a place to dump all my writing

ficlets, drabbles, and links to fics written by me, tal ( you might also know me as "natty"; either nickname is valid! )

[tal--writes]

There's a gentle tap, and it takes Ahsoka a heartbeat to realize that it's in the Force, and it's coming from Rex. She turns to face him, eyes wide with surprise. "You're... Force-sensitive," she surmises. It's a guess at best, but... but somehow, it makes sense.

Rex shrugs a shoulder, rubs the back of his neck. "....I... Yeah, I guess I am." There's a flicker of something in his eyes, gone as quickly as it appears. "I've felt you do it enough times to just... copy you. Return to sender, I suppose." There's an odd twist to his mouth that suggests a smile-not-smile.

Ahsoka reaches out, squeezes his bicep. "I suppose there's a lot I'll have to teach you." she muses wryly, and this time, Rex chuckles softly.

[tal--writes]

B312 stared up into Jorge’s reddish-bronze visor, watching him pace away from the Pelican and towards her, an aura of nervous worry radiating off his form. Something wasn’t right; there was a sinking feeling in her gut that had been there ever since she’d woken up that morning. And now, it was so much worse.

“Well, I got good news and bad news,” the old bear began, trying in vain to sound light and easy, “This bird took some fire and her thruster gimbal is toast.” He hooked a thumb at the dropship behind him as he spoke.

“And that means....?” she queried, her own voice, pitched low, was rougher than it usually was. She was not going to let her fear get the best of her. They’d make it through this, one way or another.

“That means, the only way off this slag heap is gravity.” Jorge finished, and he sounded slightly somber.

Right. Well, freefalling wasn’t a problem. She was more than used to it, and perhaps she even liked it. Hell, the Lieutenant enjoyed it. There was nothing quite like being weightless, tumbling through the atmosphere towards the ground below.

“So what’s the good news, then?”

The Spartan-II’s shoulders slumped. “That was the good news.” He was unable to keep the disappointment and frustration from creeping into his tone.

Her heart sank.

“At current velocity, fifty-three seconds to endpoint.” Auntie Dot chimed in. The Lieutenant immediately thought that the AI was being unhelpful, at that point in time.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” Jorge rolled his eyes, the loud movement translating through his helmet, before taking the piece of armour off, tossing it somewhere behind him. His face was now visible to B312, and the worry in his hazel eyes had a knot forming beneath her breastbone. “Bad news is, timer’s fried. I’m gonna have to fire it manually.”

No! 

The shout went through her mind as much as it did her heart. Beneath her own aqua-tinted visor, her lips trembled. A protest hung in the back of her throat, waiting to creep out and escape, but it lodged there. She merely stared up at the old bear in horrified silence, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

“That’s a one-way trip.” was the only thing that she managed to get out, finally, after a seeming eternity of quiet.

“We all make it sooner or later.” Jorge’s eyes turned steely with resolve. “Better get going, Six, they’re gonna need you down there.” Her mind went to the rest of the team, on the ground and waiting for the two of them to return. But her heart stayed with Jorge. She didn’t want to — couldn’t — lose him. He was like family to her. “Listen, Reach has been good to me...”

He reached into the space between armour plating and bodysuit, and yanked his dogtags free of his neck. He then wrapped her hands around them, squeezing tight.

“...Time’s come to return the favour. Don’t deny me this.”

The rumbling growl warned her not to protest, and she pressed her trembling lips together. All she could do was squirm uselessly as he picked her up with a single hand, as though her quarter ton armour weighed no more than a weapons crate to him, and began to walk to the shield bay door of the corvette. He paused for just a moment, and she knew that the muscles in his body were bunching and tensing, preparing for one last act of strength.

“Tell ’em to make it count.”

The image of his gentle countenance and warm hazel eyes burned in B312′s mind as the old bear tossed her out of the corvette, and she began to sink towards Reach’s atmosphere, her momentum and the gravity well of the planet boosting her speed. Tears blurred her vision and streaked down her face as soon as she saw the great purple hole open up from within the corvette, expanding, expanding until it consumed the supercarrier and exploded outwards, bisecting the massive vessel in two.

