Per Aspera ★ October catch-all ★ Open

[earthborn]

Who: Shepard and various + Open
When: October
Where: Around Cadens and Shepard's Horizon
What: Shooting Range practice & lessons, social mingle, and some planned threads
Warnings: guns, cursing, likely discussion of violence


I. Range at the Horizon
The Normandy loomed over the shooting range, all two-hundred sixteen meters of sleek faster-than-light spacecraft. It was parked, ignominiously, on the dirt itself in very much the way that the real Normandy would only have been if it were trapped in dry-dock for repairs.

Today's occasion is nothing so necessary.

Instead, on the ground-space aft of the cargo hold there's been set up a shooting range. It looks a little makeshift, but it's serviceable enough. The Horizon's ubiquitous wish-fulfillment makes set-up and tidying simple enough, for a start.

Off to the left, there stand a few weapons racks, featuring a variety of firearms ranging from the types of firearms that might be familiar to any member of the Cadens military to a row of oddly-shaped rectangular devices representing weaponry native to Shepard's own home-universe, each gun neatly folded-down and in its place.

There are half-a-dozen shooting lanes with targets of varying distance and sophistication, ranging from holographic figures posed in attitudes of threat, paper cut-outs with zones of deadliness printed on them, vaguely humanoid outlines in plywood, aluminum, and sand-backed paper. There's even a line of bottles perched on a metal crate off to one side: the labels are printed in an alien script, and not all of them are completely empty. The lanes themselves are nothing more glamorous than strips of soil and grass, with an odd mix of gravel, beachsand, and whatever else had come in from the bordering Domains. Shepard had chosen this spot specifically for its position at the crux of several, unclaimed, and unlikely to be contested; all the better for a meeting-place.

In any case, Shepard is on-hand to assist. There's even a sign:

PRACTICE RANGE OPEN TO THE PUBLIC
help yourself if you know what you're doing
assistance available upon request



II. Rager at the Horizon
The cargo bay of the Normandy stands open, the wide bay door slid down to form a sturdy ramp, and up in the belly of the ship itself, amongst the crates and spare machinery is... a wet bar? Well, it's a table surface, and there are a variety of options, which may or may not be familiar. Serrice Ice Brandy, Batarian Fire-whiskey... Ryncol? Maybe you just want to stick with a nice beer, or seltzer-water, or maybe someone here should reconsider the combination of guns and alcohol.

Or maybe you should just go home, if you're going to be a coward about it.

In any case, Shepard is there, standing behind the bar, sitting around in the shade having a drink, or just messing around with the equipment. Step on up, and have a go, why don't you? It's hardly a wild party, but it's not as if anyone has anything better to do.



III. October Event
[ TBA ]

Comments

For Claude: Around Cadens

[earthborn]

It's a routine sort of a thing; red tape, paperwork, triplicate copies and style-guide vocabulary. Shepard's no stranger to it, though it's been a long time since she had to actually care. It's grunt-work, or an easy afternoon, or a statement of mistrust or— it doesn't matter.

What matters is what she has to do: go around like a kid and take census on a few people. Easy enough. That's what brings her here, knocking on doors. Specifically, the door to Claude's residence at Mag's Inn, in Cadens. Which is what she's doing.

"Claude von Riegan? My name is Shepard. I just wanna talk."

[godshattering]

Claude's in the middle of organizing his research notes from his latest library trip and labeling what plants he'd retrieved from his last roaming around the desert. As such he's sitting in the midst of papers and books scattered around when there's a knock on the door, a noise that catches him off-guard. With a slight frown to himself Claude takes a second to organize things considering he wasn't expecting any visitors. Opening the door doesn't offer him any further clues, though that his name is known, followed by something like an introduction, and an... offer?

"That's a rather ominous way to open a conversation, isn't it?" This is said cheerfully, any and all concern over what this talk consists of hidden well away behind leaning in the doorway casually as he studies Shepard. "But alright, I'm listening. What are we talking about?"

[earthborn]

"Sorry about that," Shepard replies on a rueful smile. She knows she can be... Well, 'kind of a bitch' is probably too strong for current circumstances. Brusque might be better. In any case, she offers Claude a handshake by way of greeting, "I'm Shepard. I'm a summoned who's been working with the Cadens people to get this situation a little more organized. Mind answering a few questions? Most it's just public knowledge."

She indicates the clipboard with a little waggle. The paper thereupon is indeed quite sparse, and populated by the obvious questions.

"Just confirming your place of residence, businesses you own, stuff like that. Basics. Government paperwork, you know?"

[godshattering]

"With the Cadens people, hm?" It's less a question than confirmation since Shepard provides the additional details needed for filling in the blanks a second later with the paperwork in her hands after they trade a handshake. That's interesting in its own right and has him raising an eyebrow seconds later. "I think you're the first one of us I've met that's working with the government, though I'm sure you're not the only one. Not like they made it seem like there was much a choice for anything else upon arriving. Well, for the military side of things, at any rate."

Statements not meant to provoke, considering he's not trying to make her job any more difficult than it needs to be and will keep up that easygoing attitude to underscore pleasantry despite his curiosity. Other Summoned might do that as it depends on who Shepard will have to chat with, and - from a place of solidarity, despite his misgivings about the Free Cities - it wasn't that long ago Claude was filling out forms tracking information himself. Granted, it was for his own war efforts and not someone else's, but still. No need to be hostile about it without a good enough reason first.

