The woman who comes striding through the door like she owns it several minutes later certainly doesn't give the impression of being a shrinking violet.
She's tall -- but a few inches shorter than some of the Gears -- and broad-shouldered like they all are; her shape and level of physical fitness are difficult to read, with armor on, but the fact that she is wearing the armor says a great deal about her strength. She is more compact than some of the biggest Gears, but is certainly not among the ranks of the smallest, either. Her armor is too large, ill-fitting, jury-rigged, and still charred and gouged in the chestplate, where the original owner had taken the wound that killed her. She carries the enormous Lancer over her shoulder, and numerous visible (and likely hidden, as well) weapons strapped to her.
All of that, though, does not set this woman apart from her fellows. What marks her as different is her face.
A strong jaw, yes; that is no different than other Gears. But her mouth is full and feminine and her eyes startlingly dark, nearly black; smoldering with determination and old anger in a pale face streaked with dirt. It is a face, with aristocratic features and high cheekbones, that could be beautiful, if it weren't so severe. She has only stubble of an indecipherable color for hair, with several scars visible meandering across her scalp, most notably just above her right ear, which is missing its tip.
"Sir," she says brusquely, and she may not salute (not her superior officer, after all), but she settles into a practiced ready position in front of the man.
Aw, shit. Hoffman sighs and rests his head against his fist, not caring is the gesture if obvious. Fenix can't get himself involved with just anybody apparently. Bad enough somebody's chasing after him for god only knows what reason, bad enough she's a woman (he's got nothing against them, but they're rare as it is in the ranks), but she's gotta stand out too. Can't just salute and look like some military born and bred brat like everyone else. He knows uniqueness when he sees it, and he knows this lady isn't your average Gear. Doesn't mean he has to be pleased about it.
"At ease soldier," he says, though he doesn't think it necessary with her. "I won't beat around the bush here, so I'll just ask you plain and simple; who the hell're you and what do you want with Sergeant Fenix?"
Plourr demonstrates that, once upon a time (and it does feel like lives ago; it was lives ago, if you want to look at it literally), she did actually pay attention when taught military decorum. Her at-ease is military-quality, even after all these years, her feet planted and her arms behind her.
"Plourr Ilo, Alpha Squad, and with all due respect, sir--" for all the politeness of the phrase, her voice is hard, "--that's between me and Fenix."
"Soldier, I am your commanding officer. You ever heard the phrase 'When I say jump, you say how high'?"
He doubts this kind of persuasion will work on her, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. He's never, ever had anyone look for Fenix before. He's got no family and no friends outside his squad, and he sure as hell doesn't have any reason to have some woman looking for him.
He's a tough man; she can see that already. A good officer, from what she can tell. One who won't pardon fools or mutineers. It's a good thing she's neither.
"On occasion," she allows. "It never worked well even for my old commanding officer. I'm not a Gear, sir. I never signed up for this, or asked for Alpha to hand the stick over to me. You're not my commanding officer."
'And I don't see what the hell my personal relationship with Fenix has to do with the goddamn chain of command' is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. She hasn't gone this many years without so much as admitting that there was a personal relationship between them (because it's nobody's damn business but theirs) to slip up now.
Fuck. He figured as much. He relaxes a bit, leans back again, and gives her an appraising look, not caring for her appearance but rather trying to look deep inside at her motivations. He'll need to judge her character before he goes any further.
"If you're looking to put a bullet in his brain for something he did it'll have to wait. We need men like Fenix right now. Wait 'till the war's over, then do what you have to. We could use a soldier like yourself, word is Alpha team's damn pleased with the way you do things. Pleased enough to make you their head honcho. How's about you and the rest of Alpha stick around and we put you all to good use fighting the good fight?"
"No bullets," says Plourr. Dryly, in something she picked up from Force knows where: "Scout's honor." She's listening, though, despite the sarcasm -- and it's true sarcasm; she doesn't plan on pulling a gun on Marcus Fenix -- and she's listening intently, at that.
