abraxaslogs | Per Aspera ★ October catch-all ★ Open

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Per Aspera ★ October catch-all ★ Open

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 ]

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Her correction is noted, and in his concentration (and many attempts to) in getting those shots to hit closer to where he's tending to aim on the target Claude hadn't even noticed he'd slipped into doing that. All the more reason to take a second to - after setting the pistol down facing away from them - take a second to shake out his hands and arms much like he would with archery. And what he intends to be a short break, it gives him a chance to study Shepard for a second.

"You remind me a lot of... several people, actually," is what he says first. "All of them leaders, and from there they vary from warriors, to mercenaries, to instructors, and sometimes somewhere in between those. And not just because of the quick adjustments." Another grin goes with that, of course. "Though all of them have that in common, too. Maybe it's the military background."

For Teach, anyway, and his combat instructor too. Before he's told to stop dawdling (or worse, give the impression of quitting when he has no intention to just yet), Claude picks the pistol back up and runs through the stance checklist once again. This time he catches himself locking an elbow and avoids it for now, but not without now moving on to holding the gun up to aim and considering where to shoot next.

"I spent most of my time annoying them in various ways and however I could. Hopefully my record's slightly improved from that today."

"In my experience, people come into this job for a few reasons, and they bring a lot of baggage, myself included," Shepard waits for him to take the shot, before continuing, "In all cases, most of what they bring is pride. Everybody's got his own idea of how things ought to be run, and what's important. But in the military, what you think, what you want, your values... Not relevant. You're not here to represent anything but your capabilities, and pride gets in the way of performance. It's painful, but it's better to break yourself of it as soon as possible."

She falls quiet again, waiting. It wasn't that she didn't take pride in her work, it was that she was willing to subsume her opinions under someone else's will, someone else's vision. Respect, you might call it, or obedience, but the word that most ended up on was Service. You could have opinions, and even express them, but what you did was not about you, unless you were the one being asked to make the call.

And even then, that wasn't about you; you'd been put in that position by someone else, for a reason. The mission, the results were what mattered.

"...You're not so bad. But I'm an actions-before-words kind of girl. So, being mouthy is hardly a cardinal sin."

Shepard's explanation of the military she knows is enough for Claude to lower his weapon slightly with his focus turning from the shot he'd just taken to listening instead. What she describes isn't the same experience he knows - not entirely, at any rate - and he considers this for a few seconds.

"Sounds both the same and different from what I used to know, in some ways. I can't speak for everyone who joined, given some battalions were asked to join by their regions and that asking was generally not voluntary. But if someone didn't want to take up the causes we represented or disagreed with some part about them, that was also an important piece of how I ran things. All of it was worth hearing to make sure I was making the right decisions, especially if asking someone to put their life on the line for what I decided even if I was out there doing the same right beside them."

It's not solely being a soldier alone that he knows, though truthfully: the longer he thinks about it, the more it does sound like they have in common. There's only so far the idea of free thought can be stretched into being the truth; the reality is that of course there was the setting aside of any number of thoughts, hopes, dreams - anything in between to take up the one they were directed. It's not the first time he's thought about it that way, but it's sobering to be presented with it yet again.

Which is exactly why he pivots back to something lighter for time being. "I think what you're saying, though, is that by 'not so bad' there's a good chance that does mean some level of annoying. Unfortunately, that's not so different than from when I was in charge since I think my commanders would've also preferred less talking from me now and then. Helped break up the action side a bit, though."

She writes that down— writes everything down, really, in neat, rapid shorthand notation. Later is for the full report, and she misses the easy interface of a datapad every damn day. It was the little things that got you; you didn't appreciate the sterile nature of holographic interfaces until you had to touch every door you went through, and then eat with those hands.

But she does have to smile; none of what Sam is telling her is going to be a lie, and it's also not going to reveal much. All the better reason to be interviewing him, rather than this Parker guy.

"So you don't rent a shop, no notable associates...?" Work for mags to get by, fills his time with other things, "Fair enough. Thanks for workin' with me, Captain."

