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Zenobia Vartius


Good Times, Good Times (Part 1)

Both teams were quickly learning the downsides to inviting someone like Zenobia to a party like this one. It wasn't that she tended to live up to her nickname, though that was certainly an issue to some people. No, it was more that she tended to get...creative with her song choices when the karaoke mics came out, and with enough booze in her...

"You don't have to beeeee rich

To be maaaaaaah girl!

You don't GAHT TA be cool

To rule maaaaah world!

Ain't no particular shign

'more compatible with!

I just wantshur extra time and your-"

Zenobia ended her bout of screeching karaoke with a powerful spin on her heel that she was too drunk at this point to control, toppling right off the stage and crashing onto a table. Her vision swimming, she looked up and saw a shape that looked vaguely like a green asari and made a smooching sound before giving her finger guns.


As she felt herself graciously slipping into unconsciousness, she felt someone prodding her, trying to wake her.

"Zen, come on...come on.......come on.........."

"Come on, get your ass moving. Don't have all day."

Zenobia yelped as the cold metal was shoved against the small of her back, stumbling on her bad leg. The infirmary doctor managed a brief, sympathetic glance before he turned away, leaving Zenobia alone as she hobbled towards the door, bumping against the frame with her bad arm. The drugs weren't working. She could barely breath without feeling a stabbing pain in her chest, she shivered as a trickle of blood inched down her jaw from the deep gouge soaking the patch over her eye. No one said a word of course. This thing was the Cabal's problem now.

The short trip through the barracks turned agonizingly long as the biotic turian limped down the corridors, dead silent save for her ragged gasps and the sharp footsteps of the guard escorting her. Faces peered out from doors before vanishing as she passed them by. Fellow trainees Comrades. One lingered too long, and she recognized it as a friend, one she bonded with after they did well on an exercise together. A friendship he repaid by breaking her ribs. Her weak fingers clenched for a moment before she hung her head and pressed forward, trying not to look up again.

The cold stinging breeze was a small mercy, one quickly lost as she stumbled onto the tall grass, the transport shuttle looming ahead of her. With a start, she recognized it as the same vessel she had to load up just a few scant weeks earlier on disciplinary action. It was an ammunition hauler.

And just like that, it hit her like an avalanche. Just a few days ago, she was a promising young soldier, ready to come into her own, ready to finally prove herself and do great things for her people. For once in her life, she felt proud of herself, confident, maybe even a little happy for the first time since she left for the service.

And now, she was cargo. Property. No more valuable then a mediocre stockpile of heat clips. Tears mixed into the blood trickling down her face, as she bent over in a desperate, pained sob.

And then...a sharp pain. The blow of a rifle against her cheek, sending her reeling.

"Stop crying and get moving!" the guard barked at her as she smacked against a wall, leaning against it for support, her battered arms quivering. Her sobbing abruptly stopped, her heart suddenly beating against her chest like a distant artillery barrage, the pain amplifying her sudden burst of clarity.

"I said...!" he declared, raising his gun again. "Get-"

The shuttle pilot awoke with a start as an unearthly shriek came from outside the shuttle. Hopping up to investigate, he came down the ramp and saw the prisoner he was supposed to be taking straddling the guard and punching him repeatedly in the face, wailing with each brutal hit. Stumbling in shock, he reached for his sidearm and bumped against the side of the ship. Zenobia swung around like a whip, her face splattered with blood as her biotics pushed her to her feet again. With another resounding shriek, she leveled a crude blast of biotic energy that sent the pilot head over heels, giving her time to clamber on board the shuttle and hobble into the pilot's seat, dropping into it with a pained grunt as an alarm started blaring behind her.

"Shut the fuck up!" she snapped at the shrill noise as she struggled to get the ship started up with one bad arm and most of the fingers in her hand broken. "Lucky this isn't a fighter or I'd strafe you fuckers. Least you deserve, you and this whole fucking system." Continuing to mutter, she finally just slammed her fist into the controls, flinging blood across the viewscreen as the ship finally spooled up its engines. "Hell I'll come back with a proton bomb strapped to my ass and blow you fuckers to aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAH!"

The shuttle had substantially more kick then she thought and it sped off like a lightning bolt, cleaving through a wall and clipping the comm tower alerting the mass relay to the escapee. Thrown back against her chair, she managed to pull up the control stick to avoid slamming into a nearby mountain and pitched up, up, up until the inky blackness of space overtook the dour blue sky. Flicking on the autopilot to take her to the relay, she leaned back in her chair, her heart still pounding ferociously in her chest. She caught a glance of her reflection in the window, looking like she had a disagreement with a meat grinder, the patch now soaked through and oozing onto her uniform. She tilted her head and scowled.

