2025-02-03: Complicated
- Log: 2025-02-11: Complicated
- Cast: Flay Allster, Shelby Korts
- Where: A super secret hangar in Magallanica
- OOC - IC Date: February 3, 0100 (2025)
- Summary: Two at least partial redheads who happen to like their leggings in light green run into each other in a hangar. Despite the complicated circumstances that brought them each here, they get on well enough!
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
Within the last few days, an addition has quietly been made to one of the top-secret hangars in use by the Magallanica Defense Forces for their various mobile suits. The Strike E Gundam is an unremarkable gunmetal grey without its Phase Shift Armour activated, but what really makes its presence remarkable is that it had been deployed by the Gaia Sabers up until now. Along with its collection of Striker Packs, it's been taken into the MDF's custody...
...And Flay Allster has mixed feelings about that. If she decides to accept Eight's offer, it won't be hers anymore, and while that would be a relief to some... that machine has been her salvation up until now. It's never that easy to just let go of things. Now that the paperwork surrounding the stolen machine has been cleared, she's been told she's free to go - but she hasn't left the hangar yet, lingering just a little too long.
The hangar isn't empty - there's always going to be mechanics around doing their work, but Flay doesn't get in their way. Still, the atmosphere is a little quieter than she'd expected, the way everything here continues to move like it's clockwork. Her eyes track from the Strike E to the pink Jagd Doga - perhaps they're close by each other because they're both 'irregulars' in this hangar. It looks like a Zeon design... and while she feels uncomfortable about it at first, Flay can't help but wonder what the story behind that one is.
...That is to say, if Shelby's nearby, she might notice this girl she's never seen before just staring at her machine.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
It's a hell of a machine. And, from the looks of it, the Jagd Doga is actually an authentic holdover from Axis Shock. The color schema is different; the bold pinks and white trim points, though the black paint-- so dark it threatens to swallow the lighting of the hangar-- though wear and tear seeps through in those areas under the larger swoops of armor, the decorative paints reduced to their base coats and gunmetal grays. The round shield is detached; stowed vertically in a slot like a deck-piece gantry alongside the bulky beam gatling gun. The six huge canisters on it's shoulder-mounted shields? Definitely the funnels. There's cables and cords spiralling out of the open hatch... and if it's authentic, it might even have some (illicit) psychoframe inside the cockpit.
The mechanic is nowhere to be found, unfortunately, nor is, seemingly?-- the pilot.
Or...
The young woman-- circa twenty or so, give or take-- who is pacing back through the hangar from a pilot lockers-slash-ready room through the main thoroughfare doesn't seem to be paying much attention to her surroundings, but still navigating with oddly precise awareness; eyes half-focused as she looks down at a clunky relic of a cellphone and thumbs clicking away at the buttons. Her arms are sheathed in skin tight fabric, though the top of her hands and thumbs are exposed, her jacket a mix of muted blue-green with silver-white accents. The red t-shirt has a partially faded logo branded across the chest, presumably for some sort of band, and high-waist leggings of a distinctly vivid lime green lead down to old worn red sneakers.
Definitely not a MDF uniform. Shelby Korts does not look like she belongs here, in the least; no visible lanyard or ID card on the outside of her jacket to speak of.
And ... she stops, right in front of that ex-Zeonic machine. Setting a satchel bag on the floor next to a stout, wide-seat stool for the mechanics, Shelby finishes clicking away at her phone and lifts her attention to the machine, then -- stops. Her head turns, blinking owlishly as light briefly gleams across her glasses, looking *straight* at the other unusual machine: The Strike E.
"Huh."
Then, her eyes lower, looking at Flay. She's not actually trying to stare, but there's something almost unsettling about the girl with the red-and-pink hair.
"That one new?" she asks Flay, raising her voice and pointing-- slightly-- at the gray machine.
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
Flay is a little too young to recognize exactly what a Jagd Doga would look like outside of the textbooks, but the monoeye tells her exactly what she really needs to know about it - as does all the Newtype-use equipment, really. She does admire the colour scheme, if nothing else. It certainly paints a bright contrast to the comparatively dull-looking deactivated Strike, even with the weathering.
Shelby doesn't look like she should be here, but Flay had been minding her own business up until now - because it isn't like she looks like she should be here, either. Flay hadn't been assigned a new uniform yet, because it wasn't yet clear in what capacity she'd be serving, but she'd picked up a few new outfits, at least. At the moment, she's wearing a simple pink sweater and... also lime green leggings. Huh... not many people shared that particular fashion flourish of hers.
