▼ p e r s o n a l d e t a i l s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Gender - Male ► Sexuality - "This concerns you, how?" ► Nicknames - Z ► Codename - Lancer ► Place of Birth - Tokyo, Japan
▼ p h y s i c a l i t y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Height - 5’ 10” ► Weight - 150 lbs ► Ethnicity - Japanese ► General Description - Black hair, black eyes, a displeased neutral expression. Clear skin and a matured jawline that often makes people misestimate his age. Training has tempered some musculature into his frame, though his previous thinness makes it look more impressive than it actually is. From his flat stare to his expensive clothes, there’s a lot of stuff about this guy that makes it seem as though he’s looking down on you, as though he shouldn’t be anywhere near this middling Texan public school. Only the latter part is correct.
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► Foreign movies ► Going fast ► American soft drinks
▼ d i s l i k e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Texan sushi ► Texan fried food ► Texas
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► Returning to his family home.
▼ f e a r s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► "...Rejection, I suppose? What would you like to hear?"
biography
If you’re going to devote your life to some obscure, expensive pastime, Yuto would recommend being born into a family responsible for 5% of Japan’s GDP. The Shitanagas are a clan that go way back, sitting on top of a shipping conglomerate that traces its roots back to the Meiji Era. Yuto was given free reign over his hobbies and expenditures on two conditions: that he attended his classes, and that he presented himself as a suitable heir to the conglomerate. He stuck to those guidelines… loosely. Always testing how much he could get away with. It’s not like his parents were ever around long enough to notice, especially once they had to pick up his older brother’s slack. So he tried a whole bevy of hobbies. And he discovered karting.
The feeling of having your own life in your hands, the wind whipping through his clothes. He didn’t just love it, he was freaking good at it. Better than anything else he’d tried. His parents approved for the most part. The sport gave him a bunch of chances for sponsorship deals and subsequent connections for the family business. He was a prodigy tearing up the European circuits and it was great until he declared his intentions to remain in Britain for his career. The one that wasn’t set out by his parents. A week-long argument erupted, promises of disownment and emancipation getting thrown about, resulting in Yuto driving his father’s precious Aston Martin into the neighbor’s pool. Suffice to say, he was out.
Yuto’s future was up in the air and it was only on the word of some no-name colleague that his father decided his fate. He would be shipped off to the States to live with his maverick uncle, Hirose, the CEO of Texas’ largest sushi restaurant chain. It was a punishment of the highest order but Yuto was given one small act of mercy. A deal. Redeem himself with exemplary university records and he would be let back into the family.
That was around four years ago. He got stuck in an American public school, he hated it, then he woke up in a sterile room to a Russian woman and an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Even though his mission performances lie in the middle of the bell curve, and he spends most of his time with Promenade waiting for the other agents to get out whatever building they’ve saved from an explosion, graduation is in his sights. He’s driving out and he’s not looking back for anyone.
Tactical Driving – It started as a hobby, then a promotional gig for a family acquaintance, then a brief career on the professional circuit. Yuto has years of karting under his belt, with many more trophies to show. He was intending to promote into F1 before the big move sent him to the backwaters. Luckily, Promenade has fulfilled his dream of racing full-sized cars, even if it’s in an unconventional manner. Being one of the support members rather than the frontline gives him all the extra practice time he needs. As a result of this and the Neural Sync, his reflexes and co-ordination go beyond any professional level he would have achieved out on the racetrack. He hopes that they’ll give him aerial lessons soon.
Languages and Accents – Fluently speaks Japanese, English. Proficient in Mandarin and French. Basic knowledge of German. Talks to himself when he believes no one is listening, practicing the accents and mannerisms he observes in films and school.
Internationally Cultured – Rich boy has been places.
Fashion – From streetwear to more sophisticated attire, Yuto observes the trends of his age group and can blend in with most crowds depending on his preparation time.
Piano/Organ – The plan was to use his eight years of classical training to teach his cousin to play the organ for Sunday service when old lady Gwendolyn had to retire. NOT to wake up at seven every weekend to do it in his cousin’s stead.
Basic Mechanics – Learnt alongside the tech-savvier agents. Knows enough to maintain the non-computerised parts of his vehicles but that’s pretty much it.
“Business Mode” – Something he picked up from his entrepreneur uncle, a trick along the lines of ‘talk less, smile more’. A deeper voice, a cool smile here and there. If Yuto lets his supposedly handsome face do all the talking, for a brief moment of time he can give off an air of mystery and sophistication, making strangers give him more leeway than they usually would. It has helped him out of a few situations before, though the cracks start to appear if he talks too much.
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► Ford Focus – Promenade vehicles come in all sorts of models but Yuto deemed this one best for daily use. Used for recon, getaway driving, and dropping his cousins off at basketball practice. Seats seven. A hidden fingerprint scanner on the steering wheel prevents anyone outside of Promenade from accessing the vehicle’s hidden upgrades. Special features include but are not limited to:
► Armored Plating – Completely bulletproof, even on the tires. The windows’ tint can be turned on and off for use during the day.
► Offensive Hubcaps – Polearm-like attachments stretch out from the hubcaps, slashing the tires of anyone driving too close.
► Homing Missiles – The car has a maximum of six missiles. They’re deployed from the HCC.
► Smokescreen – Is emitted like an exhaust rather than a projectile.
► Caltrops – For pursuers behind.
► Nitrous Propulsion – Every driver should have a need for speed.
► Holographic Control Centre – By wearing a special pair of glasses he keeps on his person, the driver’s seat turns into a remote AR communication center where he can talk his teammates through any sticky situation they may encounter. Holographic screens and keyboards surround him, and they can only be seen through the glasses. Other agents may also have their own pair.
► Revolving Plates – License plate that switches from his uncle’s registration for daily use to a randomly generated plate for missions.
