And so the first visitor sat down, without a drop of coffee to her name.
People from Portland can be weird. That's the whole gimmick in some peoples' eyes; "Keep Portland Weird" has been a motto for some years now because of a perception that people moving in from out of town california are diluting the unique character of the city, its places and people. Portland is celebrated for its oddity. What else is there to this place? And yet, at the same time, this quality isn't appreciated elsewhere...
The people who desire that weirdness can live in Portland all they want. People who do not want to interact with it stay the hell away, even if it's the most populous city in the state by far.
This is an important thing to note because this lady broadcasted her regional allegiance for all to see. It was clear she was attempting to go for business casual, button-up shirt and shoddily-wound tie and slacks and all that, but apparently she ran out of good dress shirts to wear. One could conclude this when seeing "KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD" with a silhouette of what could only be described as Bigfoot smoking a fat doink across her backside. Either she was strapped for better options, or she just...was a fucking weirdo. Both were correct.
No suitcase, but instead a cloth instrument bag that wasn't being used for its original purpose. The heavy, rectangular shape at one end sure looked like the outline of a hammer or a brick or something, and it was evidently the only thing in said sack. As she sat at one of the chairs, she laid the bag across her lap and looked down into its murky depths...whispering something, awaiting a reply...
Honestly maybe this lady wasn't a worker for the Agency and just was some crackhead who got to the coast instead of bumming around Multnomah somehow.
Name : Winnifred Pylypyshyn Age : 26 Date of Birth : Apr 1st, 1993 Address : 1 Pinecourt Dr. (A good ways into the Siuslaw Forrest, technically part of Unincorporated Lincoln County)
C U R R I C U L L U M V I T A E
Education
Highschool Diploma (McNary High, Keizer, OR), partial course at a nursing program at Portland State University
Work/Organizational Experience
3 years at assorted businesses in Lloyd Center. If you attempt to contact them please be aware that they will speak about my tendency to leave without filing a two-week's notice. Do not concern yourself. My work ethic is good. I am very detail oriented and I will not leave this position without proper notice this time.
Accomplishments
I can talk to objects. I performed well in my middle school trivia competition career. I can eat a lot of pancakes if necessary for competition.
S K I L L S & O T H E R R E S O U R C E S
Psychometry - Tsukumogami
I can talk to objects. This is more successful than is normal for people in my position; they often do not have much in the realm of interesting things to discuss, rarely remembering anything that isn't related to their purpose. A door can remember if someone passed through it recently. A knife knows where it went and how many times. A car wouldn't know the color of someone's hat. In any case, I have experience with talking to them. Diplomacy is possible. Other people can't hear it but I promise you they are talking to me.
I do not know what a tsukumogami is but someone told me that it's similar to this. I am without a better name for this ability.
"Mystic Eyes of Refinement"
I can make objects work better than they ever could otherwise. An elevator rises smoothly and faster than it would normally. A particle board door becomes harder to break through and no longer squeaks on its hinges. A butter knife gains the sharpness of a real one. A car's fuel efficiency is greatly increased, it won't break down, and it will not bend as much even if it's the plastic frame kind that really wants to crumple in a car crash. I have been told that it's safer if they crumple, but I am not financially sound and want to keep my car running even if it's not necessarily as safe in a car crash. I have to stare at things a while to make this happen so please don't mind if I'm looking too hard.
Someone else has told me that these are what they're called.
My hammer
I own a large sledgehammer. I keep it because it's the most pleasant object that I've talked to. I keep it in bed while I sleep. I cannot afford to lose it.
Paperwork
I am very good at studying rules and regulations and would like to be provided with any that your organization can provide; I will act as your bylaw enforcer if or if not requested. I would have entered law school if I had the money for it.
C O V E R L E T T E R
I am a functional person. I don't have any major issues that would prohibit my inclusion in an investigatory position.
