o’brien called it piss and vinegar. some admired it (nog and jake), some hated it (weyoun), and some were caught hinging between both, depending on what their opinion of him is that day (quark). whatever it was, mutt was certainly full of it.
if he wanted them to, they heard him incessantly and saw him constantly. if he didn’t, he could disappear for days. not speaking a word to anyone, not allowing himself to be seen, but listening, just the same. he was prone to aggression and violence, would never be caught without a knife on his person, would pick fights wherever he could get them, would cuss in imaginably colorful strings of curses. despite that, in the past few years, the residents of this station have since come to uncover what rests beneath all of that.
a big heart. a sharp mind. a valuable part of the team. well-versed in tongo and dom-jat. a jack of all trades.
he’s seen him around. knows the faces. not always the names, but faces, voices. remembers. how could i forget how fucking tall he is? (he reminds him a little of maihar’du, who mutt had endeared himself to during one of the infrequent nagus visits.)
“ decided to come back, did you? “ he looks up from where he sits, boots kicked up on another seat that he brought over for that sole purpose. “ seen you and a few others in that armor of yours walking ‘round. – you the cavalry? sure aren’t starfleet. “
war came over the horizon like a slow moving tank ---- as the covenant and dominion grew close in their relations, people became more anxious. scared. violence was running rampant throughout the cosmos; UNSC & starfleet ships were being forced to retreat, unable to withstand the newly found brute force of their enemy. they had hoped they were able to make this go away quietly, that all they had to do was show a little resistance to make the opposing fleet believe that they were fighting a losing battle but as their vessels wove in and out of constellations, so did those of their adversaries, and it was clear, then, that they couldn’t handle this despite their combined efforts ------ despite their hope.
it was simple: they weren’t well equipped. they were outgunned, outmanned, out - everything. they never stood a chance ------------- so, that’s where the SPARTANs came in; stationed on DS9 to guard, aid, and fight, the UNSC loaned starfleet their best genetically modified soldiers. this was where the master chief had found himself indefinitely as he roamed the halls, rifle in hand, safety off.
>> CTN 0452-9: deep space nine. 48 phaser arrays; 36 phaser emitters; 3 phaser emitters; 48+ torpedo launchers, 2372 photon torpedoes.
>> THE MASTER CHIEF: anything else?
>> CTN 0452-9: depends, how much do you like children?
the question would have caught him off guard if it wasn’t for the fact he had seen the child before he heard them [ he would have known that scruffy hair anywhere ]. his gaze moves down behind the burnt orange of his visor before it narrows, forming a creasing between his brow ---- not that these details mattered, however, nobody could see his face though there was something about the way the other presented their inquiry that made a faint smile tug at the corners of the chief’s lips. huh, he thought, he remembered.
the soldier stands at ease before he replies, his weapon lowering only slightly so it sat against his torso rather than the previous position by his chest then he corrects him: ❝ united nations space command. ❞ it’s to the point. blunt. maybe he would appreciate the fact that the man doesn’t beat around the bush, maybe he wouldn’t.
❝ master chief petty officer john - 117, ❞ he begins, albeit he doesn’t answer the child’s question. he figures that the answer is easy enough to deduce. ❝ you? ❞