► Remote Control – With a few quick presses on his smartphone, Yuto can see and operate from the driver’s seat’s perspective or even place the car on autopilot to navigate to his location.
► Ejector Seat – Yuto has no intention of ever using this.
► Unscrubbable Smell of Old Soup – Don’t ask.
► Focus Glasses – Allows access to the HCC. Also has night vision and thermal imaging modes.
► Lower Face Mask – Compact design to help conceal his identity. Functions as a gas mask/respirator when needed.
► Yamaha R1M – Yuto’s ride of choice, though he hardly gets to use it on missions. Or any other time…
► Stun Baton – Has quite the kick.
► Tranquiliser Pistol – Usually shot from the safety of his car.
► Pomade – Five dollars from Walmart. For emergency use only.
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▼ s h o r t c o m i n g s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Can’t hold a substantial conversation for longer than ten minutes.
► Unaccustomed to the necessary violence of the job.
► Finds it difficult to make tough calls when his colleagues’ safety is on the line.
psyche
Here’s the thing about Yuto. He’s good in class. He’s athletic. He’s hardworking when he wants to be. He’s polite. But he sure as hell isn’t friendly. Talking with the guy always gives the vibe that there’s somewhere else he’d rather be, though even the concept of him viewing anything favorably can be absurd to people that don’t know him. He’s always trying to find the best way to wriggle out of conversations, with situations often blowing up when this is met with resistance, but he swears it’s not malicious. Dude just finds people to be a lot of effort. They’re strange and unlike him and expect too much from a guy they’ve hardly spoken to. And it’s just going to be awkward for both of them eventually so why not just pull it out from the root?
He’s just a guy that wants a stress-free life. And people are the most stressful thing of all.
Strength: B
Has good stamina but otherwise is the same as his peers.
Intelligence: A
He’s a master of cramming rather than studying. Picks up on concepts quickly, plus it’s not like he has much else to do with his time. Often does his schoolwork ahead of schedule to free up more driving hours. Doesn’t see the point of it all but he knows it’s necessary.
Close-Quarters Combat: C
Can take down the average underpaid security goon but will struggle against anyone more experienced. Isn’t that what the stun baton is for?
Firearms: D-
Never had an interest in firearms in Japan, continues to have no interest now. He knows how to switch the safety off at least? Asking him to shoot at anything further than ten yards is too much though.
Concealment and Disguise: B-
Has since learnt that the trick is to talk sparingly and let his appearance and actions carry the rest.
Strategic Thinking/Leadership: C
Sounds like someone else’s problem.
Mental Agility/Intuition: B+
Bit of a mixed bag. During an operation, he leaves the thinking to someone else. In the driver’s seat though, he’s a beast. There is no rival for his reflexes there.
Hacking/Computer Operation: B+
Required the knowledge to operate and maintain the Focus but he would rather leave the heavy-duty hacking stuff to the others.
Observation/Interrogation: C-
He can read body language and tone decently well. Knowing what to do with that information is a whole different ball game though.
Linguistics: A
Knows his stuff and makes sure to look into the accent and colloquialisms too.
Teamwork/Cooperation: C
As a support member, he doesn’t feel the need to know all the ins and outs of his team members. He probably wouldn’t be so good at it anyway. Besides, when he’s on the road, he’s his own boss. No one knows the roads like he does.
▼ p e r s o n a l d e t a i l s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Gender - Male ► Sexuality - "This concerns you, how?" ► Nicknames - Z ► Codename - Lancer ► Place of Birth - Tokyo, Japan
▼ p h y s i c a l i t y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Height - 5’ 10” ► Weight - 150 lbs ► Ethnicity - Japanese ► General Description - Black hair, black eyes, a displeased neutral expression. Clear skin and a matured jawline that often makes people misestimate his age. Training has tempered some musculature into his frame, though his previous thinness makes it look more impressive than it actually is. From his flat stare to his expensive clothes, there’s a lot of stuff about this guy that makes it seem as though he’s looking down on you, as though he shouldn’t be anywhere near this middling Texan public school. Only the latter part is correct.
▼ l i k e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Foreign movies ► Going fast ► American soft drinks
▼ d i s l i k e s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Texan sushi ► Texan fried food ► Texas
▼ g o a l s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Returning to his family home.
▼ f e a r s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► "...Rejection, I suppose? What would you like to hear?"
biography
If you’re going to devote your life to some obscure, expensive pastime, Yuto would recommend being born into a family responsible for 5% of Japan’s GDP. The Shitanagas are a clan that go way back, sitting on top of a shipping conglomerate that traces its roots back to the Meiji Era. Yuto was given free reign over his hobbies and expenditures on two conditions: that he attended his classes, and that he presented himself as a suitable heir to the conglomerate. He stuck to those guidelines… loosely. Always testing how much he could get away with. It’s not like his parents were ever around long enough to notice, especially once they had to pick up his older brother’s slack. So he tried a whole bevy of hobbies. And he discovered karting.
The feeling of having your own life in your hands, the wind whipping through his clothes. He didn’t just love it, he was freaking good at it. Better than anything else he’d tried. His parents approved for the most part. The sport gave him a bunch of chances for sponsorship deals and subsequent connections for the family business. He was a prodigy tearing up the European circuits and it was great until he declared his intentions to remain in Britain for his career. The one that wasn’t set out by his parents. A week-long argument erupted, promises of disownment and emancipation getting thrown about, resulting in Yuto driving his father’s precious Aston Martin into the neighbor’s pool. Suffice to say, he was out.
Yuto’s future was up in the air and it was only on the word of some no-name colleague that his father decided his fate. He would be shipped off to the States to live with his maverick uncle, Hirose, the CEO of Texas’ largest sushi restaurant chain. It was a punishment of the highest order but Yuto was given one small act of mercy. A deal. Redeem himself with exemplary university records and he would be let back into the family.
