Well it is more that the staggered departure looks sus when taken together with all those ships appearing at once in a system. If we had a left as a unit it would be less sus to appear all in a single force in Egon. By staggering our leave it is obvious we were trying to hide our deployment. Personally I would have preferred if we announced we would conduct a "show the flag" operation in force before even leaving but not tell where we are going.
I meant to reply to this earlier and forgot, but basically if you all had chosen In Force Departure, it would have been a lot harder to sweep Egon under the carpet, because a heavy task force breaking off would draw attention and notice, especially from Sumeragi. I'll quote the text again:
As your flagship departs the Capital System, you find yourself subconsciously tensing, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for questions of varying levels of alarm at what you're doing -where are six squadrons of warships going to, what are your intentions, why are you doing such things, Vice Admiral Akasha what are you doing stop now -
Your flagship jumps into hyperspace, and you relax: Daniel's staggered departure plan worked. Once again, you privately thank your lucky stars at your wisdom in choosing him as your Fleet Adjutant; you don't think many other officers, assigned to a fleet whose purpose is to be seen and heard, would have thought of using deception measures for your fleet movements. But he did, and he did his staffwork months ago, so all he had to do was take his plans and scale them as needed to the size of your task force.
So. Phase One of the Egon System Fact-Finding Mission is a go. Task Force Soyeon has successfully departed Jinko-Sei without drawing attention from anybody, including Lady Akagi Sumeragi. Especially Lady Akagi-
"Ohohohoho! What a mighty force, Princess Yui! Pray tell, are you intending to bring some uninhabited system to heel? Truly, the boorishness and waste of the Imperial House knows no bounds! Is this really the extent of stewardship displayed by the Prince of Akasha and his spawn?"
You can't help but shudder in horrified distaste at that mental image, especially when you can see her standing on her bridge wearing a fetching dress that displays her cleavage, flatters her charms, and lets her spread all her fluffy tails-
-while you're following Navy Regulations, and so you're wearing your skinsuit and your tails are vacuum sealed and can't be spread. The ignominy of it all.
You let out a breath, shake your head, and remind yourself that such a terrible scene did not come to pass, thanks to your adjutant. Truly, he's worth his weight in gold.
Had the voters chosen to go as one big murderblob, it would have drawn much attention, all eyes would have been upon us, and Sumeragi would have been putting their feelers out to their agents to "be on the lookout, Princess Yui took a Heavy Task Force and is sailing around the Empire doing Goddess knows what. The absolute worst case scenario is where you do an In Force Departure, go to Egon, then do a full pullout without leaving daniel and Konnie behind to investigate, and then confront Akagi at the Regency Council Meeting, at which point Akagi counters by questioning why are you trying to capture Egon to use as a staging point to invade Sumeragi space.
But that didn't happen, so we're fine. Y'all dodged a bullet there.
I do admit that reading between the lines of _contacts_ is very much not something taught in American schools.
I wonder if it's even taught to lawyers. Hmm, probably not in the way you mean.
I mean the whole point of a contract is to leave as little implicit of your desires and responsibilities as possible, so that you aren't made to do more or get less.
I do admit that reading between the lines of _contacts_ is very much not something taught in American schools.
I wonder if it's even taught to lawyers. Hmm, probably not in the way you mean.
I mean the whole point of a contract is to leave as little implicit of your desires and responsibilities as possible, so that you aren't made to do more or get less.
Law is a subject option at A-Levels, and implied terms is one of the things covered in there, cf The Moorcock. I don't know about American case law, but British case law has a fairly solid body of precedent with regards to implied terms, with The Moorcock and the Officious Bystander Rule being famous standouts. The tl;dr is that when conducting business, there are terms which, while not written into contract, may be implied by the law, especially terms that are "necessary and obvious...to give business efficacy." ("Reasonable and desireable" terms, alas, don't cut it.)
Anyhow, as cheesy as this will sound, my advice is to try and look underneath the underneath. It's why I have voting moratarium periods, even though I know there are people who don't like them.
