighten and there would even be a joke or two but no once lacked the decorum to suggest that they all start dancing. Anyone looking for a genuine good time would have to seek it elsewhere, at the next shore leave away from the ship or away from base camp.
Eric switched off his omni-tool and stood up with his hands on his sides, surveying the cupboards and storage lockers trying to recall if he saw any bags of chips or anything that could pass for snack food. Joe re-entered the galley.
"Hey, Joe," said Eric, pointing to the ceiling. "Tell me I misheard that. He really means a gatherin', right? 'Cause if I didn't and he starts playin' Expel 10 I'm tossin' B's MP9 system out th' airlock! I'm still on Stage 2..."
[Author's Note: Eric's Stage 2 line refers to one of the five psychological stages of grief -
1.Denial 2.Anger 3.Bargaining 4.Depression 5.Acceptance ]
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 1, 2015 6:39:21 GMT -6
Joe listened as Eric expressed his concerns and wondered how he should frame his response, deciding to go with the honest approach. He was an N7, a simple rah-rah speech wasn't going to work; he might even find it insulting.
"Nothing wrong with feeling that way," he said.
MOMMY!
"When I was first starting out in the Marines, I had this lifer for my platoon sergeant," he continued. "He told me the best way to measure a win wasn't how many bad guys you killed or how many civilians you may have saved, it was how many of your men made it out alive."
"Yeah, we lost Murchadh," he said. "But you kept your people alive and I kept my people alive. We each saved someone, and the boss pulled off the hack. Is it the win we wanted? Of course not. But it's the win we got, Lysander, and I think it's a damn good one, considering where we went and who we fought."
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Post by Eric Lysander on Mar 1, 2015 21:39:45 GMT -6
Eric eased up a bit, knowing that Joe had made a good point. But there was still an underlying sentiment to contend with.
"You're right - you are right, Joe," he conceded. "It's that... for once, just once, I'd like ta know I'm good for more than just blowin' shit up. Ya know? More than just bein' th' guy in Commander Shepard's shadow. Like when he talked down that biotic cult? Not one shot fired! They all loaded up inta our ship, handed over their weapons with no fuss. I try ta do th' impossible... it becomes a mess. I knew we were in over our heads on this mission but I was hopin somehow that I -we could pull it off..."
Eric grinned and snorted.
"Guess I'm up ta Stage 3 now. Tell you what, I'm gonna go duck into a quiet spot n' look over some old family photos for a bit. Should get me inta n' through Stage 4. Then afterwards I can pop up n' trade fart jokes with th' rest o'ya - whadda ya say?"
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 1, 2015 22:42:04 GMT -6
“Stop it,” Joe snarled, getting in the senior N7’s face. “New flash, Pops: you’ll never be the next Shepard, so stop trying and start being the first Eric Lysander. You can do that a lot better than he ever will.
“Remember his interview with Wong?” he asked. “When he went into the Collector home base, he didn’t get everybody out either. He had to watch those colonists get turned into paste right in front of him, you think he didn’t get fucked up by that? You didn’t think that maybe he had started to believe his own hype, that he could save everybody? Well, he didn’t, but he didn’t throw a fucking pity party; he Charlie Miked and saved the galaxy—again.
“We went into a Collector base, achieved our objective against a superior foe and only lost one man, I’d say that’s damn impressive,” he said. “If you want to feel bad, feel bad for those civilians we couldn’t save, but don’t you dare feel bad because you couldn’t be a bigger damn hero than Shepard. I catch you doing that again, and I WILL throw you out the nearest goddamn airlock, you hear me, Marine?”
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Post by Esteban Bridges on Mar 2, 2015 9:16:56 GMT -6
"Don't forget the pretzels!" The group's resident psychotic biotic shouted before the comm channel closed. After what both teams went through, Esteban sincerely hoped that was a legitimate joke from Maelstrom and not a front. It was difficult to get a read on that one. For now, he decided not to press the issue.