That was around four years ago. He got stuck in an American public school, he hated it, then he woke up in a sterile room to a Russian woman and an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Even though his mission performances lie in the middle of the bell curve, and he spends most of his time with Promenade waiting for the other agents to get out whatever building they’ve saved from an explosion, graduation is in his sights. He’s driving out and he’s not looking back for anyone.
Tactical Driving – It started as a hobby, then a promotional gig for a family acquaintance, then a brief career on the professional circuit. Yuto has years of karting under his belt, with many more trophies to show. He was intending to promote into F1 before the big move sent him to the backwaters. Luckily, Promenade has fulfilled his dream of racing full-sized cars, even if it’s in an unconventional manner. Being one of the support members rather than the frontline gives him all the extra practice time he needs. As a result of this and the Neural Sync, his reflexes and co-ordination go beyond any professional level he would have achieved out on the racetrack. He hopes that they’ll give him aerial lessons soon.
Languages and Accents – Fluently speaks Japanese, English. Proficient in Mandarin and French. Basic knowledge of German. Talks to himself when he believes no one is listening, practicing the accents and mannerisms he observes in films and school.
Internationally Cultured – Rich boy has been places.
Fashion – From streetwear to more sophisticated attire, Yuto observes the trends of his age group and can blend in with most crowds depending on his preparation time.
Piano/Organ – The plan was to use his eight years of classical training to teach his cousin to play the organ for Sunday service when old lady Gwendolyn had to retire. NOT to wake up at seven every weekend to do it in his cousin’s stead.
Basic Mechanics – Learnt alongside the tech-savvier agents. Knows enough to maintain the non-computerised parts of his vehicles but that’s pretty much it.
“Business Mode” – Something he picked up from his entrepreneur uncle, a trick along the lines of ‘talk less, smile more’. A deeper voice, a cool smile here and there. If Yuto lets his supposedly handsome face do all the talking, for a brief moment of time he can give off an air of mystery and sophistication, making strangers give him more leeway than they usually would. It has helped him out of a few situations before, though the cracks start to appear if he talks too much.
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▼ g a d g e t s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Ford Focus – Promenade vehicles come in all sorts of models but Yuto deemed this one best for daily use. Used for recon, getaway driving, and dropping his cousins off at basketball practice. Seats seven. A hidden fingerprint scanner on the steering wheel prevents anyone outside of Promenade from accessing the vehicle’s hidden upgrades. Special features include but are not limited to:
► Armored Plating – Completely bulletproof, even on the tires. The windows’ tint can be turned on and off for use during the day.
► Offensive Hubcaps – Polearm-like attachments stretch out from the hubcaps, slashing the tires of anyone driving too close.
► Homing Missiles – The car has a maximum of six missiles. They’re deployed from the HCC.
► Smokescreen – Is emitted like an exhaust rather than a projectile.
► Caltrops – For pursuers behind.
► Nitrous Propulsion – Every driver should have a need for speed.
► Holographic Control Centre – By wearing a special pair of glasses he keeps on his person, the driver’s seat turns into a remote AR communication center where he can talk his teammates through any sticky situation they may encounter. Holographic screens and keyboards surround him, and they can only be seen through the glasses. Other agents may also have their own pair.
► Revolving Plates – License plate that switches from his uncle’s registration for daily use to a randomly generated plate for missions.
► Remote Control – With a few quick presses on his smartphone, Yuto can see and operate from the driver’s seat’s perspective or even place the car on autopilot to navigate to his location.
► Ejector Seat – Yuto has no intention of ever using this.
► Unscrubbable Smell of Old Soup – Don’t ask.
► Focus Glasses – Allows access to the HCC. Also has night vision and thermal imaging modes.
► Lower Face Mask – Compact design to help conceal his identity. Functions as a gas mask/respirator when needed.
► Yamaha R1M – Yuto’s ride of choice, though he hardly gets to use it on missions. Or any other time…
► Stun Baton – Has quite the kick.
► Tranquiliser Pistol – Usually shot from the safety of his car.
► Pomade – Five dollars from Walmart. For emergency use only.
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▼ s h o r t c o m i n g s ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Can’t hold a substantial conversation for longer than ten minutes.
► Unaccustomed to the necessary violence of the job.
► Finds it difficult to make tough calls when his colleagues’ safety is on the line.
psyche
Here’s the thing about Yuto. He’s good in class. He’s athletic. He’s hardworking when he wants to be. He’s polite. But he sure as hell isn’t friendly. Talking with the guy always gives the vibe that there’s somewhere else he’d rather be, though even the concept of him viewing anything favorably can be absurd to people that don’t know him. He’s always trying to find the best way to wriggle out of conversations, with situations often blowing up when this is met with resistance, but he swears it’s not malicious. Dude just finds people to be a lot of effort. They’re strange and unlike him and expect too much from a guy they’ve hardly spoken to. And it’s just going to be awkward for both of them eventually so why not just pull it out from the root?
He’s just a guy that wants a stress-free life. And people are the most stressful thing of all.
Strength: B
Has good stamina but otherwise is the same as his peers.
Intelligence: A
He’s a master of cramming rather than studying. Picks up on concepts quickly, plus it’s not like he has much else to do with his time. Often does his schoolwork ahead of schedule to free up more driving hours. Doesn’t see the point of it all but he knows it’s necessary.
Close-Quarters Combat: C
Can take down the average underpaid security goon but will struggle against anyone more experienced. Isn’t that what the stun baton is for?
Firearms: D-
Never had an interest in firearms in Japan, continues to have no interest now. He knows how to switch the safety off at least? Asking him to shoot at anything further than ten yards is too much though.
Concealment and Disguise: B-
Has since learnt that the trick is to talk sparingly and let his appearance and actions carry the rest.
