[Ok, now try this one. 'Shave and a haircut, two bits!'] "Sh-eiv and ah he-ir cut, too bits," he says monotonously. [No no no, Socks! Pay attention to how I'm sounding it in my head. There's a jingle to it.] [I fail to see how this is going to improve my understanding of your many languages, Kukyendall.] [You're doubting me? Socks, this is a very important tune to learn. It holds immense status in our culture.] [...Very well.] "Shei-ve and a he-ir cut, two bits!" he says, much more in line with your thoughts. [Good, good, you're getting there!] you say encouragingly. You've been trying to teach him some odd phrases here and there, this one being the latest. You might have felt a little more guilty about playing up this particular one, but it's been slow and boring. You deserve to have a little bit of fun. "Cleo, just what do you think you're teaching him now?" Miranda says, interrupting your (carefully guarded, of course) thoughts. [That's no fair, Miranda. You know Socks can't talk for me quite yet,] you say to Socks. [Tell her that thing I taught you earlier.] "Skroo yeeewww," Socks responds dutifully.
"...Our first friendly learning exchange between alien races, and this is what you teach him?" If you were able to see through Socks' eyes, however many meters away in your former bunk room, you're sure you'd see Miranda with her arms crossed, eyes rolling. Oh yes, you deserve to have quite a little bit of fun. [What is so amusing, Kukyendall?] Socks asks, sensing your emotions through that psionic link. [Oh, nothing, Socks. Miranda's just an amusing character.] [She appears to be staring at me with the most peculiar expression.] [Try to imitate it.] Something about Rae's roaring laughter in the background tells you Socks must be doing a very good job. "Sometimes I really hate you, Cleo," Miranda pouts, only fueling Rae's laughter further. You begin to laugh as you imagine the scene in your mind, the complete ludicrity of it all, the war, the aliens, the stupid shit you're getting him to say, being jailed on a friendly Japanese cruiser, suddenly becoming too much to bear. Fuck all this shit. It's too damned hilarious. And then Admiral Isaki steps into view, his expression unreadable as he surveys the madly-laughing Witch in the cell.[ ] Hello, Admiral, sir.[ ] Laugh harder.[ ] Other.
[x] Other.I know the funniest joke, sir.
[x] LAUGH HARDER
>>20022802Ditto
[x] Laugh harder.
for the decent option[ ] Hello, Admiral, sir.
You guys suck at reaching consensus.
I'll consense on this one.
Aaaand I fail at quoting. I meant >>20022802
Stand and salute. "CPO Cleona Kukyendall, Section Eight, Sir!"
The sudden and stern presence of the Admiral only adds to the hilarity in your mind. You're vaguely aware that you must be getting a little funny, being stuck in this cell (you never did well with sitting still, never having anything to do), and you struggle to contain yourself. With great effort, you do. Finally settling down, you manage to put on a straight face, though your mouth twitches threateningly. "I'm sorry sir, I just...thought about a funny joke," you lie. The Admiral surveys you carefully, noting the cluttered state of your cell. The extra pad given to you is on the floor, next to a twisted pile of sheets and what passes for a pillow. Your copy of Huckleberry Finn sits by his feet, its pages stuck open on the bars of the cell. Dirty bowls litter the area, and bags under your eyes make evident the lack of sleep you've been getting. You look like hell. "...I'm sure you did." His voice is flat, but something tells you he doesn't believe you. Great, just what you needed: one of the brass thinking you're crazy. "We have arrived," he says, nodding to the guard. He unlocks your cell, gesturing at you to come out.[ ] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.[ ] You rather like it in here, actually.[ ] Other.
[x] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.This is our last chance.
Walking is good. Sleep and a shower would be nice. But first the walking. We need to go potty.
There's no point staying here. Cooperating now will get us into the right kind of trouble later.
>>20023395These boots are made for walking...
>>20023395[x] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.May as well salvage what dignity we can.
[X] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.We need an audience to make a scene!
You nod an acknowledgment, giving yourself a few quick pats to try and straighten up your clothes. Your efforts are largely in vain, as they desperately need an ironing and cleaning. Honestly, you could do with a good clean too, but that'll have to wait. As you walk out of the cell, a cadre of armed guards form up around you. Great, you think, they still think I could go crazy. The worst part is that they're right in doing so. The incursion into your senses is unprecedented, and until some questions get answered, you're a threat. Who knows if the next Martian you attack will actually be an enemy? What if it's one of the others? What if it's Socks? You're not sure what you'd do if you had some of their blood on your hands. Admiral Isaki turns away from you and begins leading the group through the ship, up to the deck. As you step into the fresh morning air, you begin to understand why the Admiral has frozen his expressions. The yellow-orange sky of the sunrise does its best to steal your attention from the spectacle in front of you. Smoke rises from Brisbane, numerous buildings ruined and burning. You can sense Socks' worry through the still-open connection between your minds, fretting over your distress.
[ ] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.
>>20023892 [Kukyendall, what is wrong?] [Nothing, Socks. It's just...we've arrived,] you manage. Unlike the last port you saw, there truly was nothing you could do. The damage doesn't look to be that extensive (in fact, upon closer inspection it appears as though most of the city is untouched), but you still feel sick to your stomach as you realize you're probably the reason for the attack. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you put the target up on this city.[ ] Watch as the flotilla pulls in.[ ] Get the others, Admiral willing, of course.[ ] Nothing.
>>20023903Get the othersHaven't hugged Yetta in a while. Need to fix that.
[x] Get the others, Admiral willing, of course.
[x]Nothing we can do.
>>20023903>[ ] Get the others, Admiral willing, of course.
>>20023903[x] Watch as the flotilla pulls in.I'd rather that Yetta be soared this sight.
