Glein
Vaigarin Elder
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2021
- Messages
- 55
- Reaction score
- 19
Carmelian Expanse - 009019:5 (Empty Space)
'Fallen Shrine'
A picture of a group of people. All of them bearing fox features, military combat uniforms crisp and well pressed. They were standing in a parade rest stance. The picture was taped to the inside lid of a large toolbox. The main section of the box was full of metal discs, each one stamped with very few things. Each one bore a flag design, 164th Eridarndia Air Assault Reconnaissance Division at the top of the text, a series of numbers and letters, and finally at the bottom was a barcode.
The toolbox was sitting on the desk in Soap's cabin. She had one of the tags in her hand. Her expression was somber and downcast, as though remembering something grim.
“You know, something my mother always told me was, “You should never go sad to a funeral. Smile for who they were and the good times they left in your heart, and not frown for how their death broke it”.” It was a bit of an intrusive comment, but she likely hadn’t even noticed him come in. Drake had come by for his pay from their last run, but had seen the scene and opted to wait while leaning in the door. Giving her a minute longer, the merc had opted to perhaps give her something else to focus on.
“I hope I’m not interrupting cap’, but I know I probably am. Your past isn’t my business either, but it’s always more comforting to have the boss be more chipper if possible.”, he added, not really bothering to make his presence quiet anymore.
"Yeah well, not really any good times we shared, unless you count surviving the latest grinder we got thrown into." Soap said, putting the tag back into the box and looking over. "Kind of comes with the territory of what we were and were made to do." She finished. She hadn't closed the toolbox yet, but her hand was resting on the top of the lid ready to do so.
"Oh right, your pay." She remembered, booting up her terminal and accessing the relevant sections via the keyboard and mouse pad built into the desk. Archaic sure, but Soap had not bothered to get one of those 'geists' she kept hearing about from those in the NDC. It wasn't that she didn't feel like she needed one, it just, was too much of a reminder of the way she and her unit got treated. Getting cut upon, tested, checked, all that medical horror stuff you often saw in vids and read about in books. Once done, she nodded. "Anything else ya need Drake?" She asked, looking over at the man.
“Can’t say I know much about that, or the war, was before my time. Only hear of the stories, and sometimes see the scars. At least you didn’t end up in jobs, or a fate, like some of the other genemods that live out here. Seems a pretty common thing for them to shy away from the big government and head to quieter and less populated circles then the cores.” The alert of the transaction popped up on his Geist, causing the man to nod in thanks as his irises dimmed after a short glow.
“I’ve probably already talked too much, but did you… want to help get anything off your fennecy chest?” Drake offered casually, not batting an eye at the horrible pun. He was never much of a people person, and preferred to be the jokester for reasons not shared to most. More to distance himself as the forgettable fool, but sometimes a fool was needed too, just to lighten the gloom in a room.
"I talk with Doc a lot for that. And well, be glad you weren't around for the war. I'm only just minorly glad me and my batch never actually deployed. Still feels like it's only been five years since we got put on ice to await combat operations." She mused, shrugging. "Not the... Fuck however long it's been."
“That long? Guess you also better be glad they improved the process enough to avoid freezer burn. As for the doc, seems like a good lad, but eyes me oddly at times. Not sure how to feel about it, but hey, I’m around if needed.” Small joke to try again at lightening the mood, maybe maybe more for his own benefit this time. He really wasn’t the best at this, talking to people earnestly, or so… Not formally, but also not casually either. It was a strange swing in pace for what he usually kept to, but it felt important enough to try at least.
The dark haired merc shrugged for a moment, not entirely sure on where to take the conversation from this point. “Guess I'm pretty useless when it comes to history and the past, hell you both probably see me like some youngster in comparison heh. That being said, Soap, I’m around to help however I can as long as we’re working together. So use me in whatever way you deem fit.” Less a declaration of subservient compliance, and more just a reminder that she was the boss, and he was the mook. Though it could be fully taken plenty of other ways, and he would accept that, knowing full well how it may come across to some.
"I guess." Soap said, shrugging on the subject of freezer burn. "He's decent enough. Got his own issues, but I try not to pry any more than I need to. He seems open to letting me talk though, so I've been feeling better about some parts of my past." She admits, walking to the toolbox and closing it.
"As for history, you're better than I am. And if anything, I hardly see you as a 'youngster'. Discounting the freezer time, I'm not even 6 years old." She admitted, giving a wane chuckle. "And I'm sure I'll find uses for you. Just a question of how much you enjoy being the big hulk of muscle I pull out to prove a point with." She finished, not at all wanting to touch on the other possible interpretation of his offer of being used. That was an area she was still too uncomfortable about, even if she had done things of the sort for her work.
“Hey now, I may be lean and toned, but I like to think I’m a man of equal parts brains and brawn. Finesse is such an elegant skill to practice, you know. That being said, yeah, I’ll be the muscle as much as you need. At least one of us looks like it anyways, though you could probably snap me in half.” A small wry chuckle was given, knowing full well what she was capable of. He had heard the stories, and fought other genemods before, but he could see it in how she moved sometimes, and the ease in which she picked certain objects up.
Things like wrenches and other objects with slight heft, stuff that normally causes average muscle to pause in adjustment and compensation. It was part of his skills, eyeing up those around them, and gauging unsaid threats, those kept out of sight or skin deep. Those were always the surprise killers, the cards up the sleeve always saved for the final hand, or played before they could be unplayed. He hadn’t lived this long out here without learning to watch, learn, and adjust strategy as needed.
"Oh I know. But not everyone accepts the brains behind the brawn image either." Soap pointed out, actually smiling a bit at that. "And while I might, I don't think I'd want to. That'd make Doc work a lot more than he really needs to. Plus, I'd have to pay for damages." She quipped, grinning a bit now.
