Carter ambled into the war room and paused, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes took in the sight of Kat and Six seated on a couple of chairs, looking all too casual, and deep in conversation. The Lieutenant was nonchalantly twirling a combat knife in her fingers; meanwhile, as ever, the Lieutenant Commander held a datapad in one hand, but the loose grip on the device indicated that she was paying more attention to the discussion than whatever it was she’d been preoccupied with earlier. He watched them for a few moments, before garnering their attention with a low grunt. He had to admit, it was rather amusing how quickly their heads snapped towards him; their startled attitude quickly smoothed back into their lax state.
“We’re currently regaling one another with tales of “glorious combat”,” Six drawled, and yes, it was not hard to miss the quotation marks around the words glorious combat. He couldn’t help but sense a subtle jab at the Sangheili, who were always rambling on and on about honour and glory and other trivial things like that. A smirk flickered across her mouth, and she spun her knife deftly before pointing it at him. “Care to join us? I’m sure you’ve got plenty from the time when Noble Team didn’t exist.”
The Commander shrugged a shoulder and pulled out a chair, pointing it the wrong way so that he could straddle it, and cross his arms over the back. Maybe it was a bad habit that he’d picked up from Emile. But it wasn’t like it was doing any harm — he wasn’t there to hold an example to his Spartans, he was just to relax. “I’m game,” he answered nonchalantly, “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine.” Kat set her datapad aside, and leaned forward slightly, pointing to a scar located near her left temple, beginning at her hairline and ending in her eyebrow; the scar tissue bisected the eyebrow, but not enough to be noticed at a distance. “You remember this one, don’t you Carter? I threw myself into an explosion to save a civilian, and wound up with shrapnel stuck in my forehead. You were so pissed at me, despite how you responded...” Her eyes danced with amusement.
Carter chuckled and shook his head. She wasn’t wrong; he recalled that day all too well. It had been one of the first things he’d learned about Kat — that she was willing to do anything it took to get the job done, and then some. “Ahhh, yeah, right; that was when I wound up with shrapnel in my face pulling your ass out of there.” He tapped the long scar on his left cheek, that was criscrossed with a smaller one. “You’re not wrong: I was pissed, but because I was so damned stubborn we both wound up hurt.”
“Not bad at all. Sounds quite like something a Spartan-II would do.” Six grinned, lips curling back from her teeth in a manner that resembled the snarl of a wolf. She stretched out her right leg and caressed her thigh, where a whip-thin, snaking scar ran almost down to her knee. It looked like the skin edging the wound had been burned, perhaps by a plasma weapon. “Energy Sword. Damned split-lip tried to take my leg off. I snapped its neck as a reward.” She tipped her head back and laughed, a rasping, coarse noise that didn’t belong in that situation, and tucked her leg up beneath her. “They can’t get one over on me. No matter how hard they try.”
The two older Spartans exchanged a glance, shifting uncomfortably. Neither of them were quite sure just what had caused that sound, but they had a feeling that the team’s Noble Six was not of the same calibre as they were, and in more ways than one. The way she’d dispatched a Skirmisher yesterday — crushing its skull beneath her armoured boot — and the laughter that followed her statement about how she’d killed an Elite.... It didn’t sit right. It was behaviour that seemed to rival Emile’s hatred of the Covenant, and that was saying something. Still, they didn’t bring it up, because it wasn’t right to. The Lieutenant would just get defensive and shut down.