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Futuristic NCQuest: Mecha flavored action, Story

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Operation 1A: Test Complete
The Director returned, finished with whatever he was doing. "Operation complete. Thank you for participating in this test. Units 'Vanguard', 'Emperor', and 'Hardpoint' were considered to have 'good performance' across the board. Three million Inter-Corporate Dollars have been allotted to your accounts. All Linkers may now leave the area."

Meanwhile, on Adam's inquiry, Sarah spoke up again in response, having been notably quiet for the past while. "I'm on it. I'll send a report by midnight.", but adding onto it with an apology. "And... Sorry, for being quiet... I sort of... locked up, there. Crowley is really, intimidating. Especially when he does weird things like that."

And with that, the operation was finished. They were free to go. But there were still questions. Where did that other fellow who was apparently supposed to observe go? Why was the test ran in the way it was? Nonetheless, it was to be considered a successful mission, with a nice bonus of further job opportunities offered by their examiners. Even if their advice isn't much immediate help. Were they naturals, or was the test just not conductive to actually weeding out their weaknesses?
 
Operation Spring Cleaning
"Good job Pey," said Alice, sighing with relief.

Peyton allowed herself to wipe away some of the sweat from her forehead. Looking at her arm there was some blood on there too.

"Thanks," she replied. The burning wreckage of the destroyed cannon offered some comfort, ad did the vivid and bright colors of the fire. Unfortunately whatever comfort or relief Peyton felt was overshadowed by the fact that the enemy opposition made it out alive and retreated back into whatever shithole they crawled out of.

"This mission was FUBAR. We're gonna need some better intel next time."

"Next time?"

Peyton grunted. "I'm guessing we'll see these guys again. Not soon, but again."

Alice could only reply with silence. Just then Cammy broke through the ground and started her chatter with Halliwell.
When the former spoke about sucking up a 300mm round Peyton just chuckled.

"I got lucky," she said. "Remind me to thank MAVERICK for the life-saving equipment."

She paused and looked around. "Speaking of, I need to find my sniper. Alice. Call for exfil."
 
Operation 1A/B: ExfiltrationIt was a fine day at the coast-hugging MAVERICK base with clear, open skies, and a dull blue ocean caressing the beach, itself mixed with the reflected orange of the rising sun. Six great machines were based here, with two of them already resting in their assigned berths, being recessed beneath the earth in hardened hangar-spaces below the grounds of the base itself. The "Operational Command Office" was still available for use, even as the innards of the structure were being worked on by the base staff.

The first floor was already being optimized for briefings and debriefings, a blackboard with a projector system freshly in place and a collection of chairs set surrounding it. Anyone walking back would notice the base crew making sure things worked, one man named Robert setting the last few wires in place and projecting a default image onto the board, as another, a girl named Sam, tweaked it to fit perfectly on the slab. Various other doodads and uplinks were strewn about, not having found their proper places yet; but the main thing was still functional, for reviewing operational data or whatever else.

Outside, the biggest piece of loot that was acquired today, the remnants of the railgun Azata insisted on taking, was being carried by the salvaging team based from another nearby MAVERICK installation, the prize getting deposited by crane into the Raijin's hanger-bay for now. With the sounds of working machinery echoing throughout the base, their chorus was joined by three new members as the other team that went under trial came back, their NC's deposited to their assigned homes likewise.

Everyone was safely back home, likely reviewing what just happened and discussing relevant material.
 
Operation 1A: Back at Base
The trip back to base was the same as getting to the testing area, uneventful. Hazel flicked, lit, closed and reopened the lighter during her time in Hardpoint. She continued this until becoming bored of seeing the light flicker and die away at her whim. To pass the time, she thought about the advice giving by the first ranking pilots had not been unique; Miss Yoko's advice was an obvious one. Needing to be constantly on the move was a necessity, unless the NC was a walking bunker like Dreadnought. Speaking of which, Hazel felt that Dreadnought had missed her point completely, feeling irritated at his response. She was still naive, of course. Easy to tell herself that and still forget about the real test of being in open waters.

Finally she was back at base. Home sweet home. Preparing to disembark, she noticed that Peyton and Camile had returned safely, albeit that one of them looked like it had been to hell and back, making Hazel thankful about not taking that mission. With Hardpoint finally resting after it's test, Hazel disembarked, meeting with the ground team and going over a few things before spotting Streuben out of the corner of her eye and began moving towards him after finishing with the ground team.

Even if Streuben was just a tad over a foot taller than Hazel, the fact that a very annoyed 5"11' female would get his attention very quickly. Reaching him, Hazel muttered with an annoyed tone "Follow me." as she stopped by him before walking again to a secluded area away from the ears of workers and the rest of the pilots. When enough distance was put between them and the rest, Hazel stopped, releasing a sigh as she collected her thoughts. A few moments later, she spoke in whispered tone regardless "What the fuck was that at the end? Why'd you decide it was a bloody good idea to run in by yourself out of my and Adam's protective range?" She had leaned in closer to him as she spoke, while half of her face was covered by her hair, it was clear her face was a mix of confusion and annoyance. "You could've got yourself towed back to base like Peyton's NC." She pointed in the general direction for dramatic effect.

Standing back to her full height, she once again sighed. Her anger had got the best of her, but she really didn't want to let Streuben off with no less than a slap on the wrist. Adding onto what she said in a less annoyed voice "Whatever your reasoning was, did Malthus put you up to it?"
 
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Operation 1A: Back at BaseFREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

The battle had ended, and the spoils of war had been claimed; a seven-digit grand total. Part of him was flabbergasted as he was towed back to base, his machine well rested against the flatbed of the crawler-transport. The other part of him was iconically indifferent, though the only time he had ever handled as much monetary power was during his loaning days. Unlike then however, he had earned this. As he instinctually reached for his cards, who were still not there. Forgetting he was in his pilot suit, he reflected on the Director of Resources' limited and matter-of-fact comments, certainly far more, and certainly much more deserved than whatever his supposed 'seniors' had offered during theirs.

He couldn't help but feel slightly agitated. Senbazuru had made claims that it was important to 'know how to move your neural combatant,' something so painfully obvious it made his blood boil. She didn't know the issues with the Emperor, how could she, when he, himself, doesn't. Though still a far-cry from the blatant hypocrisy of the war legend, Dreadnought, proud and staunch, so proud and staunch he can't hear what he's saying.

He snapped his finger, as if to mentally force himself out of his thinking. He didn't deal well with the feedback backlash, clearly. He wasn't aware of it, at least directly, but it was obvious based on how he's behaving how he had looked down, and misunderstood, how the Emperor would affect him.

Time passed quickly, one thought came to the other, and they had already arrived. He knew this, of course, because Johnson, the senior technical supervisor, and head mechanic of the Emperor's depot team, contacted him through the emergency force-entry comms link. Apparently he had not responded to standard hails.

"Yo, Alexander, you alright in there?"

His casual attitude and competent mastery of his craft lended him well to be liked by his subordinates, as was well deserved. Streuben couldn't help but appreciate him, and his connections. Thanks in large part to that man, Emperor had a much easier access to GR's technology research department; apparently he knew someone who had worked on the Emperor's development team. Though he was certainly expensive too. Nevertheless, Streuben flipped a mind-switch, and the capsule opened, the proud shell of the Emperor shifting, revealing an entry into the capsule where its pilot had been submerged during the combat test. He disconnected the cybernetic implant after having systematically lowered the reactor output, so as to ease the machine into shutdown. He couldn't take any risks by avoiding standard shutdown procedure with a machine as complex as this one.

The whatever-fluid which was used to insulate the pilot from the forces that the NC produced was ejected from the tank as the machine opened up, Fredrich-Alexander walked out on the gantry which had been put in position for him with a brief stagger. He clenched his left hand, grabbing the railing with the right as he stepped downward.