“Yes, please don’t, my mother nags me to stay safe too much as is. I’d rather her not raise hell, and cause you trouble in the process.” The chuckle was returned, enjoying the humor they shared. Was nice to have someone share a joke back for once. Now if only he could get the doc loosened up with him too, this small group of theirs might not be so bad to hang around long term.
"Sounds like your mother is quite the woman." Soap pointed out, grinning. "And hey, on the subject of misconceptions, I'm not against using it myself, after all, most people think me a kitsune, and I don't mind playing the concept up just for the sake of it. Despite just being a mutated genemod." She pointed out, intentionally flipping both tails behind her.
Drake looked at said tails for a moment, his lips pursed as if judging on whether he should open his mouth. “I feel sorry for whatever poor bastards have tried to pet your tails…. Or you for that matter. Suppose you must get asked to let someone do it often?” Hell, might as well. Curiosity was a funny thing, and it was better to just ask then let it linger, or be stuck staring at said tails.
Soap snorted. "Oh, most poor bastards learn not to touch without permission. Usually cause they end up bent like a bunch of pretzels. And that's if I'm in a good mood. Bad mood? They get the deer gun." She said, smirking. "But, yes, it is kind of a common ask I get. I don't usually allow it when on the job because I don't need the distraction." She said, shrugging with a more relaxed expression. "Though I'm sure more than a few of my batch would be appalled at the idea of being so friendly with people outside the unit."
“Not being open to outsiders is pretty par for the course. Also noted on the no while on the job.” His own smirk came across his lips, as an eyebrow was raised at the information. “As much as my inner child would love for me to ask, now feels awkward given the questioning. That being said, something you mentioned, does bring another question to mind.”
Drake looked towards said deer gun that was lying nearby in its holster. “This is likely to sound like a stupid question, but.. As often as you mention deer, do you have something against deer mods? I’ve heard the stories, but those you see around today, well… they’re a lot more idle, and docile compared to the tales of antlered monsters.”
Soap couldn't help but sigh. Walking over to the pistol in question, though some would call it over the top, especially picking it up one handed, she did casually, popping the release to flick it open. Drawing out one of the bullets from its chambers, she placed it on the desk. "If you got lucky, one of those rounds could stop a deermod during the war. If you were unlucky, you might have to spend your entire triple chamber. I still get nervous around deermods because of them regularly being the ones we got pitted up against. After all, if we could outfight the assault troopers, we could outfit anyone else. Even better if we could outmove them, but just as often we got stuck fighting them directly." She said, sighing.
She looked at the toolbox once more. "We were luckier than most. We were a whole 5% more survivors than the norm. Which, when the norm is 80% dead, says something 'bout how much of a damned grinder we got put through was. 75% dead was an impressive feat for the officer who handled our training."
“Considering you were never deployed, doesn’t that mean all the ones you’ve fought were from your own side? It sounds like your leaders were playing some sick wargame with their own troops. Maybe president Faulker got what he deserved after all…” What Drake mentioned, was in reference to the fact that the president of the Republic of Eridarndia, was found dead in his own estate towards the end of the war. Most surviving stories pointed to assassination, as with a number of other leaders near the end of the war, but with no culprits ever found.
"Yup. Usually other genemods in the same week of training as we were. Live fire exercises. Intended to 'weed out the chaff' in our batches, to quote our officers." Soap replied, shrugging. "These tags," she continued, putting a hand on the toolbox, "are all that's left of the 750 we lost in those six months of training. Their bodies were recyc'd to help supply the biomass for the next batch of genemods." She finished, sighing heavily. "As for President-for-Life Faulker, well, I really couldn't give two shits. I still wish more of the officer corps of the Republic had died between when I went into the freezer and waking up in Obsidian City." She said, venom dripping form every word in that last statement.
"And I still find my fur rising in anger every time I think about waking up, expecting to see some fucking Eridarndia snot nosed colonel looking down his nose at me... And instead seeing people in full hazmat while they make sure there wasn't anything dangerous in the pod with me." She stated, curling a hand into a fist and slamming it on the desk at one point. "And you know why I got woken up first?!" She growled, almost as though she still couldn't accept the reason herself.
“Never met the freezer wardens, or ever been in cryo, so no.”, was his simple answer, being straight forward to hear the reason from her. Drake was current gen, so not really a Hassani if you thought about it, but a Sirrian like those also born on Sirris II. “Only things I’ve heard about the freezers are from mum, and how the royals adopted a few of the popsicles without family. Hell, one adopted a number of younger genemods into his family, and the other adopted an orphan boy to be his crown heir.”
"It was because I was the highest ranking member of my batch they still had uncorrupted data on. I was just a fucking Sergeant. Frank, our leader, our SNCO, was a Sergeant Major. but his file couldn't be found anymore." Soap said. "But we'd made a promise as a group. The first of us to wake was going to carry the burden of those we lost. To hopefully carry it forward into a better future than we were promised." She continued, tears starting to form. "I have 750 dog tags because our superiors didn't care that their 'pets' clung to little pieces of metal since we couldn't hold onto anything else of our batch siblings. They thought it was 'cute'!" She roared, now slamming the bottom of her fist against the wall.
"I woke up ready to hate whoever did it. To hate the officer put in charge of us. And instead I'm greeted with people who weren't even sure who the fuck we were beyond the barebones files still intact about us. We weren't even worth the file size for more than what's on our fucking tags!" She finally got out, barely holding back a sob. She was livid, not at Drake, but at herself. She never broke down like this. And this kid, this punk who'd never even known the war beyond hearing it from those who'd been there, had gotten her this worked up by asking, ASKING, honest to god questions to try and be able to work with her better. The fuck was wrong with her?
