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 Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 4:20 pm
I cannot help but think that either outcome is a positive. To feed the weak and foolish to our posthuman counterparts bodes just as well as demonstrating en masse how to work among them. Schörl, you have far more talent than I in dealing with our peers. "I expect good turnout." If not, maybe I'll drown you in youma for fun and brand it as punishment for failing to meet expectation. The thought coaxed a smile out of the misanthrope, but he added nothing more.
Though the shower comment struck him imaginatively, Bischofite pushed past the thought to consider her cryptic comment. Obvious as the statement was, he remained unsure of its pertinence until Schörl resumed the unrelenting beating of the unconscionably flat youma. Surely enough, just as she pointed out, nary a sound emanated from the rug - even as it slapped into crystal and rock alike. "How unique," came the feathered agent's amused response. "Additionally, ambushes are rendered more viable when powered up, so long as you maintain ze proper ambience." The roadkill sported far more use than he initially thought, once its strange and wondrous ability became clear.
Bischofite glanced toward the peak of the crystal as he noted Malicious' descent. He considered soliciting the humanoid youma's opinion, but the afterthought to Schörl's statement soon caught his attention to an irritable degree. "Domestication? Do I look like a housewife to you? We are soldiers - as such, we need no domestication." The feral fought well on their own territory - the Americans with their revolutionary war, and the viet kong with the Korean war. Both instances spelled disaster for the more disciplined troops pervading the area. Why subjugate those who possessed the passion to make it on their own terms? To speak of domestication in a place like this... It's a cardinal sin. Unless, of course, you were thinking of domesticating me in other ways...
At least you have the wit to stay your tongue until my assistance is complete.
"When you're done beating your youma into submission, we should leaf'. I suspect ze stragglers don't take kindly to watching ze last of zeir freedom slip away due to an officer's fancy." A glance to Malicious confirmed as much; the crowlike youma looked somewhat perturbed to watch the show.
"Tell me, Schörl - what do you sink of ze Rift?"
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 10:46 pm
"You're a soldier, General?" It wasn't wise, but his attestation rubbed all the inefficiency buttons. "You're an individual with weapons, ideas, and a will to carry them out. That doesn't make a soldier. " "That makes you a tiger. Rash, not calculated risk. Deadly, lovely, unpredictable to a point. Lacking Discipline. " She did not relinquish her hold on the youma, but nodded at the suggestion to go. "A raw hewn tool doesn't fit the engines of despair to make them work more gloriously. Soldiers work in armies. Armies involve discipline, valour, creativity and risk beyond the scope of any single mind or hand. They are a chord- a harmony of voices or notes in the music of war. There is a time and place for improvisation. You couldn't hold yourself aloof with more contempt if you tried." Schörl calculated out the path she preferred, taking a few of the leaps to another ledge more stable to answer of opinion on the Rift, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. " It was said warmly, even if the earlier statements weren't.
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Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2014 11:31 pm
Bischofite immediately bristled at her rhetoric, a snarl seizing the corners of his mouth with enough force to cause his countenance to twitch. She verbally mutilated every scrap of progress he managed since his days as a lieutenant, and lieutenant redux. Had none of his progress manifested even a modicum of change in his prior uselessness as an agent? No - were he still so feeble, Laurelite would not have restored rank so quickly. Despite his derision toward the mint-haired General Queen, even he recognized that she hardly operated beyond cool reason.
By outside judgment alone, Bischofite was not utterly defective as one of the top-ranking officers. Flaws abound, likely, but certainly no tiger romping around the city looking for fresh meat to tide himself over.
Tigers amounted to youma - the very creature she clutched in her grasp, roaring and writhing for a freedom it never fully understood or cherished. What she described were the monsters that haunted these desolate grounds, the ferals, rather than the more tempered fury of the humanoid youma or the purely human officers darting around the rift at their discretion.
But to tear him down in such unsolicited, venomous spite... With familiar leather grips solidified in his hands, Bischofite approached the officer whose back now faced him with deliberate intent. You lecture me like I haven't fought on the battlefield but once in my life. You evaluate me as nothing more than the damnable, writhing rug you toyed with so easily. Then tell me, Schörl, why are you still a rank beneath me, if you're so quick to pin me as dirt? Are only the pitiful and the wretched promoted in these ranks? Then tell me how you made captain. If you're going to lash out, then take it in spades.
Take it and drown.
Crossing to her location proved an easy endeavor. Rock stood solid beneath his feet between timed jumps, crowning the varying precipices in retracing her footsteps. Soon he stood atop the very ledge she chose to pause upon, and with a few quick strides he anchored himself in arm's length of the captain. With one chakram tossed carelessly behind him, the feathered general seized an ample handful of ash blonde mane to jerk the captain toward a hopelessly contorted angle, as he finally pressed his remaining chakram to the soft flesh of her throat.
A cold, feral gaze met hers with a thinly veiled sense of derision. "Was it not rash, Schörl, to overstep rank and cite such criticisms of your superior officer? If I lacked discipline, would you still be alif'e right now? Or do you prefer to brush zat off as restraint?" After lowering his weapon, Bischofite forced the captain toward the edge of the ledge with a rough tug.
"Go, I've given you my assistance. You claimed your pet. I shouldn't haf' to endure your damnable opinions any longer. Leaf' zis place, Schörl - you are not wanted here. By zem, or by me."
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Posted: Mon Mar 24, 2014 12:02 am
She was not used to being reeled about, off her balance and in the control of another's- her center was low and she'd practiced Taijiquan for year enough that re-balancing herself wasn't a matter of thought anymore. Long enough that she'd years since ceased to be the 'dummy' during lessons and classes. She even taught classes. But the General's leverage wasn't one to be ignored unless she wanted to be faced with a few very real options flashing in less than seconds- end up with a large portion of hair and scalp missing as sacrifice to his ample grip, resist with force utilizing the pressure-points in the hollows between wrist prominences and hand to force him to let go and be assaulting a superior officer (all while having less than guarantee of winning that fight), or submit to reprimanding. The final choice was the answer more or less chosen by default, he was too fast for much else, looking back at his prickly gaze from an odd, off-balance angle while her core muscles and legs fought for better support and purchase. I am still alive."Touché, sir." It was all that was needed, so it was all offered. Funny one in hell commenting what should or shouldn't be endured. I don't think those that dwell here get a choice. She didn't waste time with a salute, but went, calculating balance more freely one let go in dismissal.
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