[center]
[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180328/3564744aadbefd26d26bdeb33001d77c.png[/img][/center]

[right][hr][color=gray][b]Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Convention Center[/b]
March 26th, 2677[/color][hr][/right]
[indent]As far as parties went this was probably the worst possible one Kathryn Dradht could imagine; in fact, per her perspective it was the definition of boring and lacking anything of interest — even with the vendors and canteen taken into consideration. Nonetheless, it was part of her [i]job[/i] and she knew it was something she had to deal with. With that in mind, the orange-haired girl took a light sigh as she stood up from her seat, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her hooded jacket, as she made for the podium as Celina motioned for the pilots to take some initiative and begin the whole public interview.

[color=f7941d][i]That’s what this is, right? An interview?[/i][/color]

In the last half-decade of working around North America she had done a long list of applications for independents and even corporate sponsors but she had never dealt with a kind of gig like New Anchorage. As strange as the contract and her situation currently was she had a very good reason to not just flip her shit and tell Commander Graham and the new Minister-Mayor-Leader person to fuck off. The thought had crossed her mind a few times and this whole interview was just another annoyance that she felt wasn’t important. It wasn’t like it was her fault that New Anchorage got attacked by a task force from out of nowhere. She may had been a freelancer, but she wasn’t a [i]traitor[/i].

As she moved her tongue in-between her teeth she thought about the question that had been asked from the woman in charge as soon as Ryn reached the podium. It wasn’t a large question to answer or a pointless one for an interview and even with Ryn’s level of knowledge she knew that much—but there was a lot of ways to tell people her story in a brief answer. There was an amount of things that per her perspective wasn’t information they [i]needed[/i] to know. There were things that she had never told anyone before, after all. Even people who were what she considered friends were in the dark about Ryn’s “origin story”. The most she had ever told people before this interview was that her mother died and she took over. She wasn’t sure what New Anchorage’s “dossier file” had on her, but it couldn’t have been much considering the mundanity of who she was before she was a pilot and what led up to it. It was a story people in her neck of the woods had heard a thousand times before.

[color=f7941d]“I became a pilot ‘cuz someone died that wasn’t supposed to.”[/color] She admitted, the memory coming back to her for a moment.

[indent][color=gray][i]It was five, maybe six years ago — and the last time she remembered being happy. It was before she lived a life of a neural combatant and before she drove a knife into a man for the first time. She didn’t think about it often but the question brought it back to the forefront of her mind. It brought back the emotions she thought she had locked away and removed from her mind. It brought her back to Blackstone Harbor, her mother, and the day she stopped being a dumb little kid at nine years old.

Her mother’s hair was tucked back, held by a tightly wrapped bandanna, as she dropped to her knees and embraced her in a hug, and spoke the words that she now believed as the worst things to say to anyone.

“I love you.”

She remembered what she told her mother in reply—the last words she would say to her.

“Pfft! You say that all the time, mom! Go kick their ass! I’ll make dinner to celebrate. I’m a great cook now, you’ll see!”

She never came home.[/i][/color][/indent]
When the moment had passed, she clenched the podium. [color=f7941d]“But yeah, isn’t like anybody forced me to do it. I w[i]anted[/i] it, so I took it even with all of the risks.”[/color]

The crowd muttered among themselves. the same to see her standing on stage, ready to answer questions as a pilot, seemed to surprise them. Ryn wasn’t surprised they were [i]shocked[/i] about her presence and abillity to take initiative considering how she had been treated by “adults” for the entirety of her career as a neural combatant. It was a tick of hers, as some of her comrades had learned when she confronted one of them for having an issue that New Anchorage was hiring children the day of her arrival at the military base. In her mind, it wasn’t special she was a kid and she didn’t need anyone to “parent” her—she was the equal of any of the other pilots and was intent to prove it; and if it made people think she was a little bitch or a reckless hire that was [i]their[/i] problem.

It didn’t take long for one of the members of the crowd to raise their hand and speaking the first question not uttered by Celina herself. It was a question Ryn had been asked many times before, though it did not make it any the less frustrating to hear again. “How old are you?”

