2023-02-19: In This Narrow, Small World
- Cast: Eight York, Sakia Davila
- Where: Ra Mari II
- Date: U.C. 0097 02 19
- Summary: A Three Ships Alliance Captain and a Sleeves Grunt have a heart to heart. It involves Newtypes, labels, war, and the proper way to punch a god.
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
Green is oddly comforting. Maybe it's because how humanity's wired, wanting to be out in the wilds. Something about returning to nature, watching the wilds overgrow what's left of earth, yadda yadda, the whole nine yards that echo in her mind whenever hearing other Sleeves people talk about Zeon.
Granted, she could never say she thinks it's crap to their faces, but staying sequestered from the rest of the Sleeves work just as well, if just for a bit. It's she can do to vaguely frown while her eyes trace along the plants, fork poking holes in the food in front of her. Thank god for food trays.
Clad in the prototypical Neo Zeon outfit, there's not in the way of pride of this uniform. Barely kept, already lightly wrinkled, but the pale green uniform is a stark beacon of who she was affiliated to. Ponytailed hair and a soft sigh of frustration. Where to go, what to do, and when the edge could be taken off; Like hell she was going to snag alcohol here.
The muffled sounds of steps does catch her ear, turning to the source, raising an eyebrow at the obvious uniform; Even she knew how to recognize a Captain's uniform. And with that, a salute, prepared manners as any.
"Take it we're in safe junctures, then? S'not like anything's happening."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
For Eight, 'nature' mostly meant snow and icy climes; she grew up in a colony devoted to Winter holidays, after all. But she's coming to appreciate the more temperate greenery, particularly here at 'home'. That's what this ship is meant to be.
But Eight spots a different kind of green for the moment: a Neo Zeon uniform. Once, that would've been an immediate problem, and even now there's an instant where she feels more guarded--but they're on her ship, now. She's had to start getting used to the uniform. to their presence, and frankly... they're not all Full Frontal.
Eight returns the salute. She has manners, too. "For now," Eight answers. "The Vist Foundation--and G-Hound--haven't made any more obvious moves against us since that meeting. Not sure when they'll change that, yet. But it probably won't be here when they do." She's thoughtful.
Then she says, "Mind if I take a seat?"
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
She picks at a piece of baked potato, butter, salt, the usual light works that elevated a potato from "bland" to "at least it tastes like something". A decisive chomp, her food mostly halfway eaten. It's a good time to relax, however one wants to term it in a land where day and night is only prescribed by what the clock says.
"Here's hoping. The last thing I want is being shot in the back, uniform or not." There's no real bile to the words, more akin to a potshot at everyone on the ship, rather than towards the 3SA. She barely tenses up at the Captain's approach; Sure, there's a bit of wariness, but for instinctual hostility, it basically flags to a dim ember. Who cares, they're on the same side for now, whatever the higher ups say.
"Feel free. No one usually comes by this joint, if you're trying to not get dissidents looking for your removal or whatnot." A half-gesture to the opposite side of the picnic table. "Not eating with your own crew?"
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
Potato! Eight imagines they wouldn't be the RMII's potatoes, yet; this would probably be some that they got in port, maybe the last of them from Orb. But she only glances at it, and then back at Sakia again. "Agreed," Eight says to being shot in the back. "I'm not a big fan of being shot in the front, either, if I can help it. But I'll take it over the alternative." Is that a joke? It might be. They are indeed on the same side for now, and Eight would prefer to keep things cordial or even comfortable if possible.
"Nah," York answers. "My XO is the one who's looking around for daggers at backs. If you ever see them looking around suspiciously that's how they usually are." Eight at this point does move to take a seat; she sets down the tablet, currently off, that was under her arm, and then brings down her tea mug, taking a sniff of the concoction within.
"Not today," she says. "They serve good food, but the smell wasn't agreeing with me. Thought I'd take some tea in the gardens, and catch up on some paperwork... But the paperwork can wait a few. What's your name?"
She figures, if Sakia recognized her rank, she might recognize who she is already.