You need someone, anyone, to talk to. The responsibility you feel is unbearable, an immense burden you can't deal with. Not alone. You turn to the Admiral, a somber aura coming over you. "Admiral, sir," you begin, "if I may...?" Without turning his gaze from the city, he nods. Uttering an almost silent 'thank you,' you trace the path to the room you had stayed in before the incident with the visitor. Though most of the crew are busy preparing for port, a few can't help but stare at the fresh injuries the city has sustained. A decent chunk of them have probably seen Socks by now, and their glares as they put two-and-two together make you shrink as you pass through the bulkhead. "Cleo! What's the matter?" Rae asks as she greets you at the bunkroom's entrance. The guards shift slightly away from her as she leans out of the room.[ ] We've...arrived.[ ] Hug Yetta.[ ] Other.
>>20024257[x] Hug Yetta.Then, from her shoulder:[x] We've... arrived.
>>20024282This.
>>20024257Hug Yetta
>>20024257The first two, then go rejoin the Admiral.
>>20024282Seconding this.
>>20024257Hug first. Tell her to not worry about it.
You walk past Rae, ignoring her question for now. A quick glance in the room is all you need. Yetta is sitting on the lower bunk on the right side of the room, watching you with concern and curiosity. The poor girl's been through a lot, and it's about to get worse. You stumble to her, then nearly fall right into her lap as you sloppily embrace her. "Cl-Cleo, what's wrong?" she asks nervously. "What happened?" You try to say something, but the words die in your throat as the reality of war you've so far managed to avoid and distance yourself from comes crashing in. This...this girl is playing the game of kill or be killed. People, normal people, are dying in cities across the world. Men and Women alike are suffering on the front lines, no choice but to fight against an enemy they can scarcely understand. And...you've brought it here. The growing concern of the others makes you anxious to say something, but you can't. You turn to Socks. [Socks, tell them...'We're here.'] "We're here," he manages in careful syllables. "What!?" they exclaim in unison. Rae nearly bolts out of the door to go see before she realizes that you've already seen. "Oh..." Rae says. "How...how bad is it?"[ ] Not much damage.[ ] Does it matter?[ ] Other.
>>20024538[x] Not much damage.
[x] Other.Could have been much worse. But I'm not gonna lie. It's bad.
>>20024538[x] Not much damage...but what there is is my fault.
>>20024570I'll back this.
[ ] Other.
Realizing you can't just keep using Socks as a mouthpiece, you force yourself to find your voice. You croak something unintelligible out, cursing as the others ask you to repeat yourself. "Not bad, but..." you manage. Yetta squeezes you back. "It's because of us." The room becomes deathly silent as this realization washes over all of you. Yetta pats your head. It's a comforting gesture. After some time, you and the others manage to head up to the deck. The Jintsu has gotten much closer to the docks by now, but it doesn't look like Admiral Isaki has moved at all. As you all reach the railing, the destruction becomes more clear. A few buildings have chunks out of them, one or two still with smoldering ashes fueling the smoke that reaches for the sky. Blackened walls mark where Martian weapons began their work but left midway through. Planes and Witches buzz through the sky, still keeping an eye out for an additional wave of attacks. Recovery efforts are already underway, but much of the work will first be examining what damage has been done. You wonder how many died. "Wait," Admiral Isaki says, somehow sensing your group as it approaches. "Keep him out of sight."[ ] Head back inside.[ ] Hide Socks behind your group.[ ] Other.
>>20024911[x] Head back inside. There are witches flying overwatch. If we put him BEHIND us, and they're OVER us... yeah.Something regrettable might happen. Especially if we get a young jumpy witch.
[x] Head back inside.The witches will spot him otherwise.
Guide Socks back in. No FFAs today.
>>20024911[x] Head back inside.It's safer inside.
>>20024911Hide him
One moment, have to pick up my little sister from her friends' house.
>>20025025[x] BRING HER INSIDE. HIDE HER.
[ ] Head back inside.
>>20025025Back, time to write.
>>20025292[x] DID YOU HIDE HER? THIS IS IMPORTANT.
You've been in the care of a group that mostly had to know about Socks and deal with him out of necessity. It was normal to walk about, not having to worry too much about his safety, but...you're back in "normal" friendly territory, with a whole mess of servicemen and women to worry about, not to mention the recent attack having everyone on edge. Who knows what might happen...and Socks is too important to let harm come to him. You turn to your comrades, only to find that they've gone to the rails to watch as the Jintsu pulls in. You decide to let them be, dealing with Socks yourself. It's something you've become accustomed to anyway, being the only one that could really communicate with him. [Socks,] you begin, but stop. How strange it is to realize that one of those your people consider the enemy can feel remorse and regret over an attack such as this. You can't mistake his feelings of pride in his nation, his country, his...however Martians organize themselves...but you also can't mistake his sorrow for the loss of life that nation's incompetence has caused. You give him a moment to process the image of the hurt Human city. [Socks, we need to get you inside,] you say as a Witch zooms uncomfortably overhead. [I...am sorry, Kukyendall. I cannot speak for all my people, but know that I do not find death and destruction amusing or enjoyable.] You nod as you lead him back inside.
>>20025417Sometime later, as you sit in the bunkroom, guards still standing outside the door, Sarah walks in. She eyes Socks carefully.[ ] Don't even think about it.[ ] May I help you?[ ] Other.
[X] May I help you?
>>20025441[x] Don't even think about it."I will kill you before I let you hurt him. He's too important to winning the war, otherwise the Martians wouldn't have launched such a failure of an attack."Now, what do you want?"
>>20025441[x] May I help you?But we smack her if she gives our Socks shit. We smack that shit right out of her.
