#⚘ ˚◞ verse˚ avatar ◞ 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓅𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓊𝓇𝒾.
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prvtocol · 9 months ago
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˚ ⚘ Recom Brianne (@prvtocol) & Metkayina warrior San'tos (@badtrigger) scavenge an abandoned RDA facility for the Resistance | commission by @badtrigger ⚘ ˚
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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Any awkward stretch of silence normally would make it difficult for Brianne not to interrupt it with her voice — a compulsion to carry the conversation less it drifts into a black hole. But she lets it go, weary gaze kept on the far horizon. There’s no need to pry any further when someone expresses such discomfort. And being surrounded by strangers and in a disempowered position, she realizes how it feels when someone wants more information than she is willing to give. 
Careful glances are spared before a look of confused concern weighs down her expression. An injury? Eyes are hardly medically inclined, but the scout appears in one piece. What is it then? “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.” An uncertain reply gently stretches, pointed ears twitching downward. “I hope it wasn’t from the surveying.” There's no shortage of dangers to be found in the SeaDragon's busted metal haul as it lies at the bottom of the ocean. He of course knew this.
“But that’s possible. Shall we go check?” One foot shifts back, turning her lanky body towards the module behind them, her voice hopeful. “Could always send the drones out too. If they even work.”
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for a moment the silence stretched between them as neteyam brooded, a passtime usually associated with his sister, unable to control the depths that his mind seemed content to drown him in. a thousand thoughts and concerns piling one on top of the other. had they removed the cannisters from the wreckage? could the ikran lift them safely? what would happen if the cannisters were damaged? what of the canoes? had tonowari and ronal chosen to oversee the cannisters removal? was lo'ak behaving? were they having fun without him?
neteyam was tugged gently from his self-pity as brianne spoke, finally he pried his gaze away from the horizon, ears pinning flat against his head for only a second as he absorbed her praise. ❝ thank you, ❞ neteyam said, though his gratitude was mixed with discomfort, ❝ i was lucky. we might have found nothing at all, ❞ and wouldn't that have been a waste of time and energy.
❝ no i— ❞ torn between honesty and embarrassment, neteyam hesitated, ❝ i was told to rest. i'm . . . recovering from an injury, ❞ came his final reply.
he huffed a breath through his nose, shaking his head. ❝ i wanted to see if the monitors can pick up movement at three brothers to watch the retrieval, ❞
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prvtocol · 4 months ago
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is your muse in a leadership role? what kind of reputation do they have among their subordinates?
is there anyone that your muse works with that they cannot stand? why?
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ON THE JOB ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚
is your muse in a leadership role? what kind of reputation do they have among their subordinates?
Brianne in her main verse is a RDA corporate employee and the director of SciOps (Science Operations), one of four subdivisions of RDA’s Pandora Operations. She answers primarily to the Administrative Head of the RDA Pandoran Division, Charles Stringer, while all employees in her subdivision, lab heads/staff, answer to her. Basically, she’s the SciOps bottlehead funneling needs and concerns to the board and the one who oversees its function and output.  SciOps occupies a unique position in the division: Compared to the RDA's Mining Operations and Security Operations, staffing and funding for SciOps remains low, as the RDA administration prefers to invest the majority of its funds into the far more profitable unobtanium mining operations. The ongoing discourse between the Pandoran-based scientific community, who remain devoted to researching the geology, flora, fauna and indigenous cultures of the moon, and the greedy corporate interests of the RDA sponsors, leads only to frequent ideological conflicts between the staffs and the administrators (x). Understaffed. Poorly funded. Strict deadlines. Constant threats of lab disassembly and staff dismissal. Unsafe working conditions in the field. Ideological conflicts. And unsurprisingly, the majority of defectors to the Na’vi insurgency/resistance are from this subdivision, which puts more pressure on Brianne for her labs to perform.  Since she is the corporate overhead, the blame for all this comes her way regardless of trying her best to keep lab heads happy versus compliant with RDA demands.  In the game, a human Resistance member says passingly to another, “Working for SciOps sucked.” It sure did, and despite Brianne’s best efforts, even she ends up being cast aside by the profit-making machine. 
is there anyone that your muse works with that they cannot stand? why?
Answered here.