Some people say that I am very disaffected and have difficulty engendering the intended emotional response in other persons vis-a-vis my statements towards other parties, but this won't actually affect my ability to work. I may not be personable towards others but I'm at least not disagreeable or hostile necessarily.
One day my microwave started talking to me. It convinced me that I should leave my prior home and move to the coast. I'm applying to this job as even though this one bedroom house in the woods has not been renovated since 1963 (This has been confirmed via speaking with the house itself) I am rather blindsided by the house payments and cannot afford it in a minimum wage job. To be honest I am not sure why I was approved for these mortgage payments in the first place as they were filed entirely fraudulently using financial paperwork I edited in Adobe Photoshop. I assume that this will also affect me in the future, hence my further interest in the position as described.
I am not very easily made afraid of anything and I will kill people if this position requires it, though I lack the forensic background to actually hide any of this. I am aware of the illegal nature of murder but I think it would be a very interesting thing to include on a resume and would allow it to be seen above other resumes due to its unique nature.
Despite the verbose nature of this document's wording I would like to state that I do not talk as much vocally, in person, in the event that this discrepancy would cause issues after I was hired. I speak when necessary. If requested I will speak more on a negotiable basis.
My surname is pronounced 'puh-luh-puh-shin'.
Name: Winnifred Pylypyshyn - "I secretly enjoy it when people struggle with pronouncing it, even if I don't show it. It's a Ukrainian name, but I don't know much about that side of my family." Height - 5'2" - 157cm: "Is there anything to note? At least, people don't think of me as threatening because of this." Weight - 147lbs - 67kg: "I lost weight after ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░. It's returning as muscle nowadays. I'm keeping detailed records for the first time in a while." Three Sizes - 109/80/82: "I dress in baggy clothes to make it less apparent. Nobody really needs to see them. I want to get them pierced." Home - The Woods: "There hasn't been a better place for me. The family home was down an old logging road and there's never been a place where I've been happier. If I have to live with nothing to make it happen, I'll make it happen..." Birthday - April 1st: "I hate it." Weak Point - Hugs: "..." Fetishism - Being Watched: "..." What do you look for in a partner? - Non-committance: "I don't want to have to see someone more than is necessary. I don't feel comfortable unless it's a meeting of convenience. Transient. I don't mind it when someone doesn't call back; in fact, I prefer it." What's your favorite color of underwear? - What: "Why are you asking me that." How do you spend your free time? - I don't. "If I'm not working, I feel like I'm wasting my time. I just need to involve myself in whatever's closest to me if I'll ever get to sleep at a proper hour."
Secret Garden #2 - Absolute Critical Loathing To know the exact fault of everyone around her. Mystic delusion. The cold exterior that she always exudes unintentionally covers the heat of constant, obsessive hatred that she feels towards everyone and everything. There are no perfect human beings and she is painfully aware of this; others are identified as walking faults and she'll sooner be able to recall the slightest tick in their speech over what they look like. Her obsession with study, self-improvement and work is both a means of distracting from this overwhelming annoyance, and an impossible attempt to rid herself of her own faults.
There is no one in the world who thinks more lowly of Winnifred than herself. Her mind races whenever she thinks about how flawed she is, and whatever minor joys she allows herself are in spite of her shortcomings.
Thus, she alternates between introspection, the drive to improve and the feeling of worthlessness. Her view towards others and what she allows from them is most made apparent in how she willfully goes along with whatever they want to get out of her, barely complaining, never more than holding a hand up when that same hand could choke them to death.
Winnifred's world view is one that hinges all of its hopes that something more perfect exists in the next life.
The intersection of how flawed she thinks herself and how poorly she perceived the flaws in ░░░░░░░░░░ drives her up the wall. That betrayal of trust is the worst thing in the world, the product of the worst person in the world, taking from ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░. If it means driving 101 nails into his skin, she'll strike herself with 100 nails to make it happen.
Were she to ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░. And yet, even worse, she's also stupid. Winnifred hasn't even given up on her attachments to ░░░░░░░░░░, even if she knows that's the only reason she's here to begin with.
