No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
2
likes
7 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.
Were it not the end of the world, Hazel doubted that Corinne Shourichi would be let anywhere near a project like this.
No wonder the JSDF sent her to MAX FIRE.
Keeping up with the commander usually required either more caffeine or another drink, depending on the situation. More illicit substances might do the job more efficiently but they were frowned upon for a reason. Caffeine sufficed. At this point, Hazel wasn't at all surprised that she wasn't tired. She doubted, frankly, that Shourichi could get tired. She'd yet to see any evidence of it. And the mute certainly wasn't quite caffeinated enough to keep up, not yet.
But despite her protests, a faint smile tugged at the edges of her lips. It wasn't quite morning until the commander came along.
<Haven't seen them yet.> She signed, dutifully leaning in to take a sip of the proffered drink. That was about the time that Ryoma, one of the people with a bigger paycheck than her, wandered in.
The good doctor(?) had never entirely been comfortable with Hazel's presence. Not that it was something they had discussed, Hazel felt no particular need to explain herself. But no doubt the engineer had raised protests about allowing a thief, swindler, and would-be-hijacker onto the team. He did seem to check on the machines every day. Maybe he thought she would steal one for real this time?
A wider smile crept onto the mute's face, and she quite intentionally locked eyes with the engineer.
And pickpocketed the commander for a couple of lollipops, while she was leaned in taking a sip. Well, to call it pickpocketing greatly overstated the difficulty of the theft, seeing as they were all but spilling out of her jacket, but she doubted Ryoma would care about the semantics. The candies disappeared into Hazel's pocket under the table as she leaned back, looking innocent.
<They might be getting breakfast,> She added, transitioning smoothly into a small wave at the scientist presently attacking the coffee pot. The mute wasn't totally bereft of manners. She spied Jack, briefly, on his way past. There was a coworker she hadn't quite puzzled out yet. Nevertheless. <I doubt they're still sleeping. I'm glad to hear of your victory, Commander.>
<Is it just me, or does the support staff keep getting younger?>
MAX FIRE was the first, and last, line of defense for all humanity against the monsters that had risen up against it. Its founder had the ear of every leader in the world, no piece of equipment was too expensive, no material too sensitive for his use if he decreed that it was needed.
But it was still fundamentally a civilian organization, albeit a paramilitary one, and that meant that its workers required certain amenities. For their comfort. Personal living quarters, recreational activities, fresh food. And most importantly, fresh coffee. Not necessarily good coffee. If you wanted good coffee, you needed to head over to the real sciency parts of the enormous complex. In the 24/7 standby parts of the fortress, housing Promethion's pilots, mechanics, and other support staff, the presence of coffee was more important than its quality.
In other words, you learned to like the powdered creamer if it was there, and drink your black mud anyway if it wasn't. If you couldn't stand a spoon straight up in it, it isn't fresh anymore. Make a new pot.
But it meant that Hazel Ada Stoll could roll out of her bed, pull on some clothes, and walk down the hall to get a cup of coffee in the morning.
Most people weren't up yet, so Hazel could make her way to the break lounge in sweatpants and a t-shirt largely unimpeded. The headphones hanging around her neck, their cord trailing down to the Walkman clipped at her waist, blared their soundtrack faintly. She only had them off of her ears to listen for the hourly announcements, in case there was something she needed to know. Otherwise her responsibilities for the day were pretty clearcut. But that'd wait until after coffee.
The night dispatcher was already in the lounge, presumably just clocking out of his shift. She gave Hazel a nod over her paper, but otherwise didn't say anything.
Neither did Hazel.
Ha ha.
<Morning.> She signed quickly, offhandedly. Her coworker'd get the sentiment, if not the message. Hazel wasn't completely certain of her name, but she saw the night dispatcher a bunch. As one of Promethion's more nocturnal pilots, she was pretty familiar with the night support staff by sight. The Commander probably knew their names. Hazel might, if she really thought about it. But frankly, she hadn't had coffee yet. She was firing on a single cylinder. It wasn't high on the priority list.
So she poured her own cup of mud (no creamer at all this morning, she noted, she'd have to put in a supply request) and sat down at one of the little tables. The taste, as much as anything, helped her wake up. One hand ran through her hair, helping to at least tame it a little, and the other slipped her glasses onto her face. Then she settled into her routine. Read her notes, sip coffee, read, sip, read, sip, read, sip. Nothing too eventful was on the docket today. Some pilot drills. There were a couple of things she wanted to go over with the mechanics. The biggest issue on her list was the supply shipments coming in. As a consultant, it was up to her to double check security policies and practices regularly. Whether or not any of the bureaucrats at the top listened wasn't her problem, she just had to advise. End of the world and people still wanted to steal things.