"Minor damage during the test," he said, as he locked eyes with the capped man below on the ground clad in a brightly visible over-all and numerous tool belts. His tired, neutral visage met with a bright smirk from the head mechanic, making a return-gesture with his hands before responding, "Don't worry about it man, I'll see what I can do." It was the kind of 'kindly sly' gesticulations, a playful seriousness far removed from whatever Streuben could produce.

"You a'right though bud?"

The head mechanic knew, as well as he did, that even hangar tests left a solid 'impression' on his body, he was definitely tired.

"Yes, I'm fine," he responded, feet now planted firmly on the ground as he let go of the railing. "I'll leave for home, notify me over the network if there is any problem with the repairs." A thumbs-up filling the void, an adequate answer Streuben thought, as he turned towards the exit, walking noticably slower than his already crawling speed. His posture remained unperturbed, but that's simply because he had a solid balancing sense. All he wanted was to lie down.

Lying down, of course, would have to wait.

He was intercepted by Hazel, her movements comparable to those of an assasin's in his tired stupor, as she emerged from his flank, surprising him. He didn't react, he wouldn't have even if he was one-hundred percent, but it was still rather disturbing.

Hazel "Ordnance" Scott said:
"Follow me."

Especially so since he decided to follow her only to be silently yelled at, a blank stare all that he could manage to produce in response to her tirade. The simple fact that his neutral expression was constant, whether he was tired or well-rested, playing a trick in the eyes of the observer. His mind spooled to maximum power only to lose all semblance of comprehension ability. He came up blank, but he opened his mouth either way when she allowed him his time to speak. Her aggression having subdued him mentally.

"Yes, it wasn't my decision," the brainfart only continuing to eloquently tread the line between right and wrong. It wasn't necessarily a mistruth to proclaim that he wasn't choosing to act as he did, he just did. Though naturally, what the double-meaning behind his words could entail were beyond him. "Though the test finished when I did do it."

His hands moved instinctively, shuffling a deck of cards which, still, weren't there.
 
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Operation 1A: Back at Base
Hazel was not surprised by Streuben's lack of reaction. After all, the man could win a poker match without breaking a sweat. Nevertheless, Hazel weighed up his response and looked down, thinking it over. It was no surprise that Malthus would put him up to it, that odd bastard certainly had a taste for flair and impressive movements. It still nagged her though that Streuben went along with it. No matter, she thought, it was Malthus doing after all.

Looking back up, Hazel looked Streuben dead in his eyes "We're supposed to be a team, as so long as everyone agrees on the plan, that's bloody well fine. Just cause Malthus is your handler doesn't mean you should be tied him by a lease. Don't forget that we're all components that need to work together. If one of those components decides not to work with others- " Hazel pulled back the hair covering the left side of her face, revealing the burn scar that she covered up. The scar was unsettling to say at the least, the ripples of sliced skin from metal fragments and burns from the explosion fused together on her face like some sort of 'modern art' from the 21st century "- someone will get injured beyond repair." She let Streuben take it in for a few seconds before covering it once again. "I was lucky that it didn't blow my damn head off as well."

Hazel relaxed a little. She didn't show the scar unless it was absolutely needed and this situation was. Hopefully Streuben understood now and if he didn't, sooner or later it would cost him. Hazel knew that. Ensuring that her hair fully covered the scar once again, she turned her attention to the quiet man "Don't go around telling others that I showed you it or I'll rig those damn cards of yours to explode if you do."
 
Operation 1A: Back at BaseFREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

His vision had begun to blur, clearly not properly comprehending how severely tired he was himself, he followed Hazel's movements with increasing strain in his eyes; expending great effort, staring a bit too long before finally understanding what she was doing, and what she was saying. His hands still moved like clockwork though, as if they had a mind of their own. Either way, what she was saying, after a moment of needed reflection, was understandable. Though he didn't quite understand how Malthus fit into the entire thing, beyond him just being a bit of an ass. Though he was arguably more important than himself, the armored giant excluded, so he felt no need to engage the quandry.

Her advice fell on tired ears, their effectiveness greatly reduced if they even managed to pierce his figurative membrane in the first place.

"I won't say a word," he responded after a solid pause, his eye affixed to the woman's own. Her endearing moment certainly spoke volumes, though he had already guessed at something similar. Hiding half your face wasn't exactly a common thing for most people, though it had far surpassed his expectations. It had healed horridly, which to him was a rather abstract surprise, having come in immediate contact with what miraculous things medicine can do; he changed his DNA to produce white hair after all. On a whim, though.

Interrupting his hands' gym session, he raised the left, running it up and down the implant's surface, clearly implying some sort of thinking, though he couldn't manage to like he usually would. After an additionally brief pause he decided to add, for no particular reason, that "plans don't survive first contact, people have to think on the move." His powerplant clearly running on fumes.

"Combat is dangerous..."

Before continuing, he caught himself in a momentary state of lucidity. He had no reason to make an issue out of this, all he needed to do was submit; no reason not to. It felt strange that he wasn't already, in fact. His arms fell at his side, quickly finding their way into the leg pockets of his suit as he decided to leave it. He needed rest, very badly.

"I will work on it."
 
Operation 1A: Back at Base
Hazel had just noted that something about Streuben wasn't quite right. The man seemed to wander mentally more than usual, possibly due to the test most likely. She was surprisingly taking it more easily than expected though that could be put down to her getting pissed off at Streuben and not registering the after affects of battle. Following his reaction and expressions in return, Hazel nodded. He was right about one thing, plans could and sometimes do tend to go out the window when it came down to actually fighting head on, thought it was needed in practice for a successful mission to start and finish.

Deciding it was best for the both of the Hazel stopped the conservation there "You got a point there, Streuben, I'll give you that. You look like you're about to drop dead. Want a hand or will the mighty Emperor be fine?" A small smile crossed her face "We're done here. Don't be too hard on yourself." Hazel walked away after that, heading back to the ground crews to check near Hardpoint. After a long talk with them, she spent a bit of time going over Hardpoint itself, noting she'd blown though a ton of her ammo. She'd definitely need to talk to James about that aiming system that she'd thought about.
 
Operation 1A: Back at BaseFREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

A stone-faced sigh escaped his lips, just before Hazel had taken her stride back to her depot, he responded softly and immediately, that "the machine'll be fine." Clearly not noticing the intentions behind her words. After all, he was just a man right now. He continued to meander slowly out of the hangar space, destined for the changing room. Maybe a rest in there would fit nicely enough. He needed to lie down, after all.
 
While Peyton had originally intended to make her way to the OCO upstairs her plans had taken a sudden turn. Now she stood inside a small office space repurposed into a maintenance space for special NC equipment. One side of the room was nothing but a large window that allowed the occupants to view the NCs stored inside and, in Peyton's case, her still unnamed NC enveloped by a scaffolding, tarp and other material as the MAVERICK techs went about to either repair or salvage parts that had suffered damage during the mission.

Inside the rest of the room were worktables, shelves and other practical pieces of furniture and equipment capable of storing, repairing or outright suspending a variety of NC parts in the air for the engineers to work on.

Peyton stood with her arms behind her back in front of one of the workbenches. Her pose looked more like something a soldier would assume when expecting to get yelled at which, in this case, was a correct assumption. Standing in front of her was a man in one of MAVERICK's signature coveralls. His attire was covered in a faint layer of dirt and oil, as was his weathered face with its dark-grey beard.

"I don't think you understand the situation, young lady," he said, grabbing one of many NC components currently laid out on the table in front of her. "Remote optics: fried." He grabbed another component. "Adaptive gel-layer on the armor: gone." Another piece. "External sensor: filled with more shrapnel than my left hip."

With a metallic bang he placed all the pieces on the bench. "You have any idea what this is going to cost you?"

Peyton's expression remained neutral. "No sir."

The man laughed. "Quite a lot, young lady. You should consider yourself happy that MAVERICK will just put this on your tab."

"I understand, sir." Replied Peyton.