All these years in the cockpit, having assuredly been near-death and having undoubtedly killed many while sitting here, and you know what? Ingrid had yet to tire from it. Every combat deployment left her eager, even when on the lean or attending to the unimportant. This remained true now, as the Green Knights had a brief hold at the edge of the OZ. She knew that there was no other place for her in the Sphere, and that nothing else would come so easily to her, and in some way this limit brought relief to her. Having a place in life given to you by God himself isn't something that everyone could say, was it? What she would give to keep herself in the pilot's seat into old age!
Though, there was one thing different compared to usual. A tic she hadn't seen in herself in years, back when she was essentially a kid, going through training and her first combat drops. As she listened to the over-the-air chatter, something caught her eye below, just below the edge of the neurohelm. She held a loose grip on her Ostroc's yoke, but her fingers twitched. She looked at it and briefly forgot about the voices bouncing between her ears...
...did she feel anxious? Real anxiety, not just the anticipation of violence. Was it the stakes, her own or that of the entire unit, or did the opposition seem simply too much to handle? The others were discussing how quiet things seemed as she took ahold of her own wrist, took a deep breath and tried to push it back down. It didn't, not yet - and to be honest, it wouldn't until all eyes turned to her as the field commander. The line remained open, and she was expected to speak. With the push of shame to her benefit, she kept this anxiety as down low as possible.
In contrast to some earlier commands, her response this time was uncharacteristically brief. "Alright. You've already heard it, so no need to repeat myself - let's be quick about it!" She pushed her lever and thus the machine underneath it hard forward, tilting her in her seat. Sweat dripped down to her lap, and the jitters were put to the side. "We need to get as far ahead as possible before we get bogged down. Remember: this isn't just a skirmish, this for the lives of hundreds. Move!"
Ingrid smarted a bit with the nudge. These lash-wounds take a while to heal, still visible with her lack of dress uniform at the moment. "I won't be stiff," she said as she rolled her shoulder. "I'll be prepared to move with the course of things, and..."
...she slowly looked up toward the taller man. Realization came to the forefront and she could barely contain her quite famous Daschke anger, "Stiff...is that why you call me Ramrod? Is that why it...nevermind," she exhaled in a most pained way, "forget it, leave this for when we return. Fucking hell..."
Moving past that, this was shaping up to be not only the most important hour of her life, but the most dangerous (the two were likely correlated). Not only that, but things were shaping up to turn out like the stories of heroes that she loved so much. The Colonel, what a man, had offered himself as the scapegoat! Others had concerns, but Ingrid had respect. She wasn't blind to the danger he was putting himself in, but by god it was the perfect sort of danger for a man like him. Two men, two 'mechs, arms and honor flying in the battlefield for a gallant cause! The fact that it wasn't going to be an honorable fight on the side of their enemies, and yet he was going through with it all in the name of the greater good of hundreds of others...
...it was no wonder that, out of the many companies who would have wanted an experienced Lyran officer in their ranks, she joined this one. This was the Colonel that she had seen, what felt like ages ago.
"Colonel, you have my vote of confidence, as if you needed it." She smiled genuinely. "I'd offer my cuirass to give you proper dress for the occassion, but...it wouldn't fit. You'll do fine without it. Regardless," she stood up with her head held high with pride, but also her neck brace, "I won't disappoint. We will finish this and return for you, mark my words."
Given a moment of time, she rose to the stand and offered her own words to the 'mech forces she would be commanding on the field. Her hand went up for a moment of quiet past the earlier hubub, which she received. "I'd ask that the charges be placed, yes. We're going to be the main force behind this prison break, and we can't afford losses early on in the operation - one pass from the Mechbuster could stop us cold. We will make up for the slack. Now, if you wouldn't mind listening to my own suggestion, lance..."
