Looking for Fenix. She was looking for Marcus Fenix. That was the word around camp, that this woman was looking for Marcus Fenix and was a hell of a fighter to boot. Word traveled fast inside the fort where Hoffman was planning their next push to gain more land, even reaching the top (him) in no time flat. Interesting, very interesting. There'd been no word from Fenix in a while, but Hoffman knew he was just busy in that case. It wasn't like the bastard would die on him. Not until the fight was over anyways
( ... )
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
( ... )
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."
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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 ( ... )
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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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