And as she finally, finally drifted closer to the ground, the communications link echoing with panicked voices.....

Artemis screamed.

[tal--writes]

Hunter’s back stiffened, as he read over the files before him. His knees felt weak, and yet his feet felt rooted to the spot. He wanted to sink to the nanolaminate flooring, and yet he wasn’t able to bring himself to move. This wasn’t real, was it? Surely he was only dreaming.

But no, the text in front of his eyes said otherwise.

Jeanette, sitting in her shipmistress’ chair and watching him, noticed the change in his posture immediately. “Is something wrong, ma chérie?”

“Take a look at this.” Hunter’s mouth went dry, and his words failed him moments after. He gestured to the screen, and stepped aside as Jeannie approached the pedestal, a frown furrowing her eyebrows. Part of him felt sick, and so he closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. It was the easiest way he knew how to calm himself down.

Silence filled the room, aside from the constant hum of the corvette’s engines. The bridge was empty, save for the two of them, since the ship hung in geosync orbit, and Hunter had ordered his crew to get some rest. And that was fine by Jeanette; she’d ordered her own warriors to stand down and get some shut eye. Made for an opportunity to spend time alone with her lover.

Unfortunately, that peace had been shattered, the moment the Spartan had read the files sent to him from an anonymous source. His world had been tipped upside down, and now he could no longer even think straight.

“Hunter, I am so sorry.”

He turned to face her at those soft words, and felt something harsh and bitter and full of grief lodge itself in his chest. It made it hard for him to breathe, and he didn’t know if he wanted to cry, or to hit something.

Jeannie’s expression was gentle, and full of understanding, and she wrapped her arms around his biceps, pulling him close against her. One hand carded through his golden blond locks, and he sighed, letting his weight sink into her form.

“I just don’t get why my parents never told me I had.... siblings.” His voice, trembling, choked on the words. “And that all of them perished during the Covenant’s attack on their homeworld. I was born a year after it happened, and I grew up believing I was an only child. And yet I had three siblings; one of whom was murdered by those damned aliens, no name mentioned, the second cropped up as a Spartan-III years later, Ares, and the third wasn’t even born, a little girl who had yet to be named.”

It hurt, to know that his parents had kept that from him. It hurt to know that he’d had more family than he’d ever realized, and that two of them had perished before he had ever existed.

“What can I do to help ease your pain?” his lover questioned, her voice not even a whisper in his ear.

“Just... hold me. Please.” Hunter shut his eyes more tightly, stemming the flow of tears that now threatened to fall. “Don’t let go.”

“Jamais. Je promets.”

[tal--writes]

“—cut that Spartan down as it fled for safety. It was a fine shot, if I do say so myself!”

Khyl ’Voramai stepped into the room that served as a mess, and his ears were met with the boastful gloating of another Field Marshal, one fist raised in the air in triumph. He met the gaze of the other warrior that the Field Marshal was conversing with, one of his own Sangheili by the name of L’noro. The young, brash navigations officer rolled his eyes, before nodding in deference to his superior, and breaking himself off from the conversation.

“Repairs on the Destroyer’s Invocation are complete, and she will be ready to join the other ships that are glassing the planet’s surface.” he reported. 

Khyl uttered a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat. “Excellent. See to it that my ship is ready and waiting. I must meet with Fleetmaster ’Utaralee.... something about Rho ’Barutamee being indisposed.” ’Voramai’s words were spoken in a hushed whisper, and L’noro’s eyes widened with surprise. 

“There are rumors that ’Barutamee’s supercarrier was destroyed!” he hissed.

“I intend to find out.” Khyl answered grimly, and nodded to L’noro as the navigations officer went on his way. He then strode toward the other Field Marshal, alone now, and still looking very much full of himself. “What feat do you claim to have accomplished, Field Marshal....” He allowed his words to hang, an indicator that he expected a name to be given.