"Sadly, I can't claim any of the businesses around Cadens as my own, but you have successfully found where I live so I suppose I can start with verifying that part of their records. What else are they wanting to double check?"

For Sam: Around Cadens

[earthborn]

It's a routine sort of a thing; red tape, paperwork, triplicate copies and style-guide vocabulary. Shepard's no stranger to it, though it's been a long time since she had to actually care. It's grunt-work, or an easy afternoon, or a statement of mistrust or— it doesn't matter.

What matters is what she has to do: go around like a kid and take census on a few people. Easy enough. That's what brings her here, knocking on the door to Sam's residence in Cadens. She figured Captain Wilson for a good place to start, at least. They had seemed to have an understanding.

"Captain Wilson? It's Commander Shepard. You got a minute to talk?"

[falcony]

When Shepard gets into Mag's Inn, she'll be easily directed up to Sam's flat. It looks like any other room, there, but when she knocks, Sam will only be a moment or so before he's opening the door.

"Commander Shepard, hey." His smile is friendly, welcoming, before he steps back and ushers her inside. Peter, who he usually shares the flat with, is (as always) at the University, so the clean, fairly simple, but homey main sitting area is empty.

When she steps inside (if she does), he will close the door behind her. "What can I do for you?"

[earthborn]

Even if Shepard were interested in doing this in the corridor, which she isn't, or if she'd not received an invitation to enter, which she has, she'd probably have come in. As things stand, it's...

...Actually, it's weird. She doesn't know a lot of people who answer at the door, and the gesture feels oddly natural and distinctly foreign, all at once. She covers for the awkward moment by taking in the decor, little that it is.

"I've been asked to go around and confirm a few things about the Summoned in the area. Standard stuff, mailing addresses, places of work, government paperwork, you know?" She has a clipboard in her hand, on which to write, "I'd appreciate it if you'd help me confirm a few things, for yourself and uh..."

Another glance around, as if confirming— no, she can see it.

"...Anybody else, who lives here. Nothing too out there, I promise."

[falcony]

He can tell that she feels awkward the moment she steps inside, and Sam very easily steps into the role of trying to ease it, walking around her further into the room and considering asking her if she wanted something to drink or eat before she speaks.

Ah - so she's here on a job. Sam's demeanor doesn't shift, exactly, but he does feel a kind of tension in him again. Something keeping his back a little straighter, his jaw a little more edged. He's still smiling, still friendly, but this is different now.

"This is for Marlo, then? Didn't know they were keeping files on the Summoned."

He gestures for her to take a seat in the sitting area in the middle of the room, if she wants to. "I'll do what I can - what info you do have?"

I

[lightkeeping]

Aloy is, maybe, a little bit of a snoop, not that she can really consider it snooping when the spaceship is just sitting there, being large and imposing. She's understandably wary of spacecraft, though by now she's more than accustomed to fellow Summoned arriving from all kinds of places and various levels of technology, so she approaches it regardless. Despite what it reminds her of, there's still a part of her undeniably attracted to advanced technology, a curiosity she can't quite ignore.

The firing range clearly set up for a purpose at the base of it is also intriguing. Don't mind if she does.

If the Horizon is good for one thing, it's allowing her full access to her usual arsenal. Aloy foregoes the offered weapons (interesting, yes, but maybe a little too high-tech for her comfort level), and defaults to what she knows, letting arrows fly with an accuracy and ease that suggests a high level of experience.

[earthborn]

Aloy's probably been shooting for a while by the time Shepard comes down the gangway. She isn't dressed in her usual armor; instead, Shepard's wearing a set of Alliance BDUs, mottled blue camo and black reinforcements. She watches her for a minute or two, and then steps down onto the dirt.

"Hey, I wondered if I'd see you again," Shepard says, at distance enough to hopefully not startle Aloy, "How's things in Solvunn? Still bored out of your mind?"

[lightkeeping]

She's vaguely aware of someone in her periphery, but when they don't outright interrupt her, she sees no reason to stop. Aloy empties her quiver, but despite knowing full well she can instantaneously fill it again in order to continue, she hangs up her bow momentarily, nodding in greeting.

"Less bored than usual." But not in a good way--Thorne's attack on the Free Cities and the retaliation in kind has thrown everything into a state of flux. Unfortunately, conflict is what she knows, and in some ways she'll take it over sitting idle, doing farm work. Whether or not the war will come to Solvunn itself has yet to be seen.

"Is all this yours?"

[earthborn]

"Yep. This is Normandy," And she's proud of that, too, "You couldn't do much terraforming from in there, but it's got its advantages."

Shepard glances around. It's pretty small, as Domains seem to go; Normandy was a large enough ship, larger than some people's safe-places, and it certainly looked impressive, perched over them like a great silver bird, but... Well, it was no mountainside, or italian beach idyll, or any of the other half-dozen sprawling constructions she'd seen.

Still. It was home.

"Yeah, it's going around. Compared to my usual workload, it isn't much, but... I've been keeping busy. Set this up to help a few people learn to deal with the technology angle," She considers Aloy for a moment, and then scoffs, conceding a point that has not yet been made. The kid might look like she fell out of a bush and into a scrapheap, but Shepard's not stupid enough to forget what little she does know about Aloy, "—Though I think that's not a problem you have."

