#prereach

[emile-a239]

Loa

"Why do you do that?" 

Carter's voice made him pause in his work, and blue eyes flicked towards the door to see his commander leaning against it's frame, arms crossed. Face hidden by the shadows of his hood, Emile could take the time to appreciate just how tired their commander looked after their last drop. How sometimes, despite only being a little older than Emile himself, Carter looked at least a decade older. 

Carter's response was a simple gesture towards the current focus of Emile's attentions, as he moved into the rec room. Emile looked back to his latest art project, another helmet whose previously smooth golden visor was now etched with a carved outline that was slowly being chipped out - another ghostly, grinning death's head. Emile smiled softly, as Carter settled on the couch besides him, the reinforced frame giving a little squeak of protest at the weight of two unarmored Spartan-IIIs, but that was it. 

"... Hard to explain," Emile replied, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back before he took up the blade he used for his work again, leaning forward to begin anew the short strokes that precisely whittled away at a little more of the visor's golden finish. 

"Try me, Emile," Carter's voice was gentle, but tired, and as Emile glanced at the other Alpha out of the corner of his eye, he understood immediately what his superior was asking from him. Carter was rattled after their last mission, and needed someone to just talk. It didn't matter what the subject, or if it interested him, but the sound of a voice was all he needed right now, and with Kat being a less than stellar conversationalist post-mission, Jun likely occupied with his own burdens, Jorge and Thom attending a debriefing with Holland, that left the notoriously unreserved Emile as his only real solace. "I'm sure I can keep up with the explanation." 

"... It's a family thing," Emile looked back to his work, continuing the short strokes even as he spoke. "My family left Earth I think... two, three generations back. Something like that. Settled in a colony with a heavy Haitian community." 

"Your family was from Haiti?" 

"Do you even know where Haiti is, commander?" Emile's words carried no malice, clearly playful, and to his inner relief he could hear a short chuckle escape Carter as if admitting that Emile had him there. "Island nation, settled by the Spanish and the French, who brought over slaves from Africa. Eventually there was one hell of a revolution, and my ancestors won their autonomy. Obviously it's a hell of a lot more complicated than that, but I'm not a history teacher." 

"I follow." 

"The African slaves were introduced to Catholicism sure, but they still had their own beliefs, and out of that came vodou, more or less-" 

"Voodoo, Emile?" Carter's words bore an undertone of surprise, and Emile mock-scowled at him. 

"Vodou, say it right for a start," Emile scolded. "Look, I grew up with it as a part of life, but I didn't say I believed in it. Too much faith, not enough hard evidence for me. But anyway..." 

"Can't say I know a lot about it." 

"Most people don't beyond pop culture and cartoons with the dolls and the zombie shit," Emile shrugged. "It's complex. There's a creator-god, but the man is busy, so you go to other spirits, loa, instead. It's complex as all hell, I think that's the other thing about it - I don't have time for this shit." 

"So, how does this relate to the visor thing, Emile?" 

"I'm gettin' there, Carter," Emile chuckled, knowing the uncharacteristic impatience of the other man was simply an attempt to keep him talking without feeling like he was talking to a wall. "When I was a kid, my parents taught me and... Well they taught me all about this shit. Hell, I learned Creole and English at the same time - ain't that a head trip. Never gonna forget the way you moved the first time I played translator for you, with that French lady and her kids. Never seen you that surprised." 

"That was something else, I admit," Carter nodded, his gaze occasionally refocusing to watch Emile's work, but otherwise staring off into space as Carter himself slowly began to relax with his unit mate's words to focus on instead of his own thoughts. "It was funnier when you had to keep repeating yourself for her to understand you." 

"Well, Creole still isn't French proper," Emile grinned. "Anyway, my parents raised me knowing about all that stuff. Most of it just made interesting stories, you know? But one thing stuck with me when I was a kid - Baron Samedi. I thought that bastard was just the coolest thing ever - he was rude, crude, he screwed with people, he swore all the time, cracked dirty jokes, drank and smoked all the time, and he had a skull for a face." 

Carter didn't respond this time, and Emile relaxed slightly at that. The nostalgic undertone of his voice, he figured, was helping to ease the man along. 

"Baron Samedi is the loa of death, but he's also the loa of resurrection - he can choose to heal people that are on the verge of death because he's the one who decides if you're gonna enter the realm of the dead at all. And if he decides you ain't gonna die, nothing's gonna change that... but if he decides you're gonna die, he digs your grave and greets your soul on the other side. And once that grave's been dug, nothin's keepin you here." 