“In all fairness, it sounds like that better future came a lot more unexpectedly then imagined. You resent your creators, understandably so, and I’m sure most of them got the fate they deserved. There is nothing I can ever say to make any of this feel better, but I can at least be here if you want to vent, or a shoulder other then doc’s.” She was right, he never knew the war, or ever went through any of what she had. In comparison, things must have seemed like an idiotic cake walk, and an idealic slap to the face of everything they had survived for.
Drake wasn’t flinching away from her temper, or the dents now put into the room. Perhaps though, he had been a bit too much of the fool in asking her such questions. That was always a risk when prodding for information, but he could at least tell that the buttons pushed, had not directed her anger at him in the very least.
"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't normally get this worked up." Soap apologized, voice cracking as she found herself struggling to not cry. "I don't even get this, bad, when talking with Doc about the memories and nightmares." She continued, arm limply falling to her side. "I'll understand if you want to give me some space for the next little while." She said quietly, pulling out the chair at her desk and almost literally falling into it to clasp at her face as her shoulders began to shake as she struggled to not break down emotionally more.
Drake stepped closer, before taking a knee before the fox mod. “I haven’t run when things get heard before, and I certainly don’t leave a crying lady without offering a hug first. Cry if you need to, hell slap me if it would make you feel better. Don’t pen any of it up, just let it flow, you deserve the release of emotion after all you’ve been through.” He gestured, arms slightly ajar in emphasis of his offer.
Soap couldn't stop the shuddering sob that escaped her lips, muffled as it was by her hands. She remained in place at her desk, as the tears began to flow, shoulders rocking as the fox mod finally had a long-needed emotional release. Sure, she'd cried before, she'd been in the dumps emotionally before, but she had never really let herself 'feel' her pain before. Just, bottled it up to avoid letting people know that there was a wounded animal inside, that'd been forced to pay far too dearly to just get where she was today.
“Would you like me to step out for a bit instead? Give you a minute to yourself to let it all out?”. He asked as the shoulder was denied. Thanks mum, the shoulder things worked, jack and shit, yet again. Maybe chivalry really was dead, though… he certainly wasn’t any sort of knight. Nor did he want to be, but hey, it was how he was raised. Even if that made him a bit odd as a mercenary.
Soap shook her head. She was just not in any state to try and move right now, like all of her energy was being spent in letting out the agony and grief she'd kept inside. And it wasn't looking to stop any time soon. Even her shaking her head was in the most minute way because she couldn't bring to bear the energy needed to do it properly.
Realizing it actually hadn’t been a no, the man started to awkwardly maneuver in for the offered hug. Giving her some support, and some place other then her own hands to cry into, as he softly patted her back.
She didn't stop him, and soon she was crying into his shoulder, clearly in the midst of what some would term 'an ugly cry', her whole state of being focused on letting out the pain right now. Her arms even went so far as to hug Drake in return, shoulders rocking against him as they moved up and down with each heavy sob she let out.
After being like that for a good three, maybe even four minutes, she finally felt herself coming down from the cry that she could pull herself away from Drake, just as awkward as he had been closing it in, unable to avoid sniffling a few times. "Sorry for soaking your shirt." She said sheepishly, noting the absolutely soaked shoulder of his shirt as she got herself back into a more normal seating position on the chair.
“Luckily I have a magic item called a towel for that. Never leave home without one, as per the wanderer's guide to the sector. Though I imagine you might want some water with all that water you let out.” It was a stupid set of jokes surely, but hopefully on the right track to help her on the rise back up from her break. The wet shirt was barely noticeable anyhow, as he had spent enough time in the rain to not feel bothered by being wet.
Soap chuckled somberly, as she wiped her face with the back of a fist. "Show off." She said, flashing him a bit of a smile. "Guess I get to tell Doc I finally had that outburst he'd been telling me was gonna happen eventually." she mused aloud, laughing weakly.
“Sometimes a fool is the best medicine, so it sounds like I’m what the doc ordered. Just… Don’t tell him that, rather not end up an over the counter med if you know what I mean ha ha ha.”, Drake replied as he gave her a pat on the shoulder. Producing the towel from a pocket of his jacket, which admittedly there were more then a few, handed it over. If he was working, he was minimizing baggage as much as possible to at least an attache case, or smaller backpack. There was that one time he had a messenger bag, but had been sacrificed to deliver a message of a rather combustible reaction.
With a smile and a nod, Soap took the offered towel, working on scrubbing her face. "Ya know, it's funny. Last time I had a cry that bad... Was our first weekly 'assessment protocol', as they called them. It's funny how they could turn the life or death training exercises into such cold and flat." She admitted, once her face was only slightly red from the vigor with which she'd scrubbed her face. "We, learned real quick to bottle up hard after that. Considering that anyone who showed anything other than focus for the training was... well, shot then and there. 'No place for chaff', they'd say." She mused, and sighed. "Like we were crops to be sorted out."
“How very sink or swim. I’m sure most of those elite snobs got their deserved fates. I guess it’s also good we’ve started learning from our mistakes, at least I hope so. The stories of the old world sound so alien compared to what I’ve grown up around here. Hell, I would say those of us born here don’t even deserve the name Hassani, but Sirrian.” It was an honest set of statements, having no attachment to the old world like people such as Soap.
It was a world and set of follies that he had never known, save in passing, which made learning more of them so interesting. Drake wasn’t without empathy though, restraining his curiosity, especially after all he had dug up from her already. In all honesty, the man felt he had no right to go any further, not after her break down. Now he was just trying to cheer a young lady up, who had suffered so much, and in a guilty sense felt pity for. More so guilty in knowing people like his father, likely had a role to play in such follies, and suffering of people like Soap.
“You never did answer me on that water by the way. Perhaps a drink would help steady your nerves, yeah?”, he added, hoping to offer something of a small comfort.