The paradoxical transition of the weapon unfolding in an unfamiliar way into the form of something very familiar is almost uncanny. Sephiroth recognizes the shape of it — mostly. Stock, trigger, muzzle, sights. The base framework of a gun does not change, no matter the universe, it would appear. Sephiroth raises his eyes to glance at her.

“Killed the coeurl,” he supplies. Clearly, a “coeurl” and a “cat” are interchangeable to this man, as he gives no further explanation, simply nodding in the affirmative as he glides over to the gun range proper.

At a distance, the targets await him patiently, humanoid in shape with their zones clearly differentiated. He raises the rifle, readies it and aims; he’s been trained in weapons handling, which shears away any potential clumsiness of a true greenhorn, and guarantees that he won’t be terribly surprised by any kickback when he pulls the trigger.

And pull the trigger he does, firing in a short burst.

It's clear he's never held this particular weapon before; just as clear is that he has worked with something not too dissimilar. She watches him look down-range, sight, and fire. Nice.

"...and Satisfaction brought it back," She finishes. She doesn't know what a coeurl is, but then again she doesn't know exactly what a pyjack is, aside from annoying, and those are native to her galaxy, "You said you were a soldier?"

She does love a good backstory. And in her experience most people, when asked, will give at least some version of one. Say this for Sephiroth, he's not boring.

"Y'know, I think your standards for what's annoying, and mine, are very different," Shepard tells him, openly amused. If he thinks this is what obnoxious sounds like, he's certainly never had to listen to a pair of squadmates bicker their way through a mission, usually right in Shepard's ear. The magic of modern commlinks, "So you were a soldier."

It's a question, or perhaps more of an offer.

"Where you from, Claude?"

It certainly sounds like they have a lot in common, provided “Geth” and “Reapers” are just other words for different types of machines. The comment about people, too, resonates with Aloy—for as much as she’s out in the wilds fighting whatever Hephaestus throws at her, more often than not it’s just people. She wishes it weren’t.

“Not surprised at all, actually.”

The appearance of a human-shaped machine is a little surprising. She’s so used to Gaia’s proclivity for animals and megafauna that the thought of a bipedal machine hasn’t really occurred to her.

“I hunt machines. They’re not really human-shaped, though.”

"Or, as a counterpoint, you haven't witnessed me be truly annoying just yet. It's all about scaling it back when appropriate."

Maybe he's teasing, maybe he isn't - he'll never tell. Or, more accurately, he'll probably put it into action at some point later on when he doesn't run the risk of annoying his instructor out of teaching him a bit more about the weaponry she has around.

For now, Shepard's question isn't wholly unexpected. It'd been part of what he was fishing for with those small reveals so he lowers the pistol, attention now fully away from the target as he considers both her and his next answer.

"I'm from Fodlan. I was a military commander there along with being a soldier, though I've learned we're far behind where many others come from. Even if it may not mean much given we all seem to have different calendars, the year was 1187 for me. And just a guess based on what I've learned, but I'm betting you're from somewhere far in the relative future based on," with a gesture to those unfamiliar weapons again, "all of this."

Well, she doesn't lack for confidence.

Actually, it's a little much; is this what people feel like when they're talking to Shepard? It could easily be mistaken for arrogance; Shepard finds herself trying to find something vicious to say, or something impressive.

It oughtn't to be so satisfying when it's the Geth, of all things, that does seem to surprise her. Still, that spark of curiosity is it's own source of intrigue.

Interesting kid, this Aloy.

"Hunt machines?" Shepard wouldn't put it that way, for all the ra ra good hunting rhetoric of Alliance Marines, they don't usually need to go out and hunt anything. Humanity's last few wars have all been defensive in nature, to no little frustration, "Usually it's the other way around; believe it or not, Geth aren't actually shaped like humans. Quarians built 'em, not us, but they got out of hand and now the Geth have made themselves everybody's problem."

