2023-03-04: Your Chariot Awaits

• Log: Your Chariot Awaits
• Cast: Leina Ashta, Anser Vulpecula
• Where: Sweetwater Colony
• Date: 2023-03-04
• Summary: Leina Ashta investigates Puru-1 and the Banshee by speaking to a Psycoframe expert in the Shuffle Alliance.

---

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

Some parts of Side 4 are passable. Inhabitable. Livable communities, really!

But they're not really the norm.

Especially where the Nanai faction has decided to post up, to try to be as unassuming as possible. There's a thin layer of grime to just about everything. Disrepair is rampant, buildings rusted out or boarded up, but just as many side businesses and stalls are scraping out a meager existence. Streetlights gutter and flicker all at once rather frequently. Brownouts from a power grid that's pushed to its absolute limits, no matter the amount of hours sunk into at least preventing rolling blackouts to entire regions that would threaten the integrity of the entire Side. Core systems take priority, which means amenities are often cut. Such is the way of things.

Underneath one of those street lamps is an exceptionally compact young woman who has (until recently) been wearing coveralls. They're currently half-off, draping down her legs. A tight, form-fitting top devoid of sleeves is on display instead. Her arms are covered in sweat and her hands are grimy and covered in grit and grease. The vaguely stagnant recirculated air in this area is being made actively worse by the thick layer of smoke that surrounds her as she leans against the flickering lightpost, pensively staring into the middle distance, cigarette draped loosely on her lower lip, dark hair mussed around crimson eyes.

It's 'night', such as it is. The foot traffic on the street is therefore predictably lower, and most certainly more inebriated than otherwise. A buzz from her breast pocket gets a subtle look down, as that's where her coverall pockets have migrated to. She stoops, and retrieves her phone, flips it open, and frowns at it, typing rapidly with one finger before flipping it shut. She breathes in. A gout of smoke pours forth on her exhale.

Put upon.

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

As a Colony Girl from a slum on the first Side 1 Colony, Leina finds this side of Sweetwater comforting almost, like going home. When she first left home, she understood implicitly that these are the way things should not be. Yet she didn't know the truth as to why they are this way.

She knows now. She can see the ways that this place would be spruced up with the smallest investment, in the same ways Shangri-la would be. Patch the holes that have been there since '88, fund the Colony Corp to actually change the season every now and then. Maybe actually enforce regulations on the junkyard, give the schools a proper curriculum update.

The opportunity promised by mankinds journey from its cradle never really manifested, did it?

Sweetwater in a way she sees as worse off than Shangri-la. After Full Frontal put a Beam Tomahawk through Char's old mansion, the Federation crackdowns lasted for far too long on the birthplace of the second iteration of Neo-Zeon.

Anser might not even notice her approaching, she's got this Colony 'girl next door' vibe, in her faded jeans, worn trainers, a cream colored jumper, and carrying a decade old messenger bag with her. For her age in her late teens the tiny bow in her short curly brown hair seems almost a touch too childish.

It feels at first like she might just walk right by her, but upon sight, she stops, gives her a long look, then strolls up to the smoking woman, seeming mostly unperturbed by the haze of smoke. "Hey there, you're Shelby's friend right? My name is Leina Ashta."

She offers her hand out for her to shake, "It's very nice to meet you. If you happened to have the time, was hoping to pick your brain about a problem we're having."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

Childish appearances seems to run as throughline to this particular pair. Despite being early into her twenties, her height and facial features never really quite caught up. If it weren't for the plume of cigarette smoke that acts almost as a shield, she could easily be mistaken for someone school-aged.

Hell, that's probably half of the reason that she smokes to begin with.

Anser doesn't even take the faintest bit of interest in the comings and goings of the residents of this neighborhood. The dark circles under her eyes hint at fatigue and chronic sleeplessness. Someone who does too much, or takes her body's ability to bounce back a bit too far. In for a rude awakening in a decade, most certainly.

She pauses, though, when the brunette stops in front of her. One hand settles on her hip, while the other grips at her cigarette, plucking it from her lips and holding it between her index and middle finger. She looks at Leina's hand, and then looks up to meet her gaze.

Leina doesn't get a handshake.

"...Seen your name on the visit logs. One of the Spades. Forget which." She pauses and deposits her cigarette back to her mouth, "...Callsign Chariot."

So, uh, no name, either.

"Work's slow with Temperance on deployment. No one bangs up their suit quite like she does," Somehow, that sentence is tinged with a degree of fondness in spite of the severity of the words themselves, "What's the issue, Spade-Wildcard?"