"If we're drinking, let's skip the dihydrogen oxide and go straight for the 90 proof." Soap said, with a chuckle. "Sorry for getting all morbid on you over your cut by the way." She said, offering up the towel back as she stood up. "I think there's a bottle of booze that should still be stashed away in the mess pantry unless you or the doc got to it first. Not the best around, but good for a solid belt." She mused, seeming more like the Soap he knew when they first met over the obviously pained and still healing individual that Drake just saw. There was a shell clearly, one she was very used to pulling on like a suit of armor. And that shell, was who she presented herself as. A trickster spirit who happened to know enough about the world to make a living moving things around as they needed it, and the odd job using her particular combat skillset when the goods were less so.
"I think a round or three will do us both good."
Drake gave a brief and brisk, yet playful salute before heading to the mess to procure their bottle. Returning shortly with said bottle, he oddly turned it over in hand. “By the gods, this must be some classic stuff. Not many liquors are sold in good ole glass bottles anymore, motherfucker even has a cork stopper.” Back to the fool it was, a quip for a chuckle, and a few boomer jokes for the role. With these suits they wore, the crew might as well be a guest list for a masquerade, not that he was going to complain.
They all had their secrets, sides they hid, or egos sheltered in vague details. It was all part of the job, and how they lived their lives out here. It was necessary for what they did, and kept strangers out. But the question idly gnawed at the back of his mind though, how long are we going to be strangers though, which never seemed like a distant enough goal to worry about before.
"One of the few things I've picked up over my five years of being awake. Is some good stuff, but it's definitely not the 'celebration' stuff. That I keep in a very secure spot in the ship. This, well, let's just say it's the rum ration so to speak I've heard some navy pukes talk about." Soap remarked, pulling out a couple of the metal cups she had stashed in her desk and putting them on said desk. "So, now that that's done. Welcome aboard fully, to the Fallen Shrine. I'll be sure to get you one of those shrine maiden outfits later." She said, smirking in amusement at the joke made in jest. "Oh wait, you'd be a priest, not a shrine maiden. Damn, gotta get those UNS traditions right." She commented, thinking on the matter.
“Oh yes, cause me that nightmare, of my mother having a reason to laugh her ass off at me. Dressed as an actually respectable, and mundane profession. I swear she sees my father in me too much.” The joke was met with an odd mix of grumble and a chuckle. Taking the proffered cup, he took a sip to test the flavor however. “Vintage flavor for sure. Drink is probably older then me, and has the taste to match. To think this was a ration, heh, they really did have privilege. Oh well, it’s our privilege and honor now.”
Soap snorted. "Maybe. According to the skeezy guy I got it from, after verifying it wasn't outright poison, is that this, is from one of the first batches of Sirrisian-grown crops. I can't say if it matches old Hassani rum, but hey, it's got the bite to make me think it might be a contender." Soap said, hitting back her own drink with a quick gulp, giving a 'whoof' of heated breath as she felt it go down, with a shake of her head to help. "At least the cost in the end was worth it. But my celebration bottle? That's Hassani Whiskey. According to the label, bottled on the day of the War's end." She stated, smirking, waiting to see his reaction to that.
“Oh, so more alcohol older then me. Though I see the celebration bit was literal. Guess it must be the prized genuine article, making it likely priceless on the market. No wonder you keep it discreetly stashed.”A small stroke of the chin in thought followed his chuckle this round. Wondering just how much a bottle would fetch to the right collector, and figuring such a treasure would be enough to buy a whole new fallen shrine even. Seems the boss was hiding some decent treasure, which in turn made him wonder what else she had stashed away.
Giving a small humorful smile, added, “Seems you got a real treasure hidden away. Anything else of the national treasure sort in that bag of tricks and goodies of yours?”
"Nope. Only one I got. And I had to wade through a fair bit of blood before snagging it. I mean, hey, the guy hiring me said that anything I could take with me out of that butcher house I could keep. Bastard I was sent to take out didn't expect me to tear his goon's arm off, beat said goon with it, then take his pistol and use that to finish the rest of them. And considering the job was to get a bunch of kid-cicles out of his hands, I saw no problem with that." Soap said, shrugging non-chalantly as she reflected on one of her earlier jobs. She was still 90% certain whoever the guy was that hired was tied to the Dukes, but she hadn't been able to prove a damned thing. Guy didn't even show up in any searches she'd done afterwards. But the payment had been legit, and despite several police teams storming past her as she finished, not a single one accosted her.
Hence why she was certain whoever it was had been with the Dukes. You don't go through a warehouse full of people with unsuppressed weapons, have that many police show up, and not get questioned, not that close to the capital. Much less with them acting like you didn't exist or weren't potentially carrying evidence.
“Do you even remember what the guy who handed the job even looked like? Did he even give some sort of alias, or name in general?”, Drake asked, curious to know more. He’d heard stories, and even had a vague line to someone of the sort, so he was more then sure that such agents were out there. There was also the matter of how the war ended, and as earlier mentioned, did so with a lot of mysteriously killed leaders. It was the merc’s hunch that they were possibly one in the same, if not perhaps those they passed the torch to at least, which got him excited at the implied conspiracy involved with such history.
"Was about 2 meters, I'd say pretty stick like, Sykain though not sure the type off hand. Called himself 'Ericson', but that seemed more a handle than his actual name. Beyond that, couldn't say much. Kept pretty well covered, and other than a single meet to get the last of the tools I'd need to do the job, we never met except via digital communications." Soap said, shrugging, sounding more like she wish she knew more herself but was too focused on her own matters at the time to really get them then.
"That's about all I can say. Guy looked more like an intel puke by my eye than a field operative. Which honestly, if you're going to do job hand-offs to unaffiliated figures, the less obvious the hander the better." She mused sighing as she finished, shaking her head. "Doubt you or I will ever see him again, much less get more info."