"I don't think you don't," replied the engineer. "Just because you drop your broken toys here for me to fix don't mean it won't cost you." He grimaced. "One day you'll really need something fixed and maybe I'll be too busy to do it then." He shook his head. "Fucking rookies."

Peyton remained silent.

The engineer looked at her. "Silent type, huh? Well then, get the fuck out of my workshop. You can tell your handler that Old Sal will fix all your expensive gadgets as soon as possible."

"Thank you," said Peyton while nodding before leaving the room.

Sal shook his head before looking back down at the components in front of him. "I need a raise."
 
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Operation 1A: Back at Base
A sigh of relief escaped Adam's lips as he settled the Vanguard into its stall and initiated the power down sequence. Opening his eyes as the link with the NC gradually lost power before cutting it off entirely he became aware that felt rather tired. It didn't feel like he'd collapse on the spot but it was certainly more than the handicapped pilot was expecting.

'Must be from the stress of testing like that,' he mused before hitting a button on the console in front of him. Not only did that signal the NC to unplug from his implants, Adam could feel and hear the machine's head being released from its locks and start to slide back. There was little that he could other than shield his eyes from the bright lights the mechanics used as the head moved out of the way, allowing the cockpit chair to rise up out of the NC. As a pair of mechanics assisted him with transferring to his wheelchair, Adam noted that Hazel was already on the ground talking to her ground team. Since she appeared to be rather busy with Hardpoint, he elected to just give her a simple nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to his own machine.

The talk with his own mechanics was fairly short as the NC had met every expectation he had for it. Adam did however ask them to double check the locks for the head unit as while the sensation of the head moving around wasn't as bad as he had been warned about, he did not want to take any chances of it becoming loose during a mission. Once he was done going over things with the people taking care of the Vanguard it was time to head home for some much needed rest, maybe review his guncam footage before bed. On the way out though, he couldn't help but pause when he finally noticed how beat up one of the other NCs was. He didn't know which of the other two missions that this NC had gone on, but what damage he could see between all the work being done on it was enough to tell Adam that he had picked the best job this time around. But it was good to be reminded that any job could end with his NC in that situation, or worse. Just thinking about it made him shake his head a bit before he continued on his way.
 
A collaboration between Tanya Degurechaff Tanya Degurechaff and Windsock Windsock , finalized by Windsock.

Operation 1C: 'Toilet Paper'
The last hour was perhaps the most boring one could ever spend on a boat while stuck in a giant, fourteen foot mechanical body. The freighter's two propellers made a deep ship's wake as the vessel lazily floated to its assigned port, already on the horizon; they were so close to its destination that the coast-guard were already escorting it on its final approach, and absolutely nothing came up now or in the past sixty odd minutes. One police cutter made way for the well-sized, if decidedly not quite massive freighter and the additional 'cargo' it was transporting; the NC that was assigned to this vital shipments' protection, situated on the bow and on-watch.

The Linker's assigned Handler was feeling the brunt of the situation's immense non-action, desperately thinking of something to do or talk about. Sounding as bored as if he was in a doctor's waiting room, he groaned in his southern-fried, two-fisted tinge. "Already looks like a mission complete from over heah. Helmsman is on final approach already. So... we hav'nt had much small talk... Might s'well take the time to talk 'bout something, right, Kid? Anything on your mind?"

Escort missions... Were actually a surprisingly safe bet. This was despite the fact that movies, books, and most definitely video games, portrayed them as the most annoying of tasks. Oftentimes nothing would happen, as was this case in particular. Still, an uneventful escort mission was the best kind of escort mission, also known as free cash. Niko didn't mind it at all, he was there to make sure nothing went wrong even if there was no threat. Just because there was nothing to fight, didn't mean there was nothing that could sink the ship.

"Oh, not much if I'm honest. I sorta blanked out on the trip, just watching the landscape. Or is it the seascape? I never really learned that kinda thing. Hmm... I got something. Pirates or ninjas?"

Oswald smiled at the question, though he wondered how the kid was so naive. His "Hmm..." was audible as he considered the particulars, even if it wasn't a deep discussion. "In what cont'xt? Are we talkin' modern pirates 'n ninjas or stereotyp'cal old-timers? Yaknow, katanas and flintlocks. If the ninjas got th' jump, they'd defnitely win, but if the 'rats got the jump they'd cut down the ninjas right quick. 'Specially if they had their boat too."

"There's... Modern ninjas? I know about pirates, but... Never heard about modern day ninjas. I was talking about the older ones, since they're still kinda cool from an outside perspective... Not very righteous, but cool." Niko replied, the giant mech bringing a hand to its chin in thought. An audible "Hmm..." from Niko was returned as he considered these new details. "You have a point, either one getting the jump on the other would end badly... But Ninjas are better at that than Pirates. So I think they're better off. They don't work in groups though... But that's fine." His mech was quite animated as he responded, at least the arms and hands were.

The ship lazily bobbed side-to-side in both the wind and the waves, gently shifting like lost cork. A slight turn initiated, as the helmsman recalculated the ships' entry to its assigned dock; the cutter that escorted the ship to its destination breaking off to allow the ship to make final approach on its own, headed back to a small naval base nearby.

"Okay, how about something actually interestin'?", Oswald inquired, wanting to get to actually know this kid he'd be working with. "What gotcha into the Linker bus'ness?" He knew that every Linker had a story, and he was never the private type; Oswald talked too much for most people's tastes. Oswald wanted to get to know everyone he could, ever since that day he wanted to keep asking questions whenever he got the chance.

"If ya mind, I'll start off if you'd like. I got into MAV'RICK 'cause I met a Linker once and wanted to find 'im. Still 'aven't, but I'm still lookin' when I can. Figured I might as well get involved widdit in gen'ral, get some shit done on side too."

It seemed Oswald had a relatively simple reason for getting into his job. It wasn't a bad reason by any means, just a relatively simple one. No information on why he wanted to find this person, but perhaps that was too personal to ask. Regardless, Niko had a question to answer of his own.

"Oh, that's easy! My father told me the only way to bring good to the world is through these giants. 'They have the largest impact', or something like that. I don't want to kill anyone if I don't have to, though... So I didn't take the most awesome of weapons. But I think they'll serve me well, somehow..." Niko went from his reasoning to why he picked the weapons he did, which was entirely off topic. He wasn't the best at staying on topic when it came to idle chatter.

"Y'know, I don't believe the whole 'if you don't kill them now, they'll kill you later' thing. People are never that simple..."

The man on the communicator considered the kid's words, finding them strange at first. "Weird thing to out and say, ya'know... Especially for a Linker. Think yourself a knight in shining armor, huh? Heheahe...", teasing the boy with a short bout of laughter. "...I think we're gonna get along just fine, Kid. Just don't let that sense'a right'n'wrong get you killed now."

Still, he pondered what the boy said about his dad. "...Your pa wasn't the most optimistic man by the sound of it. He didn't want you to be a doctor or nothin'?", obviously confused. "He push you into this or somethin'? Sounds asinine if he did."

"Knight... Wouldn't be the first time someone's said that, haha! I'm not sure I could keep track of all the things knights would really have to abide by... But they're always held in a good light." Niko replied, laughing with Oswald. Perhaps he didn't recognize that he was laughing at him? Was he laughing at him, or was it a joke? Niko didn't think of such things though, there was no need for it. It was just nice to have something else to do besides watch the waves.

"Optimistic... I don't think he's a pessimist or anything. I think he just wants to see the best humanity has to offer, especially when there was an opportunity to start over. Well, if all goes right, another chance at bringing everyone on the path to greatness could be right around the corner y'know?" Niko seemed adamant on bringing forth this chance, if the tone of his voice was any indicator. It was foolish to think one pilot could actually make that big of a difference in the grand scheme of things, but it was his mission regardless.

"Uh... No, nothing like that. It was more he inspired me to do so. That and... I dunno, piloting just feels like it was what I was born to do. I'm sure the others would say the same." He never questioned why he wanted to be a Linker, he just knew that he'd wanted to do so ever since he came across the idea. Perhaps even before the idea.