Strategic Thinking/Leadership: C
Sounds like someone else’s problem.
Mental Agility/Intuition: B+
Bit of a mixed bag. During an operation, he leaves the thinking to someone else. In the driver’s seat though, he’s a beast. There is no rival for his reflexes there.
Hacking/Computer Operation: B+
Required the knowledge to operate and maintain the Focus but he would rather leave the heavy-duty hacking stuff to the others.
Observation/Interrogation: C-
He can read body language and tone decently well. Knowing what to do with that information is a whole different ball game though.
Linguistics: A
Knows his stuff and makes sure to look into the accent and colloquialisms too.
Teamwork/Cooperation: C
As a support member, he doesn’t feel the need to know all the ins and outs of his team members. He probably wouldn’t be so good at it anyway. Besides, when he’s on the road, he’s his own boss. No one knows the roads like he does.
MACKENZIE LI - Lakewood High Monday, 1 October 2029 - 7:30 am “Ah, how the battlefield calls. At ease, peons, for your savior has returned.”
“I can’t-- I c-can’t do this.”
Her sneakers were slapping the concrete towards the gym as soon as her mother’s car disappeared from sight. The girl looked anxious as ever - hair a little messier, eyes a little more sunken in. Every aspect of her appearance seemed designed to slip under the radar with one exception: the obnoxiously bright skateboard sticking out of her backpack. It felt like a demonic ‘KICK ME’ sign.
“Our inspiring entrance!” Venga hissed from inside her brain. Which was a thing that happened now, a lot, for some reason. “What are you doing, child? You mock me with your cowardice.”
Mackenzie locked the cubicle door and hung her backpack against it. “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I just…”
It was a mistake coming here so soon after that attack. Aliens- Demons were real, for heck’s sake! Why on earth would anyone be leaving the house after—
It all came back in the flash. The news reports and the memorials and the family discussions and the ‘what comes next’s. The losses mourned; none of them hers though. She knew their names and their faces, shared classes and volleyball games with a few of them, but held no right to memorialise them. Not after cutting all her peers out of her life for a year.
Mackenzie squeezed her eyes shut, cutting off impending tears and catching her breath. The world was a muted red when she finally opened them again.
No. No, no, she couldn't do this again.
“I…” It seemed redundant to repeat it. Somewhere within, she heard Venga growl in anticipation.
“A suitable opponent indeed. Release me, child.”
Standing on the toilet seat cover, Mackenzie peered out of the overhead window and did just that. Venga’s gargantuan form materialized. The building shuddered as he touched down, dust and metallic creaks emanating above her. She could already feel her heart rate accelerating.
And as it foretold, a monstrous "YAHAHAHA!" echoed through Lakewood High once again.
NAGAKU OTOYA - Northwestern District: Yajirui-Kan @Crowvette Let’s just get it out of the way. Otoya wasn’t a fan of that golden boy taking the club’s helm. He didn’t like the way he dressed, the way he talked. Guy was like a spotlight shining directly into his eye. Though Sayuri, bless her heart, always had some praise (or excuse) for him, Otoya was never swayed. He knew what that type was like.
So he abstained, his seat half-turned away from the group as he plucked a countermelody to the beat in his earphones. A small show of rebellion that brought him a little satisfaction, even if no one else visibly gave a shit. He didn’t pack anything large, once again just slinging his guitar case over his back.
He scratched at a bruise through Hiroyuki’s little spiel. Simple enough.
“Oi, wanna check the basement with me, Fumiko?” he asked, jerking his chin down the hall.
Shit was damn right. This day was shaping up to be a whole lot of it. As Fumiko fretted about, Otoya rested his hands on his knees, waiting to catch his breath.
“Giant rat,” he said, as if that explained everything. He heard how stupid that sounded and added, “It’s big.”
A groan as he hoisted the guitar case off his shoulder, letting it rest by the dinner table. Fumiko was right about needing a weapon. Where the hell was he gonna get one? Mentally running over the belongings he had in the sharehouse, there was next to nothing. His guitar was a hard ‘fuck no’. Spare drumsticks were too short. Stolen umbrella was too flimsy. Kitchen knives were communal and therefore sacred.
Ah, whatever. It was preparation for a ‘what if’ scenario, hardly a priority. If their luck held out, that obese nightmare would run out of food and be out of the block by morning.
Otoya peeked out the window hoping to see exactly that, only to narrow his eyes in annoyance.
NAGAKU OTOYA - Central District: Outside Sharehouse Otoya grimaced. “What the fuck is tha—nngrh!”
It came from nowhere. A sharp noise screeched through his skull, piercing, causing him to block his ears. Not that it appeared to be necessary. Though his eardrums still ached, the sound stopped as abruptly as it started.
Before he could dwell too much, there was a pressure on his arm. Huh?
A glance back showed Fumiko, noticeably unaffected by whatever noise that was, cowering behind him.
“T-The hell you want me to do?” he said, backing up with her. Goddamn, surely this fatass rat wasn’t gonna chase them, was it? There were so many better things to snack on in this alley.
It didn’t stop its approach.
Otoya’s hand tightened reflexively around his guitar strap. Not because he was going to beat that thing with it; no, he’d rather jump into traffic than damage his baby. He just needed to secure his valuables before going on a dead sprint.
NAGAKU OTOYA - Central District: Outside Sharehouse Not a fruitful session.
Otoya wondered if he was losing his touch. His emotions were the core of all his songs, a good third of the band’s discography, but it was getting stale. Frustration, that bitter anger crusted into his psyche, it was all he had. Their followers always commended the relatability of a new track, but he could feel doubt creeping up his throat. Surely, they were getting as worn down as he was.