>>20025441[X] May I help you?
>>20025528This. So much this.
"Can I help you, Sarah?" you ask in what you hope isn't an overly hostile tone. "Yeah. They're sneaking Socks off the ship. MacArthur wants to see you guys, right now." You knew this was coming. You're not entirely sure what to think of Douglas MacArthur. You've certainly never met him, and only heard rumors about him. The man played guerrilla for a bit in the Philippines, helping make life hell for the Martians, or so you heard. Whatever the case, he was pulled out and put in charge of the Far East forces some time ago, and started mopping up the Martian resistance in the area. As for the man himself, you've heard that he can be a right arrogant ass...but from the way the brass seem to be treating him, he might have earned that right. Or not. "Well," you ask, "how're they doing that? It's broad daylight." "They've got a motorcar lined up at the dock, waiting to pick you guys up. I'll be flying some cover." "Where are the others?" "Waiting. Come on." Sarah leads you out of the ship, a large contingency of guards making it a crowd and obscuring Socks. You notice that no planes or Witches are flying in the immediate area anymore. As you reach the ramp down to the pier, a man stops you, holding a very large black bag. He waits, gesturing towards Socks.[ ] No choice, let him do it.[ ] No way. No. Way. [ ] Other.
>>20025776Uhhh... do you want him IN that, or do you want it ON him?[x] He can keep his head down so noone sees him.
[X] No way. No. Way. Haha fuck you bro.
>>20025776>[X] OtherBag is not necessary.
>>20025776[x] No way. No. Way. This is NOT how you treat a defecting high-ranking scientist with the knowledge to win the war for us. Just get him in the car and have Socks slouch down in the seat instead.
No. No no no no no. They are not going to do what you think they're going to do. They will not fucking put Socks in a bag. You calmly and quietly express such concerns to the gentleman with the bag. He doesn't take kindly to it. "Shove it, Ms. Sparkles. I have my orders, and from what I've been told this boy's a lot more valuable than you are," he threatens. "And why the hell do you think he's so important he's got the top brass dancing a ballet across islands to get him somewhere safe, you fucking piece of lard? Because I can make him talk, and I don't mean that I've got a mean face." As you tilt you head and lean towards him, his composure cracks slightly. "I, uh..." he stumbles, remembering the part of his orders that mentioned a certain Witch and friends, "well...Listen, lady. The brass don't want a soul seeing him on the way over. You have a better idea than this for hiding him as we bring him down that ramp?" He points, and the rather narrow rails do seem to make it impossible to surround him with people as you disembark. The man has a point. What can you do?[ ] Relent[ ] Come up with an idea? What do you have?[ ] Other
Shit, he's got us. Any ideas, lads?
>>20026276He could play dead maybe, but then he might as well just be in the bag.
>>20026207>[ ] RelentI got nothin'.
>>20026207[x] Other"You're hat, coat, and pants. Give them to me."And someone get me a medical stretcher."And dress him up and put him on a stretcher, then into the car.We make him look like someone being taken from the Jintsu's Medical to the local hospital.
>>20026309A mop. A little make-up.And some elbow-grease.We'll make this martian into the prettiest damn woman the world has ever seen!
>>20026207Hey... is socks backpack sized?Socks. Do you want a piggyback ride?
>>20026323>You'reYour.>>20026334A capital plan!
>>20026415...This is what we do to PCs that are absent from a session in my Pathfinder sessions.Regardless of size.
>>20026434In that vein.Medical gurney. With a white sheet over it.
>>20026434That's why you never make a party with 3 kobolds and a half giant. The ONE time you can't ride him around, you've got to carry the fucker.
"Use your head, you idiot. There's a better way to treat the only Martian that's ever turned coat than stuffing him in a god damned body bag!" you yell angrily. "We're a god damned ship! This is a base of operations! We have more than that insulting piece of cloth to work with here!" "Then what do you suggest, Ms. Twinkle?" You bite your tongue. "We've got stretchers, right? Bring him down like one of the wounded. Makes more sense than getting a special motorcade for a dead guy or a bag of junk." "Fine. I'll see what I can do." A few minutes later, Socks is strapped on to a stretcher, conveniently covered by a few sheets and, though lumpy, not recognizable as a Martian. [Sorry about the hold up, Socks.] [It is not a think to worry about, Kukyendall. I understand the need for secrecy.] You nod mentally. [Yeah, but...could they have possibly thought of a ruder way to treat you? It's like they worked to find something this crude.] [I did not expect to have royal accommodations when I decided to set you free and join you. Do not worry.] As Socks' stretcher is dumped in the back of the vehicle (how they managed that, you'll never know), you hop in the back seat. There's a handsome young man sitting next to you, wearing a pilot's jacket and a signature grin. He raises an eyebrow. "Well, hello, miss."[ ] Hello, handsome.[ ] And you are?[ ] Other.
[x] And you are?
>>20026588>a thinka thing, rather. Well, that's another fix for the archive.
>>20026588[X] And you are?
>>20026588>[ ] And you are?"So who're you, then?"
rolled 14 = 14>>20026588Socks is our husbando, not PILOT.<Make conversation>
>>20026588[x] And you are?So far, every military officer has done nothing but take actions that would make any defector reconsider their defection.Do not trust this man.
>>20026588[x] Hello, handsome.Just because we are in a war, and protecting the only known Martian turncoat, does not mean we cannot be at least cordial to our fellow man. It has the distinct benefit of social interaction going more smoothly, and will likely direct the pilots attention towards us and away from Socks.