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

If Leina is offended when Anser doesn't take her hand, she doesn't show it. Truly though, she isn't. She of all people understands the weight that shaking hands might hold.

"Chariot it is." Leina says as she drops her hand back to her side, and shifts her bag, "Oh I have a feeling its turned out to be way more than just a deployment for 'Temperance'." Leina notes, happily, though doesn't clarify that.

Reaching into her bag, she brings up a picture of the Gundam Unicorn, with its right shoulder joint absolutely shredded, and multiple other major fresh wounds all over its armoring, revealing broken Psycoframe paneling layered beneath it.

"This." Leina holds it up for her to see, "This keeps happening." She reiterates, before continuing after a deep sigh, "Because the Vist Foundation keeps fielding its sister unit against it."

She tries to lock eyes with her, "They've done something horrible to it, and while I know you're not Mesua when it comes to the 'theory' side of this... I was hoping you might have some insight on the mechanical."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

That free hand reaches out gingerly, and plucks the picture out of Leina's hands. She tongues briefly at her teeth, her jaw setting tersely, lip thinning. She returns the photograph with a little flop.

"This," She states, tersely, "Keeps happening because it doesn't matter how much throughput you have, when you put a weapon in the hands of a second-rate pilot, they're going to make a mess of things. Especially if it's not maintained properly, repaired properly, calibrated properly." She doesn't bother to sugarcoat her feelings on the matter, or make any apologies to the likely capable staff that does all of the things she's just mentioned.

A breath later, she mutters, "...Psychoframe in the hands of those that shouldn't have it. Predictable results."

A shadow out of the corner of Leina's eye. Cast wide in the outline cast by the streetlight, a long shadow, as though cast by some massive four-legged beast. It's only Anser's utter lack of reaction - and perhaps Leina's own senses - that make it clear it's not really there. Pacing restlessly. Circling. The shadow in that circle of light only comes to rest when Anser speaks again.

"...I'm not Hermit,"

Nanai Miguel.

Mesta Mesua.

"But I'm her closest protege on the matter." Anser acknowledges, "But I can't give much insight on photographs. Other than what I've already given you."

So, less-than-flattering commentary on it being in the wrong hands, and poorly flown and maintained. A charmer, through and through. Despite who the pilot is to her, Leina listens to what Chariot has to say, and doesn't interrupt while she says it. When she finishes, Leina tone seems to allow,

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

Despite who the pilot is to her, Leina listens to what Chariot has to say, and doesn't interrupt while she says it. When she finishes, Leina tone seems to allow, "You have a point on the maintenance issues. It's rarely looked after by mechanics who are specialists in Psyco..."

Something catches her attention, like a visual hallucination, yet it's like she's feeling it more than seeing it too. "...frame."

Chariot will catch her looking in that direction. And for a moment its like the world fades away, shifting into that strange space devoid of much detail or color, and she's alone with the vision of the shadow. There's a throb in her head as she looks at the shadow of the four-legged beast.

It only lasts a few seconds, before her gaze snaps back into focus on Chariot.

'not Hermit,'

She waits for her to finish, rubbing two fingertips to a temple absently, trying not to be perturbed, "It's not a problem with the pilot's skill. And the photograph isn't what I wanted to discuss. While it's a visual aid..."

Leina looks up, and takes a deep breath, trying to avoid the urge to grab a pill bottle from her bag. "... the problem isn't one that can be visualized. The Vist foundation did something to its sister suit, the Banshee."

It takes her a moment, this is difficult for her to talk about, "My brother... sensed the feelings of a girl we knew inside of it, a powerful Cyber-Newtype created by Neo-Zeon in the first war. She definitely died, in Dublin. And it's impossible for her to actually be in there... nevertheless, that's what we're dealing with. The Banshee puts out this immense psychic pressure that causes... manifestations in the real world. Far beyond what this girl was ever capable of in life."

Leina's fingertips curl around her bag a little too tightly, "So I'm going to ask you bluntly, let's say you were an absolute bastard who didn't give the slightest damn about human decency or morals, how would you go about putting a child that died before Psycoframe was even invented inside a pilot, or a machine?"

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

In that moment between spaces, it exudes animosity. Slow, methodical footsteps that pound, and pound, and pound, shuddering. The creature casting the shadow seems just out of sight. And then the vision is gone, and the shadow along with it. Returned is the put-upon young woman beneath the glow of the occasionally-guttering light.

Anser, for her part, listens intently without interjection or interruption. Her facial features are a terribly neutral thing, which makes reading anything other than cold disapproval rather a challenge. Her stare is uncomfortable and intense.

