“I totally forgot you were comin’ by today.”, the smile was clearly forced, his voice too low compared to his usual cheery self. “I got no surprises for you today. I’ll make it up to you next time, okay?”

“Hey, it’s alright, bud, I’ve told you, haven’t I? You really don’t need to do anything for me. You have enough to do and worry about, I’m just happy to get to see you.”

Her demeanor went soft instantly on reading his voice and posture, knowing a fake smile when she saw one. Especially on someone who smiled so naturally the majority of the time. Of course, now there was the question of pride. Something was up, but Messenger wasn’t sure if or how to address it. The guys tended to not be big on feeling pitied or like they were being read as weak…

Technically, she didn’t have to make the pickup until tomorrow, but…

“Uh, that being said, I have a favor to ask if you’re willing? I’m supposed to be picking up some puppies to deliver to m-a pet rescue after I finish drop off here, but I could use another pair of hands to steady the crate on the back of my scooter?”

“Oh! Yeah a’course.”

Messenger’s eyes lit up as she reached behind her and, in a very obviously thoroughly practiced move, flipped her cannon over her shoulder then loaded, pointed (away from Medic), and cocked. Her goofy grin faded back into an attempt at a serious face with a bit of pink darkening her cheeks.

“Well, see, I, uh, I’m a ranger. I mean, ranged assist…er? Deliverer? Uh, like sort of a sniper but not a Sniper? Oh, right, this”

-Her goofy expression came back, a little more sheepish this time, against her will as she tapped the side of her gun’s wide barrel-

“This is my dear sweet gun buddy MailCall. And thiiis,” she unloaded the ammo which was an odd, small (American) football sized capsule, “is a subspace storage capsule. The current models have a carrying capacity of approximately 200 lbs worth of heavy fire ammunition, or, at least, they don’t do great past that because ahah, hoo that backfire nearly took my arm off- but! It should be fine with the regular restock allotment, and the medi-boost caps are vapor or injection if they’re…” she pulled a tiny version of the capsule, the size of a sniper bullet and held it up, “full range. These bad boys are more potent. I have ammo versions of minicaps too… problem is my supplier can only make so many so I’m on strict rations…but! They’re re-usable so I just gotta collect the burst ones from the field and-“

She stopped dead and her face flushed in embarrassment. Aw shit, she’d been trying so hard to avoid rambling, and it had been a simple question too. The doctor hadn’t asked for this whole…spiel. She stammered for a moment before getting a bit of a grip to try again. She looked downwards slightly.

“I, uh, what I mean is… I um shoot teammates to deliver what they need to shoot people good for longer. Is. Well, that’s my primary. Thing”

She spun and cranked a lever on the side of MailCall which tightened and extended the internal barrel into rifle mode.

“I, uh, forgot to explain what full range meant. Sorry. This is that.”

“Oh! Good, I uh, I’m glad I’m not just uh, a surprise.”

Mostly, anyway. When people knew you were coming, they tended to have expectations. Messenger wasn’t entirely sure she could meet them. Even with the last year of conditioning and training since the operation…she still felt brand new. And now she really was new, to nine people much more experienced and skilled at fighting…let alone killing.

She was especially aware of the fresh buzz cut already itching against her implants. Messenger went to put a hand on the back of her neck, but flinched as she felt the metal there fused into her spine. Her hand went back into her pocket. She made an effort to offer Medic a smile though, even if it was pretty clearly a nervous one.

At the same time that the team would have been talking and wondering about her, Messenger had been reading up on each of them. Medic, she’d already heard a lot about. Her fear toward him was more a logical “this man has a body count and penchant for human experimentation so maybe don’t piss him off” sort of precaution.

In reality, she was trying very hard to make a good impression and not immediately give away her intense excitement and curiosity about his work. This was her chance to establish herself as a professional instead of devolve into some annoying, bouncy puppy dog.

That being said, she took his assurance not to worry with a slight grain of salt. She did make an effort to relax her posture a bit, at least.

“I had my last checkup two days ago as my last exam for clearance,” she nodded and rustled around in her bag for a moment, “My updated files…”

Messenger approached Medic and offered him the packet.

“The cerebral and nervous implants weren’t detailed in your last briefing in case I failed or died during the last couple tests. Security measure, ‘parently. But, well, at least The Administrator is being forthcoming on my…secondary purpose. As her, uh, personal intel proxy.”

She looked away from him with an embarrassed grimace.

A Support’s Support [Closed Starter for @red-bonesaw]

“Hello, Dr., uh, Medic? I um, I’m sorry if, if you’re busy I can…come back later.”