"And you are?" you ask, raising both of your eyebrows. "What, don't remember me? Max Caulders, at your service." His arrogant smirk is maddening, but somehow you sense that it's not out of spite or maliciousness. He's just a pilot. You hope. "What are you doing here? Don't pilots fly?" "Don't witches fly?" "Not all of them." "And pilots aren't always flying. Anyway, Sarah told me all about it. Man, you guys picked up some serious cargo," he says, looking back at Socks. "How much he pay you to not kill him?" "And what makes you think they'd have money I could use?" "Hey, little green men from Mars invade Earth with death rays and rocket guns. I'm not putting much past them, Miss." "It's Chief, not Miss." "Fine, fine, Chief. You could say these suckers did anything and I wouldn't be surprised." "This one broke us out of captivity and came with us." "I stand corrected." The rest of the ride continues as such, dealing with Max Caulders, Pilot, as best you can. You can't even tell if he's just like this all the time, or if he's trying to flirt with all his talk.
>>20026910 The vehicle drives mostly on the roads, taking detours where debris has blocked the way. As you pass by one of the harder hit areas of Brisbane, the car swerves to avoid a rock in the road, jostling you. Along the sides of the streets you can see worried civilians and some weary soldiers milling about, doing their best to handle the situation. You wonder how many of these men were sent back to Brisbane to get some R&R, only to find themselves in another battlefield. You pull around to the back of a rather important-looking structure in the middle of the military compound, some ways back from the densest part of the city. It appears to be more of a command and control center, with troops and equipment stored elsewhere. Parking, several soldiers hop out to survey the area. Satisfied that no one not important enough is around, they wave. "Well, that's our cue. Chief, shall we go?" Max says. "Fine." You hop out of the vehicle, watching carefully as they take the squirming Socks out from the back. His sheets have become jostled a bit, and- "...aaaAAAAAAH!" A battle cry erupts as a lone man turns the corner, spotting the live Martian partially covered. He charges, a knife in his hand. You can't tell if he's wearing a tattered uniform or civilian clothing...[ ] Stop him at all costs.[ ] Yell at him and intercept.[ ] Other.
>>20026916>[ ] Yell at him and intercept.Or tell Max to stop him.
>>20026916[x] Stop him at all costs.Pulp him if we have to. One man is a small price to pay, fuck, even a city is a small price to pay.
>>20026910>Max CauldersHe's gonna be so jealous when Cookie hooks up with his sister.
Intercept him and employ CQC.
>>20026916[X] Other.Shove Max between Socks and the lunatic.
>>20026989This is quite acceptable. Let's do it.
Pulp him. Maximum force.
That man couldn't have had a luckier spot to appear for such a surprise attack. A momentary lapse in surveillance of that particular corner as both sentries responsible for it look the other way at the same time allows him to close considerable distance before the sentries can respond. [WATCH OUT!] you yell, but there's not much Socks can do other than flounder about on the stretcher. Moving at incredible speed, you rush between Socks and the attacker, a shield up to block his way. "STOP!" you yell desperately, commanding, pleading him to cease and rethink his crazed charge, but that split-second snapshot you get of his eyes tell you he is too far gone to think logically. As time slows, you wonder what drove him to this. Was he a soldier, bounced from front to front as his friends died all around him? Was he perhaps a civilian, this latest attack bringing his rage and grief to a head? Did his family die in the attack? Did he lose brothers in the fighting? Or was he simply a mad man? A loud shot forces your moment of time to pass, and the flow of events returns to its normal pace. The man falls to the ground, shot, just inches from you. There's no mistaking the fatal wound in his torso. To your right, one of the sentries lowers his weapon from his shoulder and scans the area once more.[ ] Deal with it and walk inside.[ ] That man could have been a civilian![ ] Other.
>>20027166Deal with it.
>>20027166>[ ] Deal with it and walk inside.It's unfortunate, but it's done.
>>20027166Deal with it poorly.
[x] Deal with it and walk inside.Can't do much else other than make Socks and the sentries feel bad.
>>20027166[x] Deal with it and walk inside.Hustle Socks inside.
Well, it seems I was voted out of the other thread. So much for causing a shitstorm. Oh well.For those of you playing at home, I present our German waifu.
>>20027214Wrong thread, drawfag. This is the unpopular quest.
>>20027214Oh how awkward. I seemed to have posted the wrong German. Hmmm. Let me correct that.
>>20027227It's about to get even more awkward.
>>20027220LIES! Also, they 4chan kicked me out of the other one. Apparently my JPGs aren't cool enough to get past the image limit.>>20027227Hmm... Man this really isn't my day. Maybe this was the one we were going after? She does have her eye on the ball(s).
>>20027252SHE HAS THE WHISTLEGET HER
>>20027252Maybe if we combine the two...
>>20027269Oh god, incoming triforce?
>>20027275Intriguing
>>20027269Alright. Everyone stand back. We are going to try some mother-truckin' science here.
>>20027269>>20027252>>20027227>>20027214No no, you misunderstand, good drawfag! You weren't voted out; we were saying that this thread hadn't hit the image limit.We just wanted you to post them tonight.
Horrifying.Drawfag, I love you. So much.
>>20027275>get out of my mind Charles...and one without the glasses. Why? Because layers.And that is all I got.
>>20027286Miyafuji and Lynnette watching?
>>20027311I know, it's adorable.
>>20027306Dude, you are awesome.I have no words to describe.