...
Maybe pointing that out was a little hypocritical.
She took another long sip from her mug and sighed. Today actually looked really boring. Maybe she'd finally get around to bringing some of the authentication protocol updates she'd been thinking about up with the boss.
In the meantime, she settled in and decided to do a little people watching. Never knew who'd come through that door in search of an early cup of coffee, no matter how shitty it was. Here in Vaucanson's nerve center, adjacent to the core personnel quarters, hangar, and command center alike, you never knew who'd stop by.
AT 5’5” Hazel is neither tall enough nor short enough to stand out from the average, and she doesn’t make much effort to stand out at all. Her fashion sense errs on the side of formal, if she has to be out and about, but if left to her own devices she’s more than happy to lounge in comfortable clothes. The sole oddity is her fondness for turtleneck sweaters with the collar pulled up over her mouth.
Gender: Female Age: 21 Job: MAX FIRE First Independent Special Squadron Pilot, Security Consultant Personality: Quiet. Not in the sense of ‘doesn’t talk much’, but in the sense of ‘doesn’t talk at all’. Hazel’s commentary, if she gives it, comes almost entirely in the way of expressions, signs, or typed text. If the option is available. She manages to seem dry and sarcastic anyway. She isn’t particularly unfriendly, just generally disinterested in people. Unless she’s actually doing her job she’s most likely to find a quiet corner somewhere to sit with her laptop, if not retreating to her own quarters entirely. She’ll ‘talk’, if you can understand her and you have something interesting to say, but people just don’t seem to be her priority. Unlike most of MAX FIRE, who seems humanistic in the extreme, one kind of gets the impression that Hazel is just along for the robots.
Her job, however, is where passion and profession intersect. Hazel is absolutely, immeasurably fascinated with her mecha. Not just her mecha, but everyone’s mecha. It’s the one subject that will get her full attention without fail, and the only one that seems to really fire up the relatively lethargic pilot. It was what brought her to MAX FIRE’s attention, after all, when she tried to access files on the machines for her own curiosity. She will converse for hours on end with anyone in the know about them, or even about the fictional machines that inspired them, given the chance. Not everyone welcomes this, and she’ll depart without complaint if she gets the feeling people would prefer to be left alone, but such talks are one of her most humanizing traits.
Even when it comes to her teammates, she seems to prefer people in the abstract sense than the real. Skills: Significant knowledge of computer systems, as evidenced by her unlawful entry to MAX FIRE’s records. If you were to read her list of charges like a job application it’d showcase technical skill, a preternatural grasp of social engineering (for someone who doesn’t talk), a knack for operational planning, and the ability to improvise when the plan goes awry. Said improvisation included a semi-successful attempted hijacking of one of Prometheus’ components, a big piece of what landed her the gig.
Hazel isn’t much of a fighter by herself, most of her self defense amounting to pulling every dirty trick in the book and running like hell, but she’s definitely got a knack for operating her machine. What she lacks in formal understanding of tactics seems to be made up for by an understanding of every mecha trope in the book, and the willingness to test things out on the fly. Where others might not succeed, she gets by using an ever-broadening understanding of her machine’s limits and potential.
How well she works in a more cohesive team remains to be seen. Short Bio: Exactly where Hazel A. Stoll came from is a little unclear, mostly because the girl won’t say much. Records of her attendance at university corroborate her recent history, but only stretching back a few years or two; a fairly unremarkable academic record, but not one that matches up with the intelligence she displays. If anything the school seems mostly to have been a way of accessing better resources. No one that has pressed on the matter has managed to dig much deeper.
What is clear is that she’s very good at finding out things she wants to know, and this trait brought her to MAX FIRE. Whispers about what Higini Somporn was working on reached her ears, enough to make her decide that she had to know. So over the better part of a year she researched MAX FIRE painstakingly, using what networked resources she could access to study her target. Transportation of raw materials, delivery dates, bureaucratic structure, floor plans filed with local government, any little tidbit she could find, coerce, dig up or steal. Everything she found seemed to keep pointing to the same thing, so she made a plan.
Through means not entirely known (Hazel isn’t talking) she breached the Science Fortress’ perimeter under the guise of a contractor, accessed the facility, bypassed the guards on site, the facility’s physical security, and actually gained access to the Prometheus compound.