I

[godshattering]

It doesn't long for him to wander into the Horizon after that open invitation, especially not after Shepard had mentioned it so offhand to him before. Quickly, it becomes very apparent that this is not the kind of range he knows.

At first it seems like there's no one around, but that's only because he's distracted by observing everything. The targets - those he does have the common sense to view from a distance, so as to not interrupt whatever anyone else is doing or, presumably, be shot - resemble nothing he's familiar with. Then again, that's certainly been the theme of most of what Claude's been introduced to in Cadens falls into that category, so he takes it in stride.

Somewhat literally since he also hasn't stopped moving about the area to learn what he can like this is some scouting mission, but the weapons racks are what finally get him to stay in one spot. There's a couple he recognizes from the barracks months ago, ones the guards had on them he hadn't bothered to ask about in case they took that as the wrong kind of interest in the barracks' purpose, and Claude leans forward to study those first.

Footsteps approaching have him looking up as their owner approaches, and Claude offers Shepard a smile and yet another handshake if she'd like it. "You've made an offer I'm too curious to refuse, and it's learning something new. None of these exist where I'm from, so I'm starting from the beginning here."

[earthborn]

"Mister von Reigan," Shepard replies, accepting his handshake with professional courtesy. As always, her grip is tellingly firm and confident; two shakes, very proper, "I'm glad to see you took me up on it."

She's not surprised to hear that he's out of his depth; after all, she'd made the offer on the assumption that nearly everyone here was. Magic was all well and good, as were biotics, but mankind didn't abandon knives when he invented gunpowder, just added it to the arsenal. It's better to know what to do with all the potential options at hand than to leave anything on the table.

"Why don't you start by telling me what kind of experience you do have, and we'll go from there?"

[godshattering]

"In terms of what kinds of weapons these are? Absolutely none."

It feels important to underscore that, perhaps, though he at least has a slightly sheepish laugh to go with it for repeating himself mere moments later. "Where I'm from there are no kinds of automatic weapons, which I've learned other worlds either have or have some version of them. The ones I know are all manual: standard bows, swords, lances, that sort of thing for hands-on weaponry and magic for the rest. Rather basic in comparison, but I have been to a range before if that gives me any credibility at all for it being a different kind."

That's added with an easy smile since: his hopes are low with what information he's provided. "Though if it helps, I've been trained in various combat types since I was young since that's more or less a requirement where I grew up. Archery's my specialty, so I'm not unfamiliar with lining up shots, aiming... er, whatever else might be in there that overlaps, if anything."

[earthborn]

"I'm no archer, but the basic principles of aim and shoot still apply," Shepard says, considering Claude's speech with considerable anticipation. Normally she'd hand him something small and harmless and set him to building up a little muscle memory, but this is the Horizon. He isn't going to sprain his wrist here, and even if he blows a hole in something that he shouldn't, it's not going to matter.

Imaginary targets, imaginary weapons, imaginary damage, imaginary stakes. Smoke and mirror and god she hates this fucking planet so damn much.

"Let's get you started on something you might actually get to handle," She decides, motioning him over to the equipment. A moment's consideration more, and Shepard puts a simple pistol into his hands; simple by her standards at least. If it were real, it would have been handcrafted, iron and wood, ball and powder, more art tan antique as Shepard saw things.

But quite modern indeed, by the standards of the Free Cities civilian market.

"Now this is pretty primitive from my angle, but unless you change your mind about joining up, or rob a soldier, you probably won't see much different out there. How's the weight for you?"

range at the horizon!

[lackingtalent]

This place, he is sure, is the right one. The Normandy by itself is a good enough indicator- a curiosity he is drawn to- for upon this Horizon, alike all other Horizons that were not managed by himself or his loved ones- everything other than that spacecraft is so very small. Miniature worlds to him- a being attired in dim gloom, faceless- yet hardly a diminutive figure at just over 20 foot tall.

It could not be helped. For in other's Horizons, he had not the influence to change his form to something more fitting.

Shepard, more than likely, would be aware of his presence before he would be aware of hers- so should she wish to stumble upon him, he would be found, poring over the Normandy.

[earthborn]

At twenty feet, the figure is too tall to fit anywhere interior of Normandy, with the exception of the cargo bay. Space is always at a premium in space, ironically enough; every cubic meter is another hungry mouth devouring resources. Air, heat, mass, none of it is free, and nothing is ever more expensive than when it's in space.

But Shepard has fought bigger and meaner things than a six-meter set of black bedsheets. From her height of five feet and three entire inches, she folds her arms, sets back her chin, and regards Hythlodaeus with the same emnity one might feel for an inconvenient patch of rain. She doesn't think much of the drama of it all.

"Alright, what's your problem?"

[lackingtalent]

Bigger, more than likely. Meaner, most certainly. The aptly described mass of black bedsheets seems to not hear her at first- as taken as he is with the machine. Yet he seems harmless enough. Even human, in some respects- such as his hand finding its way to his chin and a sound- an odd sound- coming from him which is almost akin to a chuckle of delight and amusement both.

However. Shepard is not to be unnoticed for long. For he does seem to gather himself, inclining his head down. And. What would come would be really strange. Words? Or just moans? The variance in the sounds that come from him suggests the former, rather than the latter.