“Xul ’Konaree, second in command of the Devoted Sentries.” The shorter Sangheili stood up straighter, and shifted his gaze upward to look Khyl in the eye. “I have accomplished something that many of our brothers have been unable to, over the course of this long war. I have successfully killed a Spartan.”

Khyl closed his mandibles with a quiet clack; a gesture of dismissal. Thus far, he was unimpressed with ’Konaree’s cocky attitude, and the fact that he was trying to impress the other warriors around him. “What of it, ’Konaree?” He deliberately addressed the other Field Marshal by his surname, to show that Xul had not earned his respect.

“A shot from a Phantom, using a needle rifle. Pinged the human right in the helm as it was running for safety. It was in the city they call New Alexandria; glassing had just begun, and the few humans left were going to hide. I was lucky enough to chance upon an open plaza, and my luck would have it that a group of their armoured warriors were trying to take shelter.” Xul’s eyes gleamed. “Fleetmaster ’Utaralee was most impressed by my skill.”

A sniper’s shot. Pathetic. Khyl ’Voramai could do better than that.

“Pah! You acted like a cowardly Kig-Yar. Shooting a Spartan from afar with a needle rifle?” The taller Field Marshal shook his head, disgusted. “You act so proud of your work, but you’re a Zealot, not a Ranger, and not a Jackal Sniper. You have brought shame to our order! I can only imagine how the other Devoted Sentries would agree with me, and I am no longer of their ranks.”

’Konaree sneered at him.

“And you think you can do better?” He stabbed a finger toward Khyl’s chestplate. “Tell me, brother,” the word dripped from his jaws with sarcasm and venom, “How would you kill a Spartan and do the Zealot Order proud?”

“With the twin blades of my sword.” The hilt of the very weapon was now held in a curled fist, which Khyl shook at ’Konaree, as a thinly-veiled threat. The other Field Marshal took a half step back, and his head lowered a fraction. “That is how I have felled not one, not two, but three of the Demons. And I did not stoop to the rank of a lowly Kig-Yar to do so. I made the Zealot Order more proud than you ever could hope to, with that kill under your belt. I hope you feel shame until the end of your days.”

The doors to the room swished open, and both Field Marshals turned their heads to see who entered. Fortunately, it was Fleetmaster Kantar ’Utaralee himself, and he spared the warriors a look of suspicion. That halted any further conversation, as they spun around to bow their heads in respect to their superior. “Is there a problem here?” he queried, his voice rumbling threateningly.

“Simply a debate on how honourable Field Marshal ’Konaree’s actions were, in eliminating a Spartan. There is no trouble, Fleetmaster, of that I assure you.” Khyl said, his tone respectful. He was lucky that he had decided to replace his Energy Sword back on the armour plating of his thigh; if he’d still held it when Kantar had entered the room, he would have been forced to enter combat, as a weapon drawn demanded blood.

“Hmph. Field Marshal ’Konaree, you are dismissed. Go back to your meal. Field Marshal ’Voramai, follow me to the bridge. We have much to discuss.” The Fleetmaster swept out of the mess, and Khyl followed alongside. Halfway down the hall, they were joined by Khusze ’Voliree, Khyl’s trusted second-in-command, and likewise a member of the Zealot order.

“Rumours have it that Supreme Commander ’Barutamee’s supercarrier was destroyed, along with the corvette belonging to General Ardo ’Moretumee. Are they true, Fleetmaster?” Khyl questioned.

“True?” Khusze spoke up without being addressed, something he was not known for doing. “I was there myself, Field Marshal. I saw the whole damned thing, with my own eyes. I was headed out on patrol from the Long Night of Solace herself, in my Banshee. There was a human ship — one of their heavy frigates, I believe — as well as a dropship known as a Pelican, and a handful of fighters that are an equal match to our Seraphs, the ones you don’t see often; could be that they are experimental, or classified, or both. 

Anyway, the frigate distracted the corvette Ardent Prayer, as she was headed back to the Solace on a fuelling run, and the humans boarded her, captured her as their own. Shipmaster ’Moretumee was most likely killed in the process. I didn’t see much more than that, as by the time the human fighters began to board, I hid my Banshee in among some asteroids. By the time I came out, the three warships were gone, and our relief fleet was arriving, and they picked me up.”