'Fallen Shrine'
A picture of a group of people. All of them bearing fox features, military combat uniforms crisp and well pressed. They were standing in a parade rest stance. The picture was taped to the inside lid of a large toolbox. The main section of the box was full of metal discs, each one stamped with very few things. Each one bore a flag design, 164th Eridarndia Air Assault Reconnaissance Division at the top of the text, a series of numbers and letters, and finally at the bottom was a barcode.
The toolbox was sitting on the desk in Soap's cabin. She had one of the tags in her hand. Her expression was somber and downcast, as though remembering something grim.
“You know, something my mother always told me was, “You should never go sad to a funeral. Smile for who they were and the good times they left in your heart, and not frown for how their death broke it”.” It was a bit of an intrusive comment, but she likely hadn’t even noticed him come in. Drake had come by for his pay from their last run, but had seen the scene and opted to wait while leaning in the door. Giving her a minute longer, the merc had opted to perhaps give her something else to focus on.
“I hope I’m not interrupting cap’, but I know I probably am. Your past isn’t my business either, but it’s always more comforting to have the boss be more chipper if possible.”, he added, not really bothering to make his presence quiet anymore.
"Yeah well, not really any good times we shared, unless you count surviving the latest grinder we got thrown into." Soap said, putting the tag back into the box and looking over. "Kind of comes with the territory of what we were and were made to do." She finished. She hadn't closed the toolbox yet, but her hand was resting on the top of the lid ready to do so.
"Oh right, your pay." She remembered, booting up her terminal and accessing the relevant sections via the keyboard and mouse pad built into the desk. Archaic sure, but Soap had not bothered to get one of those 'geists' she kept hearing about from those in the NDC. It wasn't that she didn't feel like she needed one, it just, was too much of a reminder of the way she and her unit got treated. Getting cut upon, tested, checked, all that medical horror stuff you often saw in vids and read about in books. Once done, she nodded. "Anything else ya need Drake?" She asked, looking over at the man.
“Can’t say I know much about that, or the war, was before my time. Only hear of the stories, and sometimes see the scars. At least you didn’t end up in jobs, or a fate, like some of the other genemods that live out here. Seems a pretty common thing for them to shy away from the big government and head to quieter and less populated circles then the cores.” The alert of the transaction popped up on his Geist, causing the man to nod in thanks as his irises dimmed after a short glow.
“I’ve probably already talked too much, but did you… want to help get anything off your fennecy chest?” Drake offered casually, not batting an eye at the horrible pun. He was never much of a people person, and preferred to be the jokester for reasons not shared to most. More to distance himself as the forgettable fool, but sometimes a fool was needed too, just to lighten the gloom in a room.
"I talk with Doc a lot for that. And well, be glad you weren't around for the war. I'm only just minorly glad me and my batch never actually deployed. Still feels like it's only been five years since we got put on ice to await combat operations." She mused, shrugging. "Not the... Fuck however long it's been."
“That long? Guess you also better be glad they improved the process enough to avoid freezer burn. As for the doc, seems like a good lad, but eyes me oddly at times. Not sure how to feel about it, but hey, I’m around if needed.” Small joke to try again at lightening the mood, maybe maybe more for his own benefit this time. He really wasn’t the best at this, talking to people earnestly, or so… Not formally, but also not casually either. It was a strange swing in pace for what he usually kept to, but it felt important enough to try at least.
The dark haired merc shrugged for a moment, not entirely sure on where to take the conversation from this point. “Guess I'm pretty useless when it comes to history and the past, hell you both probably see me like some youngster in comparison heh. That being said, Soap, I’m around to help however I can as long as we’re working together. So use me in whatever way you deem fit.” Less a declaration of subservient compliance, and more just a reminder that she was the boss, and he was the mook. Though it could be fully taken plenty of other ways, and he would accept that, knowing full well how it may come across to some.
"I guess." Soap said, shrugging on the subject of freezer burn. "He's decent enough. Got his own issues, but I try not to pry any more than I need to. He seems open to letting me talk though, so I've been feeling better about some parts of my past." She admits, walking to the toolbox and closing it.
"As for history, you're better than I am. And if anything, I hardly see you as a 'youngster'. Discounting the freezer time, I'm not even 6 years old." She admitted, giving a wane chuckle. "And I'm sure I'll find uses for you. Just a question of how much you enjoy being the big hulk of muscle I pull out to prove a point with." She finished, not at all wanting to touch on the other possible interpretation of his offer of being used. That was an area she was still too uncomfortable about, even if she had done things of the sort for her work.
“Hey now, I may be lean and toned, but I like to think I’m a man of equal parts brains and brawn. Finesse is such an elegant skill to practice, you know. That being said, yeah, I’ll be the muscle as much as you need. At least one of us looks like it anyways, though you could probably snap me in half.” A small wry chuckle was given, knowing full well what she was capable of. He had heard the stories, and fought other genemods before, but he could see it in how she moved sometimes, and the ease in which she picked certain objects up.
Things like wrenches and other objects with slight heft, stuff that normally causes average muscle to pause in adjustment and compensation. It was part of his skills, eyeing up those around them, and gauging unsaid threats, those kept out of sight or skin deep. Those were always the surprise killers, the cards up the sleeve always saved for the final hand, or played before they could be unplayed. He hadn’t lived this long out here without learning to watch, learn, and adjust strategy as needed.
"Oh I know. But not everyone accepts the brains behind the brawn image either." Soap pointed out, actually smiling a bit at that. "And while I might, I don't think I'd want to. That'd make Doc work a lot more than he really needs to. Plus, I'd have to pay for damages." She quipped, grinning a bit now.