It's why I did the post mortems, why I write the sidestories to expand the world, why I write the Informational posts, why I use explanation of choices as a mechanical abstraction of Yui's Politics SSR.
I mean, this is all good. But regarding side stories, I need to mention that probably not everyone reads all them. Well, by 'not everyone' I means me. I mean, they are interesting, don't get me wrong. But its kinda ...distraction from the main plot, especially when it about characters that are not part of the main narrative. I do read the rest of that stuffs above, but side stories are bit hit and miss with me.
I guess what I'm saying, if its important information questers should know it should be not be in side stories. Or at least need to be told explicitly when a side story contain important to the plot. Because, ehm, your side materials is all over the place. As much as I like reading about Kdrama AU or foxthot hot plays, those kinds of things give impressions 'oh, bonus fun stuff, but not important/required reading' (which may also interfere with whether or not questers read side stories with the presence of mind to analyze if its has plot-relevant info)
That being said, you did noted in the last few pages of particular sidestories that contain particular information, and more importantly, do have those other things other than side stories to convey additional information to questers, so its all good
...since you did those things you possibly already aware of this potential problem with using side stories anyway but eh.
Actually, speaking about side stories, I feel rather than just posting them as side stories in this thread, you honestly can make multiple spin-offs with their own threads of this setting/set of characters. 🤔 Maybe juggling multiple threads is too much work. OTOH, potential more audiance net with more threads? More goods to sell? Potential follow up series after this quest done?
"I can't believe you. You're the Third Star Lord, a grown man, a blooded admiral with a chestful of medals. Surely you've outgrown such primitive superstitions."
"I'm Chinese. Some things, you just can't stop doing."
"Do explain this to me again, Darling," she says, her voice and expression as flat as ever. You shrug. It's not your fault she's unsatisfied with tradition.
"Maggie please, we've been over this before. The explanation isn't going to change no matter how many times I say it."
"Perhaps, with enough repetition, you might actually convince me of the value of this primitive superstition. This time."
Her words and tone are as dubious as ever, but Maggie's arm is linked with yours, her tails brush idly against your arm and she's pressing her body against yours as you walk along her private beach. You might be losing this debate, but you still feel like a winner.
"It's because you like hearing the sound of my voice, isn't it?" you chuckle teasingly, and Maggie sniffs haughtily.
"Don't flatter yourself too much, Johnny. I'm holding the knife, and you aren't."
"As My Lady commands," you drawl airily, ignoring her elbowing you. "It's nothing really complicated. You carve your name into an orange, you go to the sea and you throw the oranges into the sea. If the orange is swept out to sea, it means your destined spouse will come from far away. If the orange floats back to shore, it means your destined spouse is close by."
"You're far overdue to leave these primitive superstitions behind and embrace modernity, Darling," she chides. "And am I right in assuming that you've taught this superstition to the Prince of Akasha?"
"Why, yes, I did indeed teach this superstition to Masa and help him throw oranges into the sea," you agree. "I'm just spreading the tradition that I was taught. Of course by that time he'd already met Sasha and Yui was on the way, so it's a good thing the oranges came back to shore..."
"Of course. But now I must wonder about Her Majesty's mental state."
"...that was a pretty big leap in logic to go from me to Her Majesty."
"Darling, you've obviously taught this superstition to little Yui, and we both know dear Ahri hangs on her every word. Of course they'll be standing on a beach of their own, throwing their oranges into the sea. I fear for the Empire's future: our Empress has fallen under the influence of primitive human superstitions that we noble foxes have outgrown."
"And yet here you are, beside me," you say, eyebrow raised meaningfully. "Why are you putting up with my primitive superstitions then?"
"Well, you've already abandoned one primitive superstition, you can abandon another. You really should tell your mother you're an apostate."
"That's different. No, really!" you protest, in response to her dubious gaze. "You can stop being Jewish, but you can't stop being Chinese."
Maggie just arches an inhumanly beautiful eyebrow at you. You shrug helplessly, and stop at the water's edge. You look down at your feet, at another subtle reminder of how different you are. You're wearing a new pair of quick-dry hiking boots, something that can take any terrain, any punishment, and give you a few years of good hard use. Maggie's wearing designer heels that cost two months' of your pay as a new Ensign. You can afford to get your shoes wet; Maggie can afford to replace her shoes.
