thearena | Red Rubric // Closed

Who | Terezi Pyrope

earthborn
What | Meetin' up for instructional bomb-making
Where | Behind Town Hall, in a Shrubbery
When | Late Week Three
Warnings/Notes | Improvised Weaponry And Cussing

Recon was a fact of life for anyone who wanted to live longer than a few days. Oh, you could hole up and post watches, but it was never enough. Someone always found a way in, or if they didn't, the Gamemakers got bored and threw mutant termites at you until you decided to man up and do something interesting.

So Shepard was prone to scouting, it was interesting, useful, and best of all it was only marginally likely to get herself killed. Compared to all other varied and interesting ways she could get herself killed, of course.

It was an interesting fact of nature that one could sit inside the curve of an overgrown and long-dead blackberry bramble and remain all but invisible, if you held still enough. Shepard, with her legs crossed in front of her and the Slegehammer held across her knees, was in just such a position. Twice, she had calmly watched the listless grey walkers pass in front of her, seeking prey but unable to recognize her position. Once, a distressingly large spider had slipped by.

And now...

"Hey. Hey, kid, you got anything good?"

Subtlety was boring, anyways.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Terezi likewise has been keeping to herself. Following her partnership with Carlos--and their subsequent breakup when things started getting too hot for her to stick around, she managed to find herself a scrap of metal that wasn't too twisted or covered in rust. It wasn't a proper cane, but she figured that it would do in a pinch.

As such, when Shepard suddenly calls out to her, Terezi's first instinct is to spin to face her would-be assailant. The metal is clutched in her hands like she wouldn't think twice about bashing someone's head in.

"Yes, I have got a can. I believe it contains a healthy supply of Shut Up. Surprisingly, it has your name on it, Commander." It's probably a good thing that she's so adept at recognizing voices. It's not that she doesn't think Shepard could handle herself if Terezi suddenly doused the bush in acid, but... It would be a perfectly good waste of acid.

She takes a few sniffs at the bush, not completely dropping her guard, but relaxing her grip on the metal at least. "What are you, a bush gnome?"

"Nice to see some people still remember my rank around here."

It's tired; she is tired. Seven years of war, of death and dying and watching the number climb. A year against Saren, two years dead, the Collectors, the Reapers, Soverieng, Harbinger, Tuchanka, and now for more than a year, arenas and PR and limitations and blinkers. Oh yes, and the public torture channel, don't forget that. Wasn't she due some goddamn shore leave at some point? A month on low rations and bleakness, knowing every moment of the last year was watched.

Was it any wonder she was tired? Certainly she sounded it.

"It's called cover, you should try it," she didn't beckon, but neither did she threaten, only patted the crunchy dirt beside her, "Sit. Don't make me get up, Pyrope."

Shepard pats the earth beside her, and Terezi knows that there's two perfectly good options in front of her: She can decide to keep moving and not trust the human woman that she barely knows save for some amusing conversations about capitol propaganda and weak links. Or she can give her the benefit of the doubt and take a seat in order to find out what she wants.

In the end, Terezi's curiosity wins out over anything else. It certainly helps that Shepard has displayed a good sense of humor in the past.

"Yes ma'am," Terezi replies, lacking the level of seriousness that Shepard is probably used to hearing with those words. "Making you get up would be cruel. You might sprain something, and then where would you be?"

Carefully, the troll girl crawls back behind the bushes, making herself a place to sit next to Shepard, her knees pulled up to her chest. The twisted bit of metal is set down beside her, next to the watertight bag from the cornucopia.

"So!" she continues once she's situated. "Is this your new secret club house? Gonna give it a name? I bet the Capitol is dying to misspell this one, too."

"Are you always this much of a bitch?" She replied, and although her tone was thick with sardonic bile, Shepard was not unkind, "...Or is it just to people who're offering to share supplies with you?"

"Nope. This is the special treatment due to my commanding officer. It's how I express my undying loyalty." Not entirely untrue, but if this was the Alternian fleet, Terezi knows well enough that she'd never get away with the jabs she has been constantly making at Shepard. It's actually kind of nice, not having to worry about someone gutting you over a bad joke.

"Anyway, what sort of supplies are we talking about?" she continues, getting down to business. "Show me yours, and I'll show you mine."

Shepard takes an unthinking moment to stare at her. Did you just... she did. Well, there's really only one response to that and so Jane very carefully put her hand on Terezi's head and shoved her over sideways.

"You are how old again? Two? Maybe three... And a half?" Trolls are awful, so why does she suddenly have half a dozen? "Don't be disgusting."

Take your time recovering, because Shepard's unloading her pack with careful precision. Food, water, plastic bags, scavenged elastic, bug spray, first aid kit. The prybar and sledgehammer are obvious additions although they're not part of the pile, and of course the mostly full gallon bottle of bleach.

"I am at least seven!" Terezi protests as she picks herself up from that shove...rather petulantly, all things considered. "That is almost an adult where I come from. Besides, your dumb human ages mean nothing to us! If you can't stand the heat, then get out of the kitchen. Loser."

Even with the completely unnecessary sassing, Terezi still wastes no time in sniffing out the goods. The practical ones, not the euphemistic ones. It's a pretty sizable haul, and Terezi nods in silent approval. If there are no objections or further shoving from the peanut galley, she'll start to unload her own pack: a half-empty container of crackers, some empty water bottles, a can of soup that she hasn't tried to open yet, some plastic packaging from what looked like meat strips, a jar of pickle juice, a 1-liter glass bottle half full of water, some rope, a sleeping bag, another gallon of bleach, some wax candles, and a container of acidic spray.

Shepard overlooks their bounty with a critical eye. Then, as if inspired, she reaches out for, "...Oh, here we go."

The pickle juice.

"Alright kid, first lesson in guerrilla warfare one-oh-one: use what you have to get what you want."

Out of all the things that Terezi might have expected Shepard to pick up... the pickle juice was not one of them. She wasn't even sure why she was keeping that, just that she didn't want to throw anything away. Just in case.

"Use what you've got to get what you want. Okay, cool... How is pickle juice going to get what I want?" Skepticism is Terezi Pyrope's nature. Deal with it.

Red Rubric // Closed

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sorry it's late and short i'm trash

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