Greetings!̴̡̧͍͓̺̾̽̍̑͘
̴̙͈̍̐̋
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If Shepard were to concentrate- really concentrate- utilizing the power of her Horizon and her influence here- she would find more and more of the sounds forming more words, rather than sounds. Some sentences, even.

.̸̡̛͎͖́̀.̷̢̙͕̫͇͇̖̱͂̂̎́̀͌͆̒̂̕ͅ.̴̻͍͓͉́͛Ä̸̡̛͍̰͕̺̖̰͕̣̞́̋̄̽̋̓h̸̛̞̫͋͌͒͗.̸̼̙͗̀̍̏ ̷̬̩̘͒̑́͆Y̵̛̠̻̻̻̞̳͋̅̒̾̔͆͜͠o̷̲̱͇̲̥̠͋͌͜ừ̵̼͚͒͊̍̃͊̇̕͝ ̴̧̛̘͙̬̂̐͆̾̋̉̕ḑ̵̛͍̐͆́̐̊̅̈͠ŏ̴͉̈́̊ ̴̺̤̉̒̈̀ņ̵̙͖͖̓̀̉̓́͗ȍ̷̗͖̳͂͒̍̌̄͌ͅţ̴̛̮̞̩̦̪̬̄̊͊͐͋͝ ̵̖̠̭̰͂́͠understand ̷̛̘̟̆̀̃͊͘m̸̦̯͉͈̰̰̑̊͝ỳ̸̩͍̬̟̃͘ ̶̢̼͒words.̷̟̦͍̹͂́͋̊͑͛ ̵̬͉̔̉͆̇̃̓
̶̮̐̌̈́͊̑͌́̒͠
̶̞̼̖̪͍̠̜̹͍̈́̄͌̂̆̉R̵͇̦̫̻͆̇͌̿̆̑̂͘͝é̵̲͋́̇̕̕͝͝ģ̴̡̛̞̤̹̙̙͔̈́͑̏̈́̈́̓́̂͠r̸̨͉̖͇̤̜̲̤̭͒̈͛͘͘͝e̴̪̤̬̝͔͓̖͇͒ͅt̷͇̮̟̘͇͕̖͗̔͛̃̎̏̽̊͘͝t̵̥̳̯̓ą̴̳̙̱͍̃͆ḇ̴̠͂̽̅́͂̃͘l̴̢̡͎̣͍͖̻̠͍̊̋͠y̵̱͈̠̬̗̘̟͖̠̅̂͌̂̎̃̑̒ͅ,̸͓̞͓̬̞̹̹͉͚̾͜ ̴̨̡͚̫̳̪͍͖̣̻̀̾t̷̤̺̙̺̙̪̜̘̦̘́͂̅h̵̺͙̼̙̬͛̂̅͑̌̓̾̑̄̕ͅë̶͓̙͉̙̣̳̪̤́̾͂̓̎ ̸͓͉̲̹͉̱͇̮̀̐̽̋̄̃̍̆͘͜S̵̜̩̮̰̺͎̟͌̎̇̋̔͒́͐͂̕i̵̘͈͓̬͉͇̙͋͐͊̒̄̑͝ņ̵͕̳͉̻̟͍͔̥͓͆͒̎̅́̇̒̆g̴̮͌̽̇̂̾̔̎̾̇ű̴͔̠̻̝̗̦͖̩̿̏́̀͐̂ľ̶͓̼̮̙̠̲̫͓̤̄̒͂͋͗̋̀̕͘ä̷̛͚̹̗͕́̽̏̐͗̒̕ŗ̴̡̺̞̖̟̰͊̄̿̋̋͋̆͊͠ì̵͖̮̟̘͔̥̠̌̑̊̈́t̵̘̤͓̱̖̟͓̐́͝y̷̞͇̼͔̺̬̩͖̎̔̒̓̓͌͂͌͘͝ ̶̡͚̗͕̘̥̪̺̎̍̃̈́i̷̻̯̣͎͙̬̲̝͔̇͘ͅs̸̳̬̼̓̄͒̄̿̚͠ ̵̥̺͓̅͛̑͛̄̕͝ṉ̵̬͎̎́͋̍̎͑͒õ̵̱͍͋t̸̜͔̹͈̎̎̒̋̀̍ ̷̧̂ŝ̴̡̟̝͎͉̠́̕͘ừ̵͎͂̍̾̅̇̑̀b̴̭̤̘̳͙̳̤̤̭͌͜j̵̧̡̩̣͔͓͉̦̥̑̽̈̀̌̒͌͆̿͠e̷̹̘͍̩̳̭̦̮͎̮͝ç̶͉͇̲͎̳̯̐̍̾̓̓̚͜ţ̵̜̮͇͖̭͎̎̇͊͋̄͑̽͊͜ ̴̢̞̔́͗̔͒̌̃̏̕͝ṱ̸̢̣̩͇̩̯͙͌̏ỡ̴͉̯͇̌̊̉̆ ̴͚̱̟̠̰͙͗̀t̶̢̝̘̠͍͍͓̰͆̓͊͑̂̍̾̚ḥ̵̣̘͉͙̥̇͒͋̈́́͐e̵̻̹̖̯̫̲̐̈́́͠ͅ ̵̢̧͍̱̉͗̀̀l̴͔̦̱̭̬̪͇̟̞̋̾̑̓͛͐̈̎̽ã̵̙̱̟̭̳̪͔̯̅w̴̗̜̘̥̺̓̅̓̈́̚ͅs̶͙͒̈̍́͘̕͠ ̵͇̳̙͇̼̳̻͉̚w̵̡̡̫̙̮̦͔͈̻͊ì̸͉͔̼̜͉͊̅̏͐̈́͋̈́̚͠t̸̛̯̘̻̉͌̊͛̋̏̑h̶̰̩̹̎͛͐̎͋ĭ̴̢̭̬̦͔͗́̂̍̀̾͒͘͝n̶̖̰̺̼͈̖͔̩̾̔͑̎̉̈́ ̴̜͍̟̖͔̪͈̣̩͌̐A̴̪̖̹͎̳̠̤͓̰̪̽̕b̷̭͗͊͌̃̒͠͝ͅr̸̨̛̹̭͈͋͊͘ä̷͔͔̙́̿̏̽̈̋̓͝x̶̨̲̱͙̼͊̎̍͝a̷̢̼͎̗̮͔͇̋̈́s̸̳̭̖̯̠̟̊͑͠͝.̶̠̘͌͋̎͛̈́̃͋ ̷̨̩̘̣̤̣̫͈̗̘͋̋͋̊͛̇̒̾͑̕T̸̨̨̻̗̺͇̮̞̙́̃͋͛̅ḩ̷̗͚̮̮̜̽̂̓́e̶̡̧̟͋̌̂̿̈́̕͜ŗ̸̣̥̙̺̯̥͂̿̿̔̉̃́͝ė̶͓̠̪͔̣̩͌f̷̨͍͍̭̦̪̯̒͒͒̓͠o̸̢̧̥̝̻̰͕͉̍́̋̚r̴̠͉̙̩̻̗̫͎͚̈́̔͋̀͆͝ę̸̼̒̌̃̏̃̀̌̔̉͒,̵̤͍̽͒ ̷̗̠̤̤̯̮͙͋̇͐̌́͛̅͠t̸͎̪̗̂̀̇͂̎̚ḫ̸̡͇̲̠̻̻͛͑͋̄͛̊̑̈́e̶̡̱͝ ̸̮̜̔͛̽̈m̴͖̣̳̺̤͐a̸̛̳͙͖͇͋͌͗g̶̣͍͕̦͚̫͌̿͆̓͂͋͌͝ḯ̸̢̨̝͈̞̱̣̜͕̗̓̋̈͂͝č̶̢͖̔̓́̆ͅk̷̯̩͔̗̫͔̤̏̍́̀̃̌̎̌̚͝ṣ̵̔̓͆̈́͊͆̏͠͝ ̶̛̮̯̭̖̟͛͂̍̀̆̈́̉͠t̶̛͇̮͈͔̾̈́̓̈́̉h̷̛̯̜̦̟̥̪̥̞͊͗͘a̴̡̭̼̬̩̼̳̭̫̟̋̑̈́t̵͖̃̌̈̀́̍ ̶̢̢̹̤̙͍͓̟̝͎̃͑̆̚̕ţ̸̫̫̤̻̦̙̝̹̃͒͌̐̓͌̅̈́͘r̵̭̩̈́̆͆̍̉͝͝a̵͎͂͆̿̀̄͝n̸̨̧̡̲̠̭̜̫̤̳͆s̶̱͈̹̗̟̻̪̩̯̻̓͛̄͐l̷͙͚͓͓͕̫̦͉̱̉̇̽̈́̿̈̈̀a̸̜̘̦͚̪̟̦͎̤̓ͅt̶͓̤̭̻̞̀ḙ̴̺́͗̐̀̀͗͘͝ ̵̱̝͇̭̻̙͖̝̱͂̊̔̉̽̕͜ļ̴̖̺̳̗͓͕̒̈́̂a̷͕͋͆̅͒̓̒̅̊̒̚n̵͚̻̩̪̟̣̞͎̼̳̅̌g̵̨̙̠̙͔̻̘̞̭͒̂͒͗͠͝ŭ̴̜͈̫̓̀͜ạ̴̖͒̊̀̓́͗͆͐̏͝g̸̢̳̲̻̝̈́̆́͊͛̐͋͝ḙ̴̀̚ ̴̢̛̘̐̍̿́̍̇̚b̴̢̨̫͕̪̗͕̘́̅̅̀̓̌̑̑̔́ȩ̸͎̻͚͝ͅt̵̨̢̰̝̎́̈́̿̑͛͛͑̈́̚ẁ̷̹͕̺̭̎́̐͛͝e̶͍͂̑̈́ę̸̧̼̘̤͋͋̋̊̏̂̈́n̴̜̦̯̼͉̰̗̩͕͒̓̎͌͜͠ ̷̳̗̮̗̈́̏̑͒t̴̻͓͈͕̲̱͊̾̊͑̇͐̈́̚h̶͍̥̪͕͈̺͍̿͗̂e̵̡̮̫͈͉̟̖̬͌̅̀̆͑ ̶̖̿̋S̶̰̈́̆͆́̈́̕u̶̢̢͖̰̱̬̞̱̍̂͌͂̆̅͑̈̐m̴̙̯͙̹̄̅͂̆͠m̴̛̳̹̼̳̎̉̓͠ó̷͚n̵͈͎͈͆̈͑͂̽͘͠ͅė̴̯̮̪͕͚͋͌̚ͅḓ̸̤̩͕̋́̃̌̿͝ ̵̤͋̓͆̀͝ă̷̛̪͕̹̩͛̄͐̽͒̚̚͝r̸̡̗͓̲̹̪̲͓̃͂̓͑͠ͅȩ̸̻͉̜̗͕̺̹̬̝̇̈́͛̾͑ ̴̢̭͙̻͂̂m̷̮͔͇̱̞̖̤̗̯̾́̃̍̐̆̍ǒ̸̧̦͇̣̪͙̫͖̲̹̅́́͑̎̆͘͠ó̴̲̝͓͌̓͋̈́̾̎̆̀͝t̴̫͋͊̅͌͂̇̅̈́͜͠.̶̛̗̖̮̓̎͛̓̀̅̚ ̴̳̭̻̲̜̘̐̽̅̂̊̈́͘͝H̵̼̺̙̹̳̓̇̒͐̌͘͜o̶̧̨̨͎͖͇͕̼̊͒̉̈́̏̽̎̓̀w̴̨̛͍̱̞̝̜̳̙̞̅̃̓̒͋͜ȩ̸̥̹̟̞̦̻̠̤̥̓̈v̴̢͉͙̝̍̾̐͒͂̀̔̅̾e̷̪͖̖̫͇̹͝r̴̞̂͒̋̈̐̈́͆̈!̸͕̤̞̣̊̓̈́͛̅ ̴̼̳̳̖̪̙̳̳͊̆̔͆͜͜Ą̷̞̩̱̰̣̠̘͈̋̃͑̌͆́̇̒͂͘s̴̼̼̹̣̻̖̝͊̐̕ ̶͔̰̭̳͆͝t̴̡̡͎̰̜̫̘͖͆ͅh̷̭̤̗͛̈́̃̅̀̊͘͘͝ì̷̧̛̬̝̬͙̺̦͖̎̈̀͠s̸̺̣̲̘̉ ̸̡̪̻͍͓̣͓̹̝̾̈́̂̀͝͝͠à̶̢̢͙̮̱̻̭̓̐̽̈͝ȑ̵̜̠̖̽͊͑̐͑̓̽̓ȩ̵̘͔̣̻̞̳̓̇̒̇ä̵̹̥͔̜͕̞́̌͗̓͌͝'̵͕̮̑̄̆͝s̶̢̭̞̙̑̂͆͑̏̈̉̋̚͠ ̸͇͓̦̂̇͐̈͐o̷̧̘̼̪̲͂̈̿̍̎͑͑̀͜͝w̸̧̧̳̙̥̗̦̣̪̌̈́̇n̷̜͂͛͋̀̀̇͐̓͋͠é̷̜̞̦̃͌ȓ̵̡̤̳̥̯̺́̊̈̕ͅ,̶̮̾͑̀̍͛͑̽͜ ̴̹͎͛̓͗̏͌̇̈́͘͜y̸̲̻̥̬̆̾̋̃̍͜͝ȏ̶̺͕̖͎̺̄̓͋̎́̒̀́͠u̶͈̗̗̦͔̞̪̍̌̾̈́͗́̀̏͗͘ ̷̨̼̠̞̺͈̘̲̠͒̎̄̚͘͜͠a̵̰͇̳̜͎͉̤̟͐͒͘͜r̷̹̫͚̩̚e̵̡̟͑̏͊̇͗͊̈́ ̵͍̾̓́̍̓͂͠c̸̢̟̳̺̱͖̒̈̿̽a̴̮͍̒̀̏̂̑͗͆͒́͘p̸̧̱̹̘̭̋̚͝ͅȁ̴̪̻̼b̴̛̫̳̲̎̀̈́͊̄̎͊͝l̷͙̮͙̰̹̦̭̍̃e̵̝̝̋̊̈́͒̽͘̕͝ ̶̨̘̩̹̬̦̭̒̏ô̵̢̨͎̣͙̞͕͇͙͊̌̚f̶̨͈̭̲̺̆͒̇͘ ̶̛̳̏͋̍changing the laws ̴͇̙̝̇̑̓ǫ̷̲̬̖͖͙̜̯̞̇f̴̛̛͙̹̪̼͕̭͑̈́́̎̔̅͜͠ ̵̰̠͊͑̄̈̌͝ț̶͍̍͒̊̓̅̕̕̕̕͝h̶̹̜̺̫͂̏̎̾̓̄̃̋̚í̴̧̛̮̺̗̺̔̎̽̾̎͠s̶̡̞̲̭̰͗̃͂̇͆̈ ̸̫̳͍̣̮̹̲̠͙̈́̈́̓̈̄ͅp̷̬̗͒͊͊̍l̴̛̳͇̪͙̯̜͕̲͈͙̓̍͂͘ą̸͈̰̭͎̯̲̝͆͌c̴̲̣̦͉̮̩̲̗͐́̋e̸̢̢̨͔̼̥̱̯͋͂̊̈̍̎͘ ̸̙͊͂͆̇t̶͕̤͍̎ǫ̴̰̠̖̦̲̬̯̿͜ ̶̢̬̰͔͓̯͕͛̃͌͜ÿ̵͚́̚͜o̶̫̯̺̿̏͌u̴̢͖̩͖̭̍̿͊̾ŗ̸̖̗̘̞̍̀̉͜ ̴͎̞̪̗̩͚̗̱͉͇͂̀̔w̶̨̛̗̰͎̉̾͂̎̐̓̈́̄ḩ̵͉̥͎͔͚͇͇̜̏̔͌́̒̎̕̚ḭ̸̧̡̛̞͚͇̜̯̏̔̾̑̅m̶̤̣͕͑͂̐̿̂̔̋̚͝.