"Well, if your gut'sis tellin' this is what you should be doing, that's good enough.", Oswald ceded as the man pondered something else. "Y'know, contract didn't say just what was we were transporting neither. Maybe it is just toilet paper. Wanna bet? I bet five ICCks it's toilet paper or somethin'. What say you?"

"Nah, nah, you've got it all wrong. That has got to be Gorilla Glue. Or maybe some really high quality duct tape, heheh. Then again... You may have a point. If I can remember, at one point toilet paper was a highly sought after item in humanity's history." Niko replied, it seems they both assumed mundane products were being transported... Unless Oswald was joking.

As the ship reached the outer limits of the dock itself, Oswald put a bow on their conversation and notified Niko his job was done. "Well, if these instruments idn't lyin' to me, looks like that's mission complete right there. Congrats, that should be a cool four million ... Before tax, of course. We'll deal withat when you get back home, Kid. How's that for a first mission? Pretty boring, say."

"Oh, that wasn't very long at all. For a first mission... I'd say this makes sense actually. You wouldn't want new pilots taking something out of their league by miles. That would be a waste." Niko replied, showing he had some common sense in there, even if it wasn't much.

"Might not be exciting, but it's honest work. Uneventful escorting is the best kind." He continued, before remembering an important detail.

"I just remembered I have to get off of the boat... Do I just wait until they dock or... I don't wanna tip the thing by lifting off here, heheh." Niko asked, his NC scratching its head in confusion. He may have been underestimating how difficult it'd be to actually tip the thing, but thrust and materials not made to handle it... Did not agree.

Operation 1C: Mission Complete.
As the residents of the base continued their tasks, some of the Linkers reviewing what just happened and discussing things amongst one another, the sixth machine assigned to the base returned; the whine of its aerial-type thrusters easily recognizable as it hopped on over from the city's proper dockyard. Soon enough, it landed close to its bay and signaled to be loaded down; the small, lithe NC visibly undamaged by its excursion. Only due for a simple after-mission maintenance, the pilot was free to join the action after the action.
 
Operation 1B Aftermath
“He’s late,” Halliwell said, impatiently drumming her fingers on the large metal briefcase before her. She was seated at a bare steel table, a look of mild annoyance plastered on her face, as she stared at the door of the debriefing room.

“No, we’re early,” Cammy replied. “Chill.”

“If you aren’t at least five minutes early, you’re late,” Halliwell said, which only earned her a slight shrug from her linker. “Someday, you will understand, Camille. Your work may be done, but now mine begins. I have a schedule to keep. Important people to meet. My mission is to set up the next mission. The sooner I get these data logs, the sooner I can-”

“Yeah, I know. The sooner you get the data, the sooner you can use it to whore me out to some corporate douchebag and turn ‘Raijin’ into a damn billboard,” Cammy said. “I’m still not totally on board with that name, by the way.”

“Well, too bad. It has already gotten around,” Halliwell said with a vague gesture. “It’s in the air now. It has become part of the social zeitgeist. You only get one shot at these things. Can’t put the bullet back in the barrel, dear.”

Cammy got very quiet for a moment, which Halliwell knew was merely the sound of her bottling something up inside and it was only a matter of time before… “I need to go change outta this pilot suit,” Cammy said, suddenly heading toward the door. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Camille! You aren’t weaseling out of this that easily,” Halliwell was on her feet instantly, but still too late. The slamming of the door was Cammy’s only reply. With an agonized sigh of disappointment, Halliwell turned to the window. “I swear, dealing with that girl is like herding cats,” she muttered to herself.

One entire wall of the room was spanned by a single pane of glass, overlooking the hangar where the NCs were stored. Halliwell stood before it, her hands on her hips, watching the work going on there. Camille wasn’t going to come back. Of that, she was certain. It was a miracle the girl had stayed as long as she had. The only thing Halliwell wasn’t sure of was what ridiculous idea had popped into Cammy’s head to make her leave so suddenly.

She’s up to something… and I’m sure I’m going to hate it.

There were many rooms like this in the facility, one for each hangar bay, but this particular one overlooked the Raijin’s maintenance area, and would be approximately shoulder-level with the NC were it not lying prone on the floor, surrounded by rigging and scaffolding. Instead, the window offered a bird’s eye view of the activities taking place below. The thick glass muffled the sounds of power tools and rattling chains, as half a dozen technicians worked to free Raijin’s damaged engine.

Wielding plasma torches and gas-powered saws, they were hard at work cutting through the hardened mounts, which had seized into the locked position when the engine caught fire. The head technician, an offensively large man named Griggs was on the upper catwalk, shouting orders to the cutters and crane operators, coordinating their work until, at last, the final inch of metal gave way and the destroyed jet engine swung free.

Halliwell smiled as the assembly was hoisted off of Raijin’s back. Her vantage point afforded an excellent view of the carnage. Surprisingly, most of the casing appeared to be intact, but badly scorched and charred. Long scratches and deep gouges ran down the sides, but similar damage could be seen all over Raijin where it had scraped its way through the narrow halls of the underground facility. However, the biggest sign of damage were the gaping holes where turbine blades had forcibly exited the nacelle. There were at least a dozen of them, as well as smaller holes where various nuts, bolts, and shrapnel had been ejected at tremendous speeds.

“Perfect. I can use this,” Halliwell whispered under her breath as she snapped a few pictures with her phone and was about to hit ‘send’ when the door opened.

A young man entered. Actually, it would be more accurate to say he fell into the room. His lanky frame bumbled through a narrow gap in the door and he sort of staggered a few steps before coming to rest on the other side of the table, where he stared at the handler with a dumbfounded, deer-in-the-headlights expression. Wrinkled clothing. Crumpled backpack. Laptop computer tucked under one arm. He hadn’t even bothered to turn it off. She could hear the fan from here.

“Oh… oh my god,” the young man said, his voice a barely audible muttering. “S-s-she d-didn’t say Miss Halliwell would be joining us. I mean ‘me.’ I mean ‘us.’” He stopped, blinked, adjusted his glasses, blinked again, looked around, took them off and wiped them, then freaked out. “Ohmygodwherescammy!”

“She had to leave,” Halliwell said pleasantly, her utter confusion not registering on her face at all. “You must be Fitzroy. I was told you’re good with numbers.”

“Numbers? Yes. People? No,” he said, fidgeting nervously. “Then again, people are numbers, everything’s numbers, so you could technically say I’m good with people, but Mr. Griggs told me not to say that --the ‘people are numbers’ thing-- so I don’t say that…. but I just said it, didn’t I? Oh, crap, why am I wording words? C-can we start over? Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

”It’s just you,” Halliwell said dryly, “but starting over sounds like a wonderful idea, dear.” She fished a handkerchief from her pocket and extended it to him. “Elena Halliwell.”

“Fffff… ummm… Fffitzroy Jenkins, ma’am,” he said as he hesitantly accepted the offered piece of cloth and used it to wipe away the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He attempted to hand it back, but the woman politely shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just g-get really nervous talking to girls.”

“Well, you’re talking to a woman, so, you should be okay,” Halliwell said, a little more sharply than intended. She momentarily considered asking why he didn’t have any problem talking to Cammy, but, really the answer should be obvious.

“Anyway, how about those data logs?” she said as she took a seat and gestured for him to do the same. “You’ve had a few hours to review Raijin’s performance metrics. I’ve been told you have a knack for this sort of thing. Any highlights?”

“Raijin? Huh? Oh, right, that’s what we’re calling it now! I forgot. Cool. Okay. Yeah,” he said as he ignored the chairs and sat down on the floor --because that’s normal, right-- and opened his laptop computer. He clapped his hands together. “Where should we start…?”

“I will be meeting with a potential corporate backer tomorrow morning,” Halliwell said. “Camille’s performance today was… acceptable, but I need more than that if I’m going to sell it. Stats. Numbers. That’s what we brought you here for, dear. You’d rather be here than down there, yes?” She gestured toward the window.

