7-15: A New You
- Location
- Ottawa
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Whatever
June 13th.
When you first heard of the Western system of tracking your age by the day you were born, it made a lot more sense to you. Especially because your sister had been born in late December and it did not seem fair to you that she got to be one years old within thirteen days, while you had to wait nearly a half-year for the same. This sort of artificial inflation was blatantly unfair.
So, despite the fact you'd been legally 24 since New Years, you only actually felt 24 today, and would thus start giving your age appropriately when asked.
They also had a ceremony involving cake with sugared icing, chocolate, and so forth, and ever since your encounter a month ago with the stuff in that Europan restaurant you'd developed a bit of a sweet tooth, which clashed rather badly with your lifelong habit of extremely moderate eating. You'd thus compromised by allowing yourself one such sweet a week, and this week, tonight, it would be a small cupcake you'd ordered for the occasion. There was also something you read about sticking a burning candle it in, but honestly that just seemed unsafe.
It was early in the morning before work. You'd tipped the papergirl, selected your clothes, and read your papers, and you were busily writing another letter to Yachi. Your man was making the papers now semi-regularly, having been the leading soldier of the so-called Dragonfly Season which had unfolded over the past three weeks. The papers today said he had scored his tenth victory, shooting down one of the new Cossack-2s on combat patrol. While the war on the ground had stagnated, in the skies Akitsukuni was finally clawing back superiority.
You tried not to talk to him too much about the war or his role in it. He had told you in a letter that he wrote to you as an escape, and so you had steered away from that topic. Not that there was nothing to write about, seeing as the two of you were doing your best to plan a wedding from nothing.
You'd obviously done the objectively correct thing and raided the history section of the library of your old university, looking for records of similar pairings. The people of Akitsukuni had always been fastidious record-keepers, so there were marraige records and commentary all the way back to the 700s, and these records had been studied and compiled into books by contemporary historians. Now, you weren't one to show any sort of respect to the liberal arts, but you had to admit that perhaps, maybe, you'd been a little harsh on them as a student.
Not that the oldest of these records were very useful. There were a few hundred years where such marriages involved the enby partner "picking a side", often forcefully at the behest of their family or new husband. Bleh to that. The report detailing the 1200s to the 1600s revealed that there was a time where the honourable way out of such a match was for the non-binary partner to commit suicide by drowning. Okay, not an option either. Some tales of love matches where their bond was so powerful that so-and-so gave up their ambiguity to be with eeew no. Not how that works.
You had only a few notes. You liked the calligraphy element which had become a part of "your" ceremonies (apparently, in the 23rd century, which seemed startlingly recent compared to everything else). You liked the privacy and nature aspect of Yachi's. But you were fairly adamant that you not just kludge together elements from different ceremonies: it felt crude and distasteful.
You finished your letter explaining some of your findings and wishing him luck until your next letter, dropped it in the postbox, and made your way to work. Just as it had been a harsh winter, it was a hot summer, with extreme humity. You'd actually gone and had your hair cut, the sides and back shorter than it had been since you were a child while leaving your bangs mostly intact, creating just a sweep of hair up front. It was unusual, non-traditional even, but you were already breaking some of the rules, so why not get wild?
(The joke around the office was to act surprised that you had ears.)
You had the top and windshield pushed down on your car, opting instead for a pair of Satomi's spare flying goggles to keep the wind and dust from your eyes. You made your way to the office, waited exactly one minute for the door to unlock, and walked in to find a huge stack of papers on your desk, drafts and trial responses from last night.
The plane was good, it was flyable, it would do it's job. But it could be better, and in the next month you'd find out just how much better it could be.
[ ] Engine Reliability (You have radiators)
When you first heard of the Western system of tracking your age by the day you were born, it made a lot more sense to you. Especially because your sister had been born in late December and it did not seem fair to you that she got to be one years old within thirteen days, while you had to wait nearly a half-year for the same. This sort of artificial inflation was blatantly unfair.