[color=f7941d]“Thirteen.”[/color] Ryn remarked nonchalantly, as she stood front and center albeit in her slouched casual approach. [color=f7941d]“I think it’ll be five years in a few months.”[/color]

Ryn moved her tongue against her uppermost canines, as she sported a look of someone who was unimpressed by the comments. It made her upset that they were doing the same old song and dance that she had heard before but then again she expected them to. With the two of the people who actually paid her looking over her actions in answering the questions of a bunch of idiots who couldn’t even defend themselves she actually, in a fit of surprise appeared to remain largely civil of what she was hearing.

There were a few emotional whispers in the crowd that weren’t out of Ryn’s earshot—concerns about her as a child, how terrible it was that she was “alone”, and how “brave” she was. At least the thought that she was a [i]brave child[/i] was better than the other descriptors that had been used to define her in the past. She remembered all of the labels, insults, and remarks. They didn’t hurt her; they weren’t sharp enough to pierce her armor.

“Where are your parents?”

[color=f7941d][i]Of course they want to know my parents, because I'm a 'kid'. Assholes.[/i][/color]

[color=f7941d]“Not in the picture.”[/color]

It was a bit blunt, but it wasn’t wrong — her mother had died at the hands of another neural combatant several years ago and she had never known her father. As such the concept of a male role model in her life was something she never had and did not really think about too much. The emotions still triggered from the earlier questions still persisted in her mind and had Ryn been more sensitive of a person they probably would have made the armor she fashioned crack. She was too stubborn to show people that they was feeling upset.

“How long do you expect to stay on as a pilot here?”

The question of her staying as a pilot in New Anchorage was a smart one and one that Ryn hadn’t really thought about too hard beyond her original intentions of signing on. If the credits were good and the people weren’t intolerable she could see herself making this a new home for her, or at least for a time. Her feelings in her gut aside, there were times she missed Blackstone Harbor and the violent waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Whilst she had told herself she would [i]never[/i] go back to her hometown she had never particularly vowed to never find a new home.

[color=f7941d]“As long as I need to be here or I guess as long as you guys want me here, right?”[/color]

Another question from the crowd, this time from a woman. “What does it feel like knowing that you've killed people at such a young age?”

For her entire life she had killed out of necessity but even before that she had never been told that it was irregular; her mother was a pilot of a literal war machine and she lived in a small independent settlement in the Atlantic Territories that had to deal with dangerous wildlife, mutants, pirates, raiders, slavers, rival settlements, and all sorts of problems. It came with the territory.

[color=f7941d]“What do you mean?”[/color] She asked, curious about specifics. [color=f7941d]“Like do you mean the act of or in [i]general[/i]? In or out of suit?”[/color]

The woman took a step back—not immediately having an answer. However, the man next to her didn’t hesitate to inquire. “You’ve killed [i]out[/i] of your NC?”

[color=f7941d]“Yep.”[/color] She nodded, [color=f7941d]“Sometimes people think they can beat up and rob you because you’re a kid, so sometimes you have to draw a knife into their throat and kill them before they kill you. Dog eat dog world and all.”[/color]

Silence, a terribly awkward silence.

[color=f7941d][i]Guess that was too real for ‘em, huh?[/i][/color]

[color=crimson]“Thank you, Miss Drahdt, that will be all. Next.”[/color]

Ryn nodded in recognition as she walked away from the podium and returned to her seat, not thinking much about how the public “received” her interview. Removing her hands from her jacket she grabbed the cup of water she had left at the table and downed it; her brows narrowing as she realized there was nothing alcoholic in arms reach and let out a light sigh. The emotions she had buried weren’t [i]supposed[/i] to come [i]back[/i] after a stupid question — they weren’t supposed to come back [i]ever[/i]. She reached into the bag she had placed in front of her and retrieved a dried piece of jerky before splitting it between her teeth. 

How long was all of this going to take before she could just head off to the canteen for a flask or two?[/indent]