Commander Jane Shepard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earthborn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-09-26 12:31 am
earthborn) wrote in thecapitol2013-09-26 12:31 am
Entry tags:
Call It What It Is [Open]
Who| Shepard and Anyone who crosses her path
What| Various things in and around the Capitol
Where| See the following options
When| Both before the reveal re: the "Gas Leak" and before the actual event portion of the event gets underway
Warnings/Notes| Probably cussing, violence, and reference to violence
♦ The Training Center:
Shepard has made a terrible habit of confrontation throughout her life, and it's earned her more than one broken bone. As it stands, she does tend to lie around insulting people a lot, and while ordinarily she exhibited that hobby by lounging at the edge of the sparring ring and mocking her fellow tributes, she wasn't feeling that playful today. No, today finds her with the punching bag, sweating and thinking, remembering another time, older days, with a friend now far beyond her.
…Also this is the second bag, she's already destroyed the first. Look, there it is, bust seams and leaking sand, just to the side. You feelin' lucky, punk?
♦ Out And About:
The nicest thing about being a bloodthirsty bitch was that when they paid you afterward, they paid you well. And that meant that when you wanted to sit on a public park bench and pull directly from the bottle, no one could stop you. No one.
But it was a nice evening, and a pleasant vintage, and anyways if these Capitol idiots had a problem, they could cross the street to avoid it, like good little patricians. She didn't have time for it. Besides, thanks to Cerberus, it'd take more than this to put her over the limit, however loose her personal standards for such a limit might be.
♦ The Gas Leak:
If anything had prepared her for the utter two-facedness of every living creature in the galaxy, known or unknown, it had been her work as a Spectre. And here, she was both pleased and chagrined to discover, was no different. But of course it was no surprise that the kind of people who achieved prominence in a society that felt blood sport was an acceptable substitute for war-debt reparations were less than honest to those over whom they held power. It was just so damn tiring, after all this time.
"Just once, I'd like to have someone screw up, and then just fix their own damn problem," she muttered, watching the grainy security footage for the third time. It was the same as the rest; a loose formation of peacekeepers, a black shadow, and then it was over almost before it had begun, and all that was left was blood and corpses. Given the circumstances, they should probably consider themselves lucky the damn things hadn't taken them alive, not that she would call that 'luck'.
If anyone wants to approach her about this, she is the picture of an open-door policy, spread out in one corner of the tribute center's main commons room.
What| Various things in and around the Capitol
Where| See the following options
When| Both before the reveal re: the "Gas Leak" and before the actual event portion of the event gets underway
Warnings/Notes| Probably cussing, violence, and reference to violence
♦ The Training Center:
Shepard has made a terrible habit of confrontation throughout her life, and it's earned her more than one broken bone. As it stands, she does tend to lie around insulting people a lot, and while ordinarily she exhibited that hobby by lounging at the edge of the sparring ring and mocking her fellow tributes, she wasn't feeling that playful today. No, today finds her with the punching bag, sweating and thinking, remembering another time, older days, with a friend now far beyond her.
…Also this is the second bag, she's already destroyed the first. Look, there it is, bust seams and leaking sand, just to the side. You feelin' lucky, punk?
♦ Out And About:
The nicest thing about being a bloodthirsty bitch was that when they paid you afterward, they paid you well. And that meant that when you wanted to sit on a public park bench and pull directly from the bottle, no one could stop you. No one.
But it was a nice evening, and a pleasant vintage, and anyways if these Capitol idiots had a problem, they could cross the street to avoid it, like good little patricians. She didn't have time for it. Besides, thanks to Cerberus, it'd take more than this to put her over the limit, however loose her personal standards for such a limit might be.
♦ The Gas Leak:
If anything had prepared her for the utter two-facedness of every living creature in the galaxy, known or unknown, it had been her work as a Spectre. And here, she was both pleased and chagrined to discover, was no different. But of course it was no surprise that the kind of people who achieved prominence in a society that felt blood sport was an acceptable substitute for war-debt reparations were less than honest to those over whom they held power. It was just so damn tiring, after all this time.
"Just once, I'd like to have someone screw up, and then just fix their own damn problem," she muttered, watching the grainy security footage for the third time. It was the same as the rest; a loose formation of peacekeepers, a black shadow, and then it was over almost before it had begun, and all that was left was blood and corpses. Given the circumstances, they should probably consider themselves lucky the damn things hadn't taken them alive, not that she would call that 'luck'.
If anyone wants to approach her about this, she is the picture of an open-door policy, spread out in one corner of the tribute center's main commons room.
no subject
Someone was watching her. She felt it as much as anything, but didn't let it show, didn't falter, only finished the imaginary match with an equally imaginary turian and stepped back, pulling up her shirt to wipe at her face.
"Take a picture," she suggested, without looking, "It'll last longer."
no subject
"A static image could never measure up to the real thing." She shot back moving closer. She was dressed casually in a sweater with dark colors and glittering cold, long sleeves that hid her hands.
no subject
"Alright, what do you want?" the attitude earned Azula a look, tired, if not weary. Everybody's looking for something from her, all the time.