"I can't promise I'll be a perfect little soldier at decorum, Colonel, but--" There's only so long you can search for one man in a big world before you start to think you won't find him; only so long before you start to think that maybe the smart thing to do would be to forget about it and take a stab at doing something good for this godforsaken world you've marooned yourself in, "--I can fight and I can take orders so long as they're coming from somebody with half an ounce of brains, and I can sure as hell give 'em."
(For all the 'starting to think' she does, she can't forget about goddamned Marcus Fenix.)
"As for Fenix, sir--" She stands straight and tall and honest, covered in dirt and dust and worse. "The worst the son of a bitch has to fear from me is a punch, that he earned." It's more than she's told anyone, and it's still not the whole truth.
There's also the part where she's contemplated killing him with her bare hands.
Hoffman drums slowly on one of his crossed arms with his fingers, contemplating the situation. She seems a good soldier, she seems to know what she's doing and the boys in Alpha squad aren't dense enough to vote somebody leader on a whim. She would have had to earn that sort of honor, which says something all on it's own.
Maybe he can make the best out of this then.
"Alright," he says finally, uncrossing his arms and placing clasped hands on the table. "I'm not a dull man, soldier. I can see you've got what we need in this war, and I suspect that if I tell you to forget Fenix and do your part, you're going to do just about the opposite. So. Here's what we'll do. I'll tell you where you can find Delta unit - that's Fenix's unit - and in return you'll take up any fight I command you to between here and there. Fenix is in deep, soldier. He's right in the thick of things. You wanna find him, you're gonna have to fight for every bloody inch and you're not gonna get much help either. So ask yourself soldier, how badly do you want to find him?"
That's a fair deal. That's a good deal. That's a far better deal than she thought she would get even in her wildest dreams, and her smile is swift and pleased and fierce, growing even as the colonel continues.
"I'll find him, Colonel," she says. It's nobody's damned business but her own how badly she wants to, but she can say that -- she'll find him. "And I'll blow the hell out of anything you want along the way." And anything she wants, too.
"Thank you, sir." Her gratitude is genuine, if rough around the edges.
Hoffman doesn't smile. He's not a smiling kind of guy. But his face does soften and his posture isn't quite so rigid. He unclasps his hands and strokes his chin, thinking before he speaks again.
"We're having trouble making radio contact - lots of Reapers in the area jamming the signals to hell. But we do know their approximate location. I'll figure a few things out tonight and when you return here at 0600 tomorrow I'll have you a location and a mission." He seems satisfied with this plan. "Tell Alpha to be ready to move out tomorrow, early. You have a lot to do and a long trip ahead of you. Good luck out there soldier. Dismissed."
Plourr tips her hand to her head in a salute, informal but more respectful than is her custom. "Yes, sir," she says, and she turns on her heel and strides out as confidently as she'd walked in.
She can't think as far ahead as the colonel's information allows; she's been in this world for so long now that the possibility of actually finding Marcus doesn't seem within reach. For now, she goes to do what she always does: ready the squad, and prepare to move again.
She's tall -- but a few inches shorter than some of the Gears -- and broad-shouldered like they all are; her shape and level of physical fitness are difficult to read, with armor on, but the fact that she is wearing the armor says a great deal about her strength. She is more compact than some of the biggest Gears, but is certainly not among the ranks of the smallest, either. Her armor is too large, ill-fitting, jury-rigged, and still charred and gouged in the chestplate, where the original owner had taken the wound that killed her. She carries the enormous Lancer over her shoulder, and numerous visible (and likely hidden, as well) weapons strapped to her.
All of that, though, does not set this woman apart from her fellows. What marks her as different is her face.
A strong jaw, yes; that is no different than other Gears. But her mouth is full and feminine and her eyes startlingly dark, nearly black; smoldering with determination and old anger in a pale face streaked with dirt. It is a face, with aristocratic features and high cheekbones, that could be beautiful, if it weren't so severe. She has only stubble of an indecipherable color for hair, with several scars visible meandering across her scalp, most notably just above her right ear, which is missing its tip.