You cast your gaze to your footprints, and sigh. It's unfair - even in heels, walking on sand, Maggie's steps are so much more graceful than yours. If you were a lesser man, you'd be resentful and jealous at how your girlfriend is so much more perfect than you, but you've had a long time to come to terms with that.
Besides, she's a goddess. There's no point in a mere mortal like you being jealous of her divine perfection.
"Johnny," you hear, her voice all annoyed and tired of your nonsense. You look up, and sigh - the moon is out, its rays shining on her. The red high collared silk qipao she wears flatters her body, with a calf-length skirt and dangerously high slit, terminating between her hips and her ribs. Water sloshes against her feet, and you realise you've stepped too far into the surf: the tide's coming in.
She's beautiful, she's always beautiful, but there's an ethereal glow to her tonight, and all you can do is sigh in wonder at her.
"Johnny," she repeats herself. "Stop woolgathering and throw these oranges so we can go inside."
"Sorry, Maggie."
"Don't be sorry, just start throwing already."
"We need to write our names first," you say mildly. You reach for your pocket, but she stops you, her hand closing on yours.
"I'll do it," she urges , something unreadable in her royal blue eyes. Your eyes widen as she displays to you a ceremonial dagger in its sheath, black and crimson in the colors of Great House Sumeragi, inlaid with gold and platinum. In her hand, it's like a brush, as she carves your name onto an orange, then does so again for her own orange. You give her a raised eyebrow.
"A knife is a more suitable instrument than a mere pen," she says, acting put-upon. You just sigh. Now you're finding her Sumeragi hot take posturing endearing. You have it bad. Worse than bad, given how you're smiling fondly at her.
"Thanks, Maggie," you say, taking your orange from her. "Let's throw together? On count of three."
"Johnny, this is a primitive superstition with no tangible evidence that it will bring about the desired result."
"So you won't throw oranges with me?"
Maggie sighs and takes your free hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, and gives you a look.
You throw your orange, Maggie following suit moments later. The two oranges splash into the water together, and you nod in satisfaction.
"Alright, we're done, we can go n-"
"We should just watch to see what happens to the oranges," says Maggie softly. There's something in her voice, an uncertain wavering in her tails.
"Of course."
You wrap your arms around her and she leans back against you; you breath in the scent of her tails, of her hair, of her.
You stand there, watching, waiting, listening to the waves and your own heartbeats. Maggie emits a soft sigh, and relaxes in your arms, and you hum as you see it; the two oranges, bobbing on the waves, being brought to shore by the tide.
Maggie doesn't say anything, she just stretches and steps forward. You release her, as she takes your arm. "Alright, Johnny. I've indulged your nonsense enough for one night. My feet are wet, we're going inside."
"Sure thing, Maggie."
You cast a quick glance back, to the oranges, and turn your eye to her tails, shifting happily as she walks ahead of you, a new spring in her step. You smile indulgently. So much for all that talk about outgrowing primitive superstitions.
You lengthen your pace and come beside her, wrapping your arm around her. You smile at her, and she smiles back, and presses her sheathed dagger into your hand. You nod, no words necessary, and slip your hand into your pocket, depositing the dagger alongside her panties-
Wait, her panties? In your pocket?
Oh goddamnit Maggie. When did that happen?
"Finally, Darling," she laughs. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever notice."
"I always notice you," you say weakly, stung by her teasing. "It's the other stuff I'm a little blind to."
She laughs again, a clear, bright, beautiful sound, and kisses your cheek. Her smile is warm and fond and loving, and you feel as if your heart would just burst open.
She's right. It's just a superstition. There's no way oranges thrown into the sea can foretell your future. It's just a random variable in a sea of randomness, it means nothing.
You kiss her, and you think of those two oranges, washed up on the beach.