As you gaze at the cut down man, you feel a pang of sadness. You'll never know what caused this man to snap. You'll never know who he was, what he did. His story, for better or worse, has ended here, and the worst part is that you can't even curse the sentry for doing his job. Socks is too important to chance his injury or death. What a thing War is. "Come on, Chief. This way," Max says, finally taking some of that pilot tone out of his voice. "They'll...deal with this." You nod, following him and the soldiers carrying Socks (with the sheets repositioned) into the building. They lead you down a series of hallways, the building once serving the city in some other important and official capacity. It's only natural that it should still serve such a prestigious and authoritative capacity now. You reach a large set of wooden doors, a fine finish emphasizing the assured importance of the man or men inside. An orderly knocks on the door before letting your group in. "Well, look who finally arrived. Glad to see something going right for once," says a man with an exceptionally tall pipe in his mouth. There's no smoke coming from it at the moment, but you wouldn't be surprised if it saw some serious use. Max Caulders snaps to attention. "General MacArthur, sir. I present Chief Petty Officer Cleona Kukyendall, and..." he trails off, looking to you.[ ] Socks. Call him Socks.[ ] ...What was his name, again?[ ] Other.
>>20027426The Martian Defector, sir.
The Martian Defector. His real name isn't really pronounceable. We call him Socks.
>>20027487Yas
Erica needs to look younger, sorry drawfag.
>>20027487Second.
>>20027515I kind of agree.
>>20027515>>20027519Eh, no offense taken. I have been making them look older than they probably should be. Perils of going from animu to not animu I suppose. Chalk it up to them going through the meat grinder of war for that past several years. That being said, ain't changin' squat at this point. Way too many files to update. When in doubt, a gnome did.>that isn't how it worksGNOME
"He's our Martian Defector, sir. Known colloquially as Socks." A few eyebrows are raised as you say it. "Socks? This green monster from outer space...is Socks?" MacArthur asks dubiously. "Yes, sir. Long story." He stares at you, as if unsure if you're trying to pull a fast one on him, before letting out a few chuckles. "War is a hell of a thing, ain't it? Well, let's get down to business." He turns to his aides. "Alright, clear the room. It's about to get above your paygrades, gentlemen." They leave, leaving you, Max, Socks, and MacArthur himself. "I'll need you to exit as well," MacArthur says, speaking to Max. "Of course, sir." He walks out as well. "That damned pilot's been a pain in the ass since he got his wings, but damn if you'll find a better or luckier pilot," MacArthur says as soon as Max exits, sitting down behind his desk. "One of these days he'll do something really stupid, but until then we'll just have to put up with him, eh? Oh, don't just stand there, take a seat, both of you," he says, gesturing. Socks, now free of the stretcher, takes one of the seats at your direction. You sit as well. "So, Chief, you've gotten mixed up in a hell of a lot. Mind explaining some of it to me? Admiral Isaki's report talks about psionic links and illusions? The Tullibee sunk? Martian technology?" You look around the room. "Where's the others?" "All in good time, Chief."
>>20027758 "Well..." you say, gulping. "What do you need me to do?" you ask, preparing to go through the longest debriefing of your life. "Actually, Chief..." The tone of his voice begins to frighten you, as if foreshadowing some horrible request. You've not often been wrong in cases like this. "It's funny you should ask that. If I understand correctly, you've had some serious exposure to the Martian Mind, not with just one individual, but two. Been seeing things that aren't there, going mind to mind with your Socks over there." "...That's very simplified, but generally correct, yes, sir." "Do you still feel capable of fighting the good fight, Chief?" "Of course, sir!" "Alright," he says, standing up from his desk. He walks around the large room a little bit, examining a few of the bookcases, paintings, and maps around the walls. The sudden and strange silence is unsettling. He finally turns back to you. "You're good to go, then? If one of those bastards pops up in your face, you can pull the trigger?" "Yes, sir." "Very well, then." MacArthur pulls out his revolver, handing it to you. As you take it in your hand, confused, he gestures with his pipe towards Socks. "Shoot him."NEXT TIME ON SUBWITCHES: WHERE LOYALTIES LIE TUESDAY 8PM EST 7 PM CSTSEE YOU THERE.
>>20027751Your call. It's still most welcome.
CORSAIR WITCHES NOW.Last time, Chrichton snuck back from his reward boink and got to know the Witches a bit better.
>>20027767>shoot socks in the leg-equivalent
Chrichton sat on the balcony of the two-story officers’ bunk building and watched a seventeen year old girl with airplanes on her legs fly by him.He sighed. “C’est la vie.”Letty roared over the base, clearly just returning from patrol. A pair of the seaplanes from the Italian ships had appeared on the horizon behind her, also coming in for the afternoon. Distantly, he wondered why the Martians had so little variety in their makes of aircraft. Did they not have competing companies and governments on Mars?The door behind him rattled. “Knock knock, General,” Meeker’s voice said.“That’s CAPTAIN General to you, Lieutenant,” Chrichton called.“Do they even make insignia for that?” Meeker asked, walking up behind him.“They do in Rome and Berlin,” Chrichton said.“How the fuck do you even know that?”“I’m secretly lying. The fuck do you want?”“I enjoy bothering you.” Meeker slid into the chair next to Chrichton, covering his eyes against the setting sun. “Days are getting longer.”“Yep.” Chrichton looked straight up. “You see Mars up there?”Meeker peered upwards. “Nope.”“Me neither.” Chrichton sighed heavily. “I wish I could shoot it.”“That’d be nice. Maybe those new Japanese 20-inch guns?” Meeker asked.“Yeah, Space Battleship Yamato. That’d be neato.” Chrichton looked over at his fellow Mustang jockey. “You look angry.”