She does chuff to herself and embers flare as her cigarette is pulled upon, the smoke shoved out of the opposite corner of her mouth.

But the more she listens, the more her tension relaxes. The less severe her expression is.

"Banshee. All those who hear her, marked for death. What a tasteless name. More tasteless than Unicorn." Her turn to look like she has a headache. She lifts her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezes, briefly closing her crimson eyes, which do a half-decent job of masking the bloodshot nature of the sclera surrounding them, if only just.

"...You're not the first person to tell me about something like this. Given you know Korts," She slips and doesn't use the callsign, "I'm going to guess the two stories are related."

Anser's eyes open slowly, and her hand drops, "...If I were someone lacking in morals, if I were someone intent on abusing technology rather than bringing out its potential for the betterment of mankind, then..." She trails off, and starts to pace. The pattern is a dead ringer for the way that shadow was pacing before it approached. Her finger periodically taps her cheek, "...I'd have found a way to store the footprint of that person's neural waves. Artificial. A simulacrum. Anything 'real' about that person would be based on those past readings. Extrapolation impossible. Throw new situations at the dataset over and over again. Refine it. Pile information upon what was already there to start with."

She breathes a sigh and turns her focus back toward Leina, "...Ultimately? I'd dismiss it as an impossibility, but I don't know /what/ Vist or the Federation have decided to do with their little offshoot projects. This technology wasn't /ready/ for this application. Aznable proved that. Handily."

A rattling grunt from Anser. "...The phenomena you're describing. Pressure. Manifestations. I don't have a proper answer for you. An artificial creation like I described shouldn't be... capable of that." She's only grudgingly able to admit that she thinks those phenomena occur at /all/. That strange animosity, that hostility within that presence. Leina wonders perhaps, whether it comes from resentment, jealousy, her mind ticks down the list of what she might be seeing.

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

That strange animosity, that hostility within that presence. Leina wonders perhaps, whether it comes from resentment, jealousy, her mind ticks down the list of what she might be seeing and feeling here.

Chariot certainly didn't feel like a Newtype. She supposes Sayla could have taught her tricks on a more widespread basis, but for some reason Leina very much doubts this. Science experiment like Yuliana? Side effect of technology like the Psycoframe?

Ultimately she doesn't have enough information to speculate, and right now prying into the personal life of Chariot might do more harm than good.

"You won't hear any disagreement from me..." On the tastelessness of the name, which brings about a deep sigh, before its like she's looking far past Chariot, down the street and yet at nothing at all.

"Ah, she brought up Rita and the Phenex sounds like. Someone I wanted to discuss with Hermit, given what she... did."

Leina trails off, hesitant, uncertain. The idea of sharing this is, very very difficult for her. "Somewhat? Though the mechanism is definitely different."

She's at least glad Anser is allowed to entertain this hypothetical for the sake of the experiment, watching her pace, feeling vaguely unsettled by the similarity. 'Aznable proved that. Handily.' "You mean Full Frontal." Leina remarks, quietly, expression becoming distant again.

"So I'm not especially tech savvy, but I've kept myself appraised of Newtype tech intelligence ever since I was a child. Do you think this is something they could have pulled off from the 'Waves' of something known as the Psyco Gundam, in particular the Mark II? Or could old school Gryps era Psycommu be capable of, anything in this realm?"

There's more hesitation then, "What we know right now is that there's a pilot inside the Banshee. They call her Puru-1."

Her eyes fall upon Chariot meaningfully, "There never was a Puru-1. Glemy Toto's Newtype Corps numbered only 2 through 12. Including Elpeo, the original. But this distinguishes it from the Phenex that has no... physical pilot. I haven't experienced it myself, but I'm told that it reaches out to nearby Psycoframe using its NT-D to create these intense psychic attacks. Those who have been victim to it describe it as..."

Leina looks abstracted again, as if remembering something from her distant past, "... hands. Numerous, smothering hands."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

Leina is on the receiving end of a Look when she corrects Anser with the name 'Full Frontal', as though she doesn't quite agree with something that's been said, but the young woman's hands spread quite simply, as though ceding the point.

It's not important right now.

"I..." She worries at the remains of her cigarette. It's dangerously close to being uncomfortable against her lips, smoldering away. "...This is all theoretical. There's not much I can say about the methods without knowing about the circumstances of the girl they would have based this on. Possible? I suppose. Impractical? Yes. Why not just-- there's no /practical/ reason not to use another pilot, efficient sorties shouldn't exceed five minutes to start with, and the expense and..." She devolves into muttering to herself for a time, inaudibly.