"So I guess, in a way, this is my tribute to him," Emile tapped the visor with the tip of his blade gently. "And a reminder that I gotta keep a clear head on the battlefield as much as I want to just let loose and make everything hurt as much as you, me, everybody here has. I guess I want to believe in something, so why not believe that invoking the Baron will make sure I don't kill someone who doesn't deserve to die, yeah?" 

"... Just when I think I have you figured out, Emile, you turn right around and surprise me you know that?"

"Predictability is overrated." 

[mcpo-john-117]

The Morning After ~ John-117 and Adrian Fii

Somewhere between the moment of panic at waking up in an unfamiliar environment at an unknown hour and the usual stumble to the bathroom in time to catch the stray droplets of blood that tended to run from his eyes in the mornings, John-117 registered that the previous evening had been one of the best nights of his life.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed that much - certainly had never drank so much in one evening - or smiled so often in a single week before, much less a handful of hours. Talking and drinking late into the night, Adrian Fii had proved himself both charming and intelligent, able to keep the Spartan's interest in the conversation and make him laugh at the same time without any of it feeling forced or unpleasant. And late in the night, he'd ushered John out of the room, watching as he made his way down the halls weaving slightly this way and that occasionally, towards his quarters where the Spartan had collapsed into bed and fallen into a dreamless sleep with a foolish smile on his face.  His eyes focused properly in time, and his head stopped aching quickly enough for him to figure that it was just the usual aches and pains, not one of the fabled hangovers that media made out to be so debilitating. A quick hot shower and a fresh change of clothes later - much the same style he'd worn the previous evening, he wasn't particularly varied in terms of his fashion sense - the Spartan finally checked the time as he wondered just where in the hell he was supposed to get breakfast on a military ship at a quarter past nine in the morning. 

[mcpo-john-117]

//Incoming Transmission: Source- Unknown// How is independent planetary rule a child's dream, when it is simply a grander scale of the globalized economy that predated space travel and the singular rule of the United Nations? Their lives were dependent on globalized trade and a world economy, it's not so different. If anything, it would potentially lessen the power of corporations and overall improve the quality of life for the inhabitants of said planets. //End Transmission

//Outgoing Transmission: Destination - Unknown//The problem inherent in your proposal is that there are no small number of planets that are incapable of sustaining their population on the resources they possess, while others are primed for almost nothing but the production of said resources (food, resources to be refined into medical supplies, etc.). You're setting up a flawed system that automatically will put those planets without certain resources at a disadvantage, entirely dependent on "diplomatic" relations with worlds that provide the basic amenities their populations need to survive.

John bit his lower lip for a moment, somewhat surprised that the confrontational nature of the conversation had turned from mockery to political debate. If it was an Insurrectionist on the other end, and with the given name he was almost assured that it was, he'd have expected more posturing and bravado, more decrying of the UNSC and the UEG than open, honest discourse. 

//Moreover, it presents an issue that I'm uncertain you've concerned. Humanity is ever expanding, ever growing - rather, it was before the Human-Covenant War- and even then our population continues to increase at a rate that, under your proposal, would ensure the eventual need for the colonization of new worlds or severe standards enacted regarding reproduction... How would, under your system, worlds be claimed, settled and colonized? Who would pay for it? Who would have sovreignity, and if the proposal is that it would be a communal effort between planetary governments, why? And what reason does any one government have to uphold it's end of the bargain, in the end, particularly if it's one of these resource-rich and thus dominant powers I mentioned before? 

Your move, Firebrand.//End Transmission

[mcpo-john-117]

//Incoming Transmission - ID: Unknown// Amusing that a man who's more commonly identified only by a number and a rank is demanding names. Firebrand. I wonder if you've heard of me? If not, don't worry - it's only a matter of time before your masters rile you up in my direction then let slip your leash. As for my perspective, my opinions were formed by experience and opened eyes, rather than beaten into my head. Now, let's see those amazing inspirational words, Chief. //End Transmission//

The Chief frowned, tapping his fingers against the edges of the TacPad in thought, before he set it aside, reactivated the music player of his data pad, and for several minutes sat quietly in thought. Inspirational words weren’t his forte, off the battlefield. In combat, urging a soldier on involved only a few words backed by precise shots, or a comforting hand against the shoulder of a shaking young man. Off the battlefield on the other hand…Politics had never been his particular forte, really - if anything, he often found himself at odds with a number of policies and positions that he occasionally overheard soldiers discuss between deployments. What do I believe in, realistically speaking?The realization itself was dismaying to say the least, as he took his TacPad in hand, stared at it’s blinking cursor in the response box as most men would stare down the barrel of a weapon leveled at their faces. 

//Outgoing Transmission - ID Unknown//The name Firebrand is familiar, but I’m not entirely certain from where. There are so many Insurrectionist cells out there looking to make a name for themselves that it’s hard to keep track of them all. As for inspirational words - 

John sighed, running his fingertips through his hair uncomfortably as he tried to find anything to say that didn’t ring painfully hollow in his own mind. 