"Outstanding move," she murmured. "Made a bad situation worse. Dumbass."

Her reflection seemed to grin back. "You weren't going to go back home anyway. You know what happens to Cabal recruits."

Zenobia scoffed. "Yeah, and I know what happens to idiots who cold clock two people and bail with a stolen shuttle."

"Yeah, they get to live."

Turning to glare at her reflection, she spat out blood on the console. "And that's just going SO FUCKING WELL, isn't it?" Her breathing haggard and rough, Zenobia sat there for a good minute before she relaxed and slumped in the seat. "I didn't want this..."

"Don't kid yourself. You know why you spent your whole life hiding. You know what the Hierarchy does to people like you."

Snarling, Zenobia started to tear off the collar in chunks with her unbroken hand. "Didn't need to happen like this," she remarked coolly.

"But this is more fun."

Zenobia glared in shock at her reflection. Fun?! It was the most traumatic experience of her life! She'd never see her home again, forever branded an outlaw! She'd have to be some sort of lunatic to find this fun...

"Relay to shuttle, please state your destination."

The irritated voice of the mass relay station attendant shook her out of her head, and she grabbed for the controls. "Uhhh....Omega Relay?"

"Right, stand by."

Zenobia glanced down at her hands as the shuttle approached the relay, slowly dripping blood onto the console. And she couldn't help but smile, just a little bit...

Despite the request made by the announcer and her wormy companion, not all was well in the pre-game festivities. While most of the nomads were behaving themselves, it was difficult for a band of powerful individuals famous for fighting each other to not make enemies.

"You dare mock the gods so?!?" spat a girl in Greco-Roman armor. "Were this not a place of merriment I would slay you on the spot, loathesome rodent."

"Don't let the company stop you sweetheart," snarled a reedy looking anthro bat, getting up in her face. "Why don't you pull that sword out and see what happens?"

"What happens is you will lose your tongue, cretin!"

"Yeah well get ready to lose your eardrums, byzie-bitch!"



"...don't mind me, just trying to get to the carimañolas."

The two angry nomads were shoved back a little as a shorter figure deliberately squeezed between them to get to the table. The two seemed apoplectic until the unwanted intruder turned around.

"Gah, thought I'd never get out of that script reading..." the lanky fellow complained, brushing their wild red hair back and popping the appetizer into their mouth. "Mmm, that's good. Had to skip breakfast to make it in time."

The three of them stared at one another for a moment before the two arguing nomads suddenly started to bounce excitedly on their heels.

"Oh m-my gosh!" the greco-roman girl squealed.

"You're...you're...THEM!" the bat boy revealed excitedly.

Showing off a sharp-toothed grin, Skyler Belsky lowered their sunglasses, ran one finger across the edge, and snapped the same hand, producing an electrical spark. "Radiant Lancer, ready to roll."

The two fighters delighted jumping and squeeing at seeing Skyler perform their character's signature catchphrase drew quite a few eyes, and Skyler, having just done their good deed for the day, indulged a bit in the limelight. Admittedly the nomads were far less interested in them then their usual audience, but Skyler still managed to get a couple dozen selfies and signatures out, and was in fact in the process of signing one competitors head when their phone started chirping. Finishing off their fan session by vaulting over a table to get to the lounge area, snagging another carimañola on the way, Skyler flipped the phone out of their pocket with one equally dexterous move.

"Skyler here, what's shaking out?"

"My patience, Belsky."

"Sarki!" Skyler's eyes lit up as they righted themselves. "How's the great horned one doing today? Did we hear back from Feige yet?"

"Forget Feige, what the hell are you doing in Brazil?"

"Eating." Skyler took a bite from the carimañola. "How bout you?"

"You know what I mean! That damned tournament!" the she-demon yelled through the phone so violently it made Skyler wince. "SHINING is going to pitch a fit about this. You know they're debuting a new Justice Rider right?"

"Relax, I totally cleared it already. Besides, it's just what the new girl needs, a nice big popularity boost by going up against the favorite, right? It's not like I'm gonna curb stomp her right out the gate."

"Ugh...just don't do anything rash out there, okay? SHINING is going to have both our asses over a spit if you muck this up for them."

"Don't worry, it's just going to be a little publicity tour, then we can get back to arranging that movie deal. Besides, it's all just for show."

"I'll hold you to that."

"That's why you're my agent," Skyler recounted with a grin as they hung up. Nice girl. Honestly Skyler had no idea why she tolerated them so much, but whatevs. There was a tournament to fight, and on top of that one hell of a prize to win. Funny, Skyler didn't really consider that prize until now, but if everything they heard about it was true...well, it'd be one hell of a twist for ol' Radiant Lancer if they got their hands on that! Would make a hell of a movie deal to be sure, Skyler considered as they roamed around waiting to be noticed again.
Interest >:3
"Yes, yes, that's the ticket, that's the in..."

