#npc ( gansukh batbayar ) .

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@badtrigger sent 🗣️ for an incorrect quote ft. Mac & Gansukh ✿

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@badtrigger : send me ‘👀’ for something my muse has said about yours to someone else / when they’re not around. // bri about mac ~ ft. gansukh ✿

What a strange lady. The stocky privateer thinks as he trudges behind Rooks’ occasional visitor. Hard not to be baffled by how measured her gait keeps in a pair of squeaky clean “city boots” despite her petite form being burdened with so many bags. A carry-on suitcase rolls at her side with a tote bag attached to its top, a backpack on her back, and a large shopping tote filled with several boxes in one hand. If that wasn’t enough, he’s carrying another of her belongings to the helipad, a heavy cardboard box. 

With every step, whatever's inside clanks, and more so when he sets it down on a nearby crate. The sound prompts Brianne to scurry over and take a worried peek under the lid just to make sure none of the bottles cracked en route. What a spicy mess that would make. With all appearing intact, it’s without hesitance that she takes one out and offers it to her impromptu porter. 

“Here.” Concern dissipates and is replaced with a grateful smile. “It's not much but, a thank you for your assistance. It’s hot sauce if you fancy it.” A popular South Asian brand of chili table sauce that she brought to pass out to the pirates on the North Island — a little gift to build rapport among Montenegro's cutthroat crew (easier said than done).

Gansukh wouldn’t say no to a gift and so he accepts it, even if his brow furls in question. After a brief peruse of the double red flame design on the label, he lifts a curious stare at her. “So ah. This a whole case of the same then?”

“Yes, uhm.” Stilted she starts, hands wringing at her front. “It’s for the men up north. I hand them out.” 

“Ah. Those some lucky guys, hey?” Joking reply sits just shy of asking why she didn’t bring a case for the men here. 

At least that is what Brianne assumes, even if she shouldn’t need to explain her rationale (she does deal with Mister Montenegro more than she does Mister Volker after all). Shoulders tense as she manages a defense anyway. “Well. They really don’t have the supplies you boys do. And their food is surprisingly worse.” If she’s to be honest, there’s a clear distinction between the South and the North in more ways than this. The infrastructure just isn’t there and all of it seems unreasonable considering they are on the frontlines with the indigenous inhabitants.

With lips pursed, the privateer gives her a series of accepting nods. That’s fine if she thinks that, but he can’t let something else she said stand. “C’mon now. Worse there maybe, but the food here, not so bad if you ask me.” 

While spoken lightly, that wasn't the kickback Brianne expected. She tries to erase her faux pas with a chuckle. “Oh. You're probably right.” Sight instinctively turns to search in the direction the helicopter usually flies in. Is it late?

He knows it’s time to get back to his post, but the man can’t help but think of his best friend. Gotta get a read on this fancy chic. “So ah," he begins, rubbing his stubbly chin, "You think you can spare a second for my buddy?” 

“Your buddy?” Sight drags back with the unnecessary question riding on an held exhale. She knows who he means. Mac Mays, the chatty blonde chef she met on her first day here in the canteen.

“Yeah, you know, Mays. He’d actually be able to put it to use being a chef and all.” 

“Uh.” Some discomfort has her shifting the position of the shopping tote next to her luggage. It holds Mister Montenegro’s expensive liquor and gifts for Mister Moncada, who loans his living quarters (unfortunately against his will, she knows now). They both get more than just hot sauce and for good reason. She honestly doesn’t want to start giving gifts to random privateers. It could be easily misconstrued. But then, denying this request would look rather petty. It’s just one bottle of sauce, isn’t it? 

“Well, I can give you two bottles for your help and you can decide what to do with the second one.” Hinting to please not say it’s directly from her to him.

“Cool. I know he’ll appreciate it. Or I will when I make him cook something to put it on." Amusement is chased with a hardy laugh straight from the gut. Gansukh isn't blind to the benefit of having a friend in the kitchen. "So ah, think it's got some heat?" He wonders when the second bottle finds his hand.

"Oh, I'm afraid you will have to tell me, but I would assume so. Hopefully you don't offend the chef by covering his food in it."

"Eh." His unburdened hand dismissively waves away her worry. "Mays can make something that it works with. He's a damn good chef, nice guy too. But yeah, thanks again."

"No no, thank you for your help, Mister Batbayar. Hope you have a lovely day."

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@badtrigger : command: sender orders receiver to stay put. // (any, any verse) | action starters ᠂ ⚘ ˚

An understandable protocol, inspecting all cargo that comes onto the island, but at this level of scrutiny? Going through every single one of her items as if they’re potential contraband? She’s not that naive. She assumes it’s another of the logistic officer’s intimidation tactics, to remind her he’s in control. 