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prvtocol · 3 months ago
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@badtrigger : 🌀 for my muse’s reaction to getting stuck in a storm with yours. // any/multiple | RELATIONSHIP BUILDING ᠂ ⚘ ˚
A sudden storm is not uncommon in these forested regions, but one of this intensity halts the scavengers’ trek back to the next base. Against an outcropping of rocks, footsteps cling until finding an opening — a shallow cave that will make do for shelter until the rain clouds pass.
     Once inside, in the dim light cast by Brianne’s lantern, their gazes connect and linger. A habit sets yellow eyes on blue in a stretched moment of wordless communication to share relief in being out of the rain and acknowledge the other’s drenched but safe state.
     Raindrops beading on marbled aquamarine skin... Wet synthetic fabric clinging to striped blue... 
     What once was cast in stone, hardened by misunderstanding, fear, and anger, is replaced with something far softer. And as it often does, it coaxes a small smile to Brianne’s face and a warmth daring to bring a dusting of purple to her cheeks. It’s a fondness she knows she must tuck away as she does with her gaze that falls to her stomach and the soaked-through t-shirt that covers it.
     Setting his gun at his side, San’tos sits against the back wall, a place untouched by the raindrops that ricochet in from the entrance. When she goes to join his side, such closeness deemed comfortable, her rubber-soled trainers squish with each step prompting their removal. Off with each, her socks following, bare blue feet meet the air and the cool rock, while her shoes are flipped over and left to rest next to her backpack. A relief, at least, to know the bag’s contents are protected by the fabric's waterproof casing (including a dry shirt she might brave changing into later). 
     One minor improvement to her soggy state moves on to the next. The dark brown hair clinging to her cheeks and forehead is brushed aside, but the incessant drips cascading down her neck to her back continue. The gauzy scarf encasing her kuru is the culprit so the soaked mass is undone; the bun unravels slowly from the back of her head. Pulled over her shoulder, the braid’s length is given a light squeeze, dripping water onto the rock floor at her front. At its end, the strands are all but loosened from their hold, unraveling further in her movements to leave her delicate appendage unprotected. It'll need rebraiding. 
     As fingers work as a comb, detangling the wet strands apart and hoping to make a quick rework of it, her gaze shifts over to her stoic companion. Unlike hers, his tightly woven black locks ensure a quicker drying of the rain as it would the ocean waters he no doubt longs to swim through. She means to say something, a lighthearted comment acknowledging her soggy state, but she decides against any self-deprecation. Instead, her eyes catch the remnants of a smile and a light chuckle chases only to be lost in the sound of the rain. Hopeless in more ways than one, but trust in something unsaid between them helps keep her chin up. His judgment in this needn't be overthought.
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prvtocol · 5 months ago
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@badtrigger : “ Where did you get this? ” // any for any verse | 5-Word Sentence Prompts ᠂ ⚘ ˚
The newest addition to the marui, a medium-sized flax and rattan woven basket shamefully tucked in one corner, does not go unnoticed by the discerning gaze of her mate. Picking it up for inspection, San’tos is quick to question Brianne on how the awkward-shaped contained came to be in their home. The briefest of surveys will see that sections are uneven in the intricate weave and unlikely taut enough to securely move a full harvested load or catch a few hammerbrow fish. 
     “< Oh. I made it. >” Confession comes a second later, uncertainty parked in a small smile as she brightly peers up from where she sits; her dicing of beanpod potatoes is paused. “< With Ira’vo's encouragement to try. The one pattern is incorrect for a catch-all basket I'm told, and it could be tighter in certain sections... >” I'm learning, she means to say.
     ‘It may not have been formed with the rhythm of a weaver’s touch,’ Ira’vo assured her during her inspection of Brianne’s finalized work, ‘But it remains a basket and one you can use nonetheless.’
     Ira’vo would know needs with three young children of her own. Besides, it’s allowably lackluster by being the first basket Brianne completed on her own; one (fortunately soothing) task among many she has been learning since returning to soon give birth to their children in the safety of San'tos' village. It’s a change from constantly checking Resistance supply lines. She is determined to embrace it — the life of the Metkayina — and optimistically, to do what is best for their family.