Buuut skill only gets you so far, especially when you’re dealing with effective security. Caught redhanded Hazel tried to commit grand theft mecha to make good her escape, but was apprehended. Quite stunningly, depending on who you ask, given that it ended in the ISS’ captain dragging her from the cockpit.
Between how she accessed the compound and how she managed to get anywhere trying to steal a mech, MAX FIRE had some questions for her. A long hour ensued before her would-be interrogators figured out that she didn’t speak, not that she refused. Not that she was talkative once they got an interpreter that understood American Sign Language. It’s a little uncertain who pulled what strings, but rather than being tossed to the police for a decades-long-timeout Hazel was given a choice first. Work with MAX FIRE to help keep someone else from doing what she did, and be entered into the candidate pool for pilots or cool her heels in a cell.
Armaments: -x2 MAX FIRE Etherion Beam Cannons (3x batteries per cylinder, 1x full power shot per battery, 3x three-round burst per battery) -Obari Industries “Hellfire” HEDP Missiles x16 -Reinforced Nosecone and Wings
Weakness: Though capable of significant speeds, due to its intended purpose to augment Promethion’s own movement, pushing the Shrike to its limits is hazardous to both craft and pilot. If the batteries of its main cannons are exhausted, the Shrike cannot replenish them except through docking with Promethion’s maine Etherion engine. Despite its armor, as an aerial unit the Shrike cannot persist in operation in even a limited capacity if damage is incurred that cripples its flight capabilities.
AT 5’5” Hazel is neither tall enough nor short enough to stand out from the average, and she doesn’t make much effort to stand out at all. Her fashion sense errs on the side of formal, if she has to be out and about, but if left to her own devices she’s more than happy to lounge in comfortable clothes. The sole oddity is her fondness for turtleneck sweaters with the collar pulled up over her mouth.
Gender: Female Age: 21 Job: MAX FIRE First Independent Special Squadron Pilot, Security Consultant Personality: Quiet. Not in the sense of ‘doesn’t talk much’, but in the sense of ‘doesn’t talk at all’. Hazel’s commentary, if she gives it, comes almost entirely in the way of expressions, signs, or typed text. If the option is available. She manages to seem dry and sarcastic anyway. She isn’t particularly unfriendly, just generally disinterested in people. Unless she’s actually doing her job she’s most likely to find a quiet corner somewhere to sit with her laptop, if not retreating to her own quarters entirely. She’ll ‘talk’, if you can understand her and you have something interesting to say, but people just don’t seem to be her priority. Unlike most of MAX FIRE, who seems humanistic in the extreme, one kind of gets the impression that Hazel is just along for the robots.
Her job, however, is where passion and profession intersect. Hazel is absolutely, immeasurably fascinated with her mecha. Not just her mecha, but everyone’s mecha. It’s the one subject that will get her full attention without fail, and the only one that seems to really fire up the relatively lethargic pilot. It was what brought her to MAX FIRE’s attention, after all, when she tried to access files on the machines for her own curiosity. She will converse for hours on end with anyone in the know about them, or even about the fictional machines that inspired them, given the chance. Not everyone welcomes this, and she’ll depart without complaint if she gets the feeling people would prefer to be left alone, but such talks are one of her most humanizing traits.
Even when it comes to her teammates, she seems to prefer people in the abstract sense than the real. Skills: Significant knowledge of computer systems, as evidenced by her unlawful entry to MAX FIRE’s records. If you were to read her list of charges like a job application it’d showcase technical skill, a preternatural grasp of social engineering (for someone who doesn’t talk), a knack for operational planning, and the ability to improvise when the plan goes awry. Said improvisation included a semi-successful attempted hijacking of one of Prometheus’ components, a big piece of what landed her the gig.
Hazel isn’t much of a fighter by herself, most of her self defense amounting to pulling every dirty trick in the book and running like hell, but she’s definitely got a knack for operating her machine. What she lacks in formal understanding of tactics seems to be made up for by an understanding of every mecha trope in the book, and the willingness to test things out on the fly. Where others might not succeed, she gets by using an ever-broadening understanding of her machine’s limits and potential.
How well she works in a more cohesive team remains to be seen. Short Bio: Exactly where Hazel A. Stoll came from is a little unclear, mostly because the girl won’t say much. Records of her attendance at university corroborate her recent history, but only stretching back a few years or two; a fairly unremarkable academic record, but not one that matches up with the intelligence she displays. If anything the school seems mostly to have been a way of accessing better resources. No one that has pressed on the matter has managed to dig much deeper.
