A Troubled Soldier 01

[theriflespiral]

I: Delivery to Elysium
Elysium-the-city was far larger than Natalia had first assumed. Not that this was a problem for her-- a day or two among the rooftops, and she would know this place as well as anyone who lived here.

For now, though, she was momentarily relying on a map she kept carefully tucked away, and an address on a box with a memorized order form (and countersign, and counter-countersign, easily handwaved).

Being a delivery girl was hardly a novel cover, but it was precisely because such things were ubiquitous that it was easy to slip into the role as she came around the service entrance. Add perhaps a touch of bitter expression at the cold-- she didn't even have to try for that one-- and things would, hopefully, work just fine.


II: Blames Her Tools (Vault)
Natalia, after spending the better part of a day hitting targets from as extreme a range as the Vault could afford, was now overhauling her rifle, first cleaning the inside of the barrel with a cloth and a cleaning rod, and then disassembling it, screw by painstaking screw.

The casings were drying on a separate cloth nearby, with the scent of soap and water, waiting for an oven to finish getting up to the proper temperature.

It took up an entire gunsmith's bench, between the disassembly and the casings waiting for annealing and rolling and fitting and loading, but there was something to it. A peace, in an artisan's craft.

She looked at the tool rack above her and clicked her tongue.

She would have to go hunting for that particular tool.

Okay. Smooth hair. Stand properly. Act like you're supposed to be here.

Time to go among the other workbenches. Or workshops, if she had to.


III: Wildcard
Bug Natalia because she looks suspicious or because you need something.

Comments

[purplexing]

Donnie sets the plate within, letting the heat wash over him while he watches the metal as it begins to slowly redden.

"Yeah," he says eventually, offering nothing more on that matter. Stupid Empire.

His brow furrows as he studies the contents of the forge. "I mean, I guess. They're made to mimic the movements of an organic form. But Soldier-class is still on the slow side. They're made of steel so they're tough, built to take a hit and deliver it."

[theriflespiral]

She's content to leave it at that. They hunted her for sport once. She'll show them all why you don't do that. She imagines it's much the same for this fellow, albeit in a different way.

"Everything I have is standard issue," Natalia says. "The only concession to my abilities is that I have been trying to fashion an eyepiece for my rifle. To...."

She begins to grumble her frustration, but it peters out. She continues to work through the pain. "Less success than I prefer. But--"

"I think there's something to be said, yet, for the skill of the wielder." She paused. "And of the welder."

[purplexing]

"They took everything you had," Donnie assumes. That seems to be the way of things with those the Imperials bring in.

"Are the standard ones different from what you're used to?" Aside from a new eyepiece- a sniper? No wait, that's not what she's getting at. Not exactly. He squints into the flames.

"...you adapt. Make it work for you."

He pulls out the now glowing orange piece of metal, bringing it over to the nearby anvil. "The more you know where things fall short, the better you can accomodate for it. The same weapon gives different results depending on the hands that use it. Same as tools."

His eyes skim the workbench but none of the hammers seem to satisfy his immediate need as he makes a face. "But things can still be made better, so long as nothing's holding you back," he says as he concentrates. Mystic tools will certainly work in a pinch, but if he can just...make something that will produce the results he's looking for with less need to keep adjusting-

Glowing lines of vibrant purple trace in the air above the anvil and the piece, tracing out some sort of machinery press. It's entirely translucent and doesn't look like much more than a three-dimensional schematic, but Donnie closes a fist like he's pulling a lever- unnessessary but he feels it doesn't hurt to go through the motion. The head comes down upon the metal, the sound it produces real enough.

Donnie opens his hand again, pulling his goggles down as he leans in to eyeball the metal plate before he straightens again and gives it another pound.

[theriflespiral]

"You begin to understand my little joke," she nearly shouts over the sound of pounding metal. It would sound a lot more like one if she actually sounded like she was joking.

"Little joke prepares for bigger joke."

[purplexing]

"Joke?"

He lifts his head briefly, wondering if he'd heard right. Then it's back to looking at the plate again. One more strike should do it. This time Donnie doesn't even move his hand, letting the mystically conjured press lift and fall once more.

"That should do it," Donnie says, pulling the plate from the anvil as he lets his magic dissipate in a flurry of purple light. He drops the metal into a trough of water with a loud hiss.

"Right. So, graphite powder." He pulls his gloves off, tossing them on the workbench as he walks over to look through things on the storage shelf. "I mean, it's good if you can do some heavy damage with something that people wouldn't otherwise expect much out of, but if you have options, why limit yourself? Do you make your own weapons back home?"