“I am. You hear Heidmack nearly skinned Blair?” Meeker asked.“Nope. Glad, though.”Meeker glanced at him, stunned. “What?”“Stupid son of a bitch blew our ambush up there yesterday.” Chrichton grimaced. “Guess you didn’t know?”“No! What happened?”“Idiot fired before we were in optimal range. Didn’t even get a kill on the Martian, and it nearly killed Beyside.” Chrichton shuddered.“Christ almighty!” Meeker looked shaken. “Well…alright. You getting hungry?”“Too early for dinner.” Chrichton sighed. “I think I just want to read for a while.”“What you readin’?” Meeker asked, looking at the book in Chrichton’s lap.“A book by some egghead back in Washington who tried to use some psychoanalytic garbage on the Martians to figure out why they’re trying to murder us all,” Chrichton said darkly.“Shit. What does he say?”“So far, a whole lot of ‘If I had more money, the study would have been less useless,’” Chrichton said drily. “And he thinks they’re here for some kind of inter-planetary land-grab. A gold rush. Only there hear for our air and water instead of dirt and gold.”Meeker looked baffled. “They want the air and water? The fuck for?”“Not much of it on Mars. The guy thinks they’re going to exterminate us all, then turn Earth into a farm planet, basically, and send the food and ore they mine off to Mars.”“Huh.” Meeker thought. “You agree?”“Makes sense. What do you think?”Meeker snorted. “I think we should be killin’ ‘em, not trying to understand them. We can’t even speak their language.”Chrichton’s blood chilled. “Nope.”Meeker was quiet for a while. “Well, I’m gonna go. You want to come play poker with us?”“No thanks, I want to read this. You run along, have fun.”
Meeker stood and stretched. The lanky pilot ambled back into the building and shut the door behind him.Chrichton picked his book back up, but he wasn’t reading. His mind was racing. What if he had been hearing the Martians talk on Giselle’s recording? What did that even mean? How could he prove it?A loud buzzing noise broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see Luisa tearing overhead, with a wing pair of two Italian seaplanes on her tail. Chrichton followed her with his eyes. She leaned over her shoulder and said something into her earpiece, and the planes slowed down, angling for the runway. Luisa spiraled down over the base, burning smash until she was barely above the powerlines. She spotted a few people wandering below and waved, her fancy Beretta slung over her back.Chrichton watched her until she disappeared into the hangar. He stood and stuffed his hands into his pockets, and he turned to leave the balcony. “Meeker’s right. I’m thinking too much,” he grumbled. He reached the door to the balcony and pulled it.Nothing happened.He stared at the balcony door. He tried twisting the handle and pushing it. Nothing. “Oh fuck…am I locked out?” he asked. He slammed his hand on the door, looking through the little window. There was nobody in the room.
“Oh for FUCK’S SAKE, the LOCK is broken?!” Chrichton yelled to himself.“Huh?”Chrichton spun. Letty was sitting cross-legged on the balcony railing behind him. He started. “Whoa! Uh, hi, Lieutenant. When did you get up there?”She looked at him funny. “I can fly, Captain.”Chrichton stared at her. She didn’t have Strikers on. She smirked. “See something you like?”“I-I mean…you’re not wearing Strikers.”She snorted and rolled backwards off the balcony. Chrichton’s heart jumped, but she slowly floated back into sight, still cross-legged. Aside from loosening his faith in physics and flashing entirely too much red panty fabric, she wasn’t doing a thing. Chrichton boggled. “You can fly without Strikers?” he asked, completely aghast.“It’s hard, but yeah.” Letty drifted over the balcony and sank into his chair, utterly relaxed. “You didn’t know?”“The fuck could I know about magic? No witches in my family,” Chrichton said. He held his hand over his heart and felt it slow back to normal. “You scared the shit out of me.”“Sorry.” She smiled up at him, lips pursed and seductive. “You stuck up here?”“Yeah, the fucking lock is jammed.”She giggled. “Need a lift?”“Oh, thank God. Sure, thanks,” Chrichton said.Letty stood from the chair, spun around to face away from him, and presented her pert little butt. “Hold on tight,” she said coyly.Chrichton stared. “What.”“You heard me.”Chrichton took a hesitant step forward and approached the shorter woman. “Uh…all right,” he slowly said. He locked his arms across her ribs and waist.She snorted. “How chaste.” She lifted a few feet off the ground and dropped over the edge, setting down gently one level below.
Chrichton let go of her and backed up. His knees were wobbling. “Thanks…Letty,” he panted.She turned and cocked her eyebrow. “You all right?”“No,” Chrichton said. He straightened up and let out an uneven breath. “That must have been the most alien sensation in the world the first time you did it.”“Hah! I didn’t even learn how until I was fifteen, Yank,” she laughed. “You’re welcome,” she added, swaying past him and around the corner.Chrichton glanced around him, making sure no-one had seen the display. “Okay. We’re good,” he said under his breath. Affront to his manhood secured away, he tiptoed into the building and snuck back up to the balcony, making sure to unjam the lock on the door as he did. Retrieving his book, he dropped it on his bunk and sank into it. He rubbed his hands together, trying to imagine what that scene must have looked like to other people on the base.“Hey, Wally! You in here?” someone yelled from the lower level.“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” Chrichton called back.“You know what happened to our guncam pictures from the fight yesterday?” Garms called up.“Algoud happened. Sent them off to the Intel guys,” Chrichton responded.“What?! I need them to win a bet!” Garms sounded very offended.“Sorry, man. Colonel’s orders,” Chrichton said. He stood and walked down, to where a crestfallen Garms and a snickering Baysinger and Eastmond were standing around a table. Eastmond was flaunting a picture of his own kill from a few weeks back.“Damn it. Can we get copies?” Garms asked.“Go ask him!” Chrichton said. “What did you bet?”“I bet Eastmond twenty dollars that I could prove that I got that sled yesterday,” Garms grumbled.“So go get the pictures from Heidmack and Algoud, you big baby!” Chrichton laughed.