Shelby approaches, then, and Flay takes up a moderately defensive posture - this is still new territory for her, and she isn't really sure if the people here she doesn't already know, actually trust her. She must be the pilot of the pink one, then... Flay pretends she was never looking at it, but she doesn't do a very good job at it because now she's the one being 'stared at'.
That unsettling vibe kicks in immediately, and Flay feels the instinct to pull herself away... but she doesn't. It's not like Shelby's done anything to warrant being unfriendly.
Keeping her guard up a little, she breaks the eye contact with Shelby, and hesitates just a moment before answering. "Mhm," She confirms. "I brought it here with me. I'm... not from around here."
She notes the lack of immediate recognition. "Haven't you heard of the Strike Gundam?" She asks, before looking back towards the Jagd Doga. "That means... that one's yours, isn't it."
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
She does, of course, take note of Flay's fashion choices. Pink, lime green, and inappropriate-location-casual. "Nice."
Shifting her feet, pivoting the stool to face Flay now, Shelby has yet to actually blink, looking at Flay as she looks away-- and as she returns to looking at her, the young woman nodding. So she's the pilot, and brought it here. Fingers slip up to her face to adjust her glasses, and THEN it seems like the pilot remembers to blink, craning her neck to look back at the weathered machine. Her accent is distinctly Britannian, even if it's got a bit of Colony Sider in there. "MSN-03 Jagd Doga. Newtype-use Mobile Suit first fielded during Char Aznable's rebellion."
When she looks back at Flay, it's with a nod.
"And if I don't... keep it intact," she notes with an odd cadence in her voice, "my mechanic. She'll put me through the wringer." And then, a wry smile follows.
Clicking and snapping the zero-G phone closed and compartmentalized, Shelby tucks it into her satchel bag. "Only heard a bit. Not. ... A lot. Mostly the, um. ... Well, the basics. Not that Strike model, though." Her lips purse, mouth pushing to one side with a scrunched eyebrow. "My clearance situation is. ... weird. But I will probably get a briefing, if I need to."
Another seemingly conscious blink, while her thumb digs into the palm of her other hand, rubbing absently at it, and the back of her knuckles. "Also-- Don't worry about it. Not a lot of us are really, um. ... 'From here,' anyway. We all do what we can here, for one reason or another."
Her head slants, like she's remembering cue cards. Standing up from the stool, she strides closer to Flay and offers a hand. "I'm Shelby. Korts."
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
"Same to you." Flay relaxes a little when Shelby actually compliments her. Usually Flay would be dressed a little nicer than this. But this is a hangar. What's the point if it's just going to get dirty? She still concerns herself with her pride in little ways like this.
Flay is just barely tactful enough to keep it to herself instead of asking Shelby if there's something wrong with her eyes, when she notices the distinct lack of blinking. It's not a big deal, anyways, is it?
Flay can't help but frown a little when Shelby describes her machine, though. She knows her father was involved with negotiations with Char Aznable during that war, and it's just as obvious that those negotiations did no good. "I see..." Shelby looks close to her age, and sounds like a Britannian, there's no way she was a pilot for Char's rebellion, right? "Salvaging something like that is pretty impressive." Salvaging.
"I never had to do my own maintenance," Flay shrugs. "I always had someone do it for me. But mechanics are so easily annoyed, aren't they?" She comments, as if she hasn't brought back the Strike in a completely totalled state several times by now.
"I guess that makes sense," Flay replies, absently, placing her hands into her pockets. She wishes she had something to fidget with like Shelby does. "It's been a few years by now... and the original has been long destroyed." This model in particular, though... "Its performance has been improved, but even a Natural like me can fly it." She explains, freeing one hand to mess with her tied up hair a little. "Not like that made it easy though."
"Right... I'm still not entirely used to it, though." Flay admits, about being around here. "Everyone's been nice to me, but I guess I still feel like an outsider." She keeps Shelby's words about doing what you can in mind, though.
And then she realizes she hadn't even introduced herself. When Shelby reaches her hand out, Flay pauses for a moment as if expecting something to happen if she takes it, and then reaches out her own. "Flay Allster," She replies. Shelby might recognize the surname, she might not. Flay's making no attempt to hide it, though. "...It's nice to meet you."
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Her, in Char's Rebellion? 'Salvaging?' Shelby's expression blanks, peering back at the machine and then back at Flay, opening her mouth a little to speak before closing it. Thinking about it for a moment, then considering, then looking back at the Mobile Suit again. "It was. Uh."
God, this one's always a complicated one, isn't it? "It's, uh. Um."