So, despite the fact you'd been legally 24 since New Years, you only actually felt 24 today, and would thus start giving your age appropriately when asked.
They also had a ceremony involving cake with sugared icing, chocolate, and so forth, and ever since your encounter a month ago with the stuff in that Europan restaurant you'd developed a bit of a sweet tooth, which clashed rather badly with your lifelong habit of extremely moderate eating. You'd thus compromised by allowing yourself one such sweet a week, and this week, tonight, it would be a small cupcake you'd ordered for the occasion. There was also something you read about sticking a burning candle it in, but honestly that just seemed unsafe.
It was early in the morning before work. You'd tipped the papergirl, selected your clothes, and read your papers, and you were busily writing another letter to Yachi. Your man was making the papers now semi-regularly, having been the leading soldier of the so-called Dragonfly Season which had unfolded over the past three weeks. The papers today said he had scored his tenth victory, shooting down one of the new Cossack-2s on combat patrol. While the war on the ground had stagnated, in the skies Akitsukuni was finally clawing back superiority.
You tried not to talk to him too much about the war or his role in it. He had told you in a letter that he wrote to you as an escape, and so you had steered away from that topic. Not that there was nothing to write about, seeing as the two of you were doing your best to plan a wedding from nothing.
You'd obviously done the objectively correct thing and raided the history section of the library of your old university, looking for records of similar pairings. The people of Akitsukuni had always been fastidious record-keepers, so there were marraige records and commentary all the way back to the 700s, and these records had been studied and compiled into books by contemporary historians. Now, you weren't one to show any sort of respect to the liberal arts, but you had to admit that perhaps, maybe, you'd been a little harsh on them as a student.
Not that the oldest of these records were very useful. There were a few hundred years where such marriages involved the enby partner "picking a side", often forcefully at the behest of their family or new husband. Bleh to that. The report detailing the 1200s to the 1600s revealed that there was a time where the honourable way out of such a match was for the non-binary partner to commit suicide by drowning. Okay, not an option either. Some tales of love matches where their bond was so powerful that so-and-so gave up their ambiguity to be with eeew no. Not how that works.
You had only a few notes. You liked the calligraphy element which had become a part of "your" ceremonies (apparently, in the 23rd century, which seemed startlingly recent compared to everything else). You liked the privacy and nature aspect of Yachi's. But you were fairly adamant that you not just kludge together elements from different ceremonies: it felt crude and distasteful.
You finished your letter explaining some of your findings and wishing him luck until your next letter, dropped it in the postbox, and made your way to work. Just as it had been a harsh winter, it was a hot summer, with extreme humity. You'd actually gone and had your hair cut, the sides and back shorter than it had been since you were a child while leaving your bangs mostly intact, creating just a sweep of hair up front. It was unusual, non-traditional even, but you were already breaking some of the rules, so why not get wild?
(The joke around the office was to act surprised that you had ears.)
You had the top and windshield pushed down on your car, opting instead for a pair of Satomi's spare flying goggles to keep the wind and dust from your eyes. You made your way to the office, waited exactly one minute for the door to unlock, and walked in to find a huge stack of papers on your desk, drafts and trial responses from last night.
The plane was good, it was flyable, it would do it's job. But it could be better, and in the next month you'd find out just how much better it could be.
This is your plane. You have a free mass reduction roll and a free streamlining roll. The intern free stress was used developing nacelles. It is time to optimize.
Optimization
As usual, trade stress for rolls.
[ ] Lift Optimization (-2 Lift Bleed)
[ ] Streamlining (-5 Drag)
[ ] Mass Reduction (-5 Mass)
[ ] Control (+1 Authority)
[ ] Stability (+1 Stability)
[ ] Structure (+3 Structure)
[ ] Max Strain (+5 Max Strain)
[ ] Engine Tuning (+1 Power)
[ ] Cost Optimization (-1 Cost)
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