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"Prefer the front over the back. You can punch 'em in the face afterwards." Back, front, the agreement of being shot remained the same. Who cares where you shot it? Still hurts, at the end of the day. ...Good potato, though. Certainly better than whatever ZAFT had.
"Stabbing someone's just as bad as shooting." The obvious followup, the blatantly obvious acknowledgment. "They must be happy with the overtime pay." It's plainly obvious to see how some of the Sleeves agreed with their current predicament, and vice versa. "...S'not like I want any part of it." A soft mutter.
"..." What the hell. "Sakia." A hand held out for a shake, the light calluses of piloting clear on that palm. "Sakia Davila. Dishonorable discharge from ZAFT." Whether that handshake was given or not, there certainly was the eyes of recognition. But...
"And you?" Even if she has an idea, words help commit names to memory. Introductions have to be reciprocated.
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"Agreed," York says. It still sucks either way... but you're more likely to be able to do something about it.
The matter of what ZAFT had might be an additional reason Eight tried to make the ship as self-sufficient as possible, though.
"They are. Big hard-work type. I'm lucky to have them." Eight's expression is amiable, but Sakia may notice the thoughtful look she gets when she mutters about it. "I don't think most of us," she says 'us' to encompass more than just her own people, "Do."
Eight will reach out to accept the hand; she has those calluses too, though they're more faded; she doesn't pilot in a unit much. "Eight York. Defector from Londo Bell."
Recognition--but polite's polite.
"But I'm originally from Zeon myself. ...It's good to meet you."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
Lucky to have others, huh? Good on her for keeping a command strcture in this world. A muster of a nod in response, those red eyes of her glimmering with the slightest bit of understanding. It's good to have people on your side. Always. "Well, we can try, but." Another piece down the pipe. "...Don't think it'll change unless everything gets knocked down."
A firm shake. Defector and another space person. "The Republic? Heard its been going pretty bad there." Not that she has any personal taste for it, but seeing a nation slowly fall into decay did elicit a sort of...panged understanding? "S' why the Sleeves want the Unicorn in the first place, obviously. Anything to delay the integration." She speaks as if she weren't a part of it. Distant, mildly uncaring. Even if she's donning the uniform.
"Side 2. Turns out most of the ZAFT grunts don't take kindly to a non-Coordinator managing to muscle their way in."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"...I'm not sure it'll all have to go," she says, "But at the least we'll have to shake it up. That's why I couldn't stick with the Federation; there's too much rot that needs clearing away to be able to change from 'within'. That's what I found."
Firm!! "It is," she agrees. "Going back now that I'm older... it's pretty stark to see." The Sleeves... Hmmm. She does speak like she isn't a part of it. "Some of our backers are actually out of the Republic," she offers. "They aren't interested in the integration any more than the Sleeves are. Just have different ideas about how to avoid it."
Side 2... Ah. "I see. That..." She frowns. "I'm not fond of keeping up the distinction. Naturals, Coordinators, Newtypes..."
"I'm what I am today because of the good old labs of old Zeon, in the 80s. I'm a 'Newtype', accordingly, but the artificial variety. A 'Cyber-Newtype'. ...And when that came out, the Federation brass didn't take too kindly to my existence." So she understands to a degree, she might be saying. "...So how'd you wind up with the Sleeves, then? If you don't mind the question."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"Shake it up?" An eyebrow is crooked at that. "I'm not sure how exactly you can shake something up that's willing to do what its done..." A minor grumble. It's hard to properly articulate this sense of unease. Zeon? ZAFT? In the wrong. But the Federation, the Titans, the list of their crimes were just as long... "I'd prefer razing it to the ground, but..." But what? Even if you vacate the structures, there's still the same old framework. If you destroy the framework, then the people that know how to build it would be the same ones who reside in it.
...Where is the ultimate blame for all this, then?
Firm indeed. "Not that the Federation would put any plan to incentivize revitalizing it." And with the sanctions in other places, with the Federation at the strings...Discontent. "I'm not the biggest fan of everyone under one banner, but that's a lot to unpack." It feels werid to voice it. To prod at something simmering in her own brain for the better part of a year, her fork chasing around a pea on the plate.