̴̦̺͔̣̯̳̺̩̉̎ ̵̨̰̭͍̞̬̠͓̬͕̾̏̈͋͒Ś̶͎̞̫̤̙̼̘̼͚͗̑͊͂͝ͅḩ̷̙͍̺͚͎̲͎̝͝ͅo̶̼̲̬͕̦̟̳͎̪̔̿̍̋̓̌̽͐͠ų̵̡̻̹̱̦̠̲̇̈͜͜l̸̫̞̹̘͚̯̤͓͛ḑ̸̖̬̠̭̳̊̒̅͐͂ ̸̠̬͇̟̰͌̾̂̔̎̾́̚ý̵̹̫̝̳̗̙̘̃̈́̽̄̎͝ͅo̴̤͖̳̺͊̋͛̑͝u̸̢̧̡̲̟͋̀̕ͅ ̵̨̭͓̪̯̤̭̞̪̠̆̀͠focus,̴̘̮̱̝̜̪̽̾̽̾̇̐̋͝ͅ ̸̧̧̛̖̮̖̏̍̑͠y̴̭͚͓̑̄͗̆̋̔̔̐̈́o̸͕̽͛̎̊̎̉̎̍̚u̶͎͕̲̠̇̈́̀̔͋̅͠ͅ ̵͉̝͙̭̅̆̍̂s̵̻͕̣̜̦̓̂̃͂̿͆̾̽ḩ̶̺̮͙͗ȁ̵̢̺̝̮̇̈́͗̾̈͛l̶͉͎̩͑̍̈́̏̈́̑͒̈́́̓l̷̳͇̮̻͍͈̏͒ ̸͖͈̰́̽́͆̈́̐̑̌͝f̴̢̼̱̈́́̚̕i̶̦̫͈̘̳̐̅͑̄̿̅̕ņ̵͖̼̮͙̫̙̌̓͜ḑ̵̞͍̻̺̞̬̏̒̅ͅ ̴̦͍͋m̷̢͇̳͔͔͔͂͌͆̋e̵̬̠̲̓̊͌̈́̏̐̊̈́ ̸͓̠̲͎̿speaking your tongue.̴̢̼̞̦͎̤̎.̵̠̤̝̫̣̖̲̟̞͐̋.̶͍͇̾͌͑̑̏̓ ̶̨̛̝̤̘͚͉̬̞̫̺̎͒̋͑̿̓̀̿͐ţ̵̦͓̠̖͇͕̘̈͑͒̊́̅͠ͅḧ̵̨̧͍̱͈͙̞͇̺̱́̇̆͌̈́e̷͇̺͙̣͇̫͛̾̈́͋͝r̸̛̦̜̺̃̐̈̀̿̅e̵͈̜̔̄̀̇̇b̴̪̬̖̩͚̎̆̂͐̐̾͘͜͝y̴̧̧̱͕̮̤̼͉͊̔̇͐̓̾͝ ̸̦͚̰̟̯̣͍̩͈̕͝ͅm̵̯̯̻̺̫͉̗̘̅ả̸̻̲̳̞̹̬̠̃̿̊͆̆̔͗͘͜͠k̵̗̀ì̴͔̜̠͇͔̞̪̽͐̓̎̿͜ͅn̵̦͓̦͐ͅĝ̵̢̥͔͉̻͙̈́͂͑͝ ̵͓̂t̵̡̙̦͚̜͒́̈́͂̂͛̉̇̒͝h̴̳͕́i̸̙͔͛͌̆̆̌ͅs̷̨̜̞̲̖̹͎̅́͆͝ ̷̹̟͊̉̏͒͌̓͑͝͠m̷̛͖̖̑͐͌̃̽͛̽̃͝û̵͇̭͌͌͜c̷̺͖̯̦̺̍̏̾̈́̒̌̉͑͝͝h̴̻͖̐̈́̉ͅ ̸̨̲̤̝̠̀s̶̡̡̪͍͓̺̪͈̎i̶͈̩̬̭̭̗͑͂̓͜m̶̼͂̾p̷̯̯̈́̈́͗̓̓̿̓̿͘͝ͅl̶̢͖̰̘̹̰̙̼̃͌ͅę̶̗̞͇̩̈͆̉̽̎̀̐͘r̸̡̝̝͚̪͔̘̘̾̋̊̋̊̇̈́͊̀͘ͅ.̶̹͇̠̠͙̞̇͋̾̎͗͠ ̶̧͖̪̼̤̟͉̯̺͑̋̓̍̏̈̏͘W̴̩̩̠̩̭̜͚͒ó̵͎̼͇̯͓̹̽̅͗̀̕͘͜͜͜u̸͍̤̤͈̖̽ĺ̷̺d̴̛͔̩͒ ̷̧͙̖̯͕̥̬͕͓͖̉̀y̸̢̢̨̤̬͚͛́͝o̸͎̪̖̤̔͆̑ú̸̜̜̲͑̀̀̇̈̈́̚ͅ ̴͍͈̘̮̳̤̻͕̔̊͐͊͐͊̕m̵̲̜̪͗͑͂̿͑͑̿͌̓̏ī̷͖͇̳̻̌̃͂̿̿̉̌̐ͅn̸̻͖͐d̸͎̊͋̽͗̃?̵̥͇̤̠̽̋͗͆͝͝ͅ