     “< We could still use it, I hope. For when they come. >” Maybe to keep supplies or even extra food after the children are weaned, which she hears starts four months after their first breath. So much to learn. Wondering what her quiet mate might be thinking, an amused smile catches in the corners of her searching gaze; could the same thought be crossing his mind? “< Please don’t say to throw rubbish. >” 
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prvtocol · 5 months ago
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As the lowest funded sector in the RDA, SciOps’ budget is unfortunately at the top of Brianne’s list when she visits labs. She half-expects a tin can to be rattled in her face each time. From the grant proposal to quarterly check-ins, the lab heads are required to record every dime — a hassle for those who much rather be engaged in their passion (scientific research) than finances. It makes her position in corporate oversight tricky and her callings less cordial than they could be. An attempt is always made to focus on their research (made easier if they are doing what they are told record-wise).
     Watching the binder materialize suggests Doctor McCafferty is on top of things; how refreshing. The untidy workstation is ignored; most scientists have a method to their madness and their genius outshines their organizational skills to churn out results. No judgment. Before taking the binder, her accompanying datapad slung under her arm is set down on a clean surface far enough away from the lizard guts.
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     “I so very much appreciate your diligence with what I know is a burdensome task.” Pleased and accented tone praises as downturned gaze peruses the data. Appreciation that not much has changed will follow with more verification. “If you have not done so already, please file a work order for the scalpels and barometers so we can get those to you sooner than later.” Preferable to a malfunctioning air duct or a broken link bed as was the case with the lab she visited prior. The cost for these instruments is nominal, just a matter of allocating the supplies.
     “As far as the Avatar Program — “ Brianne expected the question. Bridgehead’s construction continues its rapid pacing and the infrastructure is nearly caught up to bring more of what is housed on the ISVs to the surface. “Good news for Howard. We’ll finally be installing more link beds shortly. Let’s set a time for our technicians to pre-fit your lab.”
     The datapad returns to her hands; the transparent screen flicked on to display her notes to skim a quick reminder of their research objectives (and proposed deadlines). “But besides budgeting and the need to streamline field research, how is everything else going?” Brianne asks with a hint of less sterile concern. “It’s early days on the surface, everyone is still finding their bearings. Has your team found its rhythm?” 
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Brianne's explanation suggests time moved much more quickly than she'd originally thought. Spencer pats a plastic-gloved palm to her forehead, leaving a mental note to display her calendar with more eye-catching colors. The burning bruise on her skull fades into insignificance.
"Don't worry about it." Her hand waves dismissively. Spencer's gaze follows Brianne's back to the table. She wouldn't have noticed the lack of other live beings had it not been so wonderfully peaceful in the lab. Her fellow doctors are fine at their jobs, but they can get too involved in their social lives in her opinion. After hearing Dr. Howard ramble on about Sgt. Owens for three hours straight, she really wasn't wanting to hear any more about it. The unfortunate conversation is already forever in the background of her notes on the helicoradian, meaning she'll need to listen to it all over again when she goes to type up those notes.
"Oh, they're all off in one of the greenhouses. I was just studying some newer samples." She explains, gesturing to the lizard. Her back straightens in a sudden manor, sharp gasp following. "You wanted our budgets-" It's said mostly to herself as she points up with both hands, scanning the desks around the center of the room, lips pressed together. She's nearly running the handful of steps after spotting the gray binder on her own cluttered workspace, ratty gray and black sneakers tapping the concrete as she rushes to grab it. A stack of highlighted papers float to the ground, but the doctor ignores it in favor of leaning against the table, knocking a pen cup over, and flipping through the report. She glances at the overturned receptacle, attention bouncing between the two objects before landing on Brianne. "Not much has changed since last quarter, but two of our barometers broke and we're running low on fresh scalpels." She steps forward and offers the binder to the director, open to a page with a colorful pie chart and budget information.
Spencer pauses, lip finding its way between her teeth in the silence. "And um. Howard, you know, ever curious, was asking about the avatar program...?" She presses her fingertips together, brows raising as she questions the program with a hopeful tone. She's obviously asking to sate her own curiosity. "The exopacks are great but they get in the way of field research."