     Exasperation and her discomfort heighten when he’s set to open a section of her suitcase that has her undergarments hidden in cloth privacy packets. “This really isn’t necessary.” The worry coaxes the shaky reminder from her formerly shut mouth. “These are my personal effects. Nothing I’ll be distributing.” Not like the carton of ABC chili sauce and packets of ramen noodles that she plans to gift some pirates after making her transfer. Bolstered by her spent reasoning, she steps forward, hands reaching to close that section of her bag. 

     “Stop.” The blunt order is paired with a lift of his hand; she nearly coils back.

     “Officer Keamy.” Having lumbered into the hangar a few seconds prior, Batbayar decides it's his duty to intervene. A habitual nonchalance softens the hard look that takes to inspecting the officer's cold chalky features. With his chin lifting and an inhale sharp enough to flair his nostrils, it's either a mild provocation or a case of seasonal allergies.

     Easy to see Miss Martin was getting distressed; she seems skittish enough just walking across the busy tarmac. She doesn't need a man known for his callousness to make it worse. And in his point of view, there’s no reason to give the external hire a hard time, and even more so with her being a lady.

     A hand adjusts the strap of the sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. “Caldera's looking for her," or he assumes he is. "I can help Miss Martin get where she needs to go.”

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@badtrigger : I'm here about the job . // mays (any verse) |  ◜ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ◞ ᠂ ⚘ ˚

Through purposeful construction, the windowed walls of the highrise office give the BSO director visual access to the RDA’s headquarters and its two-mile radius kill zone. The excess monitors give details. The home base of humanity's colonization efforts is full of construction hexbots, Valkyrie shuttles periodically descend from the orbital stations, SeaDragons depart the North Sea gate, and personnel scamper down every air-pressurized corridor. With an eye on the bustle and another on his visiting coworker, Gansukh Batbayar can manage security and carefully meander office politics. At least, his current guest makes the latter less taxing.

     The director of SciOps stirs her tea, a genuine smile coaxed prior by Gansukh’s jovial nature remaining on her face. Business need not be so dry, he would say, and sometimes less rushed. Case in point, the door’s entry of Recom Mac Mays is what makes the hour’s change apparent — but it doesn’t phase Gansukh. 

     The bulwark of a man stands, his spine military stiff, but a smile welcomes the blue hybrid into his office, his height imposing. Brianne too acknowledges Mays’ presence, but polite smile fades quickly; her feelings towards recoms are draped in politics. For Gansukh, the uncanny familiarity remains in Mac’s hybrid features are a past life remembered. “Ah. Mays, come in, come in. Maybe I can get you something to drink too, hm?” 

“I’m here about the job.” 

     The response is wholly expected; it's a soldier’s reply. Mays, the former marine, he follows orders, and Batbayar, a commanding officer, is expected to give them. Not coffee. Not chit-chat. Their relationship wasn’t always so hierarchical or cold, but fifteen years changed more than one's age and position. 

     “Yes, we’ll get to that.” A finger is lifted as a gesture to wait; with it, he strolls around the large desk to stand behind another empty chair next to Brianne's. Both of his large hands rest on the chair’s backing. He means to offer it to his friend from a former life. It’s adjustable to height, his narrower waist may fit its girth. 

     “You should be acquainted with Director Landry, so." Hands clasp to end the sentence and commence another. “With no need for introductions, think you can take a seat?” Voice is upbeat and optimistic about this new campaign to improve security and with some extra help, interoperability between sectors.

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The odd assessment coaxes a weak smile even if the mention that there are prostitutes about makes her cringe. But then, her own awkwardness or more so rudeness (checking the time) made this poor bloke trip over his words, didn’t it? Come off it, she inwardly scolds her wayward insecurities. These militia men may be reminiscent of high school bullies but they are in a sense colleagues, aren’t they? 

“Indeed.” Her posture straightens from its brief slack; the uncertainty in her gaze is replaced with apologetic understanding. “My apologies, Mister Mays, I really don’t mean to sound so mysterious. It’s simply not my place to discuss Mister Volker’s business." But professional she can sound (and feel all the more comfortable for it). "But you’re absolutely right. The larger industry aside, I also wouldn’t expect to find women here in other capacities. It’s a liability, for one.” For a second she pauses, strength needing to be culled from thin wrists to twist open the cap of her water bottle. “And logistically unsound for the operation's security needs.” Costs aside, she doubts Mister Volker would hire female PMCs, if they even exist. “My visits, they will be brief and locally uninvolved.” At least, they are supposed to be. A sip of water is taken, leaving just the muffins to try (as politeness requires). Hopefully he notices as she repositions the filled plate closer. Yes, best not to make anyone here uncomfortable (or fall into that prevalent 'French are rude' stereotype).