Avicia Sancrius' heels clacked on the metal floor as she turned and paced the other direction, arms crossed over her chest.

"Overload and overflow, the door comes crashing in. A stream of data to clog the system and cause an informational cascade. Bypass any simple cyberspace lock mechanism. It's so elementary..."

She turned again, facing down a squadron of enemy soldiers in black armor, aiming their rifles at her.

"Practical application then, let's see. Standard to high-end, corporate issue highly likely. Reliable, but most certainly with cut corners. Electronic triggers especially vulnerable. Overload and bypass, and what can we do?"

She snapped her fingers, and seven clicks were heard. The mercenaries looked down to see the grenades strapped to their belts had activated. The collective fireball created a gleam on the turian's goggles as she grinned excitedly.

"Definite defensive applications as well," she continued, raising her arm and effortlessly catching the grenade launched in her face. "No no no, I can do better." She tossed it aside, and caught a rocket with even less effort. "Perfect, rocket propelled ammunition, notoriously vulnerable to override with the proper parameters. Or better yet..."

She craned her neck to see the turian battleship overhead, loaded down with the same type of warheads. She rubbed her hands together excitedly. "Definite need for current military codes, but past that, it's only a matter of a few quick commands before-"

There was a sound like thunder as flames emerged from within the structure and it began listing. She bounced on her heels, waiting to imagine what the vessel would look like erupting into plasmic flame when-

"Helm to Barracks. We’re in the shadow of Faringor.”

Avicia jerked out of her daydreaming with a start, smacking her forehead into the low ceiling of her bunk, Kemerskai stirring from his resting place around her neck and sniffing the air curiously.

"Ugh, these things are like coffins," Avicia groaned, rubbing her head as she lifted the space ferret out of her collar with the other hand, sticking the furry little critter on the bedding next to his brother. It was practically cliche to complain about living quarters in her profession, but in fairness these accommodations were rather pathetic. No doubt because the humans in charge were banking on their hired hands being too desperate to say no to this job, she concluded.

The throbbing in her head subsiding, she dug through her chaotic mess of a living space and pulled out all the equipment she'd need, and a few extras for good measure, and started off down the hallway still checking over her launcher, until reaching the room and finding a comfortable table to sit on rather then a chair, still fiddling with the firing mechanism on her weapon. She unloaded it from her last job, right? Eh, probably.

”Why can’t they ever send us somewhere nice, like Oma Ker, or Arvuna?” the other turian in the room sighed, prompting her attention.

"They save those for the security technicians who make much more money then we do, naturally," Avicia replied as though this were obvious. "Also, what's wrong with the lights in here, why's everything so gree...oh!" Avicia lowered her goggles from her eyes to leave them hanging around her neck, grinning proudly. "Another crisis solved!"
Zenobia Vartius

Solveig Wistrom

"Roll for Initiative"

Havana Spaceport

“I could have gotten the shuttle myself,” Solveig said - tone dry as ever, a small sigh punctuated.

“Probably but I’m pretty sure I’d get yelled at if I spent the mission sleeping in the smoking lounge. Besides, could be fun!” Zenobia responded, not missing a beat with energy and enthusiasm. They would need both of those things.

Solveig sighed again, she’d at least rinsed off in the shower before leaving, it did feel better to wash the last couple of days off, that was for sure. Not one to miss a detail, she spied the shadows under the door of the Spaceport and her brow quirked; “Don’t think that’s what we were expecting, no?” she said, drawing into herself with a slow, purposeful breath as she readied herself. “Tell me what you’re good at,” she said again - the intention to learn about Zenobia’s skills - the execution… simply rude.

The turian cracked her knuckles, sparks of biotic energy flying from between her fingers. “Breach tactics, frontal assault, shock and awe. Pick your poison, so long as I can get my hands dirty.” If the Turian was cautious after spotting those shadows, she didn’t show it. If anything, she seemed eager to jump in and take them on, damn the consequences. She made a finger gun and tracked it at the door. “I say we make this easy; I go in swinging, you go nuts while they’re all running scared. Pop pop pop.”

Truthfully, that was exactly what Sol wanted. She knew battle, and she felt something rising - a feeling, anger, emotions - swirling. She felt the familiar sting of her arm. As if Zen’s energy caught her and brought her to life. “Pop?” Sol raised her brow again, but began stepping back as if to clear the way for the Turian, natural as anything. “Pop.” she affirmed, motioning to the door, and then her tactical cloak was down - she was a ghost.

Zenobia was not.

Taking no care to make herself hidden or subtle, she strode right up to the door, flexed her neck for a moment, then kicked the lock mechanism to blow open the door in style.