“Yes, please don’t, my mother nags me to stay safe too much as is. I’d rather her not raise hell, and cause you trouble in the process.” The chuckle was returned, enjoying the humor they shared. Was nice to have someone share a joke back for once. Now if only he could get the doc loosened up with him too, this small group of theirs might not be so bad to hang around long term.
"Sounds like your mother is quite the woman." Soap pointed out, grinning. "And hey, on the subject of misconceptions, I'm not against using it myself, after all, most people think me a kitsune, and I don't mind playing the concept up just for the sake of it. Despite just being a mutated genemod." She pointed out, intentionally flipping both tails behind her.
Drake looked at said tails for a moment, his lips pursed as if judging on whether he should open his mouth. “I feel sorry for whatever poor bastards have tried to pet your tails…. Or you for that matter. Suppose you must get asked to let someone do it often?” Hell, might as well. Curiosity was a funny thing, and it was better to just ask then let it linger, or be stuck staring at said tails.
Soap snorted. "Oh, most poor bastards learn not to touch without permission. Usually cause they end up bent like a bunch of pretzels. And that's if I'm in a good mood. Bad mood? They get the deer gun." She said, smirking. "But, yes, it is kind of a common ask I get. I don't usually allow it when on the job because I don't need the distraction." She said, shrugging with a more relaxed expression. "Though I'm sure more than a few of my batch would be appalled at the idea of being so friendly with people outside the unit."
“Not being open to outsiders is pretty par for the course. Also noted on the no while on the job.” His own smirk came across his lips, as an eyebrow was raised at the information. “As much as my inner child would love for me to ask, now feels awkward given the questioning. That being said, something you mentioned, does bring another question to mind.”
Drake looked towards said deer gun that was lying nearby in its holster. “This is likely to sound like a stupid question, but.. As often as you mention deer, do you have something against deer mods? I’ve heard the stories, but those you see around today, well… they’re a lot more idle, and docile compared to the tales of antlered monsters.”
Soap couldn't help but sigh. Walking over to the pistol in question, though some would call it over the top, especially picking it up one handed, she did casually, popping the release to flick it open. Drawing out one of the bullets from its chambers, she placed it on the desk. "If you got lucky, one of those rounds could stop a deermod during the war. If you were unlucky, you might have to spend your entire triple chamber. I still get nervous around deermods because of them regularly being the ones we got pitted up against. After all, if we could outfight the assault troopers, we could outfit anyone else. Even better if we could outmove them, but just as often we got stuck fighting them directly." She said, sighing.
She looked at the toolbox once more. "We were luckier than most. We were a whole 5% more survivors than the norm. Which, when the norm is 80% dead, says something 'bout how much of a damned grinder we got put through was. 75% dead was an impressive feat for the officer who handled our training."
“Considering you were never deployed, doesn’t that mean all the ones you’ve fought were from your own side? It sounds like your leaders were playing some sick wargame with their own troops. Maybe president Faulker got what he deserved after all…” What Drake mentioned, was in reference to the fact that the president of the Republic of Eridarndia, was found dead in his own estate towards the end of the war. Most surviving stories pointed to assassination, as with a number of other leaders near the end of the war, but with no culprits ever found.
"Yup. Usually other genemods in the same week of training as we were. Live fire exercises. Intended to 'weed out the chaff' in our batches, to quote our officers." Soap replied, shrugging. "These tags," she continued, putting a hand on the toolbox, "are all that's left of the 750 we lost in those six months of training. Their bodies were recyc'd to help supply the biomass for the next batch of genemods." She finished, sighing heavily. "As for President-for-Life Faulker, well, I really couldn't give two shits. I still wish more of the officer corps of the Republic had died between when I went into the freezer and waking up in Obsidian City." She said, venom dripping form every word in that last statement.
"And I still find my fur rising in anger every time I think about waking up, expecting to see some fucking Eridarndia snot nosed colonel looking down his nose at me... And instead seeing people in full hazmat while they make sure there wasn't anything dangerous in the pod with me." She stated, curling a hand into a fist and slamming it on the desk at one point. "And you know why I got woken up first?!" She growled, almost as though she still couldn't accept the reason herself.
“Never met the freezer wardens, or ever been in cryo, so no.”, was his simple answer, being straight forward to hear the reason from her. Drake was current gen, so not really a Hassani if you thought about it, but a Sirrian like those also born on Sirris II. “Only things I’ve heard about the freezers are from mum, and how the royals adopted a few of the popsicles without family. Hell, one adopted a number of younger genemods into his family, and the other adopted an orphan boy to be his crown heir.”
"It was because I was the highest ranking member of my batch they still had uncorrupted data on. I was just a fucking Sergeant. Frank, our leader, our SNCO, was a Sergeant Major. but his file couldn't be found anymore." Soap said. "But we'd made a promise as a group. The first of us to wake was going to carry the burden of those we lost. To hopefully carry it forward into a better future than we were promised." She continued, tears starting to form. "I have 750 dog tags because our superiors didn't care that their 'pets' clung to little pieces of metal since we couldn't hold onto anything else of our batch siblings. They thought it was 'cute'!" She roared, now slamming the bottom of her fist against the wall.
"I woke up ready to hate whoever did it. To hate the officer put in charge of us. And instead I'm greeted with people who weren't even sure who the fuck we were beyond the barebones files still intact about us. We weren't even worth the file size for more than what's on our fucking tags!" She finally got out, barely holding back a sob. She was livid, not at Drake, but at herself. She never broke down like this. And this kid, this punk who'd never even known the war beyond hearing it from those who'd been there, had gotten her this worked up by asking, ASKING, honest to god questions to try and be able to work with her better. The fuck was wrong with her?
