2022-01-21: A Comet Red Enough
- Log: 2022-01-21: A Comet Red Enough
- Cast: Saraven Vai, Full Frontal
- Where: Battleship Rewloola
- Date: January 21, 0096
- Summary: Ahead of a coming operation, Saraven shares a moment with Full Frontal.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Saraven Vai's days had been filled with travel this week. A small detachment had spent some time in the PLANTs, coordinating an upcoming joint attack, but staying in one place for too long - outside the protection of the broader movement - isn't the wisest move. Her team moved on via shuttle and made rendezvous with the flagship.
As much as the Rewloola's a warship, not a vessel built for comfort, it's not much bother to her. Comfort's something she's willing to pass up. Duty and service are more important.
The young woman's found herself a spot in what passes for an observation deck, really just an area with a viewport overlooking the hull of the vessel, the ruin of the Side 5 shoal zone lying beyond. Years ago, the Battle of Loum left behind nothing but rubble and corpses - both a perfect hiding place for lurking Zeon remnants and a graveyard filled with the phantoms of past wars.
Saraven is fairly sure she can feel them - like a bloodstain.
She doesn't register anything. As much as the emotionally receptive can sense the beacon of pressure she pushes out into the ether, there's something odd about it. A sense of being viewed through a frosted window - visible but fogged, distant.
She rests a gloved hand against the viewport and looks slightly off to one side, exhaling a slow breath. These were the Earth Sphere's battles, so long ago. More battle will come, sooner than later - she's read tomorrow's itinerary. Something still tugs at the back of her thoughts.
/Is there something here I should understand...?/
/Or is it just Commander Full..../
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Full Frontal is not a man prone to sentimentality. Honestly, he's not a man to be doing anything based on feelings. It's whispered by his soldiers, in the dark corners of the Rewloola or on jaunts away from the flagship, that the Commander doesn't have feelings at all. Others say that can't be true, listen to how he speaks, how he leads.
No one ever says it where Full Frontal can hear them, though.
Now, the click of bootheels on the deck echo slightly in the empty observation deck as the man himself comes to a stop about four feet to Saraven's left, red eyes reflecting in the viewport as he gazes out upon the wreckage.
"A sight to make one think, is it not?"
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
The sound of heels on decking are preceded by something else. A certain pressure.
/...red shooting star.../
What's curious is that, as much as the man in the mask does not show his feelings, the presence around Saraven is nearly as steady. There is no rise of excitement or anxiety, no waxing into relief or worry. She tilts her head over and moves her hands behind her into a loose clasp, shifting her weight to better orient herself towards the arriving commander.
"I'd heard about the battles, Commander. But I'd never seen them before." Her gaze drifts back across the field, seeing more than the wreckage, yet seeing nothing. Searching for something that she can't quite figure out. In her thoughts, a songbird dances just beyond her peripheral vision.
When finally she looks away, she turns quiet lilac eyes up to the man beside her. "...When I came to the Earth Sphere years ago, Axis had already happened. We were too late to change anything. This time, I'm... able to help, more."
Saraven never met the real Char Aznable. The man never set foot on the Red Planet. Whether Full Frontal is truly Char or not isn't a question that raises doubt in her mind.
She can feel the pressure of a red shooting star. That's all she needs.
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
What -is- real? Who defines it? Is Full Frontal, a Newtype pilot of a blasphemously fast Mobile Suit in opposition to the Earth Federation, any less real than Char Aznable? Their skillsets are the same. What they -do- is the same. Full Frontal is merely the entity that the times demand.
What they demand, is the return of the Red Comet.
"All of us wish for the same thing. Freedom from the tyranny of the Earth Federation. Many Spacenoids are incapable of fighting, just like back then."
He looks down at Saraven, the red eyes of his mask almost seeming to glow. His voice remains steady. Like a patient teacher's. "We few who are willing and able to stand up, to risk our lives for the good of others. Your willingness is commendable."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Saraven knows of the Red Comet entirely through reputation. Everything she's been told suggests that this man meets that reputation. She can feel the assurance almost coldly.
/Comets are mostly ice,/ a tiny, pedantic voice in the back of her mind notifies her. It feels appropriate.
As Full looks down at her, she meets those eyes, as if she could somehow see through the mask. In a way, she can. For all that her emotions don't really churn or shift much, the feeling of her is clear enough, and vice versa. She /feels/ the commander of the Sleeves as much as she sees him.
"Thank you, sir." She lowers her head ever so slightly. "I've been preparing for a long time. I know the others from Mars have, too, but... I want to change things, too. Even if others who live in space won't fight, someone has to."
The choice was not necessarily hers, but there is no other she could make.