He tried to get something out today, strumming away by the riverside. Dead cats and assaults, shouldn’t have been hard to get a song out of that, right? A harsh melody and a few chords were all his creativity could produce.
His ribs were sore. His bruises were still fresh. He decided to head back.
An early promise the clubhouse had made between itself was to keep attention away from their living situation. For Otoya that meant no disturbing the neighbors with his music. Friggin’ annoying but whatever. It didn’t stop him from singing as he walked back, trying to knock out some decent lyrics into his Notes app.
Voice recording would have sounded fine if it weren’t for those loudass birds.
Strange stuff. As a Southern kid he knew what kind of fauna flocked around the garbage heaps. Whatever was going down in that alley seemed… excessive.
More out of idle curiosity than anything else, he wandered towards it. Fumiko was already there, and he greeted her with a casual, “Oi.”
THE FORNACIS | CARGO HOLD → KITCHEN | Ravt - 9, 1Sm; 844
Head Chef. With barely any experience outside of waitressing and dishwashing, her new bosses had placed her in charge of the diets of two hundred people. Why? She had no clue. If they wanted her to pay attention during briefings, they wouldn't hold them during lunch hour. Perhaps her speed-slicing demonstration had been too effective. Or her outfit on the day was just that gorgeous.
Either way, she was tossed to the wind, with nothing but a sack of Vs and the former Chef's stock list to go by. It was a crusty little slip that sagged as she unfolded each page, and horrifically lacking in spices too! Forget whatever voyage the crew took into the Void, she would have deemed them legendary for the mere feat of subsiding on meals with the flavour profile of stale porridge for all those years. That was one perk to this sudden promotion, she supposed. She'd be able to dazzle these fine travellers with some real food, and she'd do it with the help of her adorable new friend, the little one currently lagging behind her with three-quarters of their haul from the market. They wiped down the kitchen together the night before. Once they got all these ingredients onto the ship, they'd get started. Ah, but that was another heap of work to do, wasn't it? What a chore...
Merry tossed her gaze up the ramp to the Fornacis' cargo hold. So many crates! Such an angle. So heavy. Will... fading. Surely there was a shortcut she'd be able to take. The horned Sanyan lifted a box of oranges, raising it at an angle as she placed a bare palm against the side. If she aimed it right, launched it with the right output, she could probably...
As if cannonfire had shred through it, the crate burst to pieces, creating a tragic shower of fruit and debris.
Oh.
"Worth a shot," she shrugged.
Nia's head was obscured by the stack of boxes she was carrying, but she let out a little squeal at the sound of splintering wood and splattering fruit. She peeked around her boxes and let out a not so little squeal.
"Miss Merry! Oh dear. Oh dear," she started setting down her load, "I'll meet you at the kitchen. I'll clean this up. I'll clean it up! Don't worry, it'll be all clean! I'm sure this is fine. I'm sure no one will miss... do we need oranges? Were those important? I hope those oranges weren't important... what about scurvy? Are people going to get scurvy? Oh dear, I hope we have enough oranges," she spoke without stopping to take a breath.
"Wow. Wowow, ease up there, love! We can just make another run when this stuff is loaded."
Her hands were covered in juice, raised in a light attempt at placating the girl as she chuckled. She couldn't help it! Her assistant's reaction was so funny, if not super convenient for Merry.
"Kitchen sounds good buuuuut I think I'll go for a quick shower first. Don't want any of these stains to set. Are you alright with taking care of these for me?"
She gestured to pretty much everything they'd purchased.
"Right. Of course. Sure thing, Miss Merry! I'll have this all ready by the time you're done."
"You're so sweet. Just adorable!"
She didn't bother with a goodbye as she traipsed up the ramp.
Nia grinned. Just adorable! She was glad Miss Merry liked her.
By the time she made it to the kitchen, she was sheened with sweat, panting from the effort of carrying all of the boxes (she couldn't look lazy, so she was sure to take care of it in one trip) and vigorously scrubbing the floor to ensure that there would be no sign of their accident. After all, the cleanliness of the ship was her duty, and she wanted to make sure to live up to the crew's expectations.
After all, a legendary crew deserved a legendary janitor.
Nia wanted to impress Merry, so she was already set on opening their supply crates. Merry was in a fresh new set of clothes when she finally arrived. They looked a bit too delicate for a kitchen.
"Oh, I didn't expect you to be done already. Impressive."
"I aim to please!" Nia said with a grin, wiping the sweat off her brow.
Well yes, that was quite clear.
"Have you done this sort of work before? Kitchen and uh, crate stuff?"
"Not really. I haven't really... this is kind of my first job?"
"R-Really?"
"Yeah! I just hope I'm doing good at it," Nia let out a little sigh, her attention lapsing for a moment before she snapped back to unboxing, "I don't want to let anyone down. I've always wanted to be on the Fornacis."
"You must have really loved those stories."
"Sure did. All that adventure always seemed a lot more exciting than staying on my island. Although I never imagined I'd actually be an Empyrean, let alone here... well, not that I'm an Empyrean. I am just a janitor."
"Could've fooled me! As far as I can count, you've saved me more than any of these legendary heroes have."
Nia blushed. "Really? Well, thanks. I'll keep trying my best."
Merry flashed an 'ok' gesture with a dainty hand. "And I shall do the same."
It was never particularly enjoyable for Kerry to have to leave the safety of maintenance; people bothered you much less when you looked as though you were doing something important. Measurably worse, though, was leaving her work in order to interact with people whose usual job seemed to consist largely of causing her headaches.
Not that she knew enough to set that in stone yet, but her experiences with the Fornacis taught her it was far from an unlikely presumption. She knocked heavily on the door to the kitchens, not awaiting an answer before entering. If she was right, they shouldn't have been too busy right now.
"I have a request," she spoke gruffly, "if one of you can take it."
From the corner where she was clearly not busy, Merry glanced up from her book. "We take requests?"