Then she stops, and faces Leina, "...You'll have to forgive me. I'll need time to consider. Recent developments tend to only trickle down to me over time. We're not exactly a bustling information hub, here in Sweetwater. As for the pilot - or lack thereof, I suppose - all I can say is that the simplest explanation is often the most likely. That it was a project that wasn't meant to see the light of day, so it didn't."

She casts a look down the street, and then back the other direction, to be sure that no one is about, or at least within line of sight.

"...I can't commit to being a primary worker, but if you trust Director Miguel, you can trust me to take a look at this Unicorn of yours. I saw it once, docked. Took thorough notes. If it needs repair, if it needs optimizations, I can take a second look."

On the topic of the manifestation of psychic attacks, Anser murmurs, "Well, 'hands' aren't much of an offensive ability in the face of any mobile suit."

She clearly doesn't get it. Or is being willfully obtuse. Maybe it's both.

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

Leina matches the Look quite handily, there's almost certainly more nuance to what she says, but it's not important right now.

Leina watches the cigarette burn almost to her lips, and almost says something, almost. "We know that part of her genetics was based on a woman named Alma Stirner, an early test subject in Flanagan. Likely they created her just before the One Year War and... Glemy Toto inherited her."

There's a soft sigh, this subject really hurts, especially to talk about it so clinically, but this is what needs to be done, "Glemy was likely Gihren Zabi's bastard child, which-" A gesticulation with a hand, "-goes down all kinds of rabbit holes and we don't know where any of them lead. She piloted a Qubeley during the First War."

Leina eyes Chariot, "When she was around ten years old. She was conditioned at multiple points but eventually she defected to the AEUG, and died fighting... her clone, Puru-2." Answer might notice the flinch, that sucked too to say it that way, "In the Psyco Gundam Mark II, in Dublin."

Leina keeps thinking on the phrase no practical reason not to use another pilot. She does stop though, listening to her speak of projects that never were meant to see the light of the day, "That certainly makes sense, the Vist Foundation would have the resources to dig up the past like that. They can basically act with impunity in the Earthsphere."

Chariot though despite her inability to commit... "Actually, I would appreciate that, very much so. The pilot is..."

Leina clears her throat, a small shuffle of her feet. She's not embarrassed so much by talk of a personal nature, it's just this has been a very professional conversation, "... my boyfriend, so this situation is very personal to me. I'll send you his contact information and VERTEX. Just tell him Leina sent you."

As she's tapping through her phone to start the process, she looks up, and it's hard to get a sense of her intentionality in this moment, whether she's being serious or not, "It rendered one particularly psychically sensitive individual unconscious, and... unnerved the rest to the point where their combat abilities were notably off their game, from what I heard."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

There's a wrenching sensation the moment that Leina delivers the sentence 'ten years old'. Slowly, methodically, those pounding footfalls return. A great beast, coming out of the darkness, the shadow... diminishing, as it nears. Until it's small. Tiny. When its focal point appears, there's no terror that arises. Just a small fox kit, its fur soot-black, damp, stuck every which way. It looks up with baleful eyes - pained eyes. Its breathing is shallow, gagging hiccups that are hard to listen to. And then it's gone. Again.

"Always children. The sick and twisted people of the world always leap at the opportunity, don't they?" She absently reaches up and pushes her cigarette out of her lips, snuffing it against the streetpost behind her. Hss.

The mention of the pilot's relation to Leina is usually the sort of thing that might elicit a rubbed neck, a guilty look, or something of the sort. Anser simply lofts her brows, and tilts her head. "Congratulations."

A beat.

"I'll do that. Signal is spotty around here, so Vertex is a bit unreliable, but I'll make it work. Can contact him on my next supply run." And hopefully she'll leave out all that talk about him being second-rate.

She makes a gesture at the efficacy of the attack, non-committal. "I'm afraid to say that I don't have the faintest inkling of how to explain such things scientifically, outside of speculation. There's too much of a wealth of information on the subject for me to dismiss it out of hand, but I must confess that I find such talk... frustrating."

She hates it, actually. Being unable to observe these supposed phenomena, this mass hallucination, this 'Newtype' activity. It's like trying to write research papers on /ghosts/.

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

The wrenching feeling is almost akin to a compulsion. 'Look - look - you have to look - you can't look away.'

The shadow of the beast becomes a diminishing form, and Chariot might see something strange from Leina. Who suddenly squats down nearby, and offers a hand, palm up. Something distant and sorrowful within her eyes.