Gong Xi, Gong Xi. I wanted to get this out for Chap Goh Meh on Friday, but things got a little sangkut (thanks, real life! :/) I did not completely escape the usual "something in my life breaks and wipes out my ang pow" that is my fate for Chinese New Year.
Throwing oranges into the sea is a Chinese New Year custom here in Malaysia, although it's more of a Hokkein thing; it wasn't a thing in Sabah, where the Chinese are mainly Hakka, but it was a thing in Penang, which is more Hokkein.
It's funny how writing can get away from you at times though. The original plan was for this to turn out a lot more depraved (can anyone say h e a d p a t t i n g) and lewd, but somehow... we ended up with this. Which I think works better.
You know, at the beginning, we really should have voted for Johnny. The side stories could just be the quest, and we could get flashes of whatever nonsense the other protagonist are doing form time to time out of context as the new side story, while Johnny grumbles along with Maggie cleaning up everyone else's mess.
You know, at the beginning, we really should have voted for Johnny. The side stories could just be the quest, and we could get flashes of whatever nonsense the other protagonist are doing form time to time out of context as the new side story, while Johnny grumbles along with Maggie cleaning up everyone else's mess.
TBF, I don't think people realized voting for Johnny would have gotten us Fox-thot honeypot shenanigans. The die was cast by the time I found this quest, so...
As much as I like Johnny I honestly think he's better as a supporting character, partly since a lot of his internal struggles aren't necessarily related to the core of the story IMO
Earth exists, but is about as politically relevant as Malaysia. It's claimed by the Golden Orchid Empire, pays its taxes on time and swears fealty to the Empress, and essentially serves as a tourism/cultural/historical destination, being the birthplace of humanity.
You lengthen your pace and come beside her, wrapping your arm around her. You smile at her, and she smiles back, and presses her sheathed dagger into your hand. You nod, no words necessary, and slip your hand into your pocket, depositing the dagger alongside her panties-
I don't know about you horny apes, but this ape is thinking that Maggie is a good fox waifu. Hell, if she is risque toward Johnny only (which she is), she is best waifu.
Throwing oranges into the sea is a Chinese New Year custom here in Malaysia, although it's more of a Hokkein thing; it wasn't a thing in Sabah, where the Chinese are mainly Hakka, but it was a thing in Penang, which is more Hokkein.
Five there are, forming the sign of the gogyo-boshi. Moku. Ka. Do. Kin. Sui. Each one illuminates a small patch of well-worn yet well-kept tatami, enough to seat a single champion.
One for every blade that will cross in this chamber, within these halls, where the four shoji walls always seem just out of reach in the dark beyond those tiny lights, where the tangent between real and unreal is axed, the hypotenuse of physical and digital crossed. Each blade in conflict with one another. Each warrior complementing one another. One of five will emerge dominant today. And the tide will turn the next day. And the day after that.
As it ever has been, so shall it ever be.
But though the sages speak, the sword decides where the tides shall land. So it is with Hayakawa Meguri, who sizes up her foes from her vantage of Moku, the East, the Spring, the First - a position she has held for nigh a hundred such encounters.
At Ka and Do stand faceless armored silhouettes, black-and-brocade Imperial Guard exosuits grim against the molten red glow of the plasma blades - one mounted at the end of a long staff, and the other matched in the other hand by a smaller twin. Kin's champion is armed in the style of the ancients of Wa: smaller curved blade in one hand - still half a time longer than an odachi - and a backup sidearm in the other. She smells rather than sees the fourth warrior at Sui; a well hidden form does little to disguise the stench of pyrogel.
All good choices in arms. But she prefers things old school. A single blade is tucked by her side, as yet unreadied.
She bows. As do they.
Then she sidesteps, allowing the snaking fire that passes to warm her chestplate. Her hand touches the hilt of her blade-
-then she takes two more steps back, two cracks filling the empty air where she once stood. The long candle of Moku all but disapparates, its flame wiped out in an explosive burst. And in the darkness that prowls ever on, four reddened blades turn towards her like the fangs of bloodhounds.
Ah. So that is how things will be. Gekokujo. Wise, if dishonourable.