The Fleetmaster was unoffended or unperturbed by the fact that Khusze had spoken out of turn. Instead, his expression was grave, and there was a pensive look in his eyes that ’Voramai had not noticed earlier.

“Reports say that the humans used the Slipspace drive of their frigate as a makeshift bomb, and that the Ardent Prayer was a trap. She was sent automatically on the fuelling run, and once within range of the Long Night of Solace, the drive was detonated, and both warships were destroyed. The Supreme Commander was likely killed in the ensuing explosion, or when pieces of the supercarrier crashed down to the surface of the planet Reach. And I believe the human frigate was annihilated some time during the humans’ harassment of the Prayer, by the corvette herself.” he admitted solemnly.

“And you are now command of what remains of the Fleet of Valiant Prudence, correct?” the Field Marshal asked.

Kantar dipped his head in a nod. “That is so. And while ordinarily, as the order of things would go, Xul ’Konaree would be my second-in-command, there is something about him that does not sit well with me. While his skill as a sniper impresses me — the fact that he managed to kill a Spartan with a shot to the head is rather astounding — he is far too vainglorious for my liking.”

“Troubling, Fleetmaster.” Khusze offered, and Khyl murmured agreement.

“Indeed it is.” ’Utaralee stopped once they had reached the bridge, and pivoted to face the Field Marshal. “Which is why I have come to you, Khyl. You are a skilled warrior, having proven yourself in battle again and again. Added to that, but you are a former member of the Devoted Sentries. While they may murmur dissent at the fact that you chose to leave, which is dishonourable... They would trust you, perhaps more than ’Konaree. At least, the majority of them would.”

Khyl drew his head back, mandibles hanging slack in shock. “You are not suggesting what I think you are?”

“I want you to be my second-in-command, Field Marshal.” The Fleetmaster looked him dead in the eye as he spoke, which was easier than it had been for Xul, given that Fleetmaster and Field Marshal were nearly the same height. “I trust your judgement, your skill, your blade. And your warship is one of the biggest left in this fleet. It would bolster the ranks greatly to have someone like you to watch over them, down there on the ground.”

’Voramai touched his fist against his chestplate, bowing his head deeply. “It would be my honour, Fleetmaster, to lead and to serve directly under you.” he replied humbly. When he looked up again, Kantar’s four jaws had curled into a smile.

“I look forward to it.”

[tal--writes]

“Now be mindful in what you say, and how you act, Tha. I can assure you that while these people may be wary of you specifically, they would not hesitate in laying down their own lives rather than harming me.” Arcturus assured Tha’ze, her loyal Sangheili companion and bodyguard.

He regarded her keenly for a moment, before nodding his compliance. “Yes, my lady. I understand.” His slate grey scales appeared more like charcoal in the shadows, and his one good eye was not as bright green as usual.

Arcturus relaxed, relieved, and folded her arms across her chest. A beat, two beats later, and two other figures stepped into the shadows; one a short, lithe wraith, the other a towering, muscled ghost. She stepped forward to greet them, voice pitched low so that no passersby could possibly overhear them. The taller of the two, another Sangheili, turned his body half away from the conversation, and he continually scanned the streets, while keeping an eye on the conversation. The other, a Spartan, like Arcturus, let one hand drift down to her hip, where a combat knife lay hidden, just out of sight.

“There are rumours of ONI patrols, yes?” she queried, cocking her head. “And you think they are getting cocky?”

“Borderline sloppy,” the other Spartan corrected, but she wasn’t disagreeing, “Good to see you too, sister.” Her lips twitched into a faint smirk, and her eyes like chips of ice glinted with amusement.

“Where are my manners?” Arcturus remarked wryly, prompting a chuckle from the other woman. “I have missed you, Jeanette. It’s been... difficult.... for me to get out lately. I’ve been dealing with, shall we say, an old friend.”

Jeanette arched an eyebrow, and stood with arms akimbo. “Care to explain?”