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prvtocol · 10 months ago
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@badtrigger : “people think i’m weird.” // tse'sar | more random dialogue prompts , ( accepting ) ᠂ ⚘ ˚
Weird. The term has her wondering when and how he learned it — someone in the Resistance must have proclaimed something as weird for him to pick it up. But then again, on Pandora, everything from the plants to the sky is strange to the eyes of a human. She hands the SID back to him, having finished logging the routing number for her cataloging. The larger size of the hacking device was made for Na’vi hands, but not all of them would want to hold it. Sky People technology is classified as weird to them after all. 
“Is it because you take an interest in Sky People technology? Or because you are also very good at using it?” Her head cants and yellow orbs search his with a warm smile underneath. Having found Tse'sar affable enough, she feels less apprehensive to prod, curious to know more about this Na’vi who has a rare aptitude for language and technology, and an open mind about it too. 
“At least your weirdness seems to be quite valued around here. Do you get sent out into the field often?”
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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Silent judgment aside, the new recruit — though surrender is more appropriate — doesn’t know what she was hoping for. The Resistance’s facilities are refurbished RDA ones, after all, seemingly held together by duct tape and good intentions. Maybe it was for Mr. Spellman’s daughter to know of a secret washroom hidden in a back nook somewhere that didn’t have such high traffic and unswept floors. But the river down the hill? Certainly not that.
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“Ah, hard sell that one.” She muses with a small chuckle trying to wipe away her disappointment. “Though I suppose I should assess the water pressure before making that judgment.” Yellow orbs briefly turn from the young woman to down the hall where these washrooms are located; more questions she's unabashed to ask. “How about essentials? Soap. Shampoo. Not some soap hawker I have to make a deal with somewhere, is there?”
"Miss Spellman, this is going to be a strange question, but I thought it preferable to ask another lady. Where does one freshen up around here?" | @prvtocol
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ㅤAddi offered the most judgmental but confused look over her datapad. ( Which she gave everyone, to be fair. ) Just as when she had arrived, she assumed everyone was given the grand tour of their multi-tiered new home of operations. Not that there was much to tour, everything was rather open concept except for the areas sectioned off as the living spaces.
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ㅤ❛ There's a couple washrooms at the end of the first and second floor. But they're mostly shared so, if you're lucky no one else goes in. If you're more of the 'free-spirited' type you can always try the river just down the hill. Waterfall works like a shower, it's just as good. Just, y'know, if something bites your foot, that's the trade off. ❜
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prvtocol · 1 year ago
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Breath is caught, giving a reprieve to her coiled stance. Small hands come to fold lightly at her front, elbows bent; her habitual pin-straight posture regained. The young man’s boyish nature aside, Brianne’s intent in this exchange remains not to scold. Try as she might, she cannot disregard the unfair situation he’s in and the horrid fact that he’s been away from his people for quite some time. It softens an already gentler approach. 
“Oh dear.” A frown finds her. No doubt the recom squad needs more than a crash course in Na’vi to see results. “Well, hostage aside, you really should be paid for that. And no, I promise I won’t make you teach me.” Brianne’s handle on the language is elementary at best, but as a corporate overseer, that’s no one’s concern but her own. 
“I thought maybe you could browse our flora and fauna files, correct what our xeno-linguists phonetically believe is the Na’vi terminology… or not.” Nose scrunches; that does sound rather dull and again, he should get paid for it. She back peddles. “Or maybe just see what games we have to play in the break room.” There are video games, if she recalls. “I mean, you could stay out here too, but not for long, I'm afraid.”
ㅤSpider had rarely been one to have an attitude, and when he did it hardly lasted long. It was much easier being all snark and sass to the eight foot tall blue guys who's bark was just as bad as their bite. Try as he might, he couldn't keep that flame of anger going in the presence of someone else. It hardly stopped him from having his arms crossed and pouting though.
ㅤHe was glad to even be able to go outside, what little freedom that was. While he had grown up surrounded by walls of metal, their gray hues familiar, the walls of Bridgehead felt.. cold. Unwelcoming, and way too sanitized. He much preferred the green and dirt of outdoors.
ㅤHe kicked his feet slightly into the soft earth beneath him, showing enough taught manners to at least cast a glance at Director Landry.