"Technically different, but all under the same banner." A knowing smirk. "Right?"
That being said, she has the decency to remain silent. Cyber-Newtype, huh. Of course she wouldn't look different; the changes are in the brain, the training, the everything else. "...Condolences." To be warped and changed to catch up to "the next step of human evolution", or whatever Zeon Zum Deikun proposed...The artificiality and callousness did bring a slight distaste towards the ones responsible.
...Was it the existence of Newtypes that were a problem? That set everything off? Akin to fiddling with a puzzle with no clear answer.
"After the discharge, there's not many places that'll take you. Especially with a family that has the curse-" She air-quotes that last word. "-of having an oldtype, I thought the best thing would be to split. Found myself an old Zaku I junker sold for cheap, prettied it up, and found a group willing to take me on and give me somewhere." A shrug.
The Zaku I's in a dock like all the others. Nothing strange about it, other than the clear way its been patched and pieced together again and again, the different shades of green along every metal panel, and the minor modifications for sight and multiple stashed CQC weapons.
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"That's the trick. If we just raze it all to the ground, a lot of people get hurt. But if we let it go on as it is, people are already being hurt. The idea is we find some of the pieces that can work and rebuild with them... But it's easier said than done. The best I can do right now is oppose the worst of it and see from there."
"Definitely not," Eight agrees of the deration. "...I'm not married to the idea of a unified government. Separate governments with diplomatic ties is fine, too; I'm not sure we can see a reasonable government that involves Earth ruling Space at this point. There's just too much that's happened."
Technically different, and all under the same banner. "Yep."
Indeed; Eight doesn't look very different at all. "Thanks," she says. Sakia gets it immediately, at least. "I've had time to recover, at least. But it's why I never expected to be sitting at the table with Neo Zeon. Yet, here we all are. Because I can't support the Federation anymore."
The 'curse' of an oldtype... Hmm. "Makes sense," York answers, thinking about it. "You have to be somewhere." She shakes her head.
She has seen the Zaku; it was a surprise, to see such a machine. But she doesn't link it to Sakia immediately.
"The way I see it, if we can get along with the Zentradi, we should be able to find a way to get along with ourselves, too. ...Maybe I'm biased, but it makes sense to me."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"Break a few eggs, they say." So easy to say that, but someone who has to do it will find it harder than ever. "I can't exactly say that your idea doesn't make sense, but it doesn't sit right." How deep does the rot go? How much of it is salvagable? Should it be salvaged? "Maybe its worth razing it if there's no place that can be saved."
"S' weird. Not sure how it'll pan out in the end, but something has to change." Earth ruling space? Space ruling Earth? Neither? Just one under both? There's no clear answer. "Space ruling Earth would just flip the same power dynamics." Plain to see.
"And anywhere's better than being spat on. It's a living." A shrug. She knows the pain of isolation. Of being pushed away by others for being what you are. "...Maybe the problem is that they made a new theory at all." If the Newtype theory could be debunked, that'd undercut everything.
What a simplistic way of thinking.
"You think so? I want to think so, but..." A wide, sweeping gesture at the ship. Ships are weapons. "If this exists, then that means someone, somewhere, wants someone else dead." It's hard to not look at the suits in the hangar and not think about the destruction. Pessmistic. "And if people are making new categories like Newtypes and whatnot, then its better to disprove it."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"They do," Eight answers of breaking eggs. "But those eggs could be my family, too. I don't want to jump to that solution until we've exhausted all other avenues--if then. ...Maybe that's what we have to do in the end, but I think the people who'd survive are the people with the power and the stockpiled weapons, and the first people to fall would be those without."
Something has to change; but it is weird. "True," Eight agrees about the power dynamics.
Eight can't argue with it being a living; once, she might've. ...But what good does that do? Where does it go? Better to meet people where they are, if you can.
"A new theory... Newtypes?"