Good, Meguri hears Father say. As he always would. Mercy is unbecoming of the Guard, daughter. The only dishonor is failure.
Her fingers tighten around the sheath of her own shin-odachi, six shaku of iron and death. Then her armor's back-mounted thrusters fire, the world shriveling as she falls upon the ring of burning teeth.
Her weapon roars aflame right out of the gate. Steel meets steel even before Ka - the naginata user - can fire their own thrusters. Her two-handed strike staggers the hasty upraised guard, and the leg-sweep that follows shatters it. Her blade is there to catch her opponent's neck - its stumble now a tumble.
She ducks almost flat to the ground, another gout of flame passing over both her and the now headless body.
Divided loyalties, Meguri thinks. The best kind in a wild fight.
Her blade comes up at the first sound of movement from southernmost Kin, even as she springs forward again to put herself between the hybrid combatant and the dual swords of Do. The atmosphere has changed now. She can smell it in the air.
The dual blades come whistling through the air toward her head. She repels one first, then the other. Then with a twirl, she kicks the armored figure away. Her other hand whips around to-
-Kin freezes but Sui does not-
-send her blade whizzing past the cutlass-and-pistol-toting warrior, even as another gout of flame bursts forth from the stubby Guard-issue Foxfire Cannon.
There is a shriek of metal as the sword melts its way through gun, arm, shoulder, armor and flank, the slick stenches suckerpunching her nostrils.
Kin fires her jumpjets with a cry, gun upraised. But Meguri's free hand flicks up, scabbard in hand, striking her foe in the chin before she can truly gain speed. Summoning all her augmented strength, she catches the other warrior in a tackle, the momentum carrying them both forward.
Right into the path of the teeth-chattering explosion.
Meguri feels her armor coolant systems sweat, barely keeping the vulnerable metal and flesh insides of her exosuit from welding together as she bathes in the heat wave. But only for a moment. Kin goes limp against her, weapons clattering to the ground.
She drops again, grabbing both just as Do catches up, swords raised and ready to let rip.
[Coolant Purging]
Pillars of steam leap between the two of them. It does little. It does enough. The pistol can be fired, and does. Again. Again. Again. She hears a curse, and a clattering noise-
"Meguri-ojou."
Meguri doesn't turn.
That sound comes from without.
Within, her sword is already moving.
The blade catches that of her final foe mid-strike as they burst through the steam smokescreen. She twists under them, sliding the plasma edge between the plate that separates the bicep from the shoulder.
It is a short road from there to the heart.
Her last opponent falls, the spray of ichor from their form entwining with the candle-smoke trails for a moment before painting the wall.
Meguri studies the carnage in silence for a few moments.
Then she bows, holding it briefly. Then she rises, and makes a waving motion with her right hand.
[Simulation End.]
The chamber dissolves into motes of dying light all around Meguri, but her shoulders are steeled for battle even as she turns. Her opponents in the gogyo-dou had anonymity as their shield, not that it availed them any. But some challengers thrive off familiarity, and some battles confound the sword-arm.
"Hiyoko."
The person she has turned to face is challenger and battle both. But then again, Hiyoko Rochefort Taniguchi is used to being many things. It shows in her garb, how she effortlessly navigates the modest black and white laced frills reminiscent of an Old European maid and the brocades that line the Imperial Royal Guard haori.
Meguri likes to think that it has at least a little to do with the underlying motif that runs through them both: the five headed Mother Dragon, ancient seal of their branch of House Hayakawa since they swore themselves to The First Empress, all those years ago, and whose call to serve in turn the Taniguchis have honoured for just as long.
"Ojou-sama." Hiyoko certainly enjoys humouring that sentiment. "Tojiro-dono has sent for you."
"It's still early in the day," Meguri murmurs.
"House Himura has yielded," Hiyoko says, her account of the victory marked in death-march time, "as has House Iverness. Tojiro-dono's warriors have the floor."
It is all Meguri can do to not sigh.
"Well then, Hiyoko," she says, "lead on."
====
Being outside her uncle's door is another battle all on its own.
