Heh, seems like everybody’s on top of things. That’s a good thing, though. Not complaining. Synthetic sapphires? Sound quite interesting if the entire thing is made out of it. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look at the shields. Even the swords. Melee combat always intrigued me. Was one of my better aspects as well.
Painting them pink?
Cerberus has top of the line materials. Better than the stuff the alliance makes, but we make do. We may not have the fancy equipment, but we get the job done. Unfortunately, I want the top of the line equipment. We need them for this war. Feel free to take a look at them. I was digging up an old sword of mine I forgot my father gave me. I’m thinking about taking it with me so when I see the snake, I can shove the blade through his eyes. Looks like I will be bringing a knife a gunfight.
-She chuckles softly, grinning lightly.- You want to paint them pink? I was thinking Alliance colors, but if you want to blind your opponents, be my guest.
This may be a di’kut’la question but why is their equipment better than the Alliance’s? Credits less spread out than with us? Or do they just steal everything to get what they want? Wouldn’t surprise me if it’s the latter.
I’ll take a look at them after we’re done here. Anxious to get my hands on some new weapons. Not letting my old stuff go but always nice to have additional. And you won’t be the only one bringing a knife. Always carry one, just in case. My philosophy.
*He shrugs his shoulders, motioning with a hand as if he didn’t care. Clearly, he was making a joke of it all.* Hey, if they’re blinded, that means the rest of you can go and charge at them. They’ll never see you coming. Literally.
Good evening, sir. Boss Vau, ruus’alor. Ambassador of the Mandalorians to the Normandy SR-2.
Good evening, Boss. Yes, I’ve seen your Dossier. Pretty impressive. How are you doing?
Glad the dossier is circulated. I’m doing well, thank you. And yourself?
Shepard chuckles. “With achievements like yours, the dossier /has/ to circulate.” The commander maintains a relaxed posture as he speaks. “Bit restless but, doing fine.”
"I’m glad you approve of my history, then." Boss grinned and nodded, watching his commander carefully. "I think we’re all a bit restless. Downtime during war is nice but too much is never a good thing."
At the mention of the sex they had inside of the shuttle, Steve grinned once more. “Yeah, I remember that. Was great, wasn’t it?” Steve let out a chuckle, cringing though he smiled through it. “Too bad it can’t happen anytime soon.” Steve’s eyes watched Boss as he stood and moved over to the window. Steve let his eyes roam, not caring much to be tactful right now.
Eyes moving to Boss’ face when he turned, Steve returned the smile. “I’ve got enough drugs in me to believe that right now. Though if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
"It was a little rough. Couldn’t walk right for a bit afterwards. Should have seen the looks…" Boss chuckled softly and shrugged his shoulders.
He caught the last part of where Steve’s eyes had previously been and simply grinned. Even in the hospital, Steve was still a looker. “It’s true. And we’ll keep that advantage and beat them at their own game. Bastards don’t deserve to take this galaxy for their own.”
Your RPing is lovely.Every word written down reminds me of my days as a young jewish boy living off my one video game: Republic Commando. Every phrase gives me Vietnam-esque flashbacks of running through the canyons of Geonosis, spotting a chest-high wall, and shouting, "Anti-Armor, mark that position, go!" Keep up the good work, good sir.
((Oh my god, anon. Don’t make me cry. This is why I do it. Because you people are awesome. Even if I give anons hate at times, not all of them are bad. Like this one. Thank you. Oh shab, vor entye, ner vod.
I’m sure they’ll find out sooner or later. Could be worse. Could have turned them into something more… ah, bitey.
I suppose you have a point. Could be an acklay or a rancor. Or a Trandoshan.
*she squints a little* Hang on. I know this one. Rancor… big fucking ugly shaved bear lookin’ things right?
If a bear was mutated to look like a giant freak of nature, was twenty to thirty feet tall and had razor sharp claws. And a nice appetite for anything in it’s path. Then yes, a big fucking ugly shaved bear would suffice.
[[ I approve. And mm yes, I think bed is in order. I need to get up in about two hours to catch a bus into downtown and if not I’ll have to wait until later. *carries over shoulder and drags into bed and casually snuggles* ]]
((Then you should go to. *casually enjoys the ride and casually snuggles*))
[On some levels he could hear Boss, hear him begging and clawing at the surface in an effort to reach him. There are the whispers itching at the back of his hand, urging him to pull that warmth down before breaking it, ripping it apart in hungry teeth. His jaw tenses even as his pupils dilate and the itch grows, his gun becoming more a loving tool at his side than a dangerous weapon. Still that voice tethers him to reality— the whispering voice tells him this is all fake, he should give up, give in— and soon his fingers twist in the fabric of Boss’ shirt.