"I was at the PLANTs this week," she explains, then. "Their militia... I met some of their leaders. They've been cooperating with us, too. I think they want to stand up to the Federation as much as we do."
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
The Commander just nods once, almost absently, before he turns to face out the window once more. His Presence as a Newtype is ... Odd. He -Exists- very, very strongly. This isn't unusual. What -is- unusual, is that he -exudes- nothing. No joy, no rage. No hope, no despair, no determination. Nothing.
"While the goals of ZAFT and Neo-Zeon may differ slightly, our target is the same. The enemy of my enemy is ... Useful."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
There are ways certain Newtypes feel to Saraven. Lily Jung exemplified it: Rays of emotion that shine into her psyche, trying to prompt her to feel ways she cannot feel. The connections reach for her but fail to link up. She can see the way they express - the way their spirits sing. Somehow, sharing in the song feels impossible.
Full Frontal is different - and different in a way that puts her oddly at ease. A titanic phenomenon, but one she can /observe./ One that imposes itself in her psyche without demanding that she share.
For all that he's a man of ice, Saraven's little different save for her intensity. She is not a towering presence - more a tightly focused one. There is, to be sure, a steady dedication - the muted churn of an ordered mind, turned towards task and goal. But there are no peaks or valleys. Her /Presence/ is so tightly buckled down that emotions beyond the most muted cannot escape.
"Yes... they can be helpful. I don't know if they fully trust us. But it doesn't matter." She pauses for a moment.
The steadiness of her presence waxes just slightly. A little cresting of curiosity as she looks back up to the man in the mask, eyebrows rising a little.
"Laplace's Box," she begins, a little more tentatively. "Can it... really bring down the Federation? I want to help find it, wherever it is, but... I don't know much about it."
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
Whatever the Commander can sense, he gives no sign. He is a very hard man to read. Space-Psychic powers or none. He glances back down at his subordinate, the mask making it nigh impossible to read his facial expression.
"That is what they say of it," Full Frontal answers after a long pause. "No one but the Vist Foundation knows much about it, and they are not sharing. All we know is that its contents are dangerous to the Federation, and therefore it is vital we retrieve it."
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
"The Vist Foundation," Saraven repeats. She's heard the name, of course, but sorting through the vagaries of Earth Sphere political organizations comes with its challenges. The Red Planet is simpler. Go to target, kill, come home.
She brushes a strand of black hair away from her face, fingertips tracing near the small arrow marking under the corner of her eye. Looking up at the imposing commander, she nods and accepts the explanation. Curiosity still tugs at the back of her mind, but the knowledge is all she needs.
"When I came to the Earth Sphere the first time, it wasn't long enough to understand much about everything," she admits, voice a little quieter. "Commander... I know that there is a lot I don't know about what things are like here. But I believe that we can be free of the Federation. And I trust you." She raises her chin a little.
"I'm ready for tomorrow's operation... I'll do as much as I can to meet your expectations. And to win."
That, at least, comes with a flutter of emotion - a flash of conviction, not intense, but present. There's feeling there after all.
<Pose Tracker> Full Frontal has posed.
The Commander is quiet. It's hard to tell if he is actually listening or not. His Presence doesn't flicker a whit. He does nod once.
"Good. A soldier must always trust their commanding officer. Without that trust, missions are doomed to failure from the beginning. Lives will be lost needlessly."
He glances down at Saraven once more, his expression impassive, like it was carved from marble. "I will be leading from the field. Victory is assured." He looks out the window once more. "Speaking of, I have a great many preparations to make for the operation." He, for the final time of this encounter, looks at Saraven. "Get some rest. You will need it." Another nod. "Good evening."
Without further preamble or fanfare, Full Frontal just turns on his heel and walks off, clasping his hands behind his back as his boots click through the halls of the ship. They somehow seem to echo back, even after he's logically too far away for the sound to travel effectively.
<Pose Tracker> Saraven Vai has posed.
Victory is assured and he seems completely confident in that assessment.
Saraven has no reason to disbelieve him. "I'll be with you, then," she assures, voice as quiet as ever.
When he shoots her that look, she nods crisply, bringing her right hand up to her temple in a short acknowledgment. "Yes sir. Good evening, sir."
As the man hailed as the return of the Red Comet walks off, Saraven watches him go. The subtle upwell of emotion settles, though the ring of bootsteps echoes in her consciousness long after he's gone. Like the tail of a comet washing over her.
/He's not like the others,/ she realizes after a moment of thought. /I feel like I can stand at a distance and see enough to understand him./
As she turns to move towards her quarters, the thought tugs at her.
/...That's why I can't fail him./
/Red Comet... if you believe victory is assured, so do I./