The evening came, and the Paladins descended on the mess. In between bites of his chicken and garlic bread, Chrichton thought about his conclusions. Had he really heard what the Martians were saying? Or had he just inferred it?He sipped at his water and thought. He hadn’t understood what they were saying. All he had done was interpret their tone. Right? He thought so. Was there a way to test it? Maybe. He wondered what he would have to do to get his hands on the film and Giselle’s recording.He set his drink down and rested his head on his chin, deep in thought. What did it mean? It had felt so real. It was like when he had learned Russian, really; he had been practicing, and then it just sort of clicked. When he stopped thinking about what individual words meant and starting thinking about the meaning behind them.“Wally.” Chrichton glanced to his side. Lieutenant Place, from Second flight, was looking at him and chuckling. “What did you to Molinelli?Chrichton looked up to where the Witches were sitting. Letty was wrapping her arms around her stomach and lolling her head. Giselle was guffawing, and Luisa had a look of death about her. Letty pointed straight at Chrichton and his blood went cold. He whipped his head down to his food. “Less than she wanted me to,” he muttered.“You incorrigible old rascal,” Heidmack chuckled from across the table. “It’s like you want to be associated with BOTH kinds of dishonorable discharge.” Chrichton choked on his water and Place nearly fell over laughing.
“I didn’t even touch her!” Chrichton managed.“Sure.” Heidmack finished his food and stood up, whistling.Place opened his mouth to add insult to injury. “I will end you,” Chrichton snarled. Place shut his mouth, clearly holding back a giggle. “Fucking Witches,” Chrichton muttered darkly.“Is that how you spend your time?” Place asked innocently.“I wish,” Chrichton sighed. He carried his dishes to the bin and made his escape. He darted down the bare stone halls and emerged into the Mediterranean sunset, holding an arm up to block the light out.Luisa suddenly appeared at his side, startling him back a pace. “Oh, CAPTAIN Chrichton…there you are,” she said.“Uh…hello, Major,” Chrichton said.“So, Captain, what did you do to Letty that has her giggling the whole night?” Luisa asked coolly.“She helped me get down from a locked second-story balcony,” Chrichton said, a little defensively. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong.“Ah. So she had…very well,” Luisa said. She smiled a little in the fading light. “I apologize. I assumed the worst when she said you couldn’t keep your arms off her chest.”Chrichton gritted his teeth. “Right. That’s all. Thanks, Major,” he grumbled, making for the beach. He felt like being alone with his thoughts. To his surprise, Luisa followed him.“Captain, I don’t think you did something inappropriate,” she said drily.“I know I didn’t.” Chrichton sighed shortly. “It’s just been a rough couple days.”“I understand. Would you prefer to be alone?” Luisa asked.Chrichton nodded. As Luisa turned, he sighed again. “Wait. I’m sorry. Of course you can come with me. I’m just heading down to the beach.”
He heard Luisa fall in behind him as he walked into the setting sun. He slid his aviators out of his pocket and slid them on, reducing the glare. The concrete under his feet turned to gravel, to grass, to gravel again, to sand, as he walked down to the water’s edge.The tide was very high. He sat at the rocks at the top of the sandy beach and stared out over the smooth waters of the Mediterranean. A faint buzz of a passing Mustang was the only sound that broke through the quiet waves and the distant sounds of the Condottieris in the dock.“Alien invasion aside…it is a beautiful view,” he said.“It is.” Luisa sat on rock behind him, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring. He glanced back at her and felt his antipathy fade. Suddenly she looked much younger than she usually did. “Do you have family back home, Captain?”“Both parents, a cousin who lives with us, and a younger brother. I’m the only one in the military,” Chrichton said. “But…I don’t know.”“Don’t know what?”“I’m from New York. Utica. We had to evacuate from the city when the Martians hit. We all got out, but most of my neighbors died.”“I lost my brother when they hit Pisa,” Luisa said quietly. Chrichton winced.“I’m sorry.”“It’s not a competition,” Luisa said with passing mirth. She smiled at him over her knees. “We’ve all lost someone. Giselle’s entire family died when the aliens gassed Isola Lipari.”“Jesus.” Chrichton felt his stomach churn. “The whole island?”“It looks like a desert now,” Luisa said. She crossed her arms over her knees and rested her head on them. “She’s strong. She doesn’t cry every night now.”
“God. That’s insane.” Chrichton slid back to sit beside her. Luisa closed her eyes and sighed into her uniform sleeves.“Letty’s the lucky one. Nobody in her immediate family died. A few of her friends are still unaccounted for from the raid on Rome, but…”“They have a lot to account for, don’t they?” Chrichton asked bitterly.“Yes.” Chrichton glanced at her sidelong. She was looking at the ships in the harbor now, and she looked wistful.“You know, I think I would have preferred Giselle’s post. She’s the only one of us in the Marina, so she can stay on either ship…she commands the seaplane squads.”“Can you do radar, like her? Or are you a healer like Letty?” Chrichton asked. She shook her head.“Neither. Stick out your hand,” she said.Chrichton did so. She closed her eyes and rested a fingertip on the palm of his hand. A moment later, a burst of blue flames erupted from his fingertips.“AAH!” Chrichton yelped and pulled his hand back. He was completely unhurt. “What?! What the fuck was that?”Luisa smiled. “That was my ability. I focus on a spot and it catches fire. Are you all right?”“Yeah…I’m fine, but…I’ve never even seen that before! Can other witches do that?” Chrichton asked, cradling his hand.“With training? Sure. Naturally? No.” Luisa smiled at his shock. “It’s surprisingly unhelpful in combat. About all I can do is accelerate ammo and set it on fire.”“Still sounds helpful,” Chrichton said. Luisa rested her head on her bare knees and looked over at him.