"The core of this struggle will come from getting to the fort in time, and the most obvious way to achieve this would be to run straight in - hence why I figure the main road is mined. They will be coming loaded for bear. I wouldn't doubt they're vibrabombs, they know what we're bringing now, or otherwise remotely detonated. My suggestion is this." It was an odd feeling to be 'suggesting' in this situation, but all she could do was append onto the Colonel's plan. She traced a finger along the southern edge of the operational zone and swung upward, through the narrow pass between two hills. "The entirety of our 'mech forces head through here directly, without pause, damn the turrets. The field is open and wide, and we'll be dealing with our enemy's air support, so the cover provided by the river and the hills to the immediate south of the Fort will be useful. Getting inside the minimum arming distance for these LRM emplacements would neuter much of their effectiveness, and they will be our main concern until we get to the generator."
Adding onto the line provided earlier, she split it off at two points. "Everyone moves as a group, with only the fire support - the Archer - able to afford to lag behind. Still, we need to be roughly one section up until this point." The large hill to the south, bristling with emplacements, was indicated. "The Phoenix Hawk should be best suited for being the close-in threat to the turrets while others move along, and the Shadow Hawk can make good work taking out the turrets from a distance while in cover. Use your jumpjets, they will save valuable time, as your avoiding death is more important than immediately killing their capability to retaliate. They can move through and then enclose themselves between the wall and the hill itself - it'll be difficult for the heavy turret to aim low and close like that, and it'll give your entire backside freedom from anything coming from behind."
"The remainder, which most likely will be myself and Alleycat, will have to make the move into Tieshan itself and offer support in pulling out our people. It won't be an easy entrance; I'll at least go first to give the Raven less opportunities to receive a mine to the foot, provided she detects them. If we get through that, it will be a quick duck into the south pocket, where I'll go for the generator directly and you'll provide designation for the Thumpers. Once that is done, that which we know of ahead of time should be dealt with. The fire support should move up to the front gate and the Phoenix Hawk should move in to begin helping us take out the remaining prisoners, should that be required."
"...I cannot ask that you consider your company over your loved ones, if it becomes a choice. I know I'd be that weak. I have my own person I'm looking for in the fort, and God willing, I'll find her."
"I admit," she said with a beleagured nod to the tank crew in the audience, "that this plan does have the glaring flaw of leaving the Von Lucker in a grey area. This isn't a...lack of thought on my part toward those not in possession of a Battlemech, but genuine uncertainty as to how to approach a heavily fortified complex with its least mobile piece of machinery. In a best case scenario, they are using vibrabomb mines and they are not tuned for the Von Luckner's weight specifically. If you approach them and they prematurely detonate, everything is grand, but can we really afford to be wishful?" She pointed back at the southern edge of the bridge and added "Otherwise, we will have Mechwarrior Saarinen take the time to fire at the route on approach. LRMs spread out over a wide enough area should give you room to drive along the road, where you'll serve as the main screen for any enemy elements coming in from the northwest. If resistance turns out to be too much attempt to link with Desperado."
It was quite the statement to essentially say "You're going to be the first in line to die in case we fuck up" to a group of people who she had just threatened to kill some days ago. Not escaping any allegations of Mechwarrior favoritism this time, she stood by her judgment. "Provided that they're going to be light militia forces, the Von Luckner should be a strong enough deterrent to make them keep distance. If the Crimson Fists come down, then we may have other issues...whatever the case is, avoid a mobility kill on your part. We most likely won't be taking and retaining the Fort, so anything lost on the field will most likely remain lost."
"And on the matter of a nuclear weapon, I cannot imagine a situation in which it is warranted to use such a thing," she said to no surprise at all among those listening. "Beyond the shame it would bring, the potential for loss of life among the prisoners is catastrophic in most scenarios I can imagine...the fallout alone would condemn enough civilians to make me think that a direct nuclear strike on the Fort is unconsciable to the point where I cannot authorize it."
