overjoyed_logs | [closed] various prompts

[Steph ducks at the first gunshot, but by the time she sees the Handler and clocks the shooter, he's already dead.]

Shit.

[It's more of a welp than anything, despite the cruse word, because she can't find it in herself to actually care about the Handler living or dying, not when he's treating another human being like a tool.

She stands back up, wincing when it pulls at the gash on her thigh, but decides it's a problem for later. The adrenalin and thrill of the fight is wearing off as everything that she just witness sinks in.]

Let's give that back up a call, I wanna get the hell out of here before more people turn up.

[If she walks a little quicker back into the ship, well, maybe Giovanni won't point it out.]

[A human being-- he'd have something to say about that, were she to voice it aloud. It's not how he views himself, it's not what he is, and the way the Handler had treated him was nothing different or new or out of the ordinary. He'd been somewhat incompetent, yes, showing too much reticence, too much fear, but the Handler's conduct towards him had been nothing short of normal. Standard protocol.

But Steph says nothing of that, and so neither does he, slipping into his usual impassive silence despite all the thrumming action of moments before, following her back to the ship passively enough.

If he notices her swift movements, he's good enough not to say anything about it.]

[Inside the ship, she gives the hull a brief inspection of the chunk out of the metal so that she'll know what kind of damage report to give to whoever picks up on the other end of the comm line. She lingers by the hull at the moment, hand resting on the ship with an expression that almost looks like regret before she gets back to business.]

You, uh... [That sure is a whole lot of blood.] There's a shower in my quarters, if you want to get clean. And I can find you a change of clothes.

[They'll be her clothes, but it's better than clothes soaked in dried blood.]

[He stands by silently as she examines the wreckage made of the ship, holsters his pistol, his expression returning to one of impassive indifference now that the fighting is over, although with it's coating of fast-drying blood he no doubt looks more imposing than he had done before. More feral. He makes no move to try and wipe it away.

All the buzzing, jumping life in him, it's still there. The thrill of the hunt, of the ensuing carnage, the quick hot pulses all along his Spine and singing satisfyingly through his bones, but it's controlled now. Concealed. Out of sight.

His eyes go to her when she addresses him, though, and very slightly, he tilts his head.]

It isn't necessary, Ma'am. You don't have to do that.

[She considers correcting him on her name, he knows it, she knows he knows it, but she has a feeling that she could tell him a million times and he'd still default to ma'am.]

It's not a big deal, and we could be here a while. You might as well be comfortable.

[She's right, of course. Using her name, it's too familiar, too informal. It isn't encouraged. Nor is utilising Company employees' personal quarters, or wearing their clothes, and he hesitates around a second refusal. The blood that covers him, his ruined uniform, they're of no real concern to him. As discomforts go, it's so small as to barely register.

But he's also partial to hot showers, to the cleansing properties of water, and so after a moment of indecision--]

If that's what you'd like me to do.

[There's a subtly here that she realizes she might have to learn to navigate if she's going to have to keep working with Giovanni, or just spending time with him. What he wants and what he's allowed are two different things, but if someone tells him what to do, then he can get around whatever they've drilled into him about what he can't have.]

Better than you getting blood everywhere, go on.

[It's a compromise, not quite an order from her, but enough to give him leeway to do it.]

[And that's right, that's better. The way she says it settling something in him, the idea that she doesn't want him dirtying up her ship sitting more comfortably against his skin than the alternative, that it's something offered. That he's taking liberties he isn't entitled to. And so he'll nod, then. Turn to leave.]

Yes, Ma'am.

[And despite his earlier protests, when he locates the shower and strips off his bloodied uniform, steps under the steaming flow, there's something good in it. The small pleasure of hot water against skin, of sloughing off the evidence of the mayhem he'd caused, the horrific destruction. It helps unwind a little of the buzzing tension in him, muscles softening under the heat, and if he lingers somewhat longer than is strictly necessary over the task of cleaning himself, it's only because it's one of the small things that brings uncomplicated contentment, short lived as it may be.

But he'll emerge eventually, towel slung around his narrow waist, blond hair slicked back and damp. And for a moment he appears almost normal, less tightly held and rigid, if not for the metal collar gleaming dimly at his neck, the uneven scar that runs from nape to the small of his back. Relaxed, almost. But then, he isn't expecting to be seen.]

[While Gio takes his shower, Steph jogs up to the cockpit and reassures the AI that no one important has been hurt, before asking her to rely the details of the attack to the Prisoner Intake Facility, since they'll be able to send reinforcements quickly.

With that relayed, she heads back outside quickly to make sure no one else is coming, as well as to grab the Dog Bite. As much as she hates it, a dead Handler is going to be a sticky enough situation, she doesn't want to explain a missing weapon.

Then she finally makes it back to her quarters to grab clothes, assuming Giovanni is still in the shower only to find him not. In the shower.]

Shit, sorry!