“In all fairness, it sounds like that better future came a lot more unexpectedly then imagined. You resent your creators, understandably so, and I’m sure most of them got the fate they deserved. There is nothing I can ever say to make any of this feel better, but I can at least be here if you want to vent, or a shoulder other then doc’s.” She was right, he never knew the war, or ever went through any of what she had. In comparison, things must have seemed like an idiotic cake walk, and an idealic slap to the face of everything they had survived for.
Drake wasn’t flinching away from her temper, or the dents now put into the room. Perhaps though, he had been a bit too much of the fool in asking her such questions. That was always a risk when prodding for information, but he could at least tell that the buttons pushed, had not directed her anger at him in the very least.
"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't normally get this worked up." Soap apologized, voice cracking as she found herself struggling to not cry. "I don't even get this, bad, when talking with Doc about the memories and nightmares." She continued, arm limply falling to her side. "I'll understand if you want to give me some space for the next little while." She said quietly, pulling out the chair at her desk and almost literally falling into it to clasp at her face as her shoulders began to shake as she struggled to not break down emotionally more.
Drake stepped closer, before taking a knee before the fox mod. “I haven’t run when things get heard before, and I certainly don’t leave a crying lady without offering a hug first. Cry if you need to, hell slap me if it would make you feel better. Don’t pen any of it up, just let it flow, you deserve the release of emotion after all you’ve been through.” He gestured, arms slightly ajar in emphasis of his offer.
Soap couldn't stop the shuddering sob that escaped her lips, muffled as it was by her hands. She remained in place at her desk, as the tears began to flow, shoulders rocking as the fox mod finally had a long-needed emotional release. Sure, she'd cried before, she'd been in the dumps emotionally before, but she had never really let herself 'feel' her pain before. Just, bottled it up to avoid letting people know that there was a wounded animal inside, that'd been forced to pay far too dearly to just get where she was today.
“Would you like me to step out for a bit instead? Give you a minute to yourself to let it all out?”. He asked as the shoulder was denied. Thanks mum, the shoulder things worked, jack and shit, yet again. Maybe chivalry really was dead, though… he certainly wasn’t any sort of knight. Nor did he want to be, but hey, it was how he was raised. Even if that made him a bit odd as a mercenary.
Soap shook her head. She was just not in any state to try and move right now, like all of her energy was being spent in letting out the agony and grief she'd kept inside. And it wasn't looking to stop any time soon. Even her shaking her head was in the most minute way because she couldn't bring to bear the energy needed to do it properly.
Realizing it actually hadn’t been a no, the man started to awkwardly maneuver in for the offered hug. Giving her some support, and some place other then her own hands to cry into, as he softly patted her back.
She didn't stop him, and soon she was crying into his shoulder, clearly in the midst of what some would term 'an ugly cry', her whole state of being focused on letting out the pain right now. Her arms even went so far as to hug Drake in return, shoulders rocking against him as they moved up and down with each heavy sob she let out.
After being like that for a good three, maybe even four minutes, she finally felt herself coming down from the cry that she could pull herself away from Drake, just as awkward as he had been closing it in, unable to avoid sniffling a few times. "Sorry for soaking your shirt." She said sheepishly, noting the absolutely soaked shoulder of his shirt as she got herself back into a more normal seating position on the chair.
“Luckily I have a magic item called a towel for that. Never leave home without one, as per the wanderer's guide to the sector. Though I imagine you might want some water with all that water you let out.” It was a stupid set of jokes surely, but hopefully on the right track to help her on the rise back up from her break. The wet shirt was barely noticeable anyhow, as he had spent enough time in the rain to not feel bothered by being wet.
Soap chuckled somberly, as she wiped her face with the back of a fist. "Show off." She said, flashing him a bit of a smile. "Guess I get to tell Doc I finally had that outburst he'd been telling me was gonna happen eventually." she mused aloud, laughing weakly.
“Sometimes a fool is the best medicine, so it sounds like I’m what the doc ordered. Just… Don’t tell him that, rather not end up an over the counter med if you know what I mean ha ha ha.”, Drake replied as he gave her a pat on the shoulder. Producing the towel from a pocket of his jacket, which admittedly there were more then a few, handed it over. If he was working, he was minimizing baggage as much as possible to at least an attache case, or smaller backpack. There was that one time he had a messenger bag, but had been sacrificed to deliver a message of a rather combustible reaction.
With a smile and a nod, Soap took the offered towel, working on scrubbing her face. "Ya know, it's funny. Last time I had a cry that bad... Was our first weekly 'assessment protocol', as they called them. It's funny how they could turn the life or death training exercises into such cold and flat." She admitted, once her face was only slightly red from the vigor with which she'd scrubbed her face. "We, learned real quick to bottle up hard after that. Considering that anyone who showed anything other than focus for the training was... well, shot then and there. 'No place for chaff', they'd say." She mused, and sighed. "Like we were crops to be sorted out."
“How very sink or swim. I’m sure most of those elite snobs got their deserved fates. I guess it’s also good we’ve started learning from our mistakes, at least I hope so. The stories of the old world sound so alien compared to what I’ve grown up around here. Hell, I would say those of us born here don’t even deserve the name Hassani, but Sirrian.” It was an honest set of statements, having no attachment to the old world like people such as Soap.
It was a world and set of follies that he had never known, save in passing, which made learning more of them so interesting. Drake wasn’t without empathy though, restraining his curiosity, especially after all he had dug up from her already. In all honesty, the man felt he had no right to go any further, not after her break down. Now he was just trying to cheer a young lady up, who had suffered so much, and in a guilty sense felt pity for. More so guilty in knowing people like his father, likely had a role to play in such follies, and suffering of people like Soap.
“You never did answer me on that water by the way. Perhaps a drink would help steady your nerves, yeah?”, he added, hoping to offer something of a small comfort.