ㅤ❛ Well, yeah, I was kind of raised with 'em so, I picked up the language as I went - I guess. You're not gonna ask me to teach you to speak it, are you? I'm already doing it with those guys and, ❜ did he just let out a small laugh or a grimace? ❛ They're uh... horrible. ❜
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prvtocol · 4 months ago
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Brows knit before answering, the gravity of this collusion weighs down her narrow shoulder. “That is correct, and I know what it looks like.” Treason. That’s what it is even if Brianne prefers to call it internal politics — politics she must measure in every step she takes to keep SciOps afloat. The steps that bring her before the Resistance are not as careful as she desires. They are desperate — tired of signing contract terminations where the cause is death.
     Requests for increasing the budget fall on deaf ears. The viability of her sector continues to be the topic of the board’s concern as more and more labs fail to meet their deadlines to produce viable services for the RDA. The catch: if they cannot safely go into the field, they cannot complete their research. She can only remind the board so many times that the laurels won by Dr. Garvin finding amrita in the skulls of the tulkun rested on him freely and safely traversing the oceans. 
     Chin lifts an increment, coloring herself impressed by Ahri’s assessment. The young Sarentu warrior keenly displays her wisdom in the intricacies of such an exchange and the risk it brings forth to both parties. She speaks with patience and consideration, showing appreciation for her conversation partner with it, all highly admirable qualities in the eyes of the director. What an unexpected confidant to find in the Western Frontier among the Resistance and the Na’vi. How easy it is to extend her hand.
     And hand she does extend, small tepid pink digits finding those much larger to give a gently firm grasp, partaking in a very human gesture of confidence. There it stays until after she expresses her gratitude.
     “Thank you, Miss Ahri," sincerity coloring her tone. "For believing in my goal to protect the scientists under my charge and for being generous in your willingness to make this possible.”
     “When I first contacted the Resistance leaders of High Camp, it also took time to assure them of my sincerity and to gain some semblance of trust. I made sure not to ask for too much. Primarily, I request yours to grant leave to small handfuls of my scientists for an agreed period of time, allowing them to work unhindered at their field site, to collect their samples, and run necessary tests. For this, I can provide intel on some of John Mercer’s doings.”
There is little doubt who held her full attention. In a subtle movement her ears perked and her intense blue gaze anchored onto the Director's exopack-shielded face. If nothing else, she proved to be an intent listener.
Perhaps that was born from the nature of Ahri's raising. The Ambassador Program, however secretive and shrouded in mystery it remained, was an RDA project through and through. Most people had grown up before they took on their work with the organisation. Whether they sought to advance their careers, to look for answers for their own planet or to seek adventure, that was their choice.
However, for the lost Sarentu, it had been their entire life. It wasn't a workplace. It wasn't a choice. What few memories they held of a time before had been stripped from them. They were raised not only as human, in a human-made world of hard metal and unnatural light, but as obedient beings that could benefit the RDA.
Hierarchy was not a foreign concept to her. So, when Director Landry spoke of the scientists being at the lowest tier, there was an unusual pang in her chest. She understood what that meant, to do as one was told or to be met with a threat of violence or death.
"I see." the young na'vi finally spoke again, the slow lowering of her ears open to interpretation. It was easy to become swept up in the details. Easier still to forget that she was here to act as a bridge, and so too was Director Landry.
"Thankyou for indulging me." It was a kindness Ahri would not soon forget. The way the other woman spoke and conducted herself... well, it eased her nerves, and a genuine smile was given the chance to bloom.
"You stand here seeking the protection of scientists in your care, your requests have fallen on deaf ears so you have taken the task to an outside source, the resistance. In exchange you would provide sensitive intel that details RDA operations within the Western frontier. Is that correct?"
Ever the one to dot her i's and cross her t's, she had to smooth over the details, especially ones that were so important.
"There is a measure of risk on both sides. If you are found out, the punishment would be severe. You will be placing your trust in the resistance to keep your involvement a secret. Likewise, if the resistance acts on the intel provided, an anonymous tip could turn a skirmish into a trap. It is a trust that runs both ways." Then the matter-of-factness dropped off. Her tone fell softer. "I believe in you, Brianne Landry. Your role as a protector is an honourable one. I am proud to extend my hand to you," a rather human gesture from the na'vi, who offered her much larger hand to shake, "I promise you will not be disappointed placing your trust in me."
