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

I

[lightnovelexperiences]

One of Natalia’s special deliveries is to a bathhouse and beauty salon.

The staff are bustling, grabbing salves and salts and ointments from the shelves with a quick checkmark to indicate the expenditure.

The recipient is one Deedee Yeowoo, a foxkin woman Natalia may recognize from her earliest arrival, who is personally dropping some perfumed essence into a jar of neutral oil when she spots you.

“Oh, hey. Got something for me?” she asks, ears twitching.

II-ish

[newmemorywhodis]

When she returns to the range, Natalia will find that someone else has taken up residence. A short young man with long blonde hair and pointed ears has re-arranged the targets into something of an elaborate obstacle course. Targets have been placed in all sorts of odd places, along with crates stacked upon each other throughout to create variation in height.

His goal, it seems, is to climb up the crates, jump off of them, and then shoot as many targets as possible while mid-air. Which it turns out is a lot of targets - because while mid-air, for a brief moment, he seems to speed up impossibly. In the space of a second, he shoots nine arrows into nine targets.

And then as he lands on the ground, he notices Natalia's return. Pauses. And then gives her a little wave. Hi?

II

[purplexing]

During the winter the turtlekin tended to favor a workbench closer to the heat of the forges. Things are usually relatively warmer in the armory but he still seemed to be able to tell the subtle differences between spaces, or perhaps it was some inherent thing, tugging at the back of his mind trying to coax him to bed for a long nap.

But he can't nap! Not when there's so much to be done! He has so much firing to do so things work out better this way.

His bench is kept nice and neat, pieces he's letting sit or that he's finished set well aside, the tools he's been using resting there, ready for the next task while others are stowed on a rack or in the tool box beside it. Donnie himself is busy stoking the flames in the furnace, trying to get the heat to the most optimal levels for his next piece.

Sitting nearby in a crouched position is a Feder armor, parts clearly missing, or rather removed as some rest in a small pile not far from it.

II: Vault and Tools

[harlequinchimera]

Oki too, was one to seek the rifle range, or as near as the Vault could manage, and she too had skills to keep sharp and in practice. She was on her way in, carrying the instruments of her philosophy, when she heard and saw Natalia at the range and took up a space a respectful distance away, eyes afield, watching the other sniper work, and she let her work in relative silence. Once she had completed her set and headed oit, Oki took her own turn at the range, working out the proper cold barrel shot with the new weapon, zeroing the sights, even tasting and retesting the accuracy and then took rapid, practiced notes on the performance.

She rose after, with a chuckle, and returned to the workshops, in time to see Natalia once again, this time tending to every last nut and bolt, washer and toggle, with the intention of cleaning it thoroughly, complete with oiling. Oki set her own weapon on a gunsmithing table not far away, but wandered over, showing an interest in Natalia's regimen as well. She spoke clearly, from a few paces away, in full light. "We are of a kind, I can say with confidence," she said. "And forgive me, if I distract from your discipline." She tilted her head, gave a small smile. "It is nice to meet another, and not have them being on the other end of the scope for once."

II; range

[edaciousness]

Malachiasz finds himself at the range only because he's taken it upon himself to explore every facet of this section of the Corsairs. If he's to help them develop weapons, and he will, he needs to know how they work already to be expanded upon. In this world is his first encountered with firearms, for instance, and he might be standing closer than she'd be comfortable with to get a better look. Tall, thin, and with hair unkempt, his ice blue eyes are watching the targets as they're dashed nearly the instant she pulls the trigger.

"Fascinating."