“Yes, ma’am,” Fitzroy said, nodding vigorously. “It’s so noisy down there. And greasy. I find it hard to think. Actually…” he looked away from her and his face reddened. “I find it hard to think here, too. Are you sure Cammy can’t join us? Is it hot in here or is it-”

“It’s just you,” Halliwell said. Jesus, could you possibly be more pathetic, she thought as he patted himself down, clearly searching for something. “Left pocket,” she said and he found the handkerchief she’d just given him five seconds ago.

“Thank, thanks.” He quickly dabbed at his face. “Who’s the client? Maybe that’ll help me… umm… think.”

“I’ve arranged a meeting with the VP of marketing at Valkyrian Starworks.”

“VS? The space guys? Niiiice,” he said, making a hand gesture that was supposed to simulate an airplane or rocket or… something. “I did an unpaid internship there fresh outta uni. Did you know I wrote 743 lines of code for the VS-109 supersonic drone program?”

“Impressive,” Halliwell said and, for once, she wasn’t just humoring him.

“There are 1.9 trillion lines of code in the VS-109’s avionics suite alone. Another 3.6 billion for the weapons systems, target acquisition, IFF discernment, etcetera, etcetera. But, hey, I did my part, right!? Did I mention it was unpaid…”

“The data logs, please, young man,” Halliwell said. “Time is money, dear. Time is money.”

“Well, actually time is relative… but so is money, I guess… You might have a point there. Oh, rightrightrightright. Focus, Fitz. Focus!” He smacked himself on the face, then rapidly snapped his fingers. “I guess you want to know more about the jet engines, then. That’s what you’re looking for, right? I mean, why else would you go to VS if not for rockets and jet propulsion and whatnot…”

“Camille is very committed to this ‘rocket kitty’ motif she’s pursuing,” Halliwell said, leaning forward. “Silly, I know. But it’s my job, as her handler, to ensure it doesn’t get her killed. I need to know everything that went wrong… so we can do better next time. Understand?”

“Ohhhhhhh, you mean that,” Fitzroy said, pointing toward the window, where the destroyed jet engine was still dangling from a crane. It was slowly being lowered down, onto a flatbed truck. ”Don’t need data logs for that. It’s pretty obvious. Catastrophic FOD leading to a cascading structural failure of-”

“I speak a dozen languages, but not that one, sweetheart. Slow down, please,” Halliwell said.

“Translation: it sucked up a rock,” Fitzroy said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “The JX-455 is used on supersonic bombers. They take off on nice, clean runways. Bad things happen when you strap them to an NC and boost down a cliff face. I told them, ‘at least put a screen on it!’ They did. Whooosh! It sucked that up, too.” He laughed and snorted a little.

“It’s a miracle one survived that mission!” Fitzroy went on to say. “And the fuel maps are all wrong! Those things aren’t even efficient until mach .98. They supercruise. We can dial down how much fuel its using at idle and ramp up the tip-in towards max throttle ‘til it hits full afterburner to kind of compensate, but it’ll never be right. It’ll never be efficient at subsonic inlet airspeeds. Fast engine wants to go fast. But slow NC is slow. They don’t play nice together.

“Raijin does, like 175… maybe 200 miles per hour, at best,” he said, while Halliwell stared on, utterly fascinated. “That’s as fast as its legs can move. Period. Any faster and it’ll break itself and it won’t allow Cammy to do that… yet. In time, maybe, but not yet. Their link isn’t strong enough. When she was field testing, I plotted the limb movements on a graph, mapped the duty cycle of each ‘step,’ if you will, and its front limbs are only at about 60%, while the rear are maxed out. To go faster, is needs longer legs or more joints or something. Unless she skates or we put wheels on her, she ain’t goin’ any faster until something changes. Something structural.

“Speaking of structural limits, she exceeded the ‘safe’ g-limit 23 times during that mission. 23 times!” Fitzroy said. “That limit is there for the pilot, not the NC, by the way. 2471-8 can take waaaay more abuse than that but the fact that she did it without blacking out is… well, it’s highlight-worthy. Reckless, but highlight-worthy. Make sure you mention that in your meeting tomorrow. These aviation guys eat that up! There’s a reason ValStar went into the drone business. They can’t find pilots who can handle their aircraft without passing out. Well, that mission proved Cammy probably can.

“I mean, it makes sense,” he said, finally beginning to slow down. “The quadrupedal stance affords greater traction and stability. Rapid changes in direction are… expected. Makes her agile, hard to hit… unless you’ve got guided missiles or military-grade targeting software. She was smart to put chaff and flares on it, but that’s just a stop-gap. It needs better armor and countermeasures. Speaking of which, did you know she asked me to program a CIWS? Impossible. 2471-8’s current hardware can’t handle those kinds of calculations. Not enough processing power, unless we pull from other systems. After you’re done courting VS for better engines, hit up QCR, please. Raijin’s not smart enough. Dumb NC is dead NC.

“And it’s kind of beside the point, anyway. I mean she doesn’t even have the right weapon for a CIWS. Needs a laser or a minigun or whatever. What you gonna do, shoot down missiles with an artillery cannon? Or that scraptastic railgun over there?” He paused for air, finally. “Actually… holy shit.” He snorted with laughter again. “No… no… nonononononononono... that’d be ridiculous. She can’t be trying to do what I think she’s trying to do with that thing.”

After rambling on and on about Raijin’s strengths and weaknesses, he suddenly became very quiet and contemplative. Halliwell waited for him to go on, but it was clear he’d retreated back into whatever shell he briefly emerged from. After nearly a full minute of silence, she had had enough.

“Well, this has truly been enlightening,” she said as she stood and picked up her briefcase. Rather than leave right away, she went to the window once more and stood there, with her hands behind her back, watching the goings-on down below. The damaged engine was gone and the techs had turned their attention to removing its twin, as well as servicing the 200mm cannons.

And there, by the railgun, was Cammy, still in her pilot suit of course, talking with Griggs and a pair of technicians, whom Halliwell knew were weapons specialists. Although Halliwell obviously couldn’t hear what was being said, the linker’s wild gestures and rather animated way of speaking was a dead giveaway. She performed a very exaggerated reenactment of firing a heavy machine gun… or at least the way firing one might look in an over-the-top action movie, which made Griggs double over with laughter, but the two weapons specialists looked less than amused.

So, that’s what you’re going for? I see…

“I quite like this view,” Halliwell said. “I think I may set up an office here.” She glanced over her shoulder at Fitzroy, who quickly looked away, as if he hadn’t been staring at all. She approached him and knelt as she produced a business card, seemingly from thin air, and tucked it into his pocket, right next to the handkerchief. “Call me if you need parts for that full auto railgun project… or if you just want to talk to a girl.”
 
Intermission: On a network, somewhere...

Connecting . . .

Connected!

Welcome MFSmith!
Users Online:
MFSmith
Fearless
ILoveSwans
RealVintage
201stSquadronLeader

🌹
XavierCrowley
Fearless: They have potential. They just need opportunities and time, I figure.
ILoveSwans: Agreed.
201stSquadronLeader: @XavierCrowley and Im not going2gt2 do anythin rite?