“A troublesome old friend at that.” Tha’ze inserted himself into the conversation, his manner casual. “I have had to remove him from our base of operations one time too many, at Arcturus’ request.” He snorted disdainfully. “Personally, I do not see why she continues to allow him in, but then, that is her choice.”

Arcturus rolled her eyes, and flicked her elbow towards Tha’ze’s abdomen. “Peace, Tha,” she intoned, for she could feel his agitation, “It’s not necessarily his fault that I’m having a hard time dealing with the situation.” Her gaze shifted back towards Jeanette. “One of my old teammates, from when I was stationed on Reach. Well, not just any Spartan....” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “My superior officer. Seeing him again, and us being on two different sides of the law, is...”

“Not easy to deal with?” her sister filled in, tilting her head.

Arcturus let out a short breath. “You could say that. I have a feeling that his reappearance and ONI’s presence are connected. Given what he told me as to why he’s here....” She winced. “ONI want to get rid of me; they think I’m a liability. And this isn’t even COLD MOON-related, either. It’s straight up just wanting to remove an asset. The UNSC, on the other hand, want me for questioning. So it’s.... a fight between them, and I’m caught in the middle.”

Jeanette looked sympathetic. “That would not be easy to deal with. I will keep my head down, but I will also make sure to lead those damned Spooks well clear of your hideout. For you, sister. And because I’m more than happy to get their presence off my home planet.” Her teeth flashed, briefly, in a grin that was all too reminiscent of a wolf’s, and Arcturus matched it.

“My thanks, sister.”

[tal--writes]

“You should be more mindful, Anakin,” Qui-Gon admonished gently, “And pay attention to your surroundings, always. Even if you are not directly watching out for what is in front of you.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin bowed his head, both out of respect, and to hide the flush of shame that crept up on his cheeks. “It will not happen again.”

Qui-Gon offered him a faint smile. “You may be learning, but it is still good to see that you are willing to admit your mistakes. It is a sure sign of maturity.” Then his features softened as he looked over the teen, noting a sullen air hanging over him, that was palpable even without him having to check over the Master-Padawan bond through the Force. “Is something wrong?”

Anakin still did not meet his Master’s gaze, and fidgeted with his hands inside the sleeves of his robe. “I.... Well...”

“You need not hesitate when speaking your mind with us, Anakin,” Obi-Wan interjected softly, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, familiar and warm and sure. “I promise you, neither of us will judge.”

The Padawan glanced up then, and his eyebrows were furrowed into a frown, worry etched into his features. “It’s my mother,” he confessed, “I am worried about her. I promised her that I would come back for her when I am made a Jedi Knight, but it has been so many years since I have seen her last. I miss her, and I... sometimes struggle to sleep because I am plagued by dreams of her in distress. It is very dangerous on Tatooine... If I am not thinking about what the Tusken Raiders might do, then I am thinking about Watto selling her to someone else, or the Hutt clans deciding they want to take possession of her...” He averted his gaze. “I know that it is wrong of me to be so fearful, but I made a promise to her, and I don’t want to break it.”

Understanding dawned in his Master’s eyes, and the Knight nodded firmly. “Well then. We shall pay a visit to Tatooine, and see if we cannot free her. Promises must be kept, after all.”

[tal--writes]

“Mercy!”

A towering, menacing shadow loomed over the man, watching as he backed himself into a corner, huddling, cowering away. The figure thudded forward, and there was the hissing snap of an energy sword flaring to life. The room was illuminated with blue-white light, and the only sounds were the human’s harsh, panicked pants for breath, and the thud, thud, thud of the alien’s footsteps, as it drew inexorably closer.

“There will be no mercy for you...”

A deep, guttural growl emanated from within the alien’s chest, and it was translated into the human’s native English from the translation disk attached to the alien’s armour. It stepped forward, and raised the energy sword high, bringing it down and slicing the human in half in one long, clean strike. The two halves of the corpse slumped to the floor, hissing from the super-heated plasma that had cleaved it twain; the alien gave a low chuckle and snapped its weapon off, magnetically locking it back into place on the armour plating protecting the alien’s thigh.