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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The Metkayina’s already unkind demeanor darkens foreshadowing his reprimand, deflating her composure to where she feels as small as her stature once was. Pointed ears droop once more, she shrinks back, and the personal datapad is pulled to her chest as if to hide it in shame. What was she thinking, using her Earth tech so brazenly, forgetting her place? This is not some Resistance hub — her distance from which suddenly feels more acute.
“< I am sorry. I was not thinking. >” With haste, the thin device is shoved back inside her damp rucksack that takes its place on her lap. “< It should not have left my bag. But I…I could not leave it on the boat. With the storm. It is important to me, holds memories. No. I, >" she shakes her head, "< It doesn’t matter. >” Any defense of its sentimental value, of the images and video of her family it stores, of her video logs, does not erase what it represents to the Na’vi. “< You are right. It does not belong here. I do not belong here. >”
Bony legs straighten to stand, the rucksack lifting in one hand to hang at her side; her intent obvious. Disheartened, her wary stare meets the eye-line of the warrior hunched below; a hand lifts to cover the faded RDA logo on the front of her t-shirt. “< I will leave. I am sorry I interrupted you, San'tos. >"
   San'tos listens to her words in good faith, believing her when she says the research is behind her. But what does she mean by 'everything'? Does it speak to something else, too? Has there been some greater inner shift alongside her physicality?
   She reaches into her rucksack. What may have been the softening of his uncertainty with her presence bristles into shock and anger when he sees the item she retrieves from it; something alien-looking, metal and glowing, with the RDA branding. Sky People technology. It reminds San'tos of who sits within arm's reach.
   The Metkayina warrior's disgust becomes scathingly blatant on an already unkind face; the last of Brianne's words hit a brick wall. He offers her refuge and she dishonors his living space with such a thing? Does she even think of him?
   "< I do not want to see that. You should not bring things that carry the mark of the Sky People to this village. >"
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prvtocol · 1 year ago
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With the unintended length of this excursion, each kick feels more weight as she tries to keep her head above the surface. Wide-eyed, Brianne warily peers up at her large blue-green follower; beads of water sit on the faceplate, her short brown hair sticks to the polymer seal around its sides. Above the skies are as clear as the ocean below. The warrior speaks and she knows her Na’vi is not advanced enough to parse meaning out of all his words. An explanation is wanted and his displeasure with her presence is strong, that much she knows.
“<We not go on shore.>" Brows tent; nerves almost make her forget to kick. How does one explain scientific exploration? "<We...we look answers in ocean. Only see. No dig. No take.>” Oh wait... She misspoke, forgetting about the netted bag cinched to her wrist filled with bits of coral and clams (even if these are mere trinkets to the RDA's large mining operations pillaging the earth for unobtanium).
“<I leave. Go to boat.>” Eyes search in failing hope as she spins. Oh dear, oh dear. Where is it? At him again she looks; his face remains stern. She bites her lip. Maybe. "<Do you see boat?>"
   So she speaks his tongue -- poorly, at that. San'tos' nose wrinkles at the bridge, but he follows her suggestion nonetheless. By his guidance the Skimwing glides up towards the sunlight, where he breaks the water's surface and maintains his distance from the Sky person. He would like to believe she is more afraid of him than he of her, but the truth is that there is fear in the unknown. In his native land, a matured hunter-warrior fears very little but that which doesn't belong, and that which has been known to cause widespread devestation.
   The reef warrior's nictitating membranes retract horizontally as he stares her down. His heart doesn't race, but it isn't comfortably settled either.
   "< Why are you here? Have you not encroached enough? We do not want your metal beast in our waters. >"
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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A fair point. The dual whoosh of those airlocked doors is loud enough to disrupt whatever sleep she gets. It still doesn’t lead to an explanation, however. Even amid their chit-chat, they would have heard someone come in so perhaps they were not alone to begin with.
“Thanks.” The dryest retort is lobbed on that last point, her nose scrunching with it. Imposing stature and startling appearance aside, she is supposed to be the responsible adult here. No way around it. “Right then,” her palm does a noncommital (and very British) tap on top of her thigh, but she is slow to rise from the cushioned chair. “I’ll go up, but is there a precedent? I mean, has someone actually broken in and stolen stuff here before?” 