The Head Chef looked to Nia, who was set on chopping vegetables, prepping for the night's dinner.
Nia nodded and gave her knife a quick wipe, setting it down. She turned to Kerry, grinning. "Right. Requests. We can take requests! I think... Miss...?" she said.
"McDougall. Head mechanic." She spoke shortly, looking to Nia, "I'd like something for my team. Nothing fancy or complicated, just something you can sit 'round a table and share. Once a week, if you've the resources."
“McDougall. Okay. I’m Nia, by the way… uh, not that that matters. I can totally do that! Or, I mean, we can totally do that. Right, Merry?”
The horned girl raised her hand in a dainty 'ok' gesture, not looking up this time.
"I see the work ethic here is already," Kerry frowned, "exceptional."
"Merry's just supervising! I am, like, her assistant after all. I think. She's been doing great!" Nia said, completely believing it.
"Hm."
"Hm," Merry said also, smiling. Must've been a funny chapter.
Kerry shrugged. She didn't buy it, but neither did she exactly care. "Well. So long as it's taken care of. Like I said, nothing fancy, just filling. It's more for the sharing than anything."
"Yep. Alright, I'll, uh, put it on the list," Nia took out an actual physical list she was carrying on her, noting it.
"You're both new crew, aren't you." It wasn't a question: they were obviously too young to be anything else. "I'll at lunchtime, whatever day suits. Give 'em a break 'round half past one usually. And whatever you're doing here," because it seriously wasn't impressive thus far, "take care of your parts of the ship. Keep 'em up to standard."
A one-eyed, steely gaze drifted between the two of them.
"Lot of memories on her. I'd hate for standards to go down too much."
"Oh... I'm sorry Miss McDougall." Nia looked down at the ground.
"Just take care of her." Kerry spoke sternly, but her gaze softened, if slightly. "And a word of advice, kid? Everyone takes some shit now'n then, but try not to be a walkover. Makes your life a lot harder."
"I agree," said Merry.
“Right. Yeah. Sorry,” Nia said again, “I should get back to work. I’ll make sure to have something ready for your crew.”
Nia turned around, picked up her knife, and found an onion to chop. Her eyes watered a little. “That’s a strong one,” she choked out mostly to herself, but loud enough to hear.
The deer girl raised an eyebrow at that, and turned to the mechanic. "We can do you one better, ma'am. We'll bring it down for you. No need for you to interrupt your work just for some snackage."
Kerry looked a little regretful, but it wasn't as though she'd trip over herself to apologise. Girl needed a thicker skin to work on a ship, especially with as many eyes on it as this one.
"We've taken care of the important things, so interruptions are manageable. But that's helpful, yes." She nodded. "Just make sure you knock properly. Sometimes the work makes things hazardous."
She grimaced, remembering all the complaints she'd had to field from the doc. Turned to leave, though, pausing at the door with some final words directed at the slacker.
"Worth everyone pitching in on the work, though. I never make my mechanics do something I wouldn't."
"Mmhmmmm~"
Merry was already back to being engrossed in her book.
Kerry didn't notice: the moment she finished speaking, she'd left. Her work there was done. Nothing but the kitchen staff and the sound of chopped vegetables remained. Chopped vegetables and noticable sniffling. Merry released a soft sigh and snapped her paperback shut.
"How are you going over there, dear?"
"Great!" Nia coaked, wiping a tear from her face, "Oh man, these onions though, Merry. Phew!"
"Mm." Oh golly. "Take it easy, if you'd like. Dinner won't be for a while."
Nia sighed, and set down her knife for a moment. "I'm fine. i'm great. I just want to do a good job," she said, before resuming.
Merry pursed her lips. It was as she said, it was going to be a long time in the kitchen with just the two of them. Several hours of... this. With a "hmph" let out under her breath, she rolled up her sleeves and moved to the kitchen bench beside Nia.
"Hey, what do you say I teach you a new recipe today, hm?"
Merry was, quite honestly, the very best chef that Nia had met. And, maybe, the only. Merry's words were quick to reverse Nia's mood, and she gave a half-smile, "Really?" The sniffles had stopped. "Okay, lay it on me."
Another dinner rush done and dusted. At least Merry never had to worry about shelving leftovers with how ravenous the crew's collective appetite was. Didn't have to worry about a lotta things with Nia around. Lovely gal. She'd have to prepare something for her someday, as a token of appreciation. But not right now. Not when she was supervising dish duty.
She whistled an old Solstice tune as her knife moved, idly carving a rose from an unused carrot. Dishes were assigned on a rotating roster, with a fellow from Cargo and a janitor stuck with the chore tonight. Quite unremarkable, except...
Merry's song continued but her eyes were now intently on the woman at the sink.
Stephanie was having a good time washing the dishes. There was something to be said about manual work. It was mindless, easy to do while focusing on other issues. Issues like, well, her entire situation.
So far, there'd been no issues with the plan to get onto the Fornacis. Sure, the Taruva had paid her an unusual amount of attention, but in the end he'd said nothing. Nobody else had spared her a second glance, which was excellent considering she wasn't very used to staying out of the center of attention. Back at the Sun Guard Academy, she'd spent her entire time putting herself in the spotlight. It didn't help that they'd invited her back a few years after graduation to teach a few seminars. Stephanie was quite possibly the worst person in the Luminary Order to take on a stealth mission, save for the famous higher-ups.
Still, nothing had gone wrong in the first couple days on the Fornacis– she'd quickly settled into a routine of cleaning during the off hours of the day and night while occasionally lending the kitchen staff a hand in clean-up.
"I'm just gonna take these to the back," the man announced.
"Right. Excellent work, Bartem, thank you."
With his departure, the whistling resumed, though it seemed to be moving closer to the janitor...