The shoji door that separates them is but bamboo and washi. But at this moment, she would rather charge the brazen gates of Urakimon alone than enter in.
In her memory's eye, Father scoffs. Really, Daughter. Such cowardice. Did you forget?
We are the hounds of the Empire. The hand of the Empress.
In times of peace, we are her shield - in times of war, her sword.
She takes a deep breath. Yes. She remembers. She has heard those words countless times at the knee of her teachers. At the end of many days and nights, each a road of blades, broken calluses and bruised bones, they used to ring in her ears. Now they are but an ache garnished with the dust of tears.
If the two retainers keeping watch outside Uncle's room notice Meguri's turmoil, they make no comment. If anything, they look uncomfortable on her account rather than at her expense. What a terrible countenance must she have, she thinks.
Meguri steals a glance at Hiyoko.
...O wretched maid, who hides a smile! All the worse that she herself wishes she could let slip one of her own. But now is not the moment to reveal such weakness.
One attendant cracks the door just slightly open, and peers inward. His eyes hide his relief. His shoulders do not.
"Tojiro-taisa will see you now, Meguri-ojou."
She nods to Hiyoko, who takes one step back. Then, she slides the door open.
"Ojashimasu." She steps through. "I am here, Honoured Uncle."
"Honoured Daughter." Hayakawa Tojiro sits in immaculate seiza on the tatami, several holoprojections from his personal infosphere - a roiling array of machine aperture and projected light - hovering before him. All of them familiar, and one most recently so. "I watched your battle. It was a fine victory."
"As befits our house," she replies evenly.
"So it is. And as there, so here. The floor is ours. The rebels on Tancred V are ours to excise."
"That gladdens me."
"I trust you have been briefed on our plan."
Aye, yes, she thinks. Our plan.
Our plan, where in some unknown universe, Hayakawa Meguri would suggest not one, not two, but five manned strikes from Tancred V's orbit into the crawling chaos of its industrial megacity, Carravalo, deep into its undercity levels. Five full fireteams to circle and root out rats scattered throughout a nest four thousand square kilometers all around, and Empress only knows how deep into the red earth of that planet.
A universe where she has not even let the thought of changing such a perfect scheme take shape. Nevermind having sent seven iterations of such changes up to headquarters - surely not!
But no. This is a fine errand, and fitting. On the one side, traitors and criminals, guilty of wanting a mote more than the meagre scraps from the table of abundance. On the other, the Empress' finest: sword and fire, implacable, inexorable, uncaring.
"Hiyoko apprised me as we walked." Those thoughts were a bad move - it is harder now to keep any inflection from her voice. "It will bring glory to our house."
"Aoi will deliver the drives you sent back to your quarters. The use of seven strikes her as wasteful, if you must know."
And it could be eight, right this moment, if she so chooses. In the fold of her jinbaori is a small drive that contains yet another alternative. That contained yet another alternative. It will -would- save lives, theirs and that of the "enemy" - if those who may as well have been unarmed children before the Empress' best could be considered an enemy of any sort.
But it would be less glorious.
Her grip almost cracks the plasteel casing, her face immovable. Her uncle chooses the moment to cross blades with her once more. His twin golden eyes grind at her defenses, testing. Probing. Then the pressure fades. She passes again, if barely.
So much left to learn, daughter, she hears Father chide.
"You will take the second Echelon," her uncle says simply. "Honour my brother's memory, Honored Daughter."
He turns to meditate upon the map once more.
"I will," Meguri replies. This conversation is over.
Bowing again, she steps back, sliding the door open with her hand as she exits, never presenting her back to him. The attendants part to let her pass.
Outside, Hiyoko does not wait for her to shake her head.
"This way, ojou-sama."
As on their homeworld, so on his flagship, the Strident Truth, does her uncle keep his offices close to the briefing rooms. On the same tsuri-dourou-lined corridor, in fact. It is a useful affectation in more ways than one, not least of these the fact that the walk does not let her stew in any further thoughts for too long. Hiyoko seems aware of this benefit as well, choosing to say nothing - at least until the sound of boots clicking to attention brings Meguri back to the present.