-- Saved by the maintenance talk! "O-Oh right, yes. I mean. They can be annoyed," Shelby says, hands lifting in front of her a little. "I have... my own. Mechanic! Usually. But she's not here right now. She's back home. It's ... complicated. It's an arrangement with Terminal. Which." Shelby's head slants a bit, glancing to the side. "I'm making it sound bad. ... Mysterious! Sorry," she says, moving through a swift one-two-three of confusion, worry, and then a slight cringe.
She does listen, as Flay explains the Strike E, looking up at the machine with a second round of attention. The curve of the shoulders, the hard angles. The gray -- are those machines the ones with that energy shield? Yeah-- that sounds right. Anser would probably love to get her hands on that thing for awhile. Stories, for later. "And hey, I don't judge. I'm not a mechanic, either. Could barely make heads or tails of a manual. But... piloting it?"
Flay points out her status as a Natural, using something as good as the Strike E? Shelby nods, appreciatively. "I can understand that. I actually. I mean. Mine, we had to ... make some adjustments. I'm not... I mean, I'm a Newtype. But we had to make some adjustments." A lot of them.
The handshake is perhaps slightly less tight and firm than one would expect. Her hands are a little cool to the touch. Three pumps, no more, no less, like she's practiced doing this-- right down to releasing the other Britannian's hand just-so. Her demeanor and voice both seem to smooth out, now that they're closer, more face to face. "Nice to meet you too, Flay Allster. You are ... that is, you were with the Gaia Sabers? Don't worry about it. Around here, it's less about where you come from, and more about what you want to do next."
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
Flay cannot read minds like Shelby can, but even she can tell she made things awkward with her comment, as Shelby tries to stammer out an explanation. "...A complicated situation, right?" She decides to let go of the idea of the person Shelby could have been before, and focus on the person standing in front of her now. "That's fine. I won't... pry. It's been complicated for me too, you know?"
And yet the rollercoaster of emotions from Shelby continues. "All that over a mechanic?" Flay tries to wrap her head over the reaction, but she doesn't linger on it too much. Maybe it has something to do with Cathedra, they've always been leery about that sort of thing. "I guess I'd see why they'd be annoyed.. if all their hard work goes to waste whenever we sortie." She comments, instead.
Some adjustments. Flay nods. "Didn't Neo Zeon design a lot of their mobile suits with Coordinators in mind?" She asks, without even thinking. "I mean, that's just what I heard." She has no idea if that's actually true, it's just what her father had mentioned in passing. And her father was, well... "That one doesn't look easy to pilot either." She says instead. "A Newtype? That's something. I'm not, but sometimes..." She thinks of a falling seed in her eye. "No, it's nothing."
Flay's handshake in turn, is probably a little more firm than Shelby might expect. For what her somewhat delicate hands lack in grip strength, she makes up for with forcefulness. It, too, probably seems practiced. "Yes. The Gaia Sabers. I don't really have any regrets, but..." She sees Shelby's demeanor begin to relax. "Something had to change." What you want to do next... "Honestly, I'm still thinking about it. But there's someone here I want to be there for." She admits, thinking about the possibility of Kira choosing to fight again. "What about you? I know you're a pilot, but what are you here to fight for?"
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
Shelby nods. "Yeah, that."
"She's important to me," Shelby says, wringing her hands a little. Complicated, too. Important, yes. "And ... I hate worrying her."
Shelby turns a little to look up at the pink machine. The swooping curves, the angles, the oddly angular additions like the shoulder-shields. "Um. Yes. And no. There was a special Newtype Corp during the last. You know. A... Axis event. There were a few Mobile Suits like this fielded. This one wasn't ready yet. Got finished a little later on. All authentic Zeon parts though. As many as we could get, anyway. Current-gen psycommu gear, but you could find that on a lot of military MSes these days."
Her head cocks, looking down to the far side of the hangar briefly, then back at the machine.
"It's not too bad. Handles very nicely."
It's hard to piece together the things she's seeing -- feeling -- from Flay. Words and thoughts are easy, but emotions ... fleeting moments, memories, feelings? It's a little more... feeling the flow.
"Home," she answers fairly simply. "I live out in the Sides. One of the smaller colonies, in the middle of nowhere. We... Don't really get a lot of help out there. The old Federation kind of ... well. We're a little overcrowded, the wiring's bad. Rolling blackouts, ventilation breakdowns, irrigation isn't always great in the aggro. ... Aggri. Agricul. The farmland! Took a lot to get supplies out there regularly. Used to do some ... side work, under the table with the old 3SA." Her hands lift a little, looking at Flay as if the mere slight gesture could assuage all fears. "Nothing like, superbad. Just. ... Helping out. Anyway, we made an arrangement so we could help each other out. They get talents like mine, and we get what we need to keep the lights on while the government's. You know."