Merry leaned on the bench, studying the janitor's face from the side as she switched to a different tune. The tall woman didn't even notice her, continuing to scrub handily at the plates.
Or at least, that was what it looked like. Internally, Stephanie was starting to feel the heat.
Oh, Skyfather, she's LOOKING AT ME. LOOK AWAY, LOOK AWAY.
Normally, Steph was cool, calm, and collected in the field– the battlefield, at least. Certainly not whatever this sort of mission was. She started sweating slightly, even though the kitchen was kept remarkably cool. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face, trying to disguise the beads of perspiration as simple droplets from the sink.
And that whistling! Say something, anything! Please!
"Pardon me, Miss," said the chef, "but... would you happen to hail from Solstice?"
She breathed a small sigh of relief. "Ah, yes. That is correct. Oh, and my name is Stephanie. You may call me Steph."
wrong wrong WRONG WRONG WRONG! It's "I'm Steph, nice to meet you," not "may call me" like some sort of posh noble! Who do you think you are, some sort of upper class merchant? What's with that high and mighty speech?
Merry's smile widened, and she clapped her hands together. "Ah, I thought I recognised the mannerly accent. What a coincidence!"
"Mmhmm." Steph placed a few bowls on the drying rack. "Do you come from the same area yourself?"
"Indeed I do, right in the heart of the capital. It's lovely to find something familiar when you're so far from home. Your accent, your clothes." Merry tilted her head. "Why, I'd even say your face seems to ring a bell!"
"Really now, surely you must be mistaken. I can't say I've met you before. You must be thinking of someone else."
"Yes, 'met' does seem farfetched, I'm sure I would have recalled you had we spoken. Ah! Would you have spent much time around the Sun Guard Academy?"
"The Su- um, no, not at all! Did you attend the Academy yourself? What's a student of the SGA doing out here?"Steph tried to deflect the line of questioning. It was getting uncomfortably close to the truth.
Suddenly, Merry's eyes were as wide as Steph's. "I. Uh. Explor... cationing?"She doubled back. "Oh look at me, I've gotten carried away. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
"No, not at all. Everyone has their own reasons."
Stephanie moved to place a knife on the counter. As her hand moved, a bit of lingering soap let it slip from her fingers towards the floor. She quickly locked it in place, then caught it before (hopefully) anyone could notice. She'd moved fast enough that the untrained eye would simply think she'd caught it in midair. Probably.
Unfortunately, Merry's eyes were indeed trained– not like she needed any training to see a pyxis in use.
"Wow. Wowow, what was that? You have a pyxis!" she jumped on the spot.
"Ah! Um!" Steph hurriedly set the knife on the counter properly. "Yeah, I suppose there's no use hiding it. I'd been hoping to keep it a secret... oh well."
Good job, Teph. You've already shown your hand. It's not been 5 days yet!
"Oh but why would you hide such a gift? You simply must show me more!"
Steph hesitated, then relented. "How trained are you in magic? Mine is pretty subtle, so it might be difficult to see its effects."
Merry smirked assuredly. "You don't have to worry. I'll catch it."
"...Okay." Steph took a sponge from the sink and threw it at Merry's head. The Sanyan moved accordingly, with reflexes far surpassing those of a regular chef. In an instant, the girl was in a combat stance, an open palm extended to the projectile, but impact never struck. It was suspended mid-flight.
"Ah," Merry relaxed back to her excitable self, "That's fantastic!"
Steph was really sweating now. That stance was definitely that of a SGA student– and one of the good ones, too. If she'd really graduated from the academy, the girl would have definitely seen Steph's portrait in one of the alumni albums. If not that, then she'd definitely heard Sir Yowen bragging about his favorite student of all time.
"Thank you. You have excellent reflexes, by the way, though perhaps a bit too much weight on the–" she cut herself off. "Never mind."
Steph reached out, placed her hand in front of the sponge, and released the locking. The sponge flew into her palm, sending a small splash of soap onto the floor.
"Thank you. That was a great demonstration, althooough I'm not sure how that would help with your janitor work."Merry looked like she was genuinely thinking about it.
"..." Steph paused, not sure what to say. "It's just what I can do."
She finished up the washing and doffed her apron, folding it neatly before placing it in a cabinet. "What's your name?"
"How rude of me! I am Merry Ach--" She covered her hesitation with a giggle. "Merry's the name."
"Good to meet you. How has your time on the Fornacis been so far?"
"Busy." Merry considered it for a second. "Sort of. Not really. It's been a big change, I will have to take some time to get used to it. I hope you've had a better experience than me."
makeajokemakeajoke "Well, the food is excellent."
"Flattery won't get you seconds, Miss Stephanie. You'll have to brawl it out with the others like every other night," she grinned. A thought crossed her mind. "Though I am interested in seeking your friendship. It would be nice to have someone who shares so many qualities, and I am lacking in a party for weekly prayer."
"Well, a prayer companion would be nice. It is awfully lonely sometimes–just you and Ravishaan."
Stephanie checked the clock. 6:58 PM.
"I apologize, but I have to attend to other duties now. It was delightful, having the chance to meet you."
"Yes, yes. Plus, the more stories we trade, the more likely I'll remember where I've seen your face. I'm sure we've crossed paths before! Farewell for now."
I might have just made a big mistake. Stephanie left the kitchen, trying not to let her hands shake with nervousness. She breathed out a sigh of relief. That girl might be more trouble than its worth.
"Well." Merry rested patiently against the bench, waiting for the dry-heaving to subside. "They say that spice tolerance increases the more you eat. Perhaps next time will fare... better."
She gave her assistant's back a tentative pat. It seemed a full cup of bird's eye was a bit much after all, especially for a... Uh.
"From where do you hail again, Miss Nia?"