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"Respect. Glory. To see you rise to victory." She answered calmly pacing towards her slowly.
"What do you want?" She echoed back.
no subject
She couldn't help it. In the at last last five years of her waking life, for...for as long as she could recall, no one had asked her that, asked her what she wanted. Oh sure, they'd asked if she had an opinion, advice, tactical advice. They'd thrown out, 'What do you want to do' overlooking a series of choices, left right or center, the shotgun or the pistol, who to let die, or who to save.
How goddamn ironic it was that only here and now, someone asked her what she wanted. And meant it, just like that; what she wanted. Not strategy or intention or morality, just her. Jane Shepard. She stared. Well played, Azula.
What did she want?
"I want the last five years of my life back," she replied, finally, and there was such coating of bitter dust on it that she turned away, scowling, "Respect is earned. Glory is someone else's idea, trust me."
Victory only came when the other guy was dead. But they both knew that, and it didn't bear repeating.
no subject
"You remind me a lot of my Your other Mentor, Indiana Jones?" She used his full name in case Sheperd had been avoiding him too.
"Experienced, world weary, bitter." Those were his more charming features.
"But reasonable. We all want what we deserve. Respect, and lost time included."
She was so hungry for the former. But as she reflected upon it...
"I've lost years myself. I intend on making up for lost time."
no subject
She'd never so much as spoken to the man— it was irrelevant. Shepard knows how to survive in wilderness conditions, knows how to fight, to kill, and die. The hell was someone with a name and face like something out of a Blasto vid going to teach her? Experience, she had, and if she was weary of the world, well then she had a right to be. Life had never done her any favors.
"If you think most people deserve to get what they want, then that just goes to show how little you know. Now I'll ask you again," Philosophy was all well and good, but she'd never really grasped the basic point for all Thane's patient repetition, "What do you want, from me."
no subject
"You misunderstand me. We want what we deserve. We don't all deserve what we want." She corrected Shepherd gently.
"As for the matter of my want with you, why haven't you won yet? It's clearly not for lack of ability."
no subject
She took a pull from her water-bottle, and turned back to the bag. Taking a shot at Azula would only earn her a cuff just when she didn't want to have to deal with the censure— but at the same time... She was tired.
"It's a matter of public record as to why I haven't won yet," Shepard wasn't smiling; Venus wasn't a bad person, at least not so far as Shepard judged these things, but it wasn't a good taste, being beaten. Then again, it hadn't been fun to die the first time, either, "Anything else is none of your business. I don't answer to you."
no subject
"Actually, it is precisely my business. I've been tasked as your mentor, and as such that means I am to do everything in my power to help you win." And given what she had seen of her team, Shepherd was one of the most likely candidates to win.
no subject
And it was. She knew it, but let it trail off all the same, the seed of an idea, punctuated by the impact of sand under her fists.
"Then that means you work, for me," She let that sit too, and it was the ghost of a smile in her voice, an older cruelty, "Isn't that what you just said to me?"
no subject
"Well you could look at it that way. You'd be wrong, technically I work for the capitol and the glory of District Five." She glanced down to examine her nails carefully.
"I will work with you, but I will not take orders from you. If you have requests I will attempt to fulfill them if I feel it would be beneficial to your development and eventual success."
Looking back up she met Shepherd's eyes. Her own eyes were dark and bore the weight of something tense and sharp. They were constantly studying Shepherd either looking for weakness, or signs of an attack.
no subject
"I'm sorry you feel that way," and she was, because it'd give her more hoops to jump through than before, even if they were voluntarily assumed ones, "Now that was me, trying to be polite to you."
Dangerous words. Does she realize?
"But since you clearly don't want to reconsider my generous offer of employment, why don't we cut a deal, you and me?"
no subject
Folding her arms again she nodded gently. "Of course, what are your terms then?"
/gently presses the right trigger
She picked up the half-bottle of water, the towel, embroidered with its blocky "5", and threw it over her shoulders like a team scarf at a biotiball match.
"Now, I don't think it's going to take you very long to figure out that I care about the competitive future of District Five about as much as I care about any of the other Districts," She couldn't care less if the whole country burned, not if it suited her goals, "So, here's what you're going to do. You're going to support Vakarian every bit as much as if he were contributing to the glory of your District Five, or I am personally going to ensure that this district's losing streak outlasts your natural lifespan. Got that?"
<3
"I knew there was a reason I liked you."
From the inside of her sleeve she produced a small screen and began tapping at it to locate the tribute in question.
"If this is how you make deals I can't help but wonder what your employment offer was going to be." She mumbled before she turned the device so Shepherd could see. "This one?"
no subject
no subject
"As you see I am reasonable. Just because I am employed and loyal to the people who brought you here does not mean I can't be loyal to my tributes. And if an ally is what it will take for you to be successful then so be it."
no subject
It wasn't much of a goodbye, but it made for a clean dismissal; she turned and walked away.