XavierCrowley: @201stSquadronLeader Correct. Not yet.
RealVintage: @XavierCrowley I still don't understand why this is so important?
XavierCrowley: @RealVintage Potential must be cultivated wherever possible to meet my needs. Anyway, thank you all, but this discussion should be halted for now.
MFSmith: I'm sure I should wish I got here 3 minutes sooner. What were you guys talking about?
XavierCrowley: @MFSmith Nothing pertinent to your interests. What did you connect for?
MFSmith: @XavierCrowley Wondering if I could get another interview when I'm done with this segment on the SOZ on NBN. I'm personally curious. You posted 6 or 7 Linkers in the same general area all at once, this is new for you. Could I get a full answer in a few hours?
XavierCrowley: @MFSmith Perhaps. You remember how precious my time is? You can't expect a discount.
MFSmith: Yeah I got your damn money.
XavierCrowley: Good.
🌹
: Speaking of, can I get the whereabouts of my protege?
XavierCrowley: As soon as you pick an actual username.
🌹
: Don't fuck with me, brainiac.
XavierCrowley: I just sent you her address and her phone number. Apparently she is throwing a party. Invite yourself.
RealVintage: Can I go?
XavierCrowley: No.
RealVintage: aww
 
Before a certain social event...
Collaboration between AnonyMouse AnonyMouse and Windsock Windsock

Barreling down the busy streets of New Baltimore, fresh from an airport, was a rented 'auto' whose sole occupant was sitting in the passenger's side, gawking at the wheel as it turned on its own; herself busy with a phone call she took a temporary reprieve from, quickly getting back into the conversation when she heard it was her turn. As her fellow conversationalist finished saying something surely conveying her surprise as Rosa suggested she was crashing Azata's party, she replied with; "Yeah, I brought shit,-" as her body turned back, cases of something-or-other and a few boxes, all what could be held in two very cramped arms. "-I'm not that rude, you rowdy midget."

Leaning into the back-seat further as the 'Auto's on-board computer complained, "Please remain seated in the vehicle while underway!" she wondered aloud to her protege if she knew a way to rip that shit out, before surveying Rosa's own little 'victory party supplies': a case of some expensive, top-shelf whiskey she was saving up for an occasion like this, soda, and a surprise or several in the two boxes. The two cardboard cubes were tied together with rope, which was also going to act as an impromptu handle when bringing the two in. Most of what was inside was business related, but whatever.

"Yeah, we got some of that vintage cowboy shit and some NC stuff I got you. Some soda too in case your friends are lamer than I am. I had my crew fork some of Sleighthand's software as a little shot-in-the-arm for Raijo. Raijin? Yeah, Raijin. Six hard-drives worth of the stuff. But that's not that important right now. Should I swing by and get some more stuff? How many are coming?"

"I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck," Cammy said, after letting the woman ramble on and on. "You're not invited. You were never invited. You never will be invited. And stop giving me free stuff! It won't make you any less of a scumbag. How did you even get my address!? I only invited a few people I know... and a lot I don't... and told them to bring their friends... or a friendly stranger... or a total stranger... or any random crowds they meet on the way... well, shit," her voice trailed off, making it clear she had realized she just answered her own question.

"Look, is this punishment for not responding to your stupid text the other day?" Cammy said. She clearly had her cell set on speaker phone, because there were sounds of her rummaging through various cardboard boxes and, apparently, throwing anything that wasn't what she was looking for. "I was busy moving in, alright. I'm just a small town girl in the big city, ya know. I was afraid and confused and..." She stifled a small laugh, because even she couldn't spout this bullshit with a straight face. "Please tell me you're not that fucking petty. I thought cows were supposed to be thick-skinned."

The interloper obviously wasn't amused by the comment at first, sneering to nobody in particular in her lonesome, before remembering Azata's own quirks and catching on that it was just a little joke. Still a little hurt, she repressed the emotion and fired back. "Hey, if wrench-monkey doesn't want help unfucking her own den either, be my guest. And, I just want to check on you, that's all! Can't I feel responsible for my student?"

The 'auto' driving on and on, she sat back in her proper seating position and buckled back in, grabbing her own phone and setting it back to regular speaking. "Yeah, and I want to meet the little gang you're apparently a part of. What, six Linkers all assigned to one base at the same time? That's unheard of. Figured I'd drop by and look around too, or are you afraid I'm gonna steal your new boyfriend or something?"

"Afraid you're gonna eat him..." Cammy muttered, more to herself than anything. "Look, I don't really care. I'm gonna have a good time and you can't mess that up, no matter how hard you try, so do what you want. Who knows, maybe having an ugly friend around will make me look better by comparison. Or maybe some of these folks might like having a 'veteran linker' around, like you're some kind of D-list celebrity or something. Good for them. Cool. Whatever. It's a party. Once I'm blackout drunk, I won't even know who you are, anyway. You might be my boyfriend by the time this shit's over. Ugh."
 
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Episode 2: A Particular Person's Party
It was the same day, a bit later into the evening as a small overcast came and quickly cleared itself, the hint of coming rain in the following week easily ignored for now. At one particular house in a minor sub-section of gated suburb at the exterior rim of New Baltimore, a gathering was forming outside the abode as an eclectic band of individuals came to the flat, pursuing the promise of a party to celebrate everyone's first successful mission, even if some were a bit worse for wear more than others.

Cleaned up at a certain self-proclaimed mentor's insistence, the house was appropriately tidied so that an upcoming gathering could mess it up again. The atmosphere was almost proper, if not quite; but it was easy to accept it as part of Azata's own personable, rough charm showing itself in another way, through the bare, honest status of the house itself. One after another, people showed up in small bunches; greeted by the smart technology of the house with a simplistically synthesized "Welcome." that accompanied the automatic operation of the front door, to be further greeted by Azata herself, and her unwelcome accomplice, Rosa, who was thankfully mostly keeping to herself for now. Apparently, she was trying to cook something up in the kitchen for 'actual food'.

Incidentally, the first bunch in the house was exclusively made from Azata's direct co-workers; Streuben, Peyton, Adam, Hazel, and Niko; who just showed up last to round out the strange band of off-duty Linkers. Adam and Hazel were obviously comfortable around the house now, having been a part of the little event the longest, which wasn't exactly surprising as they were literal neighbors. Centered about in the living room, with Niko having just arrived, it almost looked like a proper party as the group were presumably talking, joking, sharing stories and getting tipsy.
 
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Episode 2
Cammy's suburban abode was rather large for one person. She had more space than she knew what to do with, which meant many of the rooms were simply filled with the boxes she hadn't unpacked yet. Frankly, she didn't like the idea of cleaning up for anyone. Why should I? They're in my house, she thought. The concept of hospitality was somewhat foreign to her, as was the idea of owning a house at all. But, at Rosa's insistence, she at least shoved her junk out of the way, so the floors and tables and countertops weren't cluttered.

The house's main entryway opened up into a fairly large living room, which was the heart of the house and she knew would probably be the focal point of this get-together. It had two couches angled around a low coffee table and a huge flatscreen which occupied about a third of one wall. Walking straight through the living room led to the kitchen, which had a countertop Cammy was sure would serve as a bar as the night went on. Rosa was currently there... because food.

Along the right side of the living room were two doors; one leading to the garage --which was also filled with shit, mostly tools and parts for her truck, which was currently on the driveway outside, under a huge tarp. The other led outdoors, to the backyard, where she had just finished setting up a crude grill. To the left of the living room was a bathroom and two very short flights of stairs, for it was a split-level home. Going up led to a short hall with two bedrooms, one of which was currently a storage room for moving boxes, while the other was Cammy's sparsely-furnished sleeping quarters. Meanwhile, the downward flight of stairs led to a small subterrainian level with a medium-sized den-like room and the laundry room, as well as a smaller bathroom. Cammy had plans to turn that level into a workshop or drawing room/gallery of some sort, but it was mostly empty at the moment. Dance hall, maybe? Or a place to pass out.

Anyway, the party was off to a slow start. Too slow, Cammy thought. She hadn't set an actual starting time, so people just trickled in throughout the evening. Adam and Hazel were the first to show up, of course. She left them to their own devices and even gave them free reign of the house's sound system to set the mood while she finished setting up her rusty oil drum grill outside... because a party without fire wasn't a party at all and finding wood for a bonfire was out of the question, so this would have to do.

The man-giraffe showed up next. She wasn't really sure if he'd make an appearance, but there he was, all seven-foot-whatever of him. God, just sit down already. I hate this shit, she thought, as she ushered him in. And then Peyton, who had seemed so 'proper' when they first met, but Cammy was sure would probably destroy a keg or two or ten before the night was over. Because I know a party girl when I see one, she thought. You don't fool me. And last was... what's-his-face. Yeah, him. Nick? Nate? Whatever.The token virgin. Maybe we can fix that tonight.