Sephiroth takes a moment to assess his aim, the holes punched into the target beyond, then looks back down at the firearm. He turns it over again, inspecting it a second time. It’s still unlike anything he’s fired — though that’s not a terribly high bar to clear, given how rarely he uses them. When was the last time he even held a rifle? When he was still a child?

“I am. SOLDIER 1st Class,” he supplies, and there is something about the weight the words that suggest a soldier with not only a capital S, but a capital everything else. But he’s used to that not meaning anything to strangers from other universes altogether, no matter the prestige (and fear) it wrought back on Gaia.

“An elite branch of Shinra’s military. I’ve been trained for the role ever since I was young, but I leaned hard into my specializations somewhere down the line.”

His swordsmanship, more than anything else.

“So even I have holes in my skillset that need improving.”

"Sure."

The choice of words was, of course, intentional. Sometimes the machines want to kill her. Sometimes Aloy needs a mount, or parts for ammo, or shards. She'd rather hunt them than fight them, though of course all too often those words are entirely interchangeable.

"Sounds familiar," she says--it's not exactly the same, but the cauldrons churning out machines, and the ongoing issue of the Derangement is everyone's problem. The only question is whether the Quarians are artificial intelligence, or something else. "Everybody's problem."

"Yeah?" Shepard holds out her hands. Give her the arc projector, Aloy, she's gonna try you on something a little more refined, "I guess that makes sense."

Given the piles of crap in her base, and the general... getup. Handy, the way everybody seems to look like they're at home, in the Horizon; it could be misleading, too.

"The Geth," She indicates the hologram with a tip of her head, "Took the Quarian's whole planet. Kicked them out into space, and kept it for themselves, and the Quarians had to spend their lives wandering around in a migrant fleet, just to survive. Pretty good example of why you don't make robots smart enough to have opinions, and if you're gonna do it anyways, you don't let them self-replicate. You wouldn't think people would need that one spelled out, but..."

A shrug. Here, try a rifle. She wants to see if you know how to hold it right, without being told.

"...If that sounds familiar to you... Gotta say, your world is in bigger trouble than I thought."

Edited 2022-11-12 07:15 (UTC)

Aloy doesn't object to the weapon swap, and is quick to inspect the rifle when it's handed to her. Certainly beyond anything she's ever used (the more advanced weapons she tears off machines are generally much heavier), but it's easy enough to figure out how it works.

She raises it and looks down the sight, testing the weight, widening her stance a little to adjust for assumptive kickback.

"Yeah, it's not quite that." Not yet, anyway. In fact, she'd just put down an outside attempt to conquer Earth, albeit not one begun by machines. There's still more work to do, but she'd bought everyone more time than they'd have otherwise. Her eyebrows furrow in a way that indicates she's thinking about what to say next. "You've been to other planets? What's that like?"

Edited 2022-11-14 17:56 (UTC)

Sam watches her take down the notes, not quite leaning over to see what she's writing, exactly, but curious all the same in that friendly sort of way you can be when each person knows what the process is like. Still, Sam once again finds himself in that in between - knowing the dangers of the systems, but also knowing the need to work within them when there.

There's a reason he was in the military as long as he was.

And the small smile is all Sam needs to see to know he's guessed right - that she knows exactly what it is he's saying and doing, and approves, in the only way she really can.

He shakes his head - "Nope. Nothing." Which he realizes is pretty much all he's going to officially end up giving her. Unofficially is another question, but as she's rising through the ranks, he can't really blame her for just wanting to get the job done.

"Sorry I couldn't be more help, Commander."

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?"

Shepard hears the significance of the term— a title, clearly. She's not unused to the sensation of bafflement, but usually in this case it's from the other side. SPECTRE doesn't have much play outside of her own context, for all it's potential as a descriptor. Very few people have ever accused Shepard of subtlety, after all.

"And Shinra's your uh... nation. Country," Nailed it. She's so good at planetary politics, can you tell, "Where you're from."

"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."

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.

Edited 2022-12-02 01:34 (UTC)

To her credit, those are reasonable assumptions. But Sephiroth’s answer is a little different, in ways that very few have ever been able to assume.