❛ The doors are locked. We would have heard someone come back in, the airlock sounds like a jet engine at night. ❜ Addi was still looking upwards, trying to follow the noise. If she remembered her mental map, there was either a hallway or a storage room in that area. The problem was, the sound ended on one side, then started again at the other. How was it crossing the area in only one direction? ❛ Should we just.. ignore it? What if someone got in and they're' stealing... stuff? If they just take one look at you, they'll run for it. ❜
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prvtocol · 1 year ago
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“You’re not speaking metaphorically, are you?” Incredulity has the older one’s brow furling. Easier to pawn it off as a childhood phase. Some children take to biting when they are little, not learning to use their words instead, but the present tense says otherwise. Hell’s Gate must have been one unique closed system to raise children in. Perhaps that's why Addi is so...colorful. “Oh never mind. Hopefully, they don’t bite back."
Addi could dish out sarcasm but always had a hard time detecting it. ❛ I just learned from a real young age to not take any bull from anyone. Especially if they're eight foot and think they can boss me around. They learn real fast that I.... can bite. Wouldn't recommend it , they don't taste good. ❜
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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All color drains from her face, and a closed fist lifts to cover her mouth. It’s not the remnants of past carnage that make her want to vomit on a ( thankfully ) empty stomach, but displaced thoughts. Her body — her human body — its final resting place somewhere between the Kinglor Forest and the Upper Plains. A downed Samson, evidence of the director surviving the crash only for her to not make it far after. No identification tag recovered, no remains, finished by whoever attacked the transport; her remains likely dragged off and eaten by something else. 
Pandora devoured her.
Chin turns, forcibly dragging her sight away from the partial corpse to the rest of the outpost’s dilapidated remnants. “Right.” Her breathy response comes in between a steadying breath, her focus shifting to the task at hand. Piles of discarded metal tracers and back harnesses catch her eye. She goes to get a closer look. 
“This might have functioned as a research facility. There's animal trackers.” Maybe they were studying these creatures before they got loose. Attention turns to her datapad. “I’d have to look on the map but it can’t be more than a year or two ago since it was used.”
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prvtocol · 11 months ago
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All a bit rundown and packed with antiquated tech, but familiarity with the Resistance human facilities remains. The modules are RDA property after all, and there’s enough stolen goods to boggle her financial mind. But compared to the state-of-the-art growth found at Bridgehead — no, she tries not to think about it — or how going outside ended up getting her killed.  “Maybe,” is what she offers back, her tone breathy as if riding on an exhale of sigh; it’s altogether noncommittal. 
Neteyam’s eyes seem to stick to the horizon as if his sight could parse greater leagues than hers and she wonders — why is he here instead of out there?  Na’vi kinesics is a curiosity as she manages her own tail’s reflexes to be more discreet, but if she had to guess along with his words, he seems unsettled. Another sip of tea is taken before it cools and becomes unpalatable but also to offer him privacy from her prying.
“Well, it was an excellent lead you had. And in following it, it proved you correct.” Pointing out successes where she sees them is second-hand to the former director. It was his hunch, his initiative, it deserves praise. She may no longer be managing employees and suspect until proven otherwise, but what else can she do? Perhaps he wanted more of a role to play in retrieval though. Those with the prize do often get the recognition. “Have you been assigned to something else? Is that why you're here?”
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neteyam nodded his understanding, though he couldn't relate to her circumstances. he hadn't spent a lot of time in hell's gate before the rda's return, and he didn't often visit the labs in high camp, not for long periods of time at least. he preferred the outdoors, finding the pods and workshops claustrophobic. still, he made an effort to empathize, adjusting to any new way of living was a difficult journey. ❝ you should spend more time outside, ❞ was all neteyam had to offer. the workshops and laboratories had their place in the resistance, but they were a small part.
❝ it was. i recovered some equipment and helped map the wreckage, ❞ neteyam spoke to the ocean, not quite able to take his eyes off the horizon, though he could feel her eyes on him. neteyam clenched his jaw together tightly, tail flicking behind him and betraying his agitation. ❝ they found the fuel cannisters not too long ago. they're bringing them here, ❞
as much as neteyam wanted to tell himself that as long as the mission was a success, it didn't matter who or how it was achieved, he could not convince his heart. it ached with his frustration and his shame. to be forced to leave a job half-finished, to watch as others brought it to a close, it hurt worse than his spine. ❝ i wanted to see them . . . ❞
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