"Good choice," he said in jest, sipping his drink some more. "But we could probably use something more substantial. Might as well use the ship's crew for something. I can have them bake an old Terrian delicacy. Pepperoni pizza. Have you tried it? I have not yet, but heard good things."
He set his glass down again onto the coffee table before him, gesturing towards the pile of datapads in the center. "Feel free to take a look. The Collectors seem to have their claws in quite a bit in the galaxy. They control behind the scenes, using a reliance on their technology to breed obedience. It's sinister."
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Post by Maelstrom on Mar 2, 2015 10:14:38 GMT -6
"It's sinister," Bridges said. Though he was clearly disgusted, Maelstrom wondered if he did not detect the slightest hint of admiration of their abilities as well.
He shuffled through the data-pads, but nothing jumped out at him immediately. Much of it was far too technical for him. True, he had an aptitude for science, but it was never nurtured well enough for him to fully grasp many of its more complicated or subtle applications. Finding a list that seemed to reference names and organizations more than technologies and test results, he started perusing the Collectors' activities. Hopeful, he asked, "Anything involving Cerberus?"
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Post by Eric Lysander on Mar 2, 2015 10:35:44 GMT -6
“If you want to feel bad, feel bad for those civilians we couldn’t save, but don’t you dare feel bad because you couldn’t be a bigger damn hero than Shepard. I catch you doing that again, and I WILL throw you out the nearest goddamn airlock, you hear me, Marine?”
Eric kept silent, finding Joe's change in attitude unsettling. He really did want to save the captured civilians but he was not really sure now if it was purely for their sake or his own. One pair of eyes too many were on him and he did not feel like an argument with Joe. He would humor him and his employer by joining in their post-mission revelry. Time enough to sort out feelings later.
Eric went to a cupboard and pulled out a bag of corn chips, not caring if it was someone's private stash. He then paused briefly to look his counterpart up and down.
"... I think I liked you better when you were tryin' to be funny... like me," he said. Then he sighed, "You're havin' a drink, right? I need a drink. I need... a lotta drinks..."
He juggled the bag of chips in his hands and held it up. "And some salsa."
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 2, 2015 14:02:54 GMT -6
"I think I liked you better when you were trying to be funny like me," Lysander said.
“You forget, I was a senior noncommissioned officer in the Alliance Marines before this,” Joe said. “I’ll be whoever I need to be in order to make my people do their jobs. If I need to be the friendly jokester, I’ll be that…”
He smiled widely.
“…but if I need to be the fire-breathing demon from Hell who will reach down a person’s throat and rip their soul out…”
In the blink of an eye, the smile and good humor disappeared and the dark thing peered out.
…I’ll be that too…”
And then just as quickly, the big smile and his good humor returned.
“…but I prefer to be the jokester.”
"You're having a drink, right?” the senior N7 said. “I need a drink. I need...a lot of drinks..."
He juggled a bag of chips in his hands and held it up. "…and some salsa."
“I’ll be right up, I’m going to go check on something first,” Joe said. “Try not to drain the liquor cabinet before I get up there, okay?”
*****
As he made his way to the medbay, he thought back to his time as a drill sergeant, shortly after he had made Staff Sergeant. With his size, he played the part of the fire-breathing demon, yelling, screaming and generally acting like he was seconds away from physically attacking the recruits he was supposed to train. But it was all an act. The whole point of it was to put them under pressure, to find out how they handled themselves; after all, if they couldn’t handle being yelled at, how were they going to handle the stress of real combat?
For the most part, the recruits handled themselves well, but there were some who fell apart, often in the first week, and then there were some who seemed to thrive under it. For those recruits, he didn’t ease off; in fact, he pushed them harder, to see exactly what they were made of.
*****
Haraldus was in the medbay, keeping an eye on those who had yet to recover from their injuries. He stood up and nodded as Joe entered.
“No change, huh?” he asked.