And finally;

Now I hope, you can understand me?

shooting range

[supersoldier]

It doesn’t take long before their exchange over the mental network when Sephiroth shows up. The Normandy is difficult not to notice at a distance, and it draws the eye to the gun range — Sephiroth’s most obvious point of interest.

She will find him standing there, stoic as a statue as always, green eyes roving over the weapon’s rack. He pauses before reaching out for one; notably, one that might be more suited to having originated from a world other than Abraxas, far more advanced. His curiosity is obviously piqued, turning it over in gloved hands.

[earthborn]

Shepard's boots crunch on the gravel as she approaches, audible difference between the gangplank and the dirt. Very rarely has she ever been accused of being stealthy, but now she is deliberately otherwise, watching him contemplate the compressed form of— ah.

"It's an assault rifle," Shepard says, when the suspense seems to have gone on long enough, "There's a switch, there, left side bottom, grey silicon. The real one would be keyed to specific authorizations, but this is the Horizon, so..."

So he might shortly find himself holding an armful of the block, antiquated profile of the M-96 Mattock. Shepard liked to think of it as a classic, or at least of being classically intimidating, but the reality was that it was more Garrus' forte than her own. He liked precision, and she liked eliminating the need for it.

Still, doesn't hurt to have the option.

"...Sephiroth, I presume?"

[supersoldier]

He had mentioned being hard to miss, and that was no exaggeration — at least, he thinks so, insofar as his own experiences are concerned. Sephiroth turns to look at her from over the metal pauldron of his SOLDIER’s outfit. His eyes are cat-like and his silver hair sways with the movement, a lengthy curtain behind him.

“That’s right,” he says, and there is something about his tone that could be confused as boredom, but given how he returns his attention to the weapon at hand, that is clearly not the case.

“I was curious.” An obviousness, but perhaps an explanation as to why he’s manhandling her Horizon toys without so much as a proper first meeting. Maybe it passes as an apology, in his own strange way. “This weaponry is more advanced than what I’ve normally seen.”

Left side, bottom. His thumb presses against the switch on the assault rifle.

Gun Range

[wewillwewill]

Whether it's the guns or the spacecraft, there are many things to gravitate to on this little patch of Horizon.

Elidibus's wanderings serve many purposes. To find information on the other national powers through contact with the Summoned in Horizon (or other places). But the Domains have their own hidden messages, ones that often have tells about the psyche of the person he's speaking to. This is also useful.

But privately, he also finds himself drawn to the little surprises he'll find tucked away here and there with no rhyme or reason unless you remember that each Domain is distinct.

Shephard will find a youthful individual with silver hair approaching the gun range, though most particularly the weapons' racks. There isn't any sign he's rushing to pick one up but they've certainly drawn his attention.

Elidibus keeps his appearance true to how he appears in Abraxas, size and otherwise. His humanity might be questioned if one were to look at his eyes- vibrant blue irises that seemed possessed of a light all their own- or think silver hair is out of the norm. But it's not like there aren't explanations for these traits.

With the white robes he may even seem the scholarly type. Hanging against his chest is a red mask but nothing seems particularly out of the ordinary with his attire. The Arcana of the High Priestess is embroidered on the mantle of his robe. He is pretty short which lends more youthfulness to his appearance, but a sharp eye will note that he's probably at least reached adulthood.

Once he's had a moment, he turns to look for the assistance offered. On finding Shepard, he will offer a greeting. The voice is a pleasant baritone.

"This is an impressive range of firearms. Are you familiar with all of them?"

[earthborn]

"Most of them," Shepard replies, leaning casually against a crate. She'd been here for a while, manning the station so to speak, and watching who came and went, and what they looked at while she did, "It wouldn't make sense to include something here that I don't know— the exception is the crossbow. But I've got a friend who's pretty handy with his, so that's the exception I'll allow for."

That proves the rule, so to speak.

"I'm Commander Shepard," She continues, and holds out a hand to shake, "You don't look as lost as the last couple of folks to come through here."

[wewillwewill]

There is a moment's pause before Elidibus extends his hand to accept the gesture of a handshake.

"I am Elidibus. It is good to meet you, Commander." He seems to give the title due respect, though there is no sense of a military air about him. Briefly his gaze drifts back to the makeshift armory before going to the firing range itself. It's interest but definitely not confusion.

"I'm familiar with a great deal of martial weapons and their use. Though I have rarely had the occasion or need to use firearms in particular." He might not look the part but he doesn't appear to be lying either. In a place such as this it's probably not surprising though.

"I was curious about the breadth of the technology on display however. Does this represent what one may find on this star or is this selection another benefit of the nature of Horizon?"

Elidibus was - and still is - under the impression that the sophistication of technology was not such a wide range. And whereever he's from, he seems to have the ability to recognize the difference between crossbow, flintlock, rifle and space-age weaponry as very anachronistic.

But with the Summoned coming from myriad worlds and times; possibly able to bring their technologies to life on Abraxas? This was something to pay heed to, in case someone took advantage of it. No matter how many of those displayed weapons were actually present in the world now.