Instead of strutting back into the kitchens as if he works there (he doesn’t), Gansukh is stuck, loitering in front of the double doors, face slowly contorting at the aberration spotted at the back table — who is his buddy Mac talking to? A worker in the back sees their mutual friend and lobs a knowing look but the sniper doesn’t get what he’s supposed to do with it. Eh, maybe he’ll just go give a hello? “Hey hey, Mays!” He totters to the chef's side, shifting Brianne’s eyes from the blonde chef to him. Nice. “If this young lady is here to write a review of the restaurant, I’m more than willing to give my honest opinion, huh?” The stocky guy grins unforgivably wide and somehow holds back from chuckling at his own joke (he's a funny guy after all). “So eh,” he nudges Mac’s forearm expectantly, “You gonna introduce me to your guest or?”

　　　'Something along those lines.' Fair enough. He doesn't try to make everyone's business his own and if she doesn't feel like disclosing the details of it then so be it. The way she momentarily drops her gaze to her watch, however, doesn't escape his attention; Mac's smile falters slightly as he begins to wonder if she's losing interest in this exchange. Maybe she's suffered through this exact conversation five times today already with five other insufferable assholes? The privateer looks down and away. Back over the shoulder towards the kitchen, wondering if maybe he should have just stayed in there. He doesn't want to be sitting here if it's bothering her.

　　　Maybe the situation can be salvaged. Martin's remark about the lunch hour starts and ends without ever reaching the cook. No -- acutely aware of himself now, Mays nearly interrupts the tail end of her sentence, "I just think it's nice to -- see more, uh, women faces around here. I mean, yeah there are a lot of female prostitutes -- of which I don't ever purchase the services of -- but clearly you're," he gestures at her, "not. That. Guess you wouldn't really expect to see women working in this type of, uh.. industry?" Christ, what the fuck was that? Whatever just left his mouth was pretty fucking weird (he watches for her reaction anyway, though, just in case what he said ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵖᵒˢˢⁱᵇˡʸ ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈᵉᵈ ˢᵃⁿᵉ..﹖)

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Far Cry 3: Various Headcanons

Courier services bring Brianne to Rook Islands once a month to pick up Hoyt Volker's money for laundering. She flies into the South Island (Hoyt’s base where there is a landing strip). There she works with Hoyt’s accountant, Caesar Caldera (@badtrigger), updating on transfers before moving to the North Island (Vaas’ base) to gather finalized cash amounts.

The contract is to take a set amount of dirty money to "wash" each month. Much to her discontent, her departures from Rook are often delayed due to the islands' volatility. She may have to wait a few days or up to a week longer than intended for that amount to accrue.

Her courier services started there in 2009.

She is known to most as an "external hire;" the majority do not know her business is transferring money. This is to protect the cash transfer that is handled by a select few.

Her alias is Brienne Martin.

When on the North Island, Pirate Santiago Moncada (@badtrigger) is forced by Vaas to loan his shack on the south side beach of the islet to stay during her short visits. It allows her to avoid finding a space in the crowded and potentially dangerous compound.

Moncada is her primary escort when transferring money. Rebecca Jun Lee and her crew (@bellytochin) are also trusted to transport her (though not with money in hand).

Brianne is Rook’s North Island hot sauce provider. She brings a case to distribute to Pirates whenever she visits to build a little rapport. Privateer sniper Gansukh Batbayar (my npc) will be seen helping Brianne move her cargo (cases of hot sauce) to the transport. He also gets a bottle of hot sauce.

She sometimes plays cards with a few nicer pirates who come to know she is not very good at the game. She loses a lot of money so she’s requested to play again each time she visits. She doesn’t mind in the slightest (she probably thinks she's getting the hang out it) and brings a little extra cash for that purpose.

She made the mistake of asking Vaas if there was anything she could do to help (mostly to pass the time). He tasks her with going through captives' luggage to sort out valuables. It is not a comfortable task but she is not liable to say no to being helpful.

Due to the sparse accommodations and questionable food, she packs a sizable amount of meal replacement protein bars and subsists on those.

The worst part of Rook living is the lack of running water and a proper loo (especially for a woman who would find "glamping" difficult).

She is also quite unsure of what to do with herself since her job requires wifi access to the company's system, etc. It gets a little easier with each visit, however. She analog preps for the next week's meetings, reads books, catches up on sleep (overcoming weeks of jetlag from international travel), and enjoys a semi-private beach by the shack when she's not consumed with collecting trash on it.