"Sir," she says brusquely, and she may not salute (not her superior officer, after all), but she settles into a practiced ready position in front of the man.
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"At ease soldier," he says, though he doesn't think it necessary with her. "I won't beat around the bush here, so I'll just ask you plain and simple; who the hell're you and what do you want with Sergeant Fenix?"
He's getting too old for this shit.
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"Plourr Ilo, Alpha Squad, and with all due respect, sir--" for all the politeness of the phrase, her voice is hard, "--that's between me and Fenix."
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He doubts this kind of persuasion will work on her, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. He's never, ever had anyone look for Fenix before. He's got no family and no friends outside his squad, and he sure as hell doesn't have any reason to have some woman looking for him.
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"On occasion," she allows. "It never worked well even for my old commanding officer. I'm not a Gear, sir. I never signed up for this, or asked for Alpha to hand the stick over to me. You're not my commanding officer."
'And I don't see what the hell my personal relationship with Fenix has to do with the goddamn chain of command' is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. She hasn't gone this many years without so much as admitting that there was a personal relationship between them (because it's nobody's damn business but theirs) to slip up now.
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"If you're looking to put a bullet in his brain for something he did it'll have to wait. We need men like Fenix right now. Wait 'till the war's over, then do what you have to. We could use a soldier like yourself, word is Alpha team's damn pleased with the way you do things. Pleased enough to make you their head honcho. How's about you and the rest of Alpha stick around and we put you all to good use fighting the good fight?"
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"I can't promise I'll be a perfect little soldier at decorum, Colonel, but--" There's only so long you can search for one man in a big world before you start to think you won't find him; only so long before you start to think that maybe the smart thing to do would be to forget about it and take a stab at doing something good for this godforsaken world you've marooned yourself in, "--I can fight and I can take orders so long as they're coming from somebody with half an ounce of brains, and I can sure as hell give 'em."
(For all the 'starting to think' she does, she can't forget about goddamned Marcus Fenix.)
"As for Fenix, sir--" She stands straight and tall and honest, covered in dirt and dust and worse. "The worst the son of a bitch has to fear from me is a punch, that he earned." It's more than she's told anyone, and it's still not the whole truth.
There's also the part where she's contemplated killing him with her bare hands.
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Maybe he can make the best out of this then.
"Alright," he says finally, uncrossing his arms and placing clasped hands on the table. "I'm not a dull man, soldier. I can see you've got what we need in this war, and I suspect that if I tell you to forget Fenix and do your part, you're going to do just about the opposite. So. Here's what we'll do. I'll tell you where you can find Delta unit - that's Fenix's unit - and in return you'll take up any fight I command you to between here and there. Fenix is in deep, soldier. He's right in the thick of things. You wanna find him, you're gonna have to fight for every bloody inch and you're not gonna get much help either. So ask yourself soldier, how badly do you want to find him?"
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"I'll find him, Colonel," she says. It's nobody's damned business but her own how badly she wants to, but she can say that -- she'll find him. "And I'll blow the hell out of anything you want along the way." And anything she wants, too.
"Thank you, sir." Her gratitude is genuine, if rough around the edges.
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"We're having trouble making radio contact - lots of Reapers in the area jamming the signals to hell. But we do know their approximate location. I'll figure a few things out tonight and when you return here at 0600 tomorrow I'll have you a location and a mission." He seems satisfied with this plan. "Tell Alpha to be ready to move out tomorrow, early. You have a lot to do and a long trip ahead of you. Good luck out there soldier. Dismissed."
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She can't think as far ahead as the colonel's information allows; she's been in this world for so long now that the possibility of actually finding Marcus doesn't seem within reach. For now, she goes to do what she always does: ready the squad, and prepare to move again.
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