[Insistence that he's a tool or not, Steph still raises a hand to cover her eyes, because she's nice like that.]

Let me just grab those clothes and I'll get out of your hair.

[He glances back over his shoulder at the sound of her approach, the quick expletive, the apology. Almost, he laughs, but instead bites it back, bare feet making hushed sounds against the floor as he pads back in the direction of the bathroom. More a nod towards her comfort than his.]

I'll get out of the way for a moment, if it makes you feel better.

[The tone of his voice then, there's subtle amusement in it.]

[She can hear that amusement and makes a bit of a face in response, a little tension easy out of her shoulders because this is a lot less weird and scary than taking down a small army of Westie hijackers.

She breathes out, lowers her hand and walks over to the closet.]

I try not to perv on guests.

[Oh so mature, that response, and she knows he likely won't consider himself a guest, but he's in her quarters, having used her shower, so it counts.

Steph fishes out a pair of sweats (floral, because they're the only ones on board) and a t-shirt that's a little threadbare, but at least it sits too big on her, so it should fit across Gio's shoulders. They both get tossed on the bed for him.]

Don't rush, I'll keep an eye on our surrounds.

[And this time he does laugh, short and quick, though it's less the immaturity of the comment that gets him as the implication that he's a guest and something anyone would want to look at in a way that constitutes perving. Although, to his mind, there'd be perversion in such an act, the same way a person who derives sexual enjoyment from inanimate objects like walls or buildings would seem strange and perverse to the majority of the populace. Just another indicator of the way he's been trained to see himself, less than human. Cut loose from human needs.

But he'll politely wait until she's exited her quarters before reemerging, pulling on the clothes she's left out for him (the jogging bottoms a little loose around the hips, slung low on his waist because of it, the pattern both appealing to him and somehow ridiculous when worn by a bioweapon, the shirt only pulling slightly across the hard length of his shoulders). There's something vaguely discomforting in wearing her clothes, as though he's doing something he shouldn't, but she'd 'insisted' on it, and as such he tries to let that small thread of unease go. There's still something satisfying in having the clean material close to his skin (softer than anything he's accustomed to wearing), and he doesn't bother to pull on his Company issue boots when he heads out to find her, though he unholsters both pistols and slips them inside said footwear, carries them loose in one hand as he moves barefoot through the ship.

When she looks, later, she'll find the towel neatly hung, the room clean, his bloodied uniform (folded) the only evidence that he'd been there.

He finds her, remains a few paces back. Not wanting to intrude.]

How long until we can expect the cavalry to arrive?

[Any laugh or genuine emotion that she can get out of him is a victory in her mind, because it proves that he's more than just a thing. Objects don't find things funny, even AIs are only programmed to do so within certain parameters, can't determine their own sense of humor.

So it's a victory, one that she holds on to as she settles in the cockpit, getting a little blood on the seat but that's mostly because her thigh is still bleeding and she's going to have to deal with that at some point. For now, she chats with the AI, monitoring their surrounds for anyone else who wants to pick a fight, and finding herself a little relieved that there's only bodies and wreckage outside.

At some point, a few of the people that Steph dealt with manage to crawl into a vehicle and drive off, but she isn't too concerned. If anything, having someone relay back what happened makes a follow up less likely.

When she hears Giovanni's voice, she swivels around in the chair, offering him a smile.]

Twenty minutes. A lot quicker than I expected since they'll have to drive.

[Even Company ships can't really handle the Badlands.]

[And it's just as well, perhaps, that they manage to drag themselves into their vehicles and make a hasty exit before Giovanni catches sight of them-- it might stir things in him all over again, entice him to go out and finish the job. Had he seen to them all personally, not a one would have been left alive, after all. But he doesn't see that, and when he enters the only sight to be seen beyond the cockpit is the vast, barren expanse of the badlands, the ground redstained with blood in places. The decimated corpses he'd left in his wake.

He takes no notice of that, leans back against the doorway in a manner that's almost (almost) casual, hips slightly cocked. Again, wearing her clothes, the traces of violence washed clean from his face, he almost passes for normal.]

I see.

[His voice is smooth with indifference, and he wonders vaguely, for just a moment, who they'll send out to replace his dead Handler. Whether they'd be able to drum anyone up at such short notice, in an emergency situation. Whether any of the blame for that particular death will be directed towards him. But it's a fleeting thought of little consequence, and instead he turns his attention back to the woman in the cockpit, drawn by the heady scent of her still-seeping blood.]

Where did you learn to fight like that? It's not a standard skill, for a pilot. If you don't mind my asking, Ma'am.

[And there's a small implication in that-- even during those fevered movements of carnage and bloodshed, he'd kept her in his awareness as best he could. Hadn't been acting entirely without reason, without thought.]

[This what she wanted to avoid, hoping that maybe Giovanni would be too shackled by the rules trained into him to ask about at she'd managed to do. And she knows that if she refused to answer he'd accept it with little question, he'd still wonder, sure, but he wouldn't press it.

