who ;
thom_293 and anyone who cares to run into him! \o/
what ; Thom is getting out of Spartanhaus to stretch his legs, explore the area and use his MAGICAL JETPACK to scope out sniper vantage points. He'll also be making a brief sojourn into the junkyard to search for supplies. Feel free to catch him anywhere your character might be that's still out in
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In fact, that was what he was doing as he sat on the bench right now: messing with the device on his wrist and trying to get it to work. He still couldn't figure out how to get the pretty blue lady back up to give him more tutorials on how to operate the thing and he was beginning to grew frustrated. He muttered under his breath at it after every little adjustment he tried.
"...damn thing... can't get... how do...? ...what is that...? ...ugh ( ... )
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However, that hyperalert paranoia failed to take certain things into account. Certain things like cowboy hats.
For a moment, it was all he could do to just stare. He'd always wanted one of those.
So it was that particular level of scrutiny that caused him to catch the man's half-mumbled words. Never let it be said that super enhanced hearing wasn't good for something.
"Hey. Need a hand with that thing?" And there he goes, sauntering closer. He kept his hands visible, because he's no stranger to the fact that he's seven feet tall and the closest human equivalency to a tank that the world has to offer.
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This guy was taller than that dark knight from the medieval period! And he looked more dangerous somehow, too. Maybe it was in the way he moved, all smooth confidence that had way more grace to it than any knight he'd seen back at the castle. Somehow that made this guy appear more serious, more likely to get the job done right the first time around.
That being noted, Billy wasn't the type to back down from trouble, even if it was bigger than him. That was probably because most anything was bigger than him at his short stature of 5'9'' and he'd learned to cope with it with ways that tended to confound his brawnier antagonists.
On the plus side for Thom, the Kid was also an avid adventure reader and was simply fascinated by the knight-like armor even if it was menacing. His eyes darted over ( ... )
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Now, perhaps with the slightest bit of self-destructive motivation, Thane walks the junkyard with nothing special on. Just his usual clothes. No mask. Nothing. Tempting his new and improved self.
Just to see what it would take.
There was no hangover after he went out drinking with Zaeed. He felt the effects, but none of the problems that came with it. He breathes with ease, his heart does not jump, and he doesn't need to be decisive with what he eats.
So, what does it take?
His excuse is to scavenge, to see what's useful in the junkyard. To see what's there.
To his surprise, he finds... a small frame. Fitting in his hand. His brows knit, and Thane tilts his head, as if not quite understanding. Then, silently, he places it away into his jacket.
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Still, the gunpowder can be salvaged, and it's not like the twenty-five kilos is anything approaching a hindrance to him. He hefts it up onto one shoulder and picks his way through other, less useful detritus.
It's the ping from his motion tracker that does it; a solitary blip, no FOF tag identifier to speak of, but it sets him instantly on edge. The visibility in the junkyard isn't the best to begin with, and the idea of an ambush--
For a moment, he almost laughs at himself. Really? Really? He's so jumpy he's surprised Carter hasn't confiscated every weapon he has. The odds of the blip being hostile are ( ... )
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Paranoia briefly. Unusual. His mind goes to Motoko and he snarls internally. No; he's better trained than that. Not everything is related to her. Thane is not that foolish.
Then he raises his head and frowns. Who else? Any number of people, anyone at all.
Still, his hand rests on his pistol. Just in case. A neck snap would be quicker, but there's no reason to be lethal right away. Not necessarily.
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Thom's less obviously armed. Maybe he's proving a point to himself - not everything out here wants to stomp all over his entrails, right? - but whatever his final reasoning is, the hand not balancing the ammo box on his shoulder is empty as he slides into view. Of course, it's within fairly reasonable distance to the magnum on his thigh, but he's holding his hand turned away from it, palm up. Unless whoever it is has prior experience with Spartans, it's doubtful they'll expect his reflexes.
"I come in peace?"
Somehow, that phrase is a lot more ridiculous when he's not watching it on the holoscreen. Thom just grimaces, glad of his visor and its magical expression-hiding-ability.
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Inside, Maria stood underneath the makeshift protector, her head tilted to the side, her brown hair falling across her face as she looked out into the clearing. Both her nano-machine colonies were out there, swarming through the air like two clouds of very softly buzzing bees, and Maria seemed to be directing them with her hands. She didn't have to do that, but when she was working on a project, it made her feel more...involved ( ... )
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She offered him a bit of a smile, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear before she shoved her hands into her pocket. "No, just...building. It helps me relax." The two swarms continued buzzing about, though construction slew to a halt after a few moments as her attention shifted elsewhere.
"It's a light house I saw in a book once," she explained, somewhat sheepishly. "I had a dream about it and it's been stuck in my head so I figured..." She shrugged.
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"Need a hand? I can't do your nifty mind mojo, but I can take care of any heavy lifting you might run into."
A fully armoured Spartan can lift just about a tonne without a lot of strain. There's a reason none of them ever really quit their day job.
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She found the jet pack to be particularly fascinating - she didn't have anything like that.
Yet.
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The more she thought about that jet pack the more she wanted it, and the more she wondered about the possibility that he might have an AI running it, and the more she wanted that too. The thought has her purring to herself.
But despite her own size and bulk making her a tank of a Freelancer, she was still a normal person compared to any Spartan. This was a little humbling thought pinged the edges of her senses, Is this really such a smart idea? but at the very least she had to present and see how he reacted. If there was any sort of tactical opening, she'd take it, but otherwise this was merely a test.
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Like, at all. His motion-tracker remained stubbornly free of any blips that weren't him. Maybe the person knew the armour? And the limits thereof? Or, more likely, maybe he was just going crazy.
Honestly, crazy wouldn't have surprised him much. He still wasn't sure how he'd escaped being affected by the Marker, not when it had taken down so many people on his team. Maybe he'd just shoved the psychosis aside until he had time to descend into proper madness.
He slowed his pace, halting a couple strides thereafter and raised a hand, to smack against the side of his helmet. He liked the idea of a malfunction better than an impending psych evaluation.
Still nothing. Damn.
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So, up and over, around, catch that bit of pipe and swing himself up, land on his feet, run, drop down, keep going...
And then he stops, grabs a water bottle, chugs it down, then starts kicking around the bottle like a hackey-sack, trying to balance it in the air with just his legs.
Better than going to the gym, anyway.]
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He recognizes - not Bro himself, but the general lay of his movements - at a bit of a distance. He'd only caught a little of what he was capable of on a video feed, but that was enough. He's crazy-fast for a human, though Thom's not entirely sure that's all he is. That sort of thing sticks in a guy's memory.]
This a one-man show, or you mind if I crash the party?
[He makes plenty of noise on approach, most of it uncharacteristic. But he likes Bro, and thinks that sneaking up on him would probably be bad for both of them.]
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If you think you can keep up? Go ahead.
[He kicks the bottle in Thom's general direction. Catch, bro.]
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Don't think it'd be fair, me in my armour.
[Since, you know, the MJOLNIR actually make it physically impossible to judge reflexes and reaction times by any human scale. Plus, he's pretty distinctly sure that Mendez would crawl through time and space to shoot him in the face with a rocket launcher if he treated the armour like a toy.]
You give me a couple minutes to get out of it, I'll give you a run for your money.
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