Eight considers. "Maybe. But I don't think we can disprove that they exist, at this point. The problem to me isn't some new category existing--it's that we use it to divide each other. That we use 'Newtypes' as weapons, and forge other people into them to make more weapons. ...Unfortunately, all sides seem to do it. So how do we stop it?"
"...So far, I don't have a better idea than 'one lab at a time.' But I'd like to find one. Until then... This ship will have a lot more work ahead of her."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"So in the end, what? We just decide to pray for something to happen to them?" It doesn't sit right. Sitting back and waiting, or just carefully scooping out what doesn't work. "Excising the people who're moving the pieces, but then there's the people who benefit from it..."
...Like herself, really. War is profitable. War makes money move. There's nothing for her but war. She's a soldier by choice, but the choice leaves nothing else.
"A theory of Newtypes...Or maybe, a theory that Newtypes aren't all that they're cracked up to be." The two sides of it; either it's all just some people's delusions, or there's a definitive step up. After Axis Shock and the existence of Amuro Ray, it's hard to deny either...Which means, the only way to disprove it would be to prove that Oldtypes could do the same.
"Or force the definition so wide it forces everyone to acknowledge that the definition is useless." Who would do something like that? "...Man, I'd love to do something like that." A slip of the tongue.
"You think so? If the Federation collapses, you'll have a lifetime of work. You're getting paid, right?"
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"No, 'prayers' aren't enough. We'll have to find the threads between the moveres and those benefitting them, and then start to unravel it. I wouldn't call myself a politician... but I'll have to fake it. It's going to take more than warfare, but it is going to take warfare. That's why we're a military force instead of some peaceful political party."
Hmmm. "Maybe," Eight allows. Aren't all they're cracked up to be...
"I'm not sure how you'd do it," she admits. "But something that highlighted the similarities instead of the differences would be good. My guy doesn't have a psychic bone in his body--doesn't make him anything other than who he is."
"I do. If the Federation collapses, there'll need to be someone out there to oppose the warlords who'll crop up to take advantage of the chaos." Pause. "I am getting paid. For now. Part of maintaining a military organization is giving people what they need. I guess you're right that I'm not hurting for job security at this point..."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"So in the end the problem's going to have to be blown up, isn't it..." An idle musing. In the end, war will happen. "Depressing, isn't it~? Everyone wants to avoid war, but the thing everyone says is that there'll be war." More enjoyment for her.
There's a small part of her happy with this state of affairs. She can walk in, fight for whomever's giving her cash and lodging, and go back with no hard feelings. There's no ideology apparent.
"Mhm. Something to disprove that Newtypes, ahem, above humanity." It's a strange way to word it, but there's no real way to properly say 'Newtypes aren't as good as they appear to be'. "A show of force's probably best, but that'd lead back to war. Words can't work with action. Che, why's it all so hard?" Frustration.
"So war's good for everyone minus the people that die for it. Of course." The obvious statement. "Wonder if that means the ultimate cause is money...Or someone thinking someone else needs to die." A chin tap. "I think, in the end..."
A final chin tap. "I want to punch the god that decided to give the people inspiration to name others Newtypes."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"If not the problem, then the problem's goons," Eight admits. She doesn't love it, but if she thought she could accomplish this through peace, she wouldn't have broken off to form a new military organization, now would she? "...Kind of," Eight admits. "It is."
So that's how Ms. Davila is...
Newtypes 'above' humanity... Newtypes as weapons. Eight can't help but consider Yuliana, as she does. "I think a show of force would only cement the idea of Newtypes against other people."
War is good for everyone... Eight shakes her head. "It's hard to fight for others when you can't meet your own needs. ...I certainly don't make as much as I did with the Federation, though."
But she thinks... Hmm. That's an easier subject.
Somehow, Newtypes are the easier subject here.
"For me, the one I'd punch is the one who gave people the idea to use the idea as a weapon." She sips her tea, thinking on it. "Making the Newtype 'useful' may be what leads to the problem in the first place. Otherwise, it'd just be another way to be."
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
"It's a vexing thing, isn't it?" She can see the circular thought process: No peace? War. But war can't be eternal, so the people want peace. But how can people want peace, when there's war over everything? The solution is communication.