Nia downed a cup of water to no avail. If anything, it just made it worse. She just didn't get what Merry liked about this stuff; it was like something was attacking your tongue. Between labored breaths she answered, "A little island in Ortzi. You probably wouldn't have heard of it."
"Ah, that explains it."
"Huh." Floorboards creaked as Cain strode in, his clean, pressed, tailored, magnificently sewn attire at odds with the fatigue clinging to his face. It was the sorta suffering he'd have to get through with eventually, but that didn't make reading the files of 200 or so crew members any easier. He blinked slowly at the two ladies present, before squeezing his eyes shut. Yup, they were still there when he opened them. "Evening, ladies," the minstrel said, voice low and smooth, "Did I walk into some sort of secret chef training session?"
Merry ran her eyes up and down the newcomer's attire. A curious smile spread across her face, and she leaned a cheek against her palm. "Hardly a secret, Mister."
If her face wasn't already red from the spice, Nia might've had to worry about blushing. She didn't say anything.
"Cain, Cain Darlite." He narrowed his eyes, sleep-addled brain trying to match the faces of the two women before him. "Ah, Merry and Nia, right? Had the pleasure of enjoying your cooking, but I suppose this is the first time we've met properly?"
"I'd recall that face quite easily, yes. You're not here to join the kitchen staff are you?"
"Alas, if only Doctor Annastasia were so flush with assistants that she'd let me peel potatoes instead," Cain lamented, flipping his midnight-purple hair with the despair of an overworked, underpaid intern. "Thought I'd get something warm to keep me up for the night. What're you two up to though?"
What a shame. "Just getting dear Nia here caught up with my recipes," she said, gesturing, "Though from our progress so far, it seems there's some tweaking to be done. What do you think, my lovely assistant?"
"Spicy," was all that Nia managed.
"So it was training after all." Cain leaned against the counter. "Well, don't let me stop you two...but do allow me to try some of what you're making too."
"Of course!"
A generous plateful of rice and suspiciously red, stir-fried chicken was soon offered to the medic.
"Hope you like it hot," she said, watching eagerly for his reaction.
With the confidence of a madman, Cain took a big spoonful of the chicken-rice dish and jammed it into his mouth. He chewed once.
Silence.
Then...
His eyes bulged. His grip on the spoon tightened. His entire body shook!
Slapping the counter with his free hand, Cain finished chewing, swallowed his food, and grinned shakily. "Wow, damn," he said, face a little flushed. "That definitely woke me up! You made this, Merry? A hell of a kick, for sure!"
A grin widened and Merry's chest puffed out with a graceful pride. "Exciting, isn't it? Straight from the heart of Solstice!"
"Solstice...you're from the capital, Merry?" Cain let out a whistle, before trying out another bite. Damn, it really was a kick in the teeth, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. Leaving food uneaten was sacrilege for an innkeeper's child. "Mighty food you've been raised up with. What 'bout you, Nia?"
Merry glanced at the girl, who was still downing her third full pitcher of water. "Dear old Ortzi, she says. Wayyy out in the provinces."
"Truly, the start of a legend. From one far corner of the world to the other," the minstrel replied, gesticulating broadly. "Though I gotta ask, are you two sticking around for the whole trip? Or are you just here for temp work 'til the border towns?"
"...Undecided." Merry tilted her head in thought. "I'll likely be around for another six months at least."
"Six months of this, hm?" Cain nodded. "I'm sure that's good news for everyone except whoever's gotta stock up on spices and seasoning whenever we land."
"Ah, but that would be us too. Our work goes on and on and on."
"Careful 'bout the overworking then, Merry. Would suck if you ruined your skin with fatigue and dehydration." He shot a lopsided grin. "After all, I'd be the one who'd have to work extra then."
"Oh my. Would the sight of my healthy face not be enough reward for that extra effort?"
"As a medical professional, I'd honestly prefer if you were always healthy and happy. The best medicine, after all, is a set of good habits." He paused, as if contemplating something."And the best habit, of course, would be to join me for morning calisthenics on the deck, everyday except for Halutyet. How's that sound to you, Nia?"
Nia was happy to let Merry do the talking for her, between the spice and other things. But she set her pitcher down for a moment, heat still clinging to her face, “Cal—i—sthe—nics?” she sounded out, “Sure. Yeah, calisthenics! I can do that.”
Cleaning, cooking, that order for Miss McDougall, and now she had to do calisthenics. Whatever that meant.
"Sounds fun." If it was a programme intended for a general audience then Merry supposed it would serve as a decent cooldown for her usual routine, between prayer and other matters. Her timetable would need from rearranging. Or she could just skimp out on sword practice.
She winced. The mere suggestion of that last idea sent a wave of guilt through her stomach.
"I'll... have to see if my schedule allows for it." Essentially, a polite 'no'. "Nia, I know you'll love it. You're already so strong, I'm sure you'll reap benefits a-plenty."
Nia blushed, just a little.
"I'm sure morning prep's a busy time," Cain said. "If you have time though, drop by! We'll be glad to have you. It'll be good to have you along as well, Nia."
Well, not that there was any 'we' to this, when it was currently just himself.
"Suppose I shouldn't hold up your training any longer though, lest we both stay up much later than the doctor recommends."
Nia finally finished draining her last pitcher, and was starting to feel a bit better. "Right. I'll see you at calisthenics!" she said, giving Cain an enthusiastic two thumbs up.
"Mhmm," was Cain's own response, as he shovelled down the rest of his food. A singular kick in the teeth turned into a dozen, but he still finished it. Circling around the counter, he stepped up to the sink, washed his dishes, set it on the rack to dry, and said, "Welp, that's all from me now. Good night, and don't stay up too late, Merry, Nia."
He waved, and strode off back whence he came.
Nia waited until Cain was gone. She turned to Merry, giving her a pointed glance, "What are calisthenics?"
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