What is clear is that she’s very good at finding out things she wants to know, and this trait brought her to MAX FIRE. Whispers about what Higini Somporn was working on reached her ears, enough to make her decide that she had to know. So over the better part of a year she researched MAX FIRE painstakingly, using what networked resources she could access to study her target. Transportation of raw materials, delivery dates, bureaucratic structure, floor plans filed with local government, any little tidbit she could find, coerce, dig up or steal. Everything she found seemed to keep pointing to the same thing, so she made a plan.
Through means not entirely known (Hazel isn’t talking) she breached the Science Fortress’ perimeter under the guise of a contractor, accessed the facility, bypassed the guards on site, the facility’s physical security, and actually gained access to the Prometheus compound.
Buuut skill only gets you so far, especially when you’re dealing with effective security. Caught redhanded Hazel tried to commit grand theft mecha to make good her escape, but was apprehended. Quite stunningly, depending on who you ask, given that it ended in the ISS’ captain dragging her from the cockpit.
Between how she accessed the compound and how she managed to get anywhere trying to steal a mech, MAX FIRE had some questions for her. A long hour ensued before her would-be interrogators figured out that she didn’t speak, not that she refused. Not that she was talkative once they got an interpreter that understood American Sign Language. It’s a little uncertain who pulled what strings, but rather than being tossed to the police for a decades-long-timeout Hazel was given a choice first. Work with MAX FIRE to help keep someone else from doing what she did, and be entered into the candidate pool for pilots or cool her heels in a cell.
Armaments: -x2 MAX FIRE Etherion Beam Cannons (3x batteries per cylinder, 1x full power shot per battery, 3x three-round burst per battery) -Obari Industries “Hellfire” HEDP Missiles x16 -Reinforced Nosecone and Wings
Weakness: Though capable of significant speeds, due to its intended purpose to augment Promethion’s own movement, pushing the Shrike to its limits is hazardous to both craft and pilot. If the batteries of its main cannons are exhausted, the Shrike cannot replenish them except through docking with Promethion’s maine Etherion engine. Despite its armor, as an aerial unit the Shrike cannot persist in operation in even a limited capacity if damage is incurred that cripples its flight capabilities.
It wasn't a particularly graceful sound, but having her classmate slammed into her and subsequently rolled a ways wasn't a particularly graceful experience. Nothing was broken, though. It wasn't hard to tell. She had wound up cushioning Jin's impact and subsequent roll, but she'd seen the hit the banchou took on the head. Nothing she could do about that except offer some aspirin later. The two were closer to the school than they had been since the jump.
It was more than a little demoralizing, frankly. Jin was a better fighter than her by a mile. Better magus, too. To see her get knocked on her ass wasn't a good sign. That was dealing with one of these soldiers, and she knew of at least two. Almost certainly more than that. Jin and sensei were the only people with her, now. Excellent magi, the both of them. She already knew a little about Jin, but sensei had just demonstrated his own skill, if a little unorthodox. Jin could take anyone in a fight. Sensei looked like he could probably do the same.
What could she do?
She was a musician. In that environment, she excelled. She performed, for her club and other venues. Piano, mostly. But she could sing. She could play the guitar, if not quite as well. Make a passable attempt a few other instruments. Lia was a scholar, too. Excellent grades. Diverse knowledgebase, theoretical and practical. Certified in first aid. Looking at a career in medicine.
But she'd never been in a real fight. Not against a normal person, let alone a stone soldier.
She didn't know more than basic magecraft. Nothing that could give what used to be Morimoto any trouble.
There was nowhere to run, and whether she'd admit it or not she'd considered it. It would be smartest. Finding a clear route and booking it, far, far away from anything going on at her school. Let someone more qualified address the issue. There was nothing that she could do to Morimoto.
God, Morimoto. She hadn't been particularly fond of her teacher. He was inoffensive, but boring. Beyond the respect he was due as her teacher she didn't pay him much mind. But he didn't deserve that. He wasn't built for this sort of world. Maybe she wasn't, either, but at least she was aware of it. Shocking, still, but she had known all of this was possible. He hadn't. His eyes had been closed to it, but he still did his best. And this was what he got for his trouble.
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Was she going to let Dorian and Jin protect her? Let Dorian protect them both, if Jin couldn't hurt it?
...
No.
It wasn't right.