[theriflespiral]

"Habit, mostly, I suppose," Natalia said, now seriously considering the question as she stood from her squat. "I've never made my own weapon before, but performing my own maintenance is calming. And..."

"Let me put it this way. I could, theoretically, make all the parts for a Chukavina. But were I to do so, if we even had the exacting machining for those tolerances-- I could not chamber it in 7,62 [millimeter] ammunition. They do not make 7,62 here, nor does even the Empire have the right kind of gunpowder. I would have to chamber it for Imperial standard rifle rounds." She shrugged. "At that point..."

[purplexing]

"-does it have to be that sort of ammo?" Donnie presses. "I can see how that would be a problem if it's that specialized, but is it worthwhile to make a customized gun that can still use what's available or to just work with the guns we have?"

He pulls a canister from the shelf, opening it to check its contents before he turns to walk back over to her.

"Which goes back to my earlier question. Are they different from what you're used to? Or rather, how are they different? Is it just the ammunition size, the kick? Weight?"

[theriflespiral]

"There are differences in power, gas escape, turbulence, the lack of--" She cussed in Russian, and then winced. "gas chambering and cycling as an option is entirely off the table; the Empire doesn't seem to have figured out the trick. But as a gun, it shoots. I can get it to somewhat reasonable distances, though not the little over a kilometer I'm used to."

[purplexing]

The turtlekin tilts his head, but he's absorbing each detail she puts forth, even if in some cases he might not quite understand some of it. But he more or less gets the idea, curiosity piqued at there being something to a weapon that hasn't been yet employed by the Empire.

The potential for new ideas has been in the Empire's hands and they haven't thought to use the people who hold them for little more than manual labor. Which Donnie supposes is a good thing, not that he figures anyone would be willing to indulge after the treatment they're likely to receive. His expression pinches slightly, hand worrying at his neck as his thoughts slip back to darker days, knowing the Empire didn't just ask if they wanted things badly enough.

"...I don't suppose you can draw out the mechanics..?" he asks, holding out the container of graphite powder to Natalia. "Although I guess the real question would be how compatible ammo would be with the specifications, even if it's made to fit. I could probably customize a rifle for you but I'd really need to understand what makes it special."

[theriflespiral]

"So. I could, but I left the casings in that oven. It's past time I got them back to shape. but if you want a napkin concept, I can do that quite fast," she says, walking over to her own bench and beckoning Donnie to follow. "You understand the basic operation of the bolt action, yes?"

She pointed out the various parts of the receiver in the bolt-action. "The bolt charges the firing pin and chambers the next round, but doesn't quite seal all the gas. It's still a very good choice for sharp-shooters because there's no cylinder flash like with a revolver-type feed, but the action of launching the bullet has a lot of energy."

Now she stacks the chamber, bolt, and firing pin. "But if you have a resilient enough spring, and enough mass in the charger, every action has its reaction. You can..."

Here, she points what would be downrange and slides the action. "[Semi-automatic.] Ejects the casing and chambers the next round without input from the user using the gas reaction for the energy. But the parts have to fit together closely."

[purplexing]

Donnie needs no further prompting to trail after her, eager to soak up any new info. He nods, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil from his beltpouch to jot down notes.

It's easier with visuals, and he lets Natalia go through her explanations as he adds some very rough sketches of parts to go with the notes he makes. He does have to pause at the unfamiliar term, making a face as he tries to spell out the best approximation of what it sounds like.

"Hmm..." he muses. "I'll definitely have to do some experimenting..." Probably disassemble a few guns too. At least they've gotten more with the recent salvage efforts.

[theriflespiral]

"Most importantly for a sniper, it means not resetting your aim with every shot. Much faster fire rate, decently accurate." She pauses. "And if you can step it up to, say, a... half-inch? Half inch diameter round with a hard metal coating, and give it enough powder..."

She points back at the Feder, and makes a 'powwww' noise. "Weakest part of tanks is always operators."

[purplexing]

"Oh, that makes sense." Donnie hasn't fired many guns himself, but after being in too many encounters where his melee weapon put him at a disadvantage, he's been starting to wonder if he should get in some practice with a firearm.

Bigger rounds... He sketched out an estimate of the requested size. "Like around this big?"

His eyes slide back towards the armor and he swallows, wondering how much firepower it took for a shot from a regular firearm to pierce that sort of plating. Maybe he should look into mithril...

[theriflespiral]

"Hmm," she nods, then starts drawing. "But casings, even our casings, are..."

Ah. That's. A lot of powder. "Big. So. While I'm wishing, I will not hold breath on that one. It's a lot to ask."