- As for inspirational words, I can tell you that my duty is to the people before the government, and that not all people agree with the changes in government proposed by the varying, splintered, and often at odds factions of Insurrectionist dissenters. The UNSC and the UEG, as I understand it, aren’t perfect. I’m not claiming that they are. But show me a viable alternative that works - that actually works - and if it’s better for the whole of the people, I’d support it. But as it is, with all of the systems of government I’ve studied in the past, I myself can’t conceive of something that would work better for a government on this scale. And independent planetary rule is a child’s fantasy when our worlds and lives are dependent on interstellar travel and trade - the human population is too large now to be supported planet-to-planet, and I wager you know this if you’re an intelligent man. And you seem to be. //End Transmission 

[mcpo-john-117]

//Incoming Transmission - ID: Unknown// I wonder, if the rank and file civilian actually knew what you and yours must have been created for, would they worship you so? Does it keep you up at night, Sierra-117? Or have you ever wondered, ever questioned for a moment whether people have the right to govern themselves? Or is it all locked away in that indoctrinated skull of yours, reason filtered out by that fancy armor? Inspire me with your patriotism, please. //End Transmission//

At the chime of the message alert from his TacPad, John-117 sighed, sitting up slowly to glance over what he’d thought was just some minor announcement from the captain of the vessel he was currently being transported aboard. When he was instead met with the strange message, he straightened immediately, one hand moving to the personal data pad he’d been using to play music and silencing it immediately.  The rhetoric was easy enough to identify, even if the sender was unknown. They made it clear enough in their confrontational tone, their wording, that whoever they were, they clearly weren’t fans of either the Spartans, or the UNSC.Procedure said, no, demanded that he report it. But…//Outgoing Transmission - ID: Unknown// I’m sure, whoever you are, that there are no small number of the ‘rank and file’ civilian that feel they can put two and two together when it comes to the original intent of me and mine. Just as there are no small number who will shout them down, and insist that the UNSC and the UEG knew about the Covenant long before Harvest. But Covenant, Insurrectionist, doesn’t matter - our mandate is the same: to protect Earth and all of her colonies. Indoctrination goes both ways, Stranger - you don’t read like the poster child for rational discussion yourself.Give me a name and I’ll inspire you, how about that?////Transmission Sent//  

[mcpo-john-117]

About That Drink ~ ODSTAdrianFii

It was his own fault, really. 

ONI psych had begun recommending brief stints of leave for them all, much to the dismay of the powers that be. He'd managed to dodge it for longer than he really should have - between himself and command always able to find some mission, op, or battlefield that required his presence or attentions, some function or reason to keep moving and active - until at last Personnel had finally put their foot down and that was that. 

Cycled off active duty status, regulated to off-duty leave. 

It wasn't even shore leave, not that he was interested in that sort of thing. The idea of spending his afternoons on some bright sandy beach or his evenings in a crowded casino or bar of some kind were the closest thing to horror that he'd ever really felt - too many people, too much noise, and above all nothing to occupy his mind or keep his thoughts from wandering the dark roads of memory to the things he'd seen, the things he'd done over the years. If anyone knew his age, they'd scoff and say he was too young to feel so old, but if they knew the truth they'd sing a far different tune. 

He listened to the officer drone on and on, about what was expected of him during his stay aboard the UNSC Trafalgar, listening only for key words instead of the entire lecture delivered as if he were some sort of inexperienced rube straight out of boot. Maintain his PT standards, rise for morning colors, but aside from that, rest and relax, and above all else, stay out of his MJOLNIR per orders from-

It all bled together, and while the rest didn't phase him, the prospect of being stuck without that second skin stung more than he'd like to admit. Alone without his fellows, on a ship full of Marines and ODSTs, the last thing he wanted was to be stuck without his armor, vulnerable and unarmed. 

"Chief?" 

"Hm?" 

"I said you're dismissed." 

"Yes, sir." John-117 straightened immediately, rendering a proper salute before he took a single step back, a precise about-face, and took his leave of the ONI attache's office, catching up the bag he'd set down at his side in a single graceful motion on his way. Once in the halls, he resisted the urge to heave a sigh, painfully aware that such a break in decorum would both not go over well, and be visible without the protective gold polarization of his visor hiding his face from the world. If it weren't for his scarred features and hands, his black uniform with its distinctly different cut and style compared to the rest, he'd have looked like any other young soldier who'd just gotten a tongue lashing, not a man who was supposed to be relaxing. 

With any luck, the Covenant would attack and they'd decide he was needed after all. If not... it was going to be a very, very boring two weeks.