“It’s a power company.”

A power company with its own army.

“I’m an employee. Technically.”

If one wanted to look at it that way, though his life had been so chained to the company’s desires that it was hard for anyone—or even himself—to think of his relationship to Shinra as an employee. Just an employee.

"I've been told that 'behind' isn't the right term, but..." Shepard gestures at the gun-rack with a wincing grimace. There's people, and then there's technology, and no one is going to convince her that black powder and flintlock are anything but the ancestral form of a better weapon, "No comment."

You don't see anyone born in Cadens visiting other stars.

"So you were an officer. I'd like to hear what kind of command you led. Big unit? Lots of conflict?"

She can't tell from his stoic bearing if he's actually listening to what's coming out of his mouth, but Shepard certainly is. She cocks her head when he says it; an employee, technically. That's not a soldier, to her mind, that's... a mercenary.

A loyal one. One who's only had one employer? Started young, and had no other options...

"A power company with a private army?" If she sounds dubious, it's because she is, "That's not a new one for me, believe it or not, but unless there's some context I'm not getting here... How is that different from being a merc?"

She watches Aloy hold it, and then adjust the hold, sighting along it. She clearly has some idea, but is she deriving it from seeing pictures, or being told, or just figuring it from the shape of the thing? It's not experience, not directly, of that Shepard is sure.

Shepard steps in, after a minute, and puts a hand on Aloy's shoulder, automatic, thoughtless warning; I'm gonna touch you, don't startle. Then she reaches forward and pulls the gun a little higher, more snug, against the cup of muscle in her shoulder.

"Don't brace against the bone like that. Horizon might be fake, but it'll still hurt if you break your shoulder," Or at least it would if she did it inside the domain of someone who knew better, Shepard assumes. Always better not to learn bad habits in the first place, "Other planets are, uh..."

She stops to think, using the half-step back for a thinking pause. It feels strangely awkward, almost intimate. Shake it off, soldier.

"I love Earth, but if I had to live my whole life there I think I'd have lost my mind. Getting out there, seeing new places, meeting people who can't even imagine life the way I saw it... It's the best part of the job. New horizon every week. New problems to go with 'em, of course, but it's not boring. It's good. Did you wanna ask anything specific?"

No comment gets a wide grin from Claude since that really does sum it up, doesn't it? "For what it's worth, I won't be taking offense if you do say we're behind. It's rather true for Fodlan, even if some of the advances turned out to be intentionally suppressed. Regardless, there's lots we have yet to learn of given what I've found here."

Some of that is a distraction because Claude needs to consider how to answer Shepard's next question. Normally - what with he's already told others here and there in different ways - it wouldn't be a question that'd give him any pause. But there's still the issue of what he'd rather the Free Cities not learn about him; even that operates on the assumption they don't already know something from bringing him here. The gun in his hand is studied again while he weighs options back and forth before eventually looking up with his answer ready.

"I was. I was in charge of tactics and strategy and I planned what was to be done and when. It was a rather sizable army so needless to say it also involved a lot of coordination and dealing with some... interesting personalities." There's a bit of a grin with that since that's an understatement. "Mostly from afar, since those I worked with directly were far less combative even when rightfully disagreeing with me."

He'll leave it there unless Shepard has other questions about that admittedly vague answer, if only because he's also curious. "What was yours like?"

An employee with only ever one employer, born and bred within the confines of the company itself. A thought that would perturb most, but when it had been Sephiroth's reality for so long, it’s hard to assess his own words as anything other than the simple truth of his station.

“I don’t know much about being a mercenary, but Shinra doesn’t contract out. Many individuals come to them for enlistment, and they pursue a career through its ranks.”

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Per Aspera ★ October catch-all ★ Open

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Gun Range

Crap how did I forget about this for so long, I am so sorry

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no worries! I don't mind backtagging; just whatever is easiest for you!

sorry for the long delay! I hope late tagging is okay

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I left this go for just so so long, I am so sorry

no worries at all, and absolutely!!

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