#character study time

[cranberrytealeaves]

need to see more jud being haunted by his past

yes his entire occupation as a priest is a result of it but it definitely lingers more than that

[bellygunnr]

In The Big Green Man

Make that three...no, four, kills.

The solutions necessary to take down one, let alone four, Covenant capital ships is still occupying some of her processing power, which is unfortunate, given her current situation. The Mjolnir powered assault armor wasn’t quite as spacious as the cruiser her carrier was traipsing through. She couldn’t afford to be dwelling on extraneous things, even if they were directly tied to how much longer she might be living.

They might be living.

It was certainly a downgrade, residing here. Her view was limited to the (at the very least) numerous sensors and cameras built into the complex armor. She spun up threads to watch the her carrier’s vitals and alert him for dwindling munitions supply. Another thread went up to analyze the mapping of the ship, while the bulk of herself was dedicated to cracking Covenant communications. One or two processes were spooled to keep track of marines, as well, but she was not going to hazard her carrier about their welfare too much.

“Keep your head down. There’s two of us in here, you know,” she quips, using the speaker closest to his ear.

Her carrier says nothing at all, but he does press himself behind a mobile titanium divider to let his shields recharge. His vitals are holding steady despite the intense firefight and the three (four?) hostile blips on his motion tracker.

She was decidedly less calm, but she could sink herself into the threads of foreign data, cracking their encryption with laughable ease. The Covenant were a curious lot-- certainly technologically advanced, but lacking in certain areas.

“They’re using our escape pods to board the Pillar of Autumn,” she says crossly. “We go out, they come in. Clever bastards. Say, Chief, you know what you’re doing with that thing?”

“You’ll keep it level,” he replies flatly.

“Suppose I will.”

The shield reading on his HUD flashes green. Don’t get cocky, she wants to say, but doesn’t.

It comes as no surprise to her when she converts the Covenant language to her own and discovers that they intend to destroy the Pillar of Autumn. That is what they did best-- totally annihilate humanity and her fleets-- after all. But the unexpected resilience of the aging hull is frustrating them. Good. 

There’s also plenty of chatter about the Demon. Word travels fast across their combat comms, it seems. When the Chief brings his great green hide to bear, plasma rifles are already up to meet him, draining his shields with a combined barrage.

It’s interesting to watch him think and move. His eyes flicker constantly, hardly ever dwelling on any one detail. His jaw tightens when a marine takes a plasma slug to the gut, then one to the head, where his corpse creates a roadblock amidst the barricades and toppled steel containers. She tries to tune out the exuberant cheering of the enemy and is glad the Chief cannot hear it.

“There are Elite Majors ahead,” she says.

She does not say, they’re using a separate communications channel, nor does she say, they’re hunting you specifically, because they are approaching the deep freezer in which the Chief was residing and they are shattering the dividing glass to get to him, dismissive of the flaming breaches in this section of the ship already. 

All he needs is a split second warning and all she needs is to quell her frustrations at how useless she is, confined to the sizzling cage of this powered exoskeleton. She’s drinking in tons of data, always so much, but her companion has no use for it, his faculties better dedicated to the task at hand. 

But she does say, “Chief, you’re hurt,” because his shields had faded fast and there were plasma burns melting the tech-suit, singing the skin. She says it because his brainwaves are wiggling in such a way that she knows he’s going to ignore it, intent on breaking out of the ship. 

“I’m fine,” he says, predictably.

“Take the emergency aid kit on your way out,” she replies sternly.

(He does, snatching it off the wall without pausing. He growls in the back of his throat as he begrudgingly obeys her wordless nudge to stop, take shelter, and patch up the damage before moving on).

“The nearest escape pod is this way,” she says. “We can use the maintenance tunnels, considering this part of the ship is... a little smashed.”

“A little,” the Chief echoes.

“A little! There are Covenant in here, as well.”

The Covenant are yelling about the loss of two of their leaders, presumably the Majors from before. Another Elite-type goes down and the Grunts squall something awful. For every connection Chief quiets, three more take its place, the alien populace forever replenished by the hijacked airlocks of the Pillar of Autumn.

And the Pillar of Autumn was flying mostly on the wings of her parting gift, set for a hopeful belly landing on the strange object below. Brief, limited scans had shown her promising terrain, which she dreamed of wandering in a hotly throttled aspect of herself. There was no time to speculate. If all went well, she’d be experiencing the real thing shortly. 

