Avatar of Fading Memory

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3 yrs ago
Current Awake O Sleeper
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4 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes. Again.
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8 yrs ago
Don't sweat the small stuff, it's all in your head
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8 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes

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I appreciate the ping. I'm alive. I swear it. December always shoots me in the face.
THE WORLD LIES IN RUINS
HIDDEN BY FALSE ILLUSIONS
HELP ME SEE THROUGH THE HAZE


The music blared at a volume approaching intrusive. If not for the modern specifications of the Galatea and the heavy modifications she'd overseen to this room's structure, it certainly would have filled the halls outside with the heavy instrumentation of the punk rock music that throbbed from the walls of Banshee's room. The Microcamera whirrs silently in its housing and takes in the scene thus;

Banshee was dressed casually in a slim tanktop overtop a form-fitting bodysuit. Her muscular frame and squared shoulders were prominently featured in this attire, and her hair curled in its perpetual wisp-state at a medium length about her shoulders in a desperate attempt to maintain a semblance of peaceful positioning as she bobbed her head from side to side with the beat of the music.

GLISTENING TOWER SPIRES
GOTTA GROW HIGHER
INFINITE CORPORATE DAZE


She murmured along with the lyrics, kneeling before the hulking mass of her armored plating. The modular system was arrayed on its arming station, waiting to be attached to the nearby Military Suit which rested on its own display. Both were wired together, the devices communicating intangibly, as Banshee shook a spray-applicator in one hand, the other tracing over a battle-gouge in the armor place that would be over her stomach on the right side.

"I see...A world...Dy-ing..." Her voice quietly intoned the choir-esque chant of the song's chorus. She brought the spray-applicator forth, and in slow and deliberate movements coated the armor plate in delicate lines of paint. For now the armor was an array of chaotic lines and unintelligible patterns, but she knew what she was doing. She'd seen the pattern arrayed in the three-dimensional overlay, and was just following her design template at this point. But the work had to be done. Her soft voice continued even as she patiently crafted a gradient shade within a delicate arc against the battle scarred armor plate; "...Of an...Assisted suicide..."

She whirled the applicator in hand and stepped back. She appraised her handiwork with a prideful air, a gentle satisfaction at completing a personal hobby goal filling her. The array of armored plating was finally done. It'd been months since her last combat scenario, and she'd decided to use that time to put some personality into her persona. She shut her eyes, her body moving subtly into the writhings of a dance before she energetically jumped into the next verse of the song, kicking a leg into the air and twirling about the room strumming at an invisible air-guitar.

WE STAND HERE IN GLASS CHAINS
SUFFERING UNSPOKEN GROWING PAINS
LET ME HELP YOU SEIZE THE DAY

THE SHADOWS OF LIFE GROW DEEPER
PRICE TAGS GROW EVER STEEPER
WE DON'T KNOW ANY OTHER WA-


"Rise and shine, crew. Get your asses to the Mission Deck in ten, gotta brief everyone before we touch down."


The captain's voice cut the music down to a whisper of background noise, and with its declining crescendo so too did Banshee decline; she groaned quietly, whirled about in place one final time, and fell back into her bed as she waved a hand and triggered her Holo to halt the music. For a few moments, the quietness surrounded and filled her. She breathed it in, the gentle smoky haze of her room filling her lungs. When she exhaled, she sat up straight and stretched her arms behind her head.

"Alright Banshee, finally got something to do." She said to herself as she peeled the tanktop off her bodysuit and approached her Pressure Suit. She stepped into its opening and felt the familiar sensation of the suit wrapping around her body, gently pulling her arms and legs into their correct positions as she rose into its interface. The helmet flared to life as the back plating sealed shut and the entire suit thrummed with life. After a moment, a loud hissing sound filled the air as the suit pressurized itself and began to regulate and circulate Thetos-Atmosphere within for Banshee's benefit. Flexing her arms within their articulated servo-joints, Banshee acclimatized instantly into the senseless interactions of her Pressure Suit. She took a single step forward, rapped her knuckles upon a nearby armor plate for good luck, and in the next step strapped her Laser Pistol to her hip.

"[Contextual Translation: People-Ender, Approach This One]" She commanded to the orb, flickering it to life with the command phrase. It rose off her bedside table in a gentle thrum of its mechanisms, then flew rapidly towards her and slotted itself into its housing at the small of her back. She never went anywhere without the Attan-ta or pistol; business was just business, after all, and this crew was still new to her...

She stepped into the airlock to vent the toxic gas she inhabited, rolled her neck, and stepped into the unbreathable world of the Galatea.




The six-foot-eight-inch tall military suit walked its way into the Mission Deck on light footfalls. Despite the weight of the suit, Banshee was a skilled pilot of the mechanism and without the extra weight of the full set of armor she was able to wield her body's natural agility extremely well. She demurely dragged a hand along the wall, her helmet's HUD scanning and noting those already present.

"Hope I'm not late. Girl's gotta be careful these days, one wrong stroke of the brush and 'fwoosh', whole makeover's gone up in smoke." She joked, opting to rest against the wall near the door she entered. "But at least my ass arrived in one piece. I do remember that being specifically requested, captain. Sorry the rest of me had to come with."

Her movements were casual and accented by the soft sounds of complex and powerful servos maneuvering the powered suit around her limbs, and her final posture was that of crossed arms over her chest and one leg propped against the doorframe. Casual and comfortable.
Happy US Thanksgiving, my companions.
@Vertigo

Hmm. In this circumstance I don't think there's anything too crazy to really reveal; it's an item small enough to be held in one hand, and appears to slide into a groove carved into the Farmer's hand to be secure. This is unlike the Rose in the Prince's hand, which is simply set into his hand and loose.

@Neianna86

A religion check would be what I need for that; go ahead and roll again :)
I love that because of Battletech Er, Warhammer, er… Dune, everyone who’s mentioned shields in any sci fi influence follows the rules of ‘slow things beat shields’.

As my musings advance, I have to come to terms with the fact that the closest comparable suit of armor for Banshee I’ve been able to find is Spartan Mjolnir armor from Halo, meaning that if I ballpark armor weight to intended fantasy of defensive power she’d weigh in at roughly 750-1,000 pounds in her pressure suit when it’s fully kitted and armored. I’ll make note that the bulk of armor can be modularly attached so she’s not casually chilling in the ship in a half ton of ass kicking gear trying to eat dinner or something.
I’m making steady progress in my elaborated backstory, but am making a trip this weekend so delays in my writing are to be expected. I know this is purely extra at this point because I hit the high points on Banshee’s sheet, but I’m having fun with this and figured I’d just make an update.

On the silly side, the more people get approved the more ammo I get in this longform fanfiction I’m crafting for galaxy details /s.
You FOOLS. Capitalism is ALIVE AND WELL in SPACE. Who else would be FUNDING the LAW which we are OUTSIDE of, HM?
Excellent. A pilot. Someone to do my zero G shenanigans with.
@RBYDark

There’s ‘Using art’, and there’s ‘crediting artists’, then there’s ‘drawing your own art’. You’re a king/queen, keep up the efforts. Mad kudos to anyone who has the inclination for visual arts. As someone with an inability to visualize images in my mind, I respect it.
I have fulfilled my obligation to the lords of this land and regretfully must now go fulfill my obligations to the lady of my own manor. I must do chores. Huzzah.
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