Staring into those eyes he sees the humanity he’s sworn to protect despite how ragged, bloodied, broken, or twisted he may become. There is fear and stubborn determination that reminds him of better days, fiery hair, and soft beautiful laughter; his sister, his beautiful sister….Temari.
Boss speaks of passion, asking him those same words that rattle the whispers and remind him of stern, kind eyes, calloused hands, and a tired voice; the closest thing he had to a father…the closest thing he had to a mentor….Anderson.
When those fingers linger on his shoulder, he can’t help but think of two familiar faces. One donned with a cocky smirk and the other something close to a gentle smile. It wrenches hard at his chest, clawing deep and leaving him bare. He swears he can hear their voices, pleading just under the surface with Boss’ plain words, hidden just under the surface of those eyes. Two sets of hands that have managed to hold him afloat when he felt like drowning and with that knowledge he remembers that crazed look in beloved eyes, the way lips part with crimson to lick the wet blood from his fingertips before he began anew. Nausea and a quiet sick thrill races along his spine as he remembers their faces twisted in pain, marred with pleasure…Moreau….Alenko…
God what has he done to make this man still hold such faith in him? The reply is long in coming, caught in his throat with a swell of emotion. For nearly a month he’s done all he can to cut ties with he crew, to make his absence as little noticed as possible so that Temari could step up. In Boss, John realizes the painful truth that makes it even harder to reply, harder to breath.
He needs his crew more than they need him.]
[We can’t win. I’ve seen it all play out like a bad film. There’s no way we all come out clean. John closes his eyes, gripping fabric tight about the man’s heart. His eyes will give him away, show the conflict and ever present fight so he hides them. Boss doesn’t need to see any more weakness.]
I’ve done my part. I’ve died for it, bled for it, gave everything just to do my part.
[It would be easy to believe his words wouldn’t it, that voice whispers and his brows furrow. John eases his grip upon Boss’ shirt and barely manages to reign in that whispering voice, the buzzing urge luring him into giving up and letting it run it’s course. Liara can only do so much, it purrs at the back of his mind making it all the more tempting to bring his pistol to his skull just to drive it out of his head. Instead, when next he speaks it’s vulnerable, tired, and here before Boss no longer stands the Commander but just a man whose feet have lost their path.]
What heart do I have left to fight with?
*Silence immediately filled the room after he acknowledged the other man in front of him. To Boss, he was not his commander at this time. He was a dear friend, a best friend, even his brother. Back home, Boss would do anything for his family. Anything and everything. The crew of the Normandy was now as much of his family as the clones back home were.
But no person who was not of his own genetics had gained such an extreme level of trust as John had done. Temari was trusted as were the other Shepards. But there was something about John that told Boss to put all of his faith, his resources, his beliefs into him. For he was a man worth fighting for, fighting until the end if necessary.
As the grip on his shirt was loosened, leaving dark wrinkles in the fabric, Boss slowly moved his free hand to John’s hand, pressing it firmly against his own heart to make a statement.*
Do you feel that? That constant rhythm beating against your hand? It’s shared throughout every person onboard this ship. It’s the rhythm to which we live, to which we fight. We’ve all bled for it, gave almost everything for it. Your part is not done or else you would not be here before me.
*Once he knew that the hand would stay there, Boss placed his hand over John’s heart, knowing that the beat was there. It gave him the slightest bit of comfort, knowing that they were both human but engineered to be great. It didn’t matter that John had died before. He was still here.*
Your heart is your crew. Every single one of us. For as long as we are around, for as long as our hearts beat to that rhythm, we are what you fight with. Until the very end.
*His eyes were shut tight, trying to hold back the pain that he felt. The person that he came here to fight for was ready to depart from this life and move onto the next one. The man who had welcomed him after a brief introduction wanted to give up. He wanted the old John back and he was ready to do anything to get him back. To send a message to the enemy, to tell them to back off and that he wasn’t going down without a fight.*
Please believe me, John. I will do anything I can to keep you around. To bring you back. I just don’t want you to quit. I can’t deal with that.