Provided Chief lived, of course. But he would, because he was the Master Chief, capable of anything out of sheer disregard for life alone. 

His vitals were spiking. Only a few of his sensors were unblocked by smoke. His field of view was occupied by the cowering visage of a marine-- whose interlace reported mild injuries-- and the looming bulks of more Elites. Rifles and a primed grenade bared down on them.

“Chief! This is our only chance to get off this tub. Get in!”

Was she panicking? Perhaps a little, but who could blame her? The Chief had already been injured once on this foray and there really wasn’t another escape pod available. All others had been ejected or hijacked or destroyed, but he was struggling with desire, she could see it in the overactive synapses of his neural implants.

She tries to tune out the pained cry of the marine as he scoops him up and shoves them into the pod. He follows suit, letting the heavy hydraulic door seal shut behind them all. His eyes are still flickering. 

The Covenant want their ‘demon.’

“Chief,” she urges.

“Punch it,” he says, but he’s intoning to the pilot, shoving his way to the front of the pod. “Let’s get out of here.”

She feels herself relax in great spools of code. 

(She doesn’t miss how his vitals also shift, equalizing back into acceptable, slightly human parameters. Was there a correlation? Did she have time to find out? Another thread, dedicated.)

The pod shudders as it flies through space. 

It’s luck that keeps them undetected. Probably.

[bellygunnr]

You remember being 8.

You remember a shadowed house, the windows blacked and boarded, all the lights turned low save for a kerosene lamp that flickered more than glowed. You had a book beneath your hands, the words swimming in and out of focus, while a storm raged outside. These storms were strange-- nothing like the torrential pours of your old home, the memories of which failed the test of time. These storms had no rain and thunder.

You struggled to read the book between exhausting and the failing light, but also because your skin would start to crawl, treaded upon by millions of invisible ants. Then, rapidly, the sensation would disperse, chased off by the outside world flashing blue and green. Occasionally, a more concussive sound would follow.

And then it'd begin anew.

But, you remember being 8. You remember the door being thrown open and fresh air gusting in, followed up by your father stomping in, weighed down by some other hapless shape. You struggled to your feet, but were nudged back down by Kleiner, who pressed you to Ms. Mossman.

When she tried to shepherd you away, you dug in. You stared at the doorway with your father and the strange man and you knew--

You remembered, as you remember now, that this was Barney.

-

You remember being 14. You remember seeing another girl so pretty that you had to stop and stare. Then you had to talk to her, any means necessary. You chased her from one end of the complex to the other, only to realize that no, she wasn't ignoring you, she just couldn't hear.

She used her hands to talk, and it was pretty, because she put her whole body into it.

You resolved to learn her language, to understand her words. It took you two weeks and a month-- with most of it spent upgrading your friend, D0G.

Then, the night before your first date, the Overwatch came.

Population shuffle. Destination: City 17.

-

You remember being 16. You remember lurking in the hallway just outside the room meant for the adults-- a pretty bogus restriction, still to this day. You peeked around the doorway, ears straining for the low voices of your dad and the big green aliens.

They spoke in hoarse tones, but you understood the gist.

You slipped away with the One Free Man on your mind and Dr. Freeman on your tongue. Who was he, and why did they call him that?

You remember asking Barney.

The conversation, in retrospect, makes you sad.

-

You remember being 18. You remember your birthday, so closely monitored and calculated, so ready to be celebrated, but tragedy had struck. A botched raid meant injuries and casualties, meant you found yourself wrist-deep in other peoples' blood until they were stable enough for alien intervention.

You remember getting through your patients the quickest and seeing Barney at the end of the line. He was baring his teeth in some kind of grin, gesturing other folks past him to join the triage, but you hardly gave a damn for the injured rebels approaching you.

You remember, vividly, Barney's expression hardening upon seeing your approach. He'd closed up then, all masks and lazy smiles and haunted eyes.

He was nursing his left leg. Blood was starting to pool from it, dribbling freely from a gash in his knee.

You had never quite come to terms with Barney's mortality until just then.

The rest of the encounter was a blur.

[taxidermypossum]

chat i dont write more cuz i wanna get gaz's character right 😭