Agent Washington (
notyourrookie) wrote in
gunsforhire2015-11-30 02:52 am
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Log: All The Small Things
Who: Wash (OU) and you!
What: Wash has completed his first job as a mercenary and is out to celebrate it
Where: Out and about in town, picking up some better equipment, and then to the Eagle and Asp for a drink
When: Afternoon to night 29/11
Warnings: None so far
It hadn't been the most glamorous of jobs, but any notion of glamour had been beaten out of him practically the day he'd enlisted. The important thing was that his first job as a registered mercenary had gone well and that was the first step to being able to take care of himself without having to rely on other people. Sure, it would take a few more jobs before he felt comfortable, but it was a start.
That was cause enough for celebration, right?
His first step is to head out to a supplier to stock up on equipment. Nothing fancy for now, but enough to get him started. A good gun or two, and a solid combat knife.
There's other things that he needs, an almost overwhelming amount, he realises now that he has the money to start thinking about it. Clothes that aren't fatigues or armour, and there's so many different kinds that it takes him far longer than it should to pick out what he needs.
And once that's done, he heads to the Eagle and Asp for a drink. It feels appropriate somehow.
What: Wash has completed his first job as a mercenary and is out to celebrate it
Where: Out and about in town, picking up some better equipment, and then to the Eagle and Asp for a drink
When: Afternoon to night 29/11
Warnings: None so far
It hadn't been the most glamorous of jobs, but any notion of glamour had been beaten out of him practically the day he'd enlisted. The important thing was that his first job as a registered mercenary had gone well and that was the first step to being able to take care of himself without having to rely on other people. Sure, it would take a few more jobs before he felt comfortable, but it was a start.
That was cause enough for celebration, right?
His first step is to head out to a supplier to stock up on equipment. Nothing fancy for now, but enough to get him started. A good gun or two, and a solid combat knife.
There's other things that he needs, an almost overwhelming amount, he realises now that he has the money to start thinking about it. Clothes that aren't fatigues or armour, and there's so many different kinds that it takes him far longer than it should to pick out what he needs.
And once that's done, he heads to the Eagle and Asp for a drink. It feels appropriate somehow.
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"I'm not a Mister," is the response which is absolutely not what he should be focused on, but it's what comes out of his mouth. "I mean... Just Wash is fine." He's never been a 'Mister'. It had always been a rank, or 'Agent'. "I can't believe I've just been blindly eating fruit all this time." When apparently cranberries sounded like they could burn through steel.
He nods and goes to collect their drinks, then heads back to hand Delta's over. "They look good."
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"Alright, Wash," he does allow, though, not even considering the other Wash he knows in the prospect. He'll just call that one Washington. Not like they're friends. "And it's okay to blindly eat fruit. Fruit, as with most things, is dangerous in high quanta. A little bit of pure cranberry juice isn't going to hurt you. Enough of it will. Just like water. Just like air. Just like life."
Life: the ultimate source of pain and sorrow.
He shakes the thought off and takes a sip of his drink. "So, Wash, what brings you to Adaptive in general, or Gulch in particular?"
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"Life's a bitch and then you die," Wash agrees. "And sometimes you don't die." Even when you really should. "But good. I really like fruit." Doesn't want to give it up. Probably wouldn't even if he was told fruit was potent poison.
He tastes his smoothie and oh, that's pretty good. He shrugs, because it isn't a question he can answer easily. "Ex-military. I just kind of... drifted here. It's as good a place as any. People are a bit more reserved so it's not as overwhelming as anywhere more crowded."
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He shrugs it off. Whatever. "Some people drift here. I can't imagine why. Adaptive isn't a nice place to live, even when you get past the weather being literally deadly. As a security guard I worry for you, given the existence and almost lauding of mercenaries."
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He shakes his head, smile returning. "I'm ex-military and my team was highly combat focused. If I can't take out a merc, I deserve to get my ass kicked."
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Delta shakes his head and takes a long sip of his smoothie. It's mostly stuff his older brother has been feeding him for so long that he can't help but think of it. "There are a lot of people who would point out that city-state governments are corrupt, the corporations are in power, and we are subject to their whims, especially when it comes to helmet and building air systems."
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He listens to what Delta explains, a little sceptical. "Your brother is going to have a hell of a shock if he ever goes off-world. Because that sounds like any other place I've been. Hell, it sounds like the military. It's just more pronounced here."
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Just listening to what Delta says makes him curious about this company and their undercity. Seems like a place that would be interesting to get into and poke around in. "UNSC is fine with sacrificing lives needlessly, trust me," he says sourly. Soldiers were ultimately replaceable, even in the middle of a war. "As long as the chain of command is upheld, they don't give a damn." He wouldn't expect them to care about the lives of anyone here.
"And let me guess, they end up mainly doing work for Charon, even indirectly."
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But that was just the way the UNSC worked. And, honestly, it would be an amazsing way to get off of Adaptive.
"Long story short... world sucks."
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"The whole universe sucks, Delta. Other places just have prettier window dressing."
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He shakes his head and sips his drink a bit. It's easier.
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"I should get going."
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"That... is kind of you to say."
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That's just what he feels. Because that's his responsibility as a big brother.
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Not that he always is.
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