When it vanishes, the hand arm stays there for a moment longer, before she retracts it, and stands back up straight as if nothing had happened.

"Always." Leina says quietly, pained. And it may perhaps occur to Chariot that the statement hits close to home, for more reasons than the topic of the girl at hand. "Always." She echoes, softer.

It takes her a moment to recompose herself after that. The 'Congratulations' helps, and there's a small sharp laugh, "Thanks." In the moment, it's like its all thats keeping her from crying, but masterfully she controls her expression.

"Understood, the usual place to find him might be the Ra Mari II, of the newly formed Three Ships Alliance. We're... not the biggest fans of their way of going about things, but the Captain of the ship and her people are trustworthy."

Her eyes slide over to Chariot growing calmer by the second, "Nevertheless, that may not be where you want to work on the ship, the Sleeves are currently squatting on her ship to spy on Banagher and the Unicorn, as they're important to their aims." She gives her a meaningful look, "Full Frontal and the Royal Guard as well as the Garencieres team."

As she explains that she hasn't the faintest inkling how to explain things scientifically, "It's kinda why I'm not a techie I suppose. I was shaped more by philosophy than science when it comes to the unknown."

Leina gives a weak smile, and lofts a shrug. She doesn't say which philosophy, but Sayla gave her countless works on Contolism to read in her care, including many that were never published.

"Thank you Chariot. It was very nice meeting you and I appreciate both your insight, and your aid."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

If anything in Anser's life has prepared her for erratic behavior, it's been sharing a lab with Nanai Miguel and Shelby Korts. She regards Leina's perplexing motion for a moment and simply makes a mental note. If nothing else, what she can observe, she does so intently.

The laughter takes her off guard, like it wasn't meant to be a joke, but she also doesn't come right out and cop to that. She manages a practiced smile. It doesn't seem to reach her eyes.

She tenses fully at the mention of Sleeves and Full Frontal, but thankfully that doesn't appear to extend to anything for Leina to be compelled to look at. She offers a curt nod of her head, and she murmurs through a grimace, "...Thank you for the warning. I don't think I'm on their radar as a Person of Interest, unlike the Director, and I'd prefer that it stay that way. I'm a deserter, but I was insignificant in their eyes at the time."

She reaches down and pulls up her coveralls from her waist, one sleeve, then the next, zipping them up over that skintight top. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from one of the multitude of pockets and gives it a tap, depositing her stub of a cigarette butt into the pack to rattle around in case she needs a desperation pull of nicotine at some point. She deposits the fresh cigarette between her lips, but doesn't light it yet. She mumbles around it, "...Likewise. I'll reach out to your pilot," 'Your boyfriend', her eyes seem to say as they slide over toward Leina, "And I'll see if there's anything I can help with."

She lifts a hand rather than extending it for a handshake. A light wave. When Leina's turning to go, Anser murmurs, "...Hey. I don't know if... mmn." She looks cagey for a moment, "...If you see Korts, make sure she's taking care of herself. She's bad at it."

<Pose Tracker> Leina Ashta has posed.

When she mentions she's not a person of interest... "Yeah be... extra careful then, very few people knew about me... time as a Prisoner of War of Neo-Zeon." She clears her throat, "Some very talented people buried that, very deeply, and Full Frontal figured out who I am... almost instantly. His backers are giving him /very/ good notes to crib off of when it comes to playing his role."

There's almost certainly more missing context to that, in the same way that there's almost certainly more to deserter, but it's clear at least she's bringing it up primarily just to help keep her safe in this.

"Thanks." She beams at her a bit more brightly...

As she gives Leina that wave, she stops, and... there's this wide smile, "Don't worry, I've been looking out for her. In fact... while it's not my tale to tell, things have been looking up for her I feel." Her smile even broadens, "Way up."

Truly she doesn't know that for sure, she wasn't there for the reunion, she was truly just a messenger girl, but given how ardently and earnestly Sophia searched for Shelby...

... she has faith that it did.

"Take care of yourself too, out there."

<Pose Tracker> Anser Vulpecula has posed.

There's a simple nod of Anser's head.

"Thanks. And I always do."

With that, she goes back to leaning against the lamp post, digging into her pocket to find a lighter, and starting a second cigarette. The lamp post goes black for several seconds, along with the entire street block, and then gutters back to life. Distantly, an alarm starts sounding from the building that Anser's posted in front of, and she curses something about 'inverter systems' and then turns to head inside to take care of whatever's making that distant beeping sound, her cigarette smoke trailing behind her.