Anyway, the gang was all here.
 
Episode 2FREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

Streuben had arrived with a surprisingly large array of european beers and liquors; whilst he didn't know much about Azata or the Raijin, he was not one to overtly antagonize. As he had entered the rather haphazard and potentially dangerous 'living' space of the, what would seem, rather eccentric woman's home, he made note of the house's artificial overseer greeting him, in which he nodded in response to both it and its owner as he bowed down slightly to avoid colliding with the door frames. "Thank you," he said as he made his way towards the kitchen with the bag, looking back at Azata as she went about her routine, whilst making sure to greet Hazel and Adam in-so-doing. "I've brought some hard liquors for those who like that, and a lot of good beer."

He made his way through the place slowly, even slower than usual, since the room was still rather littered. The fact that it seemed to have at least been attempted to be cleaned did spark intrigue in his mind, for whilst he didn't know much about Azata, considering how she handles her maintenance bay, she didn't seem like the cleaning type. Which he wasn't either, granted. Still, the slow tempo did tire out his already strained body.

Taking a glance at the TV quickly, he continued his quest to arrive at the kitchen and place his bounty, only to be met by another new face. Though she did seem somewhat familiar, all he'd muster at her was a typical greeting followed by a nod as he sat down by the counter, heaving the bag onto the top as he sat down.

He then proceeded to slowly unpack the bag, inspecting each bottle as he did. Making extremely certain that he didn't hurt the moderate-antique Huntsmaster he'd brought along, dated to 2371. He cocked a slight smile, hopefully it would be a satisfactory gift.
 
Episode 2: Azata's Kitchen
As the over-stretched man started putting away his customary gift of expensive wines, eyeing a particular piece of his donated collection, the slightly older woman investigating the kitchen for ingredients noted his presence and initiated a simple dialogue. Still, she chose to remain focused on her work at first. "Rosa.", she said, opening a cabinet before taking a quick glance over to the lanky giant. Apparently unimpressed by his sheer height through a moderate familiarity, she continued on, "I'm Azata's.. teacher. Well, she wouldn't say that,-", a flick of the wrist, "-But I wouldn't say friend either."

A few more moments of resumed looking, she took a break to turn over and level with the guy. She figured she'd explain what she was doing to satiate any curiosity the man might have, and ask something of him after. "I'm just making some actual food. Any preferences? I'm about to see if the house A.I. can at least order potatoes and bacon. Y'know, for skins? Midget is living on fuckin' pizza...". After elaborating, she leaned back on the counter, arms crossed in front of her as she looked to Streuben, and out past to the living room.
 
Episode 2: Azata's KitchenFREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

The 'giant' remained outwardly focused on arranging the liquors and beer bottles in a satisfying, enough, formation. Not paying too deep of an attention towards the 'teacher' who perused the kitchen at her whim. Certainly taking it into her own hands to 'own' the place, he thought as he lowered his gaze and focused on the bottles. Though, only to shortly be interrupted by her decision to initiate conversation. He wouldn't lie to himself, he was below standard at communicating with veritable strangers, though he did recall her being with Azata previously when he looked up from the bottles at her. Though it wasn't long before he fixated on the bottles again, deciding to nod reciprocally when he heard her sentences finish.

He stared again briefly, before he lowered it for the second time, opening his mouth. "Think the 'midget' will like this one?" He questioned, clearly having payed at least some semblance of attention to her as he held onto the Huntsmaster bottle with exceedingly delicate hands, though a brief shake betrayed his outward calm and staunch demeanour. As it did, he put the bottle down calmly and equally as delicately, before deciding to pursue his own fascinations regarding what Rosa had just said.

"I don't know much about food but," he reinitiated, completely ignoring the jab so 'innocently' delivered. "Teacher?" A sudden pause as he looked up again, "so you're her mentor." Good luck, he thought, based on the briefing and Azata's behaviour in it, Rosa certainly hadn't picked the easiest option of the lot when pursuing her supposed disciple. Must be some sort of peculiarity he thought as he looked her down, it is definitely a peculiarity. On second-thought he couldn't possibly fault Azata though, considering how odd his own mission had gone for him. Maybe he was peculiar too, hard to know though.
 
Following her run-in with Old Sal and a short briefing with Alice there had been quite some time for Peyton to clean up and ready herself for Cammy's party. Normally she'd steer clear of events such as these unless she absolutely knew and trusted those involved.
In this case however she'd make an exception. Even if there wasn't much cause for celebration beyond merely surviving the previous mission Jennifer did feel that it would be a good opportunity to better her relation to her fellow linkers.

Now, against her better judgement, she found herself standing inside Cammy's house. Dressed in heeled boots, tight jeans, a red turtleneck with a bomber jacket ontop and with her black hair tied up into a bun Jennifer looked at the people inside. Truth to be told she hadn't memorized all of their names and had been briefed by Alice whom had already figured out that Peyton wasn't very socially adept.

Peyton sighed. Looking around she nodded towards the others before catching a glimpse of her host trying to get a grill going.
She made her way through the house and outside, walking somewhat march-like towards Cammy.

"Party's a real killer."

Peyton extended her right hand, offering an amber-colored bottle. "I brought some whiskey. As a thanks."
 
Episode 2: Azata's Kitchen
When the guy jokingly asked if Azata would like the expensive drink he brought along, nearly a century old, she lightly chuckled at the question and answered it honestly. "Yeah, I'm sure! Sure she'll give you her opinion, anyway." As the man asked about their mutual history, the veteran Linker appreciated his curiosity, and decided to humor him before again asking something of the man herself. "Yeah, 'Mentor'. Sponsor, Whatever.", waving off the specifics, alongside her head, her natural black hair showing off the faint remnants of an old red dye that was long dissipated. "I told about her to MAVERICK so we're linked in that way; I'm trying to make a concrete connection but she just doesn't like me, which I guess is in order."

Figuring a bit more was in order, she elaborated a little on the incident in question. "So there I was a few years back, smoking out some dune-bandits as you usually end up doing when you look for work in Commonwealth territory, when I see a fucking bike ruin my ambush and kick up three or four trucks' worth of drugged-up maniacs-", letting her one-man audience drink the scene in their mind's eye for a few seconds before continuing.

"-So it's this one crazy bitch, guess who, with a rifle in her one hand and the steering in the other going toe-to-toe outnumbered four or eight to one depending on how you slice it, shooting out tires and the shit, and I was like 'Hell, easy money!' at first, but then I started remembering all the correlating traits they figure Linkers have?", demonstrating her thought process by poking her temple. "You know, weird psychological quirks, certain extreme skills; like this circus performer I was watching. Figured I found a Linker, and I admit that at the time I was just looking for the little bonus you get if you manage to find another Linker for MAVERICK..."

"...And, well, rest is history. Not too much else to say; got her referred, turns out she had the trait, so-so. I'm sure she'll tell you her side of the story if you ask."
, nodding to the living room space. Continuing on, she had a request relevant to the situation at hand.. "But, figured I'd poke my head in at least sometimes. Nice thing to do. Speaking of, I'm realizing there ain't enough shit to actually cook in here so I might as well order snacks. Would you mind figuring out what everyone wants to chow?"
 
Episode 2: Electric Boogaloo
With help from Windsock.

A party? It had been a while since she'd been invited to a party, apart from the one before being swept off to MAVERICK though that was one was more family based. This one, however, she barely knew about anyone's like and dislikes or really anything personal about each one at all, apart from the fact that Streuben liked his cards. Clearly Camille was the party sort. The rest? Maybe so after a couple of drinks. Not that Hazel really cared for parties that much as long as they were entertaining at the least.