“There will be only death, by my hand.”

It turned away, making to exit the house, only to pause when a high-pitched wail split the air. And it sounded oddly like the cry of human young.

The alien huffed quietly, lingering, contemplating on what it was to do. Its job here was done, and it needed to move on, but it knew that the noise would draw attention to this house. And the alien — a Sangheili Zealot — needed to be quiet, to slip in and out of each human dwelling unseen and unheard, killing as it went. Doing the Prophets’ bidding. Thus, it had reached a crossroads: it could either slaughter the squalling babe, or it could take the creature and run.

The Zealot stalked through the building until it located the source of the noise, and stared down at the tiny, pink-faced being, mouth wide open as it fussed for..... what? Attention? Its parents? Food? Sleep? There was no way to tell.

“Survivors! In here!”

Shouting voices from outside caused the alien to whip around, locked in indecision. Murder the young, and possibly get caught, or run and leave the Covenant behind?

A resounding bang from the front door made up the Zealot’s mind for it. It reached down, almost gently scooped the infant into its arms, and ran towards the window. It raised its shoulder high, tucking the tiny creature against its chest harness, and smashed through the glass, ignoring the human yelling that sounded much louder and closer than it had done before. The alien tucked into a roll as it hit the ground, popped up, and continued running.

Only once it had left the house far behind did the Zealot stop to stare down at the human childling, who had gone quiet, and was staring up at it with widened, confused eyes.

This is the path to madness.... But I cannot turn back now.

[tal--writes]

Despite the slow recovery process, Artemis was enjoying the freedom now that she’d settled into her augmentations. It was so much easier for her to run, and she was so much faster than she ever thought possible. It was exhilarating, heart-racing. It was why when, on a walk around Camp Currahee with Kat at her side, on a whim she’d gone bounding ahead, laughing and teasing her “sister” for being “slow”. Copper hair flashing in the warm sunlight that poured down, muscles buzzing with unspent energy, power crackling in her veins....

She came to regret that decision when she lost sight of her dearest friend. It hadn’t entirely been her intention, of course; she’d meant to keep Kat just in her line of sight. But she’d rounded a corner, and then another, and then a third -- it was so damned hard to curb her speed, now that she had to learn just how fast she could really go. She dropped her pace to a walk, and then stopped altogether as a shadow fell across the path, and she thought that it was the other cadet.

How wrong she was.

One of the trainers rounded that corner, and it wasn’t one of Currahee’s DIs, either. Cold dread settled in her stomach as the young, wolflike cadet recognized the platinum blonde ponytail and cold, glittering green eyes that could only belong to one of the ONI DIs. The Office of Naval Intelligence had been pulling her aside for years, now, for extra “training”, which had included the death of--

“We’ve been looking for you all over, B312.” the woman’s cool voice interrupted her thought train, and as she met the trainer’s gaze, she took a step back. Something was wrong, so very, very wrong. There was something.... purposeful in those unfeeling eyes. The DI wanted her for something. She knew it wasn’t training; that had slowed and eventually stopped after the completion of her final test. She’d heard talks from Currahee’s DIs earlier that morning about “shifting the cadets elsewhere”, and those thoughts, coupled with the intent on this drill instructor’s face...

Artemis took another step back, hair swishing as she shook her head. “No you have not,” she said accusingly, “You have not been “looking for me all over”, because you do not have any use for me. I am finishing the recovery process for augmentations. So you cannot take me until that is complete.”

The ONI DI smirked down at her. “Unfortunately, my orders were to take you now, sweetheart. I can take you in nicely, if you want. Or we can do it the hard way. It’s up to you, really.”

The cadet bared her teeth in a silent snarl, suppressing a shiver at the nickname. Once, a long, long time ago, perhaps in another lifetime, she would have heard her parents calling her such a name. But it had been twisted, used against her, in over two dozen attempts to sweet talk her, to act nice.... And now she simply hated it, whenever it was used against her. So she curled her hands into fists, and raised her chin, ever defiant, ever stubborn. “No. You will not take me.”