“Tell me about your brother,” she said.“He’s dumber than a bag of coconuts, but what do you expect from a sixteen year old?” Chrichton sighed. “He’s a decent kid, I guess. He’s not going to enlist. He can’t, really.”“Why not? No aspirations to follow his big brother into glory?” Luisa asked playfully.“He wants to stay in Utica and open a store. Sell books. And good on him. He’s not the killing type.”“‘Need, not birth, makes men into warriors,’” Luisa quoted.“Who said that?”“I did,” Luisa joked.Chrichton chuckled. “How profound. Let’s see…he’s no linguist, like me. He wants to go into college and learn economics. I say let him pass high school first.”“I think I would like him,” Luisa said. “My brother was a soldier.”“Oh? What outfit?” Chrichton asked.Luisa’s voice was stony and cold. “Black.”“Black…outfit. Blackshirt…oh fuck,” Chrichton said, realizing his mistake.“It’s all right. He essentially loathed me. Walked out on the family when I became a Witch. Said I was unnatural.” Luisa sighed again, her melancholy returning. “Politics. Never did anyone any good.”“Still. I’m sorry.” Chrichton shrugged uncomfortably. “There was a Nazi party in New York. We all thought they were crazy. They used to parade around the towns in the area, recruiting.”“How were they received?” Luisa asked. She straightened her legs out with a *pop* and let them dangle over the edge of the rock upon which she was perched.
“Most people ignored them. Some people liked them. There was a large Jewish population in Utica, though, so they usually weren’t looked upon too kindly.” Chrichton shrugged. “I dunno. Dad hated them. Said they made the rest of us look bad.”“I wonder why they got so popular,” Luisa asked rhetorically. Chrichton answered anyway.“Because there’s nothing more attractive to the dispossessed than an officially sanctioned bad idea, and people to hate.”“Who are you quoting?”“Myself,” Chrichton quipped. Luisa laughed aloud. Chrichton smiled at the sound.“Hah! You’re a smart man, Captain Chrichton.”“Wallace. Wally, if you insist.”“Wallace, then. Luisa.” She lay down on her back, staring up at the stars winking into existence. “I think you’re right. I think as long as there are poor people, angry people, there will always be fascisti and National Socialists and Imperialists and Communists. People who want to soak the status quo in blood.”“Probably. But then, smarter people always drive them from power sooner or later. Those sorts of ideologies don’t lend themselves to wise leaders,” Chrichton observed.“How fortunate.” Luisa crossed her legs and rested her head in her hands. Chrichton felt a pang at the sight. God, she couldn’t have been a day over nineteen, and she already had thirty kills to her name.“Is there any part of this job you like?” he asked.She nodded. “Sure. Meeting people, learning about them. I like working with the foreign crews, finding out about life in their home countries. I like the feeling of flying. Even in a plane instead of Strikers.”“Oh? You can fly in a plane too?” Chrichton asked.“Most of us can. I learned on a little seaplane on the Muzio. But Strikers are the best.”
“Well, sure.” Chrichton lay down too. “I learned on this tiny little trainer back at Rome.”“You’re from Italy?” Luisa asked in confusion.“Rome, New York.”“Americans, always stealing names,” Luisa sighed.“Tell me about it. My uncle lives in Greece, New York, my father went to college in Syracuse, New York, I have a friend who moved to Lisbon, New York after he got married…” Chrichton listed.“There’s a Syracuse AND a Rome in New York? Hah! I love it,” Luisa laughed. “I have a friend who lives in the REAL Syracuse.”“Real! Oh, for shame, Luisa,” Chrichton sniffed.Luisa rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her arm. “Well…I should be heading back. I have some paperwork to do before I turn in.”“Were we out here that long?” Chrichton asked. He glanced up at the sun. “Huh. We were.”“Time flies…” Luisa said. Chrichton smiled from his position on the rocks. He pulled his sunglasses off to see her in the fading light, nicely silhouetted against the sunset. “See you later, Wallace.”“See you later,” Chrichton said. She smiled down at him and rolled off onto the sand beside the rocks, walking back to the base.
Chrichton breathed in deep and let it out slowly before standing and ambling back to the bunkhouse. The walk was growing darker as the sun set behind him, and a few lights kicked on as he traveled.As he arrived, Garms stood from his seat at the card table and glared at him. “You! You motherfucker, how much money are you going to cost me today?”“What?” Chrichton blinked.“I bet twenty bucks you were gonna fuck Girotti out there!” Garms howled, to the raucous laughter of the entire squadron.“What? Seriously? You’re dumb as hell,” Chrichton said, dropping into a chair by the window.“She was all over you!” Garms groaned.“Please. All we did was talk. She told me about her brother, I told her about my family back home…she told me to call her by her first na…oh.” The entire room erupted in catcalls and laughs.“I could smack you into space right now,” Garms said angrily.“Hmm. I guess she WAS flirting.” Chrichton made a show of thinking over this seemingly inconsequential point. “Ah well. There’s always tomorrow night, when she has the patrol shift off and First flight is the only one in the air, and we have the whole day to ourselves…”“Hate you so much,” Garms grumbled.“Want me to tell you EXACTLY what the penalty for getting a Witch pregnant in wartime is?” Smith asked.Chrichton shook his head. “No thanks, Smith. I can imagine.”“That’s probably true. Here’s a hint: exsanguination,” Smith said ominously.“What’s sad is that half this room doesn’t even know what that word means,” Chrichton said, smiling out the window at the setting sun.
That's a wrap, folks.See you all next week.
Because Kota's a pretty cool guy, I'll post the archive here as well.http://www.mediafire.com/?zczt31hjpdzd3t1And it's an excuse to post Johanna with glasses.
>>20028089Archivalfag you missed a drawing. Here it is.