The scarred turian shook his head. “Their vitals are all normal, like they’re asleep or something,” he said. “But they’re just not waking up.”
Joe stopped in front of the stasis pod containing Morgan. He had really hoped to get to know her better, he liked her sassy manner and quick mouth. But now he expected that when she recovered, she would leave the team and never look back.
“You heard the announcement about the party, right?” he said, turning back to Haraldus.
The turian shook his head. “I think I’ll stay down here, keep an eye on them,” he said, gesturing at the patients.
“You know a VI can do that, right?” Joe asked.
Haraldus nodded. “Yes, but…I had a brother on the Citadel when the geth attacked,” he said. “He didn’t make it. Ever since then, I haven’t been so trusting of machines as I used to be.”
Joe nodded, understanding the turian’s feelings all too well. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where we are,” he said.
Haraldus nodded. “Thanks, Joe,” he said.
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Post by dargene on Mar 2, 2015 16:59:27 GMT -6
"This is my mind, that means im in control.. leave me alone" he spat out to Shroud who had now rested her arm around him "You would think bu.." Meldom interupted her "No.. leave!" he shouted brushing her arm from him and standing "Leave me alone" he said closing his eyes "Not real.. not real..". He took a deep breath and reopened his eyes at the now empty space where she once sat he breathed a sigh of relief and hope, it was short lived as he was suddenly shoved from behind and fell to the ground, the dirt softly rising as he did so.
"Got ya!" she said with a laugh "Oh that was fun.. but no you can't, the drug you gave yourself is making your mind as dull as.. well a butter knife i suppose.. not to mention that your team members probably have you on some heavy stuff also.. its like trying to stand when drunk, you can probably stumble a few meters but in the end always fall, and a subconscious is always with you ya idiot" she sat back in her spot before and patted the ground next to her inviting him to sit back down, he stood watching and spoke "No.." he said defiantly "I changed something when i threw us off that building.. i just got to do it again.." he looked round for anything that would change the nightmarish world again.
"Why do you think i chose this place, can't throw me..Well us.. off anything here" she said with a smile "Just a barren planet for miles and miles, this is suppose to be your hell actually" Meldom grinded his teeth "..Why" Shroud leaped up and spread her arms wide "Don't you recognise it, i mean like think about before a bunch of.. nuclear devices had hit it". Meldoms eyes grew wide and his legs felt weak.. "No.." he shouted, his mind flashed back to that moment when he doomed the planet. "No.." he said dropping to his knees. "Sorry to bring you here Meldom but i guess its rather fitting in a way.. I mean, its kind of what started all of this, just think if you had found another way, maybe you would still be with the STG and you would not have gone down this path"
He punched the ground with rage once while grunting, then punching it a few more times he rolled to sit back down "I can't make you leave" he said with a sigh "But i can" he slowly stood up and began to walk away from Shroud "You can't escape i told you" she said with a bored tone. Meldom replied with a harsh shout as he walked away "I don't need to escape.. Just keep fighting"
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Post by Eric Lysander on Mar 3, 2015 15:55:40 GMT -6
“I’ll be right up, I’m going to go check on something first,” Joe said. “Try not to drain the liquor cabinet before I get up there, okay?” Joe left Eric to search for a jar of salsa; surely the other attendees were not going to have plain, dry corn chips. He found a sealed jar of a green substance inside the refrigerator. He hoped it was guacamole and not something spoiled. He bumped the refrigerator door closed with his hip. He headed towards Esteban’s quarters going over his last conversation with Joe in his head. Weeks ago, Meldom had asked Eric’s opinion on some of the new mercenaries in the group. The senior N7 noted that there was something that motivated Joe much different than what drove Eric. Maybe a bit of that something revealed itself when the junior N7 snapped Eric out of his post-mission funk. As he stopped in front of Esteban’s door he wondered if this last mission was what stirred it up and if it was going to spell trouble for the team.
But then trouble was the order of the day aboard the Valiant lately.
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