“Don’t say I didn’t give you the option....” The DI lunged, bearing down on her, but Artemis was faster, much faster. She lashed out with a vicious kick, hitting the woman squarely on the chin, sending her stumbling back, back; she shoved past the trainer and ran down the trail, back the way she’d come, back towards Kat -- or so she hoped.

Another DI leaped out of the bushes, tackling her to the ground. Artemis landed heavily on her flank, and the trainer pinned her in place -- but only for a beat. She lashed out, elbowing him in the diaphragm, squirming free, struggling to rise to her feet. All she had to do was get back up, keep moving. Get running, and she could get away from these bastards, get back to Kat, flee to Camp Currahee...

Pain lanced through her like white hot fire, and her body crumbled as her knee gave out from under her. She realized that the trainer had kicked her like he was a horse, and that it wouldn’t have hurt so much had she not still been recovering from augmentations. Just another week, and she would have barely felt it at all.... The trainer was on top of her again, and the woman appeared again, helping her partner pin the unruly cadet in place. Panic coursed through her, and she cried out, desperate, fear making her voice tremble, shake.

“Kat! Kat, please.... They’ve come for me....!”

Artemis needed her big sister now more than ever. And it wasn’t from the monsters in her mind, not this time. The monsters were right there on top of her, holding her roughly in place, fumbling around in their pockets -- likely looking for a sedative, to knock me out... -- ready to take her away. The only one who could save her was Kat.

Fear rushed through her veins, sending her heart pounding against her ribcage, thump, thump, thump. She struggled against her captors, but they were too strong -- too strong while she was still recovering from augmentations, and strength had never particularly been hers to command with ease even before augmentations. If she could just knock them off balance, squirm away from them, if she could just get to her feet, then she could take off, leave them behind. But a knock to the back of her head sent her face bouncing into the paved pathway, sent more pain lancing through her, caused her to lose focus. Her ears rang, and she cried out again, hoping that her fellow cadet was near enough to be able to hear her, hoping that she would come fast enough, before the monsters took her away...

But they were hauling her up, lifting her to her feet, and Artemis felt a quick, sharp, stab as the needle slid into her skin, injecting the sedative into her bloodstream. Panic surged again, coursing through her like waves, and she struggled harder, lashed out.

Dimly she was aware of thudding footsteps as someone approached speed, and then Kat came into view, azure eyes widening with shock as she bore witness to her best friend being confined by the ONI DIs. The sight of her sister-in-arms caused her struggling to double anew, and she kicked at one trainer, elbowing the second in the head. As soon as their weight was off-balance she fought her way free and ran as fast as she could to the other cadet, vision blurring, limbs gradually slowing as the sedative began to take hold. She clutched at Kat, her words jumbling together, a hoarse, desperate plea, and then the monsters had her again, ripping Artemis away from Kat, pulling her back, and she didn’t have the strength to fight, barely had the strength to cry out,

“Sister, please don’t let them take me!”

The world pitched and blurred, and the last thing she saw was Kat’s pained expression before she blacked out entirely, slumped over the shoulder of the bigger, burly male DI. She was never to lay eyes on her sister again -- not for seven long, aching years.

[tal--writes]

a side profile portrait of Arcturus, showcasing her new look

[tal--writes]

Arcturus’ off duty outfit for when she wants to look nice for “pub night”

[tal--writes]

Some of Arcturus’ more common work outfits the first one is used primarily as her daily / off duty outfit, but when it’s hot she’ll wear it at work the second one is her work outfit for when the weather is cooler the third one is her work outfit for when the weather is warmer

[tal--writes]

Arcturus Fox, formerly known as Artemis-B312 Katona became disillusioned with the UNSC after Reach’s fall; stole a Pelican and slipped to Venezia, where she began her new life as a human rebel operating out of New Tyne. dyes her hair, styles it differently, and wears contacts to separate herself from her old life, and also to remain somewhat more incognito her crew consists of disillusioned human and alien alike; her closest friend and mentor is a Sangheili Ultra by the name of Tha’ze ’Chadom

[tal--writes]

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.