Shelby lifts her finger, whirling it around in a horizontal circle as her expression flattens.
"Got to do what I can, right?"
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
"Ohhh, so it's like that," Flay nods, when Shelby says her mechanic is 'important' to her. It's probably not like that in the way Flay thinks it's like that.
Newtype Corps... Flay's expression shifts a little, because it reminds her a little of what the Gaia Sabers are becoming. "It's not bad," is her final judgement of the Jagd Doga. "I think people care a little too much about what a mobile suit looks like... and not enough about what you do with it." She smiles for the first time in the conversation, as she says, "Though the colours suit you pretty well."
Whatever Shelby's feeling from Flay, it's probably messy. She listens as Shelby explains her own reasons. She'd never had to think too hard about what it's like to live in what are, frankly, the poor parts of space, so it puts things into perspective. It does make Shelby's Britannian accent a little more curious though. "It's that bad, huh?" Shelby's handwave goes get her a look, but not a very strong one. "I can't really blame you for doing what you have to. It's a dangerous world out there after all... and I'm sure you were able to help a lot of people." As for the government... "Exploded into a thousand pieces?"
"It's all you can do, right?" Flay agrees, about doing what you can, and then decides to explain her own story. "I was from Heliopolis before it got destroyed... it was in Side 6 I think. Before that whole mess, I was just an ordinary girl. It was neutral, so all the wars and stuff, they just seemed so... distant. I didn't really have to care about anything except what to wear next, or how many calories were in that parfait I wanted. I knew I'd have to marry young to make my father happy, but I was okay with that. Maybe that's lucky... not everyone gets a life like that." She sighs. Why is she telling all this to someone who clearly struggled so much in her life?
"I'm not saying all that to act like it's out of my hands. I did plenty of things I regret... but I'm here because I chose to be. I think we both want the same thing, so... I'm ready to work with you no matter what kind of past you had. And..." She fidgets a bit with her hair. "I'd like to get to know some more girls my age, so I was hoping maybe you could show me around some time." She's not so forward to say she hopes they can be friends. But she does.
<Pose Tracker> Shelby Korts has posed.
It's like -- complicated. Relationships are hard! Very hard. Family is hard-- most of the time. How would Sophia have answered the question?
Though complimented on the suit and it's colors, Shelby feels pride! And does her very best to try to look cool as she sweeps her hand over her shoulder, brushing the length of her red-pink ponytail off her shoulder and behind her back, nevermind the shift of her glasses starting to slide down her nose. "Thank you. It's one of my favorite colors."
What she's feeling is -- yes. Conflict. Worry? Perhaps not regret, but definitely an unease. Could it just be an unfamiliar setting? If that's the case, being welcoming and 'normal' is probably for the best. At least ... what passes for normal, for Caedra Beatrix Castellan.
'That bad, huh?' The young woman's lips purse again in response, followed by a bit of a face-scrunch. Bring on your looks, she'll take them all in stride! "Yes. No. Sort. ... Sort of. We make due, because we have to. And ... the Sides were the first place I ever felt like I belonged somewhere. So ... yes, that, when the government... yeah."
But she lets Flay talk: She lets the redhead explain her side of the story-- it may not be everything, but it's definitely enough to give her some insight into where she started. Shelby looks thoughtful, nodding as she listens... and also listens, whether or not she fully realizes it; arm crossing her abdomen and clutching her elbow to her side. "I'd never been, but I heard about Heliopolis. ... I live in Sweetwater, myself," the telepath says after a moment. "And ... I'll be happy to work with you, Flay."
"I can make some introductions. And I'd also be happy to show you around, anytime. More importantly," she says, adjusting her glasses with a light-catching gleam, "I know. The. Best. Places. To eat. around here."
<Pose Tracker> Flay Allster has posed.
Flay does smile to see Shelby so happy about her compliment. "Same." She agrees.
"Right, um, I didn't mean to imply... it's a bad place to live." She corrects herself, when Shelby says it's the first place she ever felt she belonged. "I just didn't... know the government's treatment of it was so bad." It makes her think there's still a lot she needs to learn about the world.
The story Flay gave may not be the whole story: but the rest of it is a little heavy to drop on someone on your first meeting... and it should be obvious where it goes. Shelby might already know, either way. Sweetwater, though... that's where Char made his speech, isn't it? "Maybe I'll get the chance to visit one day. ." Flay can imagine a hundred different ways this conversation could have gone poorly at some turn - but it didn't.
"That'd be great! Thanks, Shelby." She smiles, and then looks into the gleam of Shelby's glasses. "The best? You'd better not disappoint me after putting it like that~" She says as if she has any notable cooking skills beyond putting something in the microwave and praying.