Walking up the driveway towards Camille's door, it was obvious to Hazel what the tarp covered object was underneath. She had clocked it the first time she'd exited her house to head to the meeting a few days ago. Tempted by a quick look, Hazel pulled up the tarp just a little, revealing a old truck but that was it. It was best not to push her luck with investigating a bit more, though Camille would probably drop the entire story of it on her when asked. Pushing open the door to the house, it greeted her with a mediocre welcome and upon entering the house it was clear that Camille had been doing a bit of last minute cleaning up before her guests arrived, which surprised her somewhat.

Moving towards the kitchen, she greeted Camille with a smile and a bottle of whiskey on, placing it on the counter as she did. After the greeting, Hazel noted the other female companion, which Hazel took to be either her friend, mentor or lover. Maybe not the last one. Shaking the thought from her head, Hazel reached out her hand, offering a handshake whilst she spoke "Hazel Scott, I don't think we've met before..?" She let her introduction hang a while, awaiting for a similar introduction from her.

A response came quickly enough as the new lass introduced herself, taking up the handshake offered by Hazel before hand "Rosa. Nice to meet your acquaintance Hazel. I'm sure you know my supposed 'protege' over there?" Rosa gave a quick thumb over her shoulder, seeing as Camille was trying to cook on what appeared to a be a jerry rigged oil drum serving as a grill out in the backyard. "Surprised she hasn't blow herself up or the house yet considering her history." Rosa added on with a smile and a joking tone to match. Hazel smiled and chuckled at the response, prompting another question "How'd you get to know Camille in the first place? You sure seem like you got your hands full with her." Rosa smiled and shook her head, almost like she'd told this story a thousand times. Over the course of a few minutes, Rosa told of the story of how they first met and at the end, both of them were smiling from ear to ear.

Hazel shook her head, laughing a tad afterwards "Christ, she's out of her mind and with an attitude like that from her, I'm really surprised she's still kicking after all of this." She found herself a glass and slid it onto the counter while Rosa gave a response "Honestly, I don't know which god I pissed off to deserve this, though to know Camille professionally is a fit punishment." Smiling at the thought of Camille being a divine punishment, Hazel settled into a bar stool next to the counter top, pouring herself a glass of whiskey, taking a gulp of it as she finished placing the cap back onto the bottle. "Well, it's nice to meet you for the first time and I wish you luck dealing with Camille. I'm going to get myself into the 'party mood'" Hazel made air quotes with one hand "Make sure she doesn't blow herself up out there or I'll be giving her a stern talking to about health and safety." She gave Rosa a cheeky smile.

It wasn't long before the rest of the gang slowly trickled in, Adam soon after her and then the others just later after Adam. It'll be a hell of a party tonight. Hazel thought, taking in the small gathering and another sip of whiskey. Hazel nodded to each of the new attendees and gave a hello, giving them a bit of something to go off and making her seem like a sociable type. Initially, she thought that Streuben was approaching her, but that thought was thankfully discarded as he placed down more than just a few litres of booze onto the counter top, now talking to Rosa in turn. Hazel listened into the conversation as she continually sipped her drink from time to time. It was nothing special, basically the same thing that Rosa had told her about Camille.
 
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I knew bringing this thing was a good idea, Camille thought once the grill was fully assembled. It was little more than a steel drum sawed in half, with legs and grates welded on, and a smokestack to manage the heat. Crude, but effective. Her friends back home told her it wouldn't be necessary in New Baltimore. 'You'll have a real house,' they said, 'with a proper grill and an oven and appliances.' Yeah, but it wasn't the same.

She and her father had fired up this one countless times, under the stars, hundreds of miles from civilization. They had cooked everything from beef and pork and chicken, to all sorts of roadkill. Dogs, squirrels, plenty of raccoons, maybe a rat or two. Only fresh roadkill, of course. They weren't savages, mind you!

She appeared to be contemplating something when Peyton walked up, disturbing whatever mental conundrum was tumbling around inside Cammy's head.

"Party's a real killer," the other woman said, which made Cammy's eyes lazily zero in on her face, only to immediately lock on the bottle of liquor in her hand. "I brought some whiskey. As a thanks."

"Fuck yes! Why didn't I think of that!?" Cammy said and quickly snatched the bottle from Peyton. She dumped nearly half the contents of the bottle over the coals piled inside the grill, took a swig, winced, and handed it back to Peyton. "Geez, I'm off my game today," she said as she struck a match, tossed it in, and casually turned to Peyton as a ten-foot tall mushroom cloud of fire wafted into the air.

"Forgot to get lighter fluid. I was considering using diesel," she said, speaking far too casually for someone standing this close to an inferno. "Then I remembered diesel doesn't light from matches. And it's kind of, you know, not safe for cooking. House full of booze and here I am trying to figure out how to start a fucking fire! Goddamn, Cam, get your shit together...."

The flames were already beginning to subside to a less terrifying level. She poked around at the coals for a bit, then shut the lid to trap the heat inside.

"Anyway," Cammy said, turning to Peyton once more. "I don't know what you're thanking me for. If you're talking about the mission..." she shrugged, "I just did what I do for fun. You're the one who ate a 300 mil round and melee'd a cannon, savage. But thanks for showing up. You seem like the 'drinks alone' type, so... yeah."
 
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Episode 2: Azata's KitchenFREDRICH-ALEXANDER VON STREUBEN
To some's surprise, he also responds to "Tower-Upright."

Streuben listened intently as he fiddled with the Huntsmaster bottle, and in order to make it obvious who's it was, he had made a custom gift card for Azata. A stylized rendition of the Raijin, at least what he remembered from it during the pre-mission machine depot. It had taken an hour or two, but it looked quite satisfying in his own books, making sure to employ the same 'street' style that she seemed to go for with her own aesthetic. As he wasn't exactly bad at drawing, painting, or illustrating, he'd hoped that it would be an appreciated effort, and more importantly, would make it obvious that it was a gift. Naturally, he didn't disregard Rosa's storytelling in-so-doing, but rather remained quiet until she had finished.

Pointing towards the opposite direction in which Rosa had gestured, he opened his mouth initially, saying "she's out on the grill, though." Clearly there was some disconnect between the two 'driving forces' of this 'party,' at least in the food department. Not exactly unusual, but it still served as a good highlight for how mentoring Azata would require a lot of doggy-handling. "I think she has a plan of her own." He finished, having now fully applied the appropriate flaire to his far too expensive gift.

With a slow lean back, he edged into the bar stool by the counter, taking off his long jacket and revealing a black and white checkered full sleeve t-shirt. Otherwise uninteresting were it not for the Emperor's Tarot upright across his back. He hung the jacket on the bar stool whilst he resumed talking, only after briefly looking around himself to the various 'spaces of engagement' in the house.

"I can," he resumed, referring to the make-shift server-role Rosa had asked of him, "but you should probably 'level' with your 'protege' first." It seemed that there were two opposing forces at work behind the process of creating food for the party, and he wanted no part in that drama should it come to pass. No way he was wrong about that. Though he couldn't help but feel a wild fascination behind Rosa and Azata's relationship. If there was something he'd learned from his 'superior' linkers, it's that they're quite prideful.

Yet here she was, Rosa, chasing a wild goose around, so he had to ask. "Whilst the story was something else," his voice rang with its usual monotonous symphony whilst he pulled into his jeans' front pocket, taking out his token deck and putting it on the counter top, "why Azata?" It was definitely a peculiarity, but at the same time, Rosa must also be rather peculiar for chasing after a rookie merely for whatever it is that mentors gain by acquiring a disciple. As he shuffled the deck with a variety of poker techniques, revealing a clearly trained skill in deck mixing, he began thinking in tune with the scrambling sound of his 'far-too-premium' deck.

Familiarity? "Because she reminds you of yourself?" He thought aloud, his thinking jumbling his otherwise natural american accent, presenting the hidden nuance of central-european language rooted in his speech. Did Rosa see something in Azata that reminded her of herself? Quite possible, most probable even.

It would explain why she'd expend greater effort in trying to get Azata under 'control,' though he wouldn't think that could ever be possible.
 

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