[purplexing]

"Ah. That would be a problem. Unless we can figure out an alternate way to supplement the power behind it." Donnie hums as he looks at Natalia's drawing. "Maybe a magical component?"

Ether stones could certainly provide something as simple as a power boost, and if it's built into a part that remains in consistent contact with the user, it would maintain a steady charge. He puts a few notations. Something he'd still be willing to play around with, a new puzzle to work out.

[theriflespiral]

"There's still the pressure and force. Even for back home, a purpose-build, and heavy little pig." Still, an anti-materiel rifle, if you can get away with it, is a much cheaper ask than a whole Armor with associated cannon and melee weaponry.

[purplexing]

Lots to consider, but Donnie knows better than to think anything is an instant solution. He doesn't trust anything that can be worked out too easily anyway. Real developments took time and plenty of testing before you got the results you wanted. There'd be drawbacks and consequences to consider, and Donnie's sure that if it were the Empire trying to throw something together, they'd skip ahead and go straight to print if they had the blueprints. The turtlekin still dreads the day he might come across anything that's employed the suggestions and ideas he'd unwittingly gave them before the Corsairs found him.

"Noted. It'll be a side-project. End of the year's busy and we're planning some big hits so I probably won't get to really sit and pick at this until well after. But I'll definitely try looking into it," he promises.

[theriflespiral]

"And, of course, even cheaper than that is [on-site procurement]. Added bonus, your enemy pays your materiel and ammunition bill." She gestures at the Feder again. "Of course, much harder to scale up."

"And so we come to my little joke again. All these weapons? Stole them."

[purplexing]

That makes Donnie smirk.

"It's only fair, right? The Empire's basically stealing people from other worlds as it is. Anything we take may as well be a delayed service charge."

He sighs. "Of course, it'd be better if that wasn't the case, but we do what we need to. I do love the irony of stealing from right under their noses though."

[theriflespiral]

"It is a lesson," she said, using rollers to compress the casings back to size while they were still hot. "The first of many that I will make them learn."

The casing, still hot, dropped into the tray she kept below, and the next casing fell into place. "Brass by brass, shell by shell, drop by drop. And maybe, I teach the wrong lessons. Maybe nothing changes.

"Maybe Natalia dies, and no one cares."

[purplexing]

That seems a bit harsh, and while Donnie can see the possible truth to it, he doesn't want to believe that their efforts turn out to be meaningless.

"No," he says, frowning as he looks at her.

"Cause and effect. Every action has its reaction, as you said. You may not see the results right away, maybe not even outright. That's the frustrating part of it, when it doesn't seem like what you do matters. But it does.

"...and if you die, then I'll just blame myself for not giving you a better weapon beforehand."

He smirks at the last, but there's truth in his words.

[theriflespiral]

When Donnie says something that cuts through the oldest Russian joke there is, her hand at the roller stops, because it hits her.

He believes it.

He really does think that his actions will matter, in the wider context.

And he wasn't much smarter than she was.

For a moment, she can almost feel something, and then she shivers, chilled to the bone, and keeps turning. She doesn't know how to deal with it, with him, deciding to wipe the blood from his knuckles and keep going. "... Perhaps."

Another casing rattles into the tray, cylindrical and even.

[purplexing]

Donnie's not good at reading people, not like his brothers. So he's not quite sure what to make of Natalia's reaction. Had he said something wrong? Did she think he was stupid?

The questions eat at him, but he forces himself to wait rather than look away even though it's tempting. Because he doesn't think he's wrong in this. Because he doesn't want to be wrong, because he needs to believe that what he's doing is good and useful and beneficial to others. It's not the healthiest way to operate, but that's how he's always been.

Natalia's eventual reply doesn't exactly set him at ease, but it's...something? He anxiously watches as she resumes her task.

"Um. Anyway. Did...you need anything else? I should get back to..." He thumbs back to his work area.

[theriflespiral]

"Ah-- right, uh, thank you. And... For what it is worth..." She pauses, unsure of how to frame her calculations in the cold light of strategy. "Morale is important. To know it will happen is important. Will to fight is what makes a technical charge a tank, and lack of it is what makes a tank drop smoke and run. I know these things. ... But it is another thing, to believe."

"Before you go-- what is your name?"

[purplexing]

That's...an interesting point he's never considered before. You could believe things without knowing, and he supposes the opposite is true until the knowledge is supplemented with solid fact. No, wait, that isn't...quite how belief works. Oh great, he's going to be thinking about this all day now.

The turtlekin shakes his head like that'd help scatter those thoughts before he went into full overthink mode.

"Oh, it's Donnie," he says. "And yours...?"