"...I do choose my words carefully." She closed her eyes, and clarified that "In the event of my own death, I am not in a position to make objections. Were both the Colonel and I to be unable to withhold its usage, the situation itself would most likely be dire..." She gave a narrow and weary look to those present. Even if she seemed to be the kind of high-born woman who remained pristine in most situations, the salt and cold and struggle on this planet had visibly aged her in a way she wouldn't realize until she had left Espia behind. "Do with this information as you will. Forgive me for being selfish."
For once, it seemed that Ingrid had no decorum about her.
She had arrived first to the tent, not wearing her saber and cuirass, not even wearing most of her uniform. Down to a tank top, her neck brace and a pair of pants that had clearly been shuffled on in undue haste. Her face still bore the heavy fabric marks of the rucksack she had been using as a pillow, and nothing about her suggested that she had been doing anything besides sleeping in the prior minutes.
Despite all of this, she was alert, possibly more alert than ever before. This is a very big statement considering how high strung she usually is, and should be taken with all importance placed upon it. Her eyes snapped to the Colonel immediately as she leaned against the pole of the doorway, adjusting her pants back into place with the other hand.
"The one? The Fort?" She sounded just as much hopeful as surprised. "What's changed? How are we able to..."
Her enthusiasm dwindled and her usual formality kicked in, and she bowed deeply. "Forgive me. There will be a briefing for this."
I'm sorry that I'm a bit late in expressing interest, but if you're still doing this I'd like to join. Would a kaiju character that has a human form be an acceptable character choice?
The arrival of the salvage crew gave her just a small reason to pause her premeditated assault. It wasn't a murder, it wasn't going to be a murder, but the first person with a bruise on their face to backsass her was going to catch a few inches of iron into his or her jaw instead of a few millimeters of lead. Ingrid's taken that sort of corrective measure before. She came out a fine officer. What kind of military academy didn't beat their students every once in a while? Presumably a Free Worlds League one, which is why they'll never amount to anything.
"Of all the times to arrive..."
She felt little of the joy the others did over the recovered 'mech. That'd be someone else's day made, not hers. Her pistol raised back up to threaten the sky instead of the rioters, with Ingrid's temper briefly turning toward someone else instead. "I could have gone into the infantry if it weren't for the physical requirements," she snapped back at Marit, which was an indirect way of admitting she was too short to be considered for the cor, "and I know exactly what I'm doing!" She stepped off her box, keeping any comments about it similarly unsaid, then unloaded and ejected the remaining rounds. Stuffing the gun into her pants, she then...
...also took a spot in line. Shameful as it was, she considered herself as much of a participant as the others, and she'd take those strikes like a fucking champ. Even with a fractured collarbone! This ended up with her awkwardly standing behind Marit, and this lead to a bit of an unwise discussion.
"In a real military unit, my decision would've been seen as sound. SOMEONE has to break it up, regardless of cost."
"...you." There was a sharp boot-stamp behind Sanders, loud enough to pull him from his duty. "Your sidearm, now."
The mechanic hadn't even stopped his work for the fight in the distance. He was old enough, most of those years being service one way or another, to have seen and participated in enough fights of this caliber that it no longer excited him. Truth be told, it only annoyed him by this point. Some spirit of adventure had left him by this point. Turning around, he saw Ingrid, her neck in a brace that cupped up to her frazzled hair. Her eyes were red and she was already holding out her hand like an expectant parent - somehow, Sanders knew that this Mechwarrior never enjoyed much of anything in the first place.
Even with the anger in her head already evident, he remained calm from fatigue. A night of slow work on the heat sinks had left him in a zen state of slow work, and slow realization. "Ma'am...you probably should just let them work it out."
"There is nothing to work out," she spat back, hand wringing the air in front of her. "I can't stop their issues with a sword, so I need your pistol." Something about how serious she was came out when she offered out-of-the-blue that "You cooperate and I'll clear the drinking debt between us, just tell me where it is!"