"It seems you're expected," her maid says, the ghost of another smile on her face.
Meguri scratches the back of one of her secondary Shiba ears for a moment, then steels her expression.
"And I shall live up to those expectations."
"No doubt you will," Hiyoko reaches into her sleeve, retrieving a fur brush. "But permit me to burnish your image a little."
The silence is a companionable one as the maid puts a few of her mistress' errant hairs back in their rightful place, before sliding the brush soundlessly back into its hiding place.
"I'll be right back, Hiyoko."
"I will be waiting, ojou-sama."
Stepping over the threshold with a hiss of the shoji screen-panelled blast doors, she looks each member of Second Echelon square in the eyes as she enters.
"At ease, warriors."
Kenneth Morikawa. Seventh cousin, seven years, four months her senior. Made leader of the branch house in Kensei 3 by Father. A dour, scar-faced veteran of many campaigns, he is without reproach. But he is loyal to the House. And Hayakawa Meguri is not the House.
Quentin Ross. Her senior in Father's dojo. Very handy with a cannon in his right arm - and generous with tongue-lashings for those fool enough to hit him with that particular pun. But among southpaw sword-arms of neither birth nor choice, she would be hard pressed to find one more reliable.
Hojo Yukie. From the dojo back on Himawari. Bright eyes. Raven hair. Ambidextrous. Nearly as good as her on the tatami, despite being a year younger...but not the best transition to exosuit combat. Perhaps a blade uniquely balanced for her diminutive size would make a good gift to celebrate her graduation. If she returns. It is poor form to assume victory before the fact.
Ellen Noah. Bid in from House Yulianto a month ago, almost to the day. Meguri has sparred only twice with the small mountain of muscle, but even so, many know terror in the form of an armored fist from the former Volga Belt rough. Meguri, for her part, knows respect. She indicates this with a nod, which Noah returns with a deeper one - but not before a smirk.
Miles Okonkwo. Him, she's never met. The Guard is a big place, after all. But his amber gaze is unwavering as it meets hers. A good sign - but first impressions are a hazardous port in a storm.
Each of them is a responsibility, and it rests on her shoulders like lead as she takes her place at the head and between the two rows of tables that line the tatami floor.
They sit moments after she does, each sinking into seiza perfectly, almost without sound, their faces lit only by the toudai wick lamps that stand watch next to each table.
Merry Christmas, everyone. This year has been longer than ever, and shorter than ever.
No salt thirst this Christmas, just IRG-centric sidestory to explore a little of the IRG's internal politics from the junior officer and House Heir perspectives.
...I find it telling for awhile there I thought that opening sequence was in-fact playing for keeps there...
Next focal point was her apparently trying to pass paperwork to increase the amount of warriors being sent to avoid losses of her own troops as well as her enemies-My read is the former can feel more assured and safe and will feel less need to escalate to lethal measures, versus simply having to be that good/that ruthless to succeed. Is it the point, to make sure people are just that good...Or is it simply that along the way, the pressure 'inspired' the need to 'ensure that one acts decisively as needed'?
...
I smell thirst, but I'm betting that me letting my shipping glasses slide into view.
Also, boy this narrator thinks of combat alot, with how much she uses fighting terms and words in her internal narration.
Remember that House Hayakawa were human 500 years ago, and were so fanatical in their devotion to the Empress that they genemodded themselves into becoming Shiba dogegirls to make the sobriquet of "Hounds of the Empress" literal.
Yeah.
And yes, Meguri thinks of combat alot, she's House Hayakawa's champion and has fought a lot of duels and challenges for her House, in addition to her day job as a soldier.
One of my intents with these stories is to touch on, a little, the IRG's identity crisis. Is the IRG a professional military force based on merit? Or is it a collection of Warrior Houses vying against each other for glory and prestige?
First time I check in months, and there's an update yesterday? I have good timing.
The IRG certainly has had enough time for the rigid ceremonial stuff to get really elaborate, hasn't it? Good thing they're still keeping their edge sharp. They're going to need it with all the storm clouds on the Empire's horizon.