...Isn't that one of the tenets of Newtypes? It's a thought. "But if you want to show that Newtypes aren't as good as everyone thinks they are, one of the only avenues is war." Devastating war, too. The One Year War is still mildly fresh in the general landscape of history, and cementing someone like Amuro Ray in the Gundam is hard to decisively smash the mythos around him.
"What a complicated situation." It's the conclusion at the end of it all. "If you wanna disprove Newtypes, you gotta fight them. But you don't wanna fight at all, so you go for peace. But people bolstered by the idea of having Newtypes will keep doin' shit to make Newtypes no matter what, keeping the cycle..."
To use as a weapon, huh? It makes sense. Newtypes can exist, but its the fact that they're militarily useful for someone. Connections are connections, but the same "connections" that Newtypes say they feel are also crucial for staying alive. ...The same thing that curses Newtypes is what keeps them alive. She'd laugh at it if it weren't so sad.
"Mmh, I can see how that can work. I still vote for punching god. Undeructting the entire thing and disproving the idea of a new step in the first place, rather than some half-measure that they'd use the classification on, imagined or not. Better to just make everyone say that Newtypes can't exist by force, since the trades are almost equal."
...It's not the actual Newtypes she hates. It's the boundaries that force the congregation to Oldtypes and Newtypes. The divide. "They'll find any way to disprove or make you seem like One In A Million instead of just acknowledging you're just better..."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
"It is." Vexing, that is.
Eight considers that phrasing' 'not as good as everyone thinks they are'. She chews on it a little as she sips her tea, regarding Sakia as she continues to speak. It's good tea, of course. Smells nice. She appreciates that at the moment.
"Hmmm..." War is the avenue; but the cycle continues. Eight is starting, she thinks, to get more of a feel for what this woman thinks and how, but she hasn't quite reached that 'understanding' point yet.
"If you find god," Eight answers, lifting her tea as if in toast, "Then maybe I'll help you punch him. Depending on what he has to say for himself."
"...True. When they're looking for a certain type of 'effective', if your talents don't match they won't give you a second thought. I don't know about trying to prove Newtypes can't exist," she says--she considers herself proof of them--But...
"But I can tell you, we keep a mix around here, at least. My comms officer's a Coordinator; my XO's a total Natural. My guy--my Chief Engineer--is a Zentradi, about as 'Oldtype' as you get."
"Maybe if we get enough of us all working together we can prove it that way, too."
"Either way..." She lifts up her tea again. It's about empty, by now.
<Pose Tracker> Sakia Davila has posed.
Newtypes are Newtypes. But Newtypes...That's what everyone calls them. That's a label. A soft whisper. "Coordinators, Naturals, Oldtypes, Newtypes...They're all trying to classify one thing in so many ways..." Trying t segregate the haves from the have-nots, implicitly or explicitly.
"I'll have damn more than just a punch for them, in the end." The words sound out with a razor's edge, bile coated in every syllable. "Maybe then they'll have to accept what they've done to the world."
"But, it's good to hear about your crew." Total mixture, huh? That's another way to disprove the myth: If everyone can do it and easily switch around while having all these ordained types, then what use is a label other than some pedigree? ...That sounds like a dog breeding show, on second thought.
"Either way...Back to work? Suppose I should give my machine a once-over. Don't think it'll last much longer, but I'll make damn good use of it."
<Pose Tracker> Eight York has posed.
Hmm. Eight will need more time to really form her opinion on Sakia Davila. But the perspective she gives is one that she hasn't had the opportunity to hear much. Maybe that's worth something in itself.
She just nods at the matter of what 'they' might have to accept. She's not going to get in the way of that anger.
"Back in Londo Bell, we got a lot of the misfits--people who didn't quite fit anywhere else. We get more of them now, in the Alliance, as people who can't deal with the status quo join up. I'm hopeful that it'll only continue. We have more people to meet, more 'worlds' to find."
"But," she agrees, "Back to work. Things won't keep moving if I don't settle some of this," she says, gesturing to her tablet. "Good luck out there. I hope we can talk again."