"If we're drinking, let's skip the dihydrogen oxide and go straight for the 90 proof." Soap said, with a chuckle. "Sorry for getting all morbid on you over your cut by the way." She said, offering up the towel back as she stood up. "I think there's a bottle of booze that should still be stashed away in the mess pantry unless you or the doc got to it first. Not the best around, but good for a solid belt." She mused, seeming more like the Soap he knew when they first met over the obviously pained and still healing individual that Drake just saw. There was a shell clearly, one she was very used to pulling on like a suit of armor. And that shell, was who she presented herself as. A trickster spirit who happened to know enough about the world to make a living moving things around as they needed it, and the odd job using her particular combat skillset when the goods were less so.
"I think a round or three will do us both good."
Drake gave a brief and brisk, yet playful salute before heading to the mess to procure their bottle. Returning shortly with said bottle, he oddly turned it over in hand. “By the gods, this must be some classic stuff. Not many liquors are sold in good ole glass bottles anymore, motherfucker even has a cork stopper.” Back to the fool it was, a quip for a chuckle, and a few boomer jokes for the role. With these suits they wore, the crew might as well be a guest list for a masquerade, not that he was going to complain.
They all had their secrets, sides they hid, or egos sheltered in vague details. It was all part of the job, and how they lived their lives out here. It was necessary for what they did, and kept strangers out. But the question idly gnawed at the back of his mind though, how long are we going to be strangers though, which never seemed like a distant enough goal to worry about before.
"One of the few things I've picked up over my five years of being awake. Is some good stuff, but it's definitely not the 'celebration' stuff. That I keep in a very secure spot in the ship. This, well, let's just say it's the rum ration so to speak I've heard some navy pukes talk about." Soap remarked, pulling out a couple of the metal cups she had stashed in her desk and putting them on said desk. "So, now that that's done. Welcome aboard fully, to the Fallen Shrine. I'll be sure to get you one of those shrine maiden outfits later." She said, smirking in amusement at the joke made in jest. "Oh wait, you'd be a priest, not a shrine maiden. Damn, gotta get those UNS traditions right." She commented, thinking on the matter.
“Oh yes, cause me that nightmare, of my mother having a reason to laugh her ass off at me. Dressed as an actually respectable, and mundane profession. I swear she sees my father in me too much.” The joke was met with an odd mix of grumble and a chuckle. Taking the proffered cup, he took a sip to test the flavor however. “Vintage flavor for sure. Drink is probably older then me, and has the taste to match. To think this was a ration, heh, they really did have privilege. Oh well, it’s our privilege and honor now.”
Soap snorted. "Maybe. According to the skeezy guy I got it from, after verifying it wasn't outright poison, is that this, is from one of the first batches of Sirrisian-grown crops. I can't say if it matches old Hassani rum, but hey, it's got the bite to make me think it might be a contender." Soap said, hitting back her own drink with a quick gulp, giving a 'whoof' of heated breath as she felt it go down, with a shake of her head to help. "At least the cost in the end was worth it. But my celebration bottle? That's Hassani Whiskey. According to the label, bottled on the day of the War's end." She stated, smirking, waiting to see his reaction to that.
“Oh, so more alcohol older then me. Though I see the celebration bit was literal. Guess it must be the prized genuine article, making it likely priceless on the market. No wonder you keep it discreetly stashed.”A small stroke of the chin in thought followed his chuckle this round. Wondering just how much a bottle would fetch to the right collector, and figuring such a treasure would be enough to buy a whole new fallen shrine even. Seems the boss was hiding some decent treasure, which in turn made him wonder what else she had stashed away.
Giving a small humorful smile, added, “Seems you got a real treasure hidden away. Anything else of the national treasure sort in that bag of tricks and goodies of yours?”
"Nope. Only one I got. And I had to wade through a fair bit of blood before snagging it. I mean, hey, the guy hiring me said that anything I could take with me out of that butcher house I could keep. Bastard I was sent to take out didn't expect me to tear his goon's arm off, beat said goon with it, then take his pistol and use that to finish the rest of them. And considering the job was to get a bunch of kid-cicles out of his hands, I saw no problem with that." Soap said, shrugging non-chalantly as she reflected on one of her earlier jobs. She was still 90% certain whoever the guy was that hired was tied to the Dukes, but she hadn't been able to prove a damned thing. Guy didn't even show up in any searches she'd done afterwards. But the payment had been legit, and despite several police teams storming past her as she finished, not a single one accosted her.
Hence why she was certain whoever it was had been with the Dukes. You don't go through a warehouse full of people with unsuppressed weapons, have that many police show up, and not get questioned, not that close to the capital. Much less with them acting like you didn't exist or weren't potentially carrying evidence.
“Do you even remember what the guy who handed the job even looked like? Did he even give some sort of alias, or name in general?”, Drake asked, curious to know more. He’d heard stories, and even had a vague line to someone of the sort, so he was more then sure that such agents were out there. There was also the matter of how the war ended, and as earlier mentioned, did so with a lot of mysteriously killed leaders. It was the merc’s hunch that they were possibly one in the same, if not perhaps those they passed the torch to at least, which got him excited at the implied conspiracy involved with such history.
"Was about 2 meters, I'd say pretty stick like, Sykain though not sure the type off hand. Called himself 'Ericson', but that seemed more a handle than his actual name. Beyond that, couldn't say much. Kept pretty well covered, and other than a single meet to get the last of the tools I'd need to do the job, we never met except via digital communications." Soap said, shrugging, sounding more like she wish she knew more herself but was too focused on her own matters at the time to really get them then.
"That's about all I can say. Guy looked more like an intel puke by my eye than a field operative. Which honestly, if you're going to do job hand-offs to unaffiliated figures, the less obvious the hander the better." She mused sighing as she finished, shaking her head. "Doubt you or I will ever see him again, much less get more info."