That was enough to get him to listen. He was going to regret it, but if anyone asked, Mechwarrior Daschke had stolen it. Not like anyone was around to contend with this, as everyone who cared was paying attention to the fight! He turned back to the fine assembly of tubes that made up the Ostroc's centuries-old coolant system, pointing his wrench back over his head in a vague direction. "My cot over there, ma'am. Under the mags. Don't look at them." Ingrid stomped away without any thanks. He looked from the corner of his vision as she carefully got down on her knees, bonked her neck brace on the metal of the bedframe, and swore in German when she saw what he was talking about.
And then he got back to work. ---- The Marauder that served as a backdrop for the violence was nothing compared to the terror that manifested itself, not too late after Ziska and Marit had joined in the combat. Three shots went out and they weren't even pointed upward; just a few feet above their collective heads, landing in a pile of junk behind them and sending a small avalanche of refuse metal downward. Standing on top of one of the machine gun ammunition crates was Ingrid, her recovery from her whiplash still ongoing but hardly an impediment to acting as the military police that Rivers sought so dearly.
If the bullets didn't get their attention, hopefully her shrill voice would. "DROP IT!" Her borrowed gun was now pointed directly at the helmeted head of one of the tank crew. "LISTEN, YOU LICE! IF I SEE KNUCKLES TOUCH A JAW OR RIBCAGE ONE MORE TIME, SO HELP ME GOD, I'LL MAKE A LATE ADDITION TO THE AFTER-ACTION CASUALTY REPORT!"
The fighters of the Green Knights had fought machines of death as a matter of standard course, they had already survived firefights on foot since their time on Espia had started...but did one mildly unhinged Lyran woman with a gun strike fear in their hearts where others couldn't succeed?
Ingrid could've kept going. She could've pushed her 'mech to the limit, thrown caution to the wind and...most likely would have burnt up to a walking cinder. This machine wasn't made to go hot. The heat sinks had been in operation longer than some nation states in the Sphere, and firing past the safe limit was a great way to make them fail. She could have fired as if she had twice the amount of available medium lasers but did not. The opened cavity of the Hunchback was an opportunity, one that Ingrid was glad to have refused: one burst of missiles hit the wound and, in less than a second, the machine in front of her burst into a brilliant fireball. Ammo explosions can be scary to sit next to, but with a gun that big? It was practically a bomb in and of itself.
Not that the Duchess minded. She smiled, leaned forward in her seat and immediately called out on the comms, "Yes, like that, Alleycat! Right through!" Unbecoming of a knightly one like her, but everything about this engagement was. She continued stepping back carefully, and for her trouble got the worst of it.
There were flashes from the Crusader's lasers, but none as bright as the brief flash that consumed her vision. Ingrid's Ostroc stopped dead for a moment, mid-backpedal, as its pilot lost consciousness for a second - she came to quickly, awakened by the sound of something jingling in her cockpit.
She looked down. A single bit of spalled brass sitting between her legs that would've burnt her skin if she tried to grab at it. She looked up. There was a narrow crack in the bulletproof glass, with a menacing hole in it now. She pat at her head...her neurohelmet had a very pronounced dent in it. By god, she had heard about how tough these damn things are, but this was the first time in her career that it had been put to the test. The windscreen had done most of the ablation, sure, but this ancient and bulky thing blocked an .50 BMG round from entering into her skull! Ingrid, after her wits would be collected, resolved to never, ever let this helmet get cycled out for a new one. No matter how streamlined these things got.
Drawing back from that moment of miraculous luck, and trying to ignore the oncoming splitting headache from her brain rattling around in her cranium, Susser Tod was ready to tell her to not test it anymore. Sirens wailed about increasing heat, her engine plainly wasn't working at full capacity, and her machine was going to fall apart if she did anything besides leave. Ingrid's voice came over comms once more, calling "Pulling back! Don't let them get to close to the tankers or retreat; box them in on the bridge!" Of course, given how she was going so slowly, she wouldn't be leaving the bridge yet...
Lurking Krog
Not a Sayan
Silverstein
Half Pint
bleedonme