Zenobia Vartius


The relative tranquility of the Meliá Resort was very quickly disrupted by the shrill roar of an antique engine. Punctuated by the blaring of the horn, the other vehicles on and above the street quickly pulled to the side as a large green sportscar barreled down the road towards the the resort, the tires squealing as it suddenly turned sharply and spun to a stop alongside the curb.

"See? Told you I could get here in time!" Zenobia Vartius declared triumphantly. "Thanks for the lift!"

The Turian patted the side of the incredibly pale man's cheek as she leapt out of the car over his lap, stretching out to her full impressive height before fishing her carry-on bag out of the backseat, slightly deformed from about a dozen impulse buys from the marketplace. Craning her neck to get a better look, the turian took a moment to appreciate the resort, somehow undamaged from the vicious attack by the Reapers. It was still a little insane to her that anyone would let someone like her within a mile of a place like this, but damn it if she wasn't going to take advantage of it. Did they have a pool? She really, really hoped they had a pool here.

Striding into the lobby, Zenobia very quickly made a scene by vaulting over one of the sofas in the waiting room as she went up to the front desk, where a young drell woman was busy filling out a few forms off to the side. Naturally, the turian's eyes drifted in her direction before the woman behind the counter cleared her throat.

“Welcome to the Meliá Resort, señora," the human with her hair in the tight bun said, just barely hiding her annoyance. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Zenobia Vartius," she declared proudly, turning around to rest her back on the counter. "War hero, special agent in the SRN. Kind of a big deal."

"I...see..." the clerk said, eyes widening slightly with surprise as the name came up. "Well uh, here it is. It says you've been assigned to a room belong to a previous SRN agent."

"Such a shame it wasn't yours," Zenobia smirked at the drell woman, who averted her eyes and hid a slight smile.

"I'll have someone show you to your room," the clerk announced. "Just please don't disturb the guests."


A few minutes after the message went out to rendevous in the cigar lounge, something large splashed into the resort's pool, startling the two asari sunbathing there. The two of them glared angrily as Zenobia swam up to the edge and hoisted herself out, looking positively elated.

"What in the world are you doing?!?" one of them demanded indignantly.

Zenobia paused, glancing back at the pool. "I think it's kind of obvious, isn't it?"

"Hooligan!" the other asari huffed as the two stomped away angrily.

"Don't act like you've never thought of doing that!" Zenobia shouted after them, grabbing a towl from a stunned member of the staff and toweling herself off before heading inside and making her way to the lounge, of course already heavy with the smell of smoke. The scent made her nose twitch, and of course she took the yellow cigar that was offered to her as the SRN associate introduced herself, rather timidly at that.

"Zenobia Vartius," she introduced herself proudly, giving a friendly albeit aggressive handshake. Introduced to the others in turn, she sat down backwards in her chair as the details were given and the meeting commenced. With the friendly but professional atmosphere, it was almost kind of comforting. If she closed her eyes, she could have pretended they were all in yellow armor again, and Edarisa was lecturing her about not blowing up every door they came across. God, she missed Eda...

Still, as fun as daydreaming would be, there was work to do. The party sounded really damn fun, but it seemed like the shuttle or the signal would have been more in her wheelhouse, both of which sounded like more of a priority, at least for her teammates.

“I’ll get the shuttle."

The abruptness of the grumpy human's statement and departure was enough to cause a stir, the green asari even making a comment about her rudeness. Knocking the ashes off her cigar, she turned to the others.

"I can go and help Chuckles back there secure the shuttle," Zenobia offered. "She looks like an infiltrator, I can work well with them."
More men in uniform were a welcome sight. Especially in those pilot uniforms. Angry people seldom think logically, and a part of Marlena worried that an angry mob would have been less likely to listen to a band of multinational soldiers like hers. Going by their specific garb they looked like pilots, in fact.

"Vietnam's People Air Force," one of the men stated, confirming her theory as he looked over her, eyes lingering on the wound in her side. "Are you alright, ma'am? We can take you to our airbase."

Her men chuckled slightly as Marlena smiled in appreciation. <"It's not necessary, but thank you."> she signed at the two men, making sure one of her number was watching.

"It's not necessary, but thank you," one of the soldiers translated. "She heals quick anyway."

"Ja, she is one of the, ah, der Edelwaffen?" The soldier snapped his fingers as he tried to think of the word.

"Noble Arm."

"Ja, Noble Arm!" the German soldier said proudly. To demonstrate, Marlena held her arms out and drew on her powers a bit, causing a slight rain despite the clear skies overhead. Afterwards, she signed again before giving a proud salute.

"Sgt. Marlena Dorn, Wachturm," the German soldier translated for the two pilots.

"We're Laeleps right now, special assignment," a man in the back corrected.

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