She was small, even if no smaller than Jin. She was weak. And if she was completely honest, she wasn't that brave. But there was nowhere to go. She could fuck shit up, or she could roll over and hope she didn't die. So she pushed herself to her feet, sparing Jin a once-over to make sure she wasn't in any immediate danger. And with all these stupid trees around, she had tools. So bracing a foot on a tree-trunk, she broke herself off a branch and stalked back towards Morimoto and Dorian. She swung it a few times, as much to steel her nerve as practice, and wound it up like a batter.
"I want you to get lost!" She hollered at what used to be Morimoto, scowling. "I want you out of my school, I want you out of my town, I want you off my planet! If I have to kick your ass back there myself! Those shoes were expensive, asshole!"
"Sensei, if I understand enough about magecraft, we cut it off from whatever's making that banging, we stop it, right?" She queried her teacher, trying to keep that steel in her voice. "Can we do that with a more sturdy Bounded Field?"
One second Umeko had been swept up in a hug, laughing and squirming as her picture was taken. The next the lights went out, and she heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. Very close by. Her reaction was immediate, and oriented around her highest priorities. She pivoted, hard, yanking Brennan close and putting her back to the source of the sound half a second before pushing off with her other foot; even a small application of her ability was enough, under the circumstances, to overcome the token resistance Brennan unintentionally put up.
They hit the ground rather uncomfortably, though considering the Irishman's experience with buses none the worse for wear. And he cushioned her landing. It had been too late to do anything about the first shot by the time she heard it, but in the dark they were safe from any followups. Not that any seemed to come. She didn't dare make a sound, but warded off the dread that washed over her by checking his pulse from the arm that had been holding her. The cosplayer's other hand ran across his torso, working its way up until it had checked his shoulders and his neck for any entry wounds. To her great relief, she found none.
With relief came anger, and the consideration of what had happened. Only one set of people was likely to get Brennan's attention like that and be willing to take a shot at one of them, considering the mess she'd insisted they poke their noses into over the past few days.
With that anger came the decision that she wasn't done with either of those two convention employees.
A͓͞t̘̳̰ ͍̤̯̳̱̠̖a̺̖̩l̶͇͍̰̘̬͈l̟̪̫̖͟.̘̬̪̻
But in the mean time she had a bigger problem, as did everyone else in the convention hall. She wasn't certain it was unrelated, but it was certainly more immediate.
This called for a hero.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, by now, and she had heard the ringleader's spiel. Unfortunately, sitting still was one-hundred-percent contrary to her nature, soooooo.
"Brennan," She whispered, propping herself up enough to grab the sturdy prop staff she'd dropped to free up her hands. "I think they're underestimating us."
The costume spoke sage advice. There were no panels for a while yet, but there was merchandise to be had.
Umeko nodded thoughtfully, eyes drifting back over to her captive through the transaction. Others would not have noticed, but she was attuned to the intricacies of his mood. Where others saw 'aggressive', 'unsavory', 'mean', and 'predatory' she could see through these varying shades to the real moods that they conveyed. And at the moment, something had piqued his interest.
It wasn't the Magi☆Mint Chip that she graciously, and excitedly, accepted. She was eager, but knew that the Irishman had little interest in the Musashino tie-in. Nor was it to do with the voice changer, or the convention in general. No, something about the cashiers had his attention. So she bumped him lightly with her hip and cocked her head a few degrees questioningly.
Visions, for a moment, of ripping the costume's head off to reveal the man underneath like an American cartoon flashed briefly through her mind, but if such things were necessary, she would leave them to Burennan. For now. Kanamin had to purport herself with justice.
The impersonation was very good. Technology was amazing. If those that believed the rumors weren't heretics without faith, it would almost lend credence to the theory that Kanamin's original voice actress couldn't do the voice anymore. Thankfully it was false, but she could see where malicious individuals could sway the uncertain with such technologies. And the ice-cream-themed switch was a good touch. This costume, certainly, had watched the show.
She clapped a little, and continued grinning.
"Well done!" The Japanese native said, resisting the urge to demonstrate her own impression. Without a similar voice changer it wouldn't be as impressive in this context. Maybe she'd work on that for next year, She was sure she could find a way to fit it into the neck portion of her costume. Just needed to be miniaturized, she had the look down already. "Wasn't that well done, Brennan? Wasn't it? The costume did a good job."
"Where do you think we should go first? The dealer room opens in ten minutes, doesn't it?" The second question was again directed at the costume, though it wasn't immediately apparent. There was no pause, so it took the look in his direction to clarify. "We'll have to make sure to hit that first or all the good stuff will be gone."
Forsythe
Plank Sinatra
FlappyTheSpybot