But she doesn't want to give him orders just to avoid difficult topics, not when it'd make her just as bad as a Handler.

Still, she can't help sighing, scrubbing a hand over her face as she looks out at the wasteland.]

Can this stay between you and me?

[She has no plans to tell him that she has no memory, but she still wants to be careful about what she says, in case it'll put him in a difficult position with higher ups.]

[She's right, of course-- should she have chosen to tell him it was none of his business and that he ought not to have asked, he'd accept it unquestioningly, would apologise for his indiscretion. But she doesn't, and though the slight pause between her answer and his question, the way she scrubs at her face, the subtle language of her body all tell him that perhaps he shouldn't have asked, she does respond. Doesn't shut him down right off the bat.]

Of course.

[More a request than an order, yes, but he'll choose to take it as such, if only because it binds him more completely to confidentiality.]

And...if I shouldn't have asked, there's no need to provide an answer at all.

No, it's okay. You can ask.

[This isn't just about a simple question, because she wants him to know she isn't even going to reprimand or tattle on him for stepping out of line. If he has questions, he can ask them and she won't shut him down, even if the answer is difficult.]

It's just that I don't know. [She smiles, but it's hesitant, unsure.] I've never done anything like that before.

[And her answer, it surprises him. It's something that subtly shows around the edges of his expression, the very slight widening of his strangely-coloured eyes. There's a slight delay before he responds, slightly cautious, unsure of whether he's overstepping the bounds despite her insistence that he's allowed to ask.]

...Instinctive, perhaps? Although...if you hadn't said that, I would have thought you'd received some kind of training.

[His entire focus hadn't been on her, no, but there was something in it that seemed controlled to him. Clean.]

[There are things that feel natural to her, as if she's known how to do it all her life despite having no memory of learning, and this is just another one of those things. Except it makes less sense than knowing how to fly, or sew, or move through a yoga sequence perfectly.]

It feels instinctive, like if I thought about it too hard I'd lose it.

[It's weird to be so honest with someone she hardly knows, but she can't think of any lie that would fit. Company training isn't that comprehensive, not even for Enforcers.]

I see.

[And there's a part of him that thinks he does-- the Dogs, to some extent they'd known what to do, how to act even in those first few moments of opening their eyes, being told - immediately - to kill. All except him anyway, but that's a thought he pushes down hard, locks down tight, doesn't want to remember. The point is, though, they'd been made for it. It was in them, down to the bones. He's not entirely convinced a Company pilot could say the same. Not ordinarily.

But it's not his place to overthink or ask too many questions.]

If it comes to you so naturally, it's a pity you didn't choose a different career. Imagine what you could do with some training.

[He flashes a quick smile, there and then gone again, but there's still that feeling on him. ike something isn't quite adding up.]

[It doesn't feel like a good answer to her, either, but she can't exactly be open about the rest of what's going on, not when she has a feeling that if questioned, Giovanni would be obligated to snitch.]

I happen to like my job, and that was kinda scary.

[Her reaction, the way she looked alive after the fight was over probably doesn't suggest scary, but it is a little unsettling in retrospect.]

[No-- there'd been a look on her then, a scent, something he knows, like recognising like and there'd been something in that, something bright and strange. But this is the answer she gives, and he isn't going to press or pry outside the boundaries of what she's given him (already too much, she could have just told him to shut up and keep out of the way).

So he dips his head. Shrugs.]

Suit yourself, I suppose. It's important, I'm sure, to enjoy what you do.

[And this time his smile is a little sharp, all teeth.]

I had fun. It's been a good day.

[There's a bit of a reversal for a second, where she wants to ask about the destruction he caused, the enjoyment that was so clear when he was viciously hurting people.

But she's not sure she wants to know.]

Is that what you do for the Company?

[Slowly, he nods.]

Yes. That kind of thing, it's what I was made for. Although it isn't always quite as exciting as it was today.

[Sometimes he sticks to using weapons rather than his bare hands, or kills discreetly, but there's something in doing it this way that shines that much brighter for him, makes it that much more fun. Again, he smiles.]

And other kinds of things come up. Bodyguard stints and the like. Transportation duties, playing guard dog, which I'm sure is all they were hoping would happen today.

[There's a brief pause then, as though he's uncertain of whether he should say anything or not, whether it's appropriate, but ultimately he decides it's probably okay because--]

And then there's Mister Kendry, of course.

Of course.

[There's something a little wry in her tone, but that seems the safest thing to comment on, rather than dealing with all the violence that surrounds Giovanni.

There's something itching in the back of her mind, about killing, but she buries it for now because she feels like she has enough to deal with right now.]

Do you like working for Rhys?

[It's pretty clear that he enjoys the violence, but she feels like she should check the rest, since he isn't really able to speak for himself.]

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