The Messenger had never been inside the Red Base before, let alone anywhere near Medic’s laboratory. To say it was intimidating would be an understatement. It had taken Messenger five minutes of standing outside the door to finally get the courage to knock and open it just enough to pop her head in, hatbrim catching on the edge and mushing said hat down over her eyes. She’d had to step in to adjust it, and seeing the madgenius doctor for the first time froze her rehearsed greeting in her throat. She’d managed to queak out the above, if not just a bit too quietly.

“I, uh, I’m your new backup, the uh, The Messenger. I don’t know if Miss. Pauling… told you about,” she gestured absently, heart thudding as she fought the instinct to ramble or bolt, “my assignment. But you, uh, sorry for…barging in.”

Messenger gulped, her fingers tapping against her leg. She knew well that intruding unannounced on any scientist’s workspace was less than welcome.

Deu’ma’s ear twitches at that description of Penna’s friend. Another trickster, she gauges from the laughter. There are a few names that come to mind, and none she was particularly fond of. Not that she held any particular grudges, and she was aware of her oddity compared to the more disconnected and heavily worshipped gods.

Willingly spending the vast majority of her time on the mortal plane was enough to label Deu’ma as an outsider to begin with. Avoiding the presence of immortals for the most part was another mark against her. Not that she minded…on a pragmatic level anyway. Of course she was lonely for companionship that might last more than a blink of time, but it was easier to be mocked and cast as a glorified nymph or nature spirit than have the others more aware of her actual role. Since…she tended to maybe interfere with some of their divine plans. Often. Not that Deu’ma always conspired to do this on purpose. She normally wouldn’t even realize that another diety’s hand had been on the cards until after she scattered the deck. As a rogue aspect of another deity, she had long ago learned to block out the feelings of divine presence and this made it hard to recognize other immortals most of the time.

Thankfully, her divine aura was weak enough that she was rarely picked up on by the others, either. And when she was, it was just as a wisp of Destiny.

This was a big part of why it was much, much easier to let them to believe that “the strings of fate (which they tended not to question from her experience)” had determined the escape, survival, or unexplained change in fortune of whatever mortals they were playing with. As opposed to, say, active prayers allowing her to become a loophole to an entirely new strand off those “strings.”

“I would hope I can find heroes well, at least,” she agreed, “Your contact with them seems lonely though. I recommend walking among them once in a while to find some of the best stories that aren’t written down. Not that I expect someone as important as yourself to have time or desire to do so.”

She means this genuinely.

And she empathizes with Penna’s statement and the grimace even more. She knows full well how it feels to be at the mercy of the “greater powers.” Through death and worse…that incredible gaping feeling of something only remembered through disjointed tales and legends. Even as a goddess, she could still be hit with periods of overwhelming helplessness.

And because of this and the fact that she was the concentrated concept of “getting out of sticky situations against more powerful forces…” Deu’ma didn’t particularly have the same sensibility against speaking ill of the others. With the one big exception, but that was the reason she loved to lampoon the rest.

“Not that you should be under their “service” in the first place. Really, most ‘major gods’ succeed best at being major pains in the ethereal ass. They should be grateful you exist at all to run the errands the lazy idiots can’t figure out how to do themselves. You, on the other hand, have helped some friends of mine in the past, so I am inclined to appreciate you and offer my own services. Do you know what kind of hero you particularly dreaming of?”

@feixing02

“You know, I once heard that you should always know what you’re getting into first before offering to help.” She tries for a confident smile, shifting in her seat on the crooked branch. High up above the ground, Penna is at least sure in her escape routes in case the mood should suddenly sour. Not many could out maneuver her in the air, and if she remembers correctly this particular minor goddess is not associated with flight. Or for being particularly dangerous, but it’s always good to be careful when dealing with strangers.

“You know the age of heroes passed hundreds of years ago,” she sighs, looking down on the race of man that passed underneath them. Up and down the street they bustled, chattering amongst themselves and stopping at stalls for food.

“Now, stories of honour and love are so hard to come by. The iron age of man really is a race of liars and idiots.” Her voice is resigned, any irritation hidden away. She’d been born late and by the time she was recognized, all the heroes were gone.

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t fun too,” she feels the corners of her mouth twitch upward in genuine delight as she remembers. Lavish parties and corrupt families, like squabbling children all vying for power that didn’t matter. They’d call to Divitiae, and she made many fond memories with the god of lies twisting them around in a web of drama.

“But sometimes one finds themselves craving a good story that doesn’t end in death and destruction, you know? I’ve helped with many of those already.” Sometimes a little variety is nice in an immortal life. Gaze flitting back to fully acknowledge the other, Penna’s smile is innocuous even as she recalls past exploits of said death and destruction. There isn’t anything malicious there, only impish amusement. In a way there’s something much more ominous in that.

She may not be powerful in the way Divitiae is, it’s not within her power to change a mortal’s mind with a single whisper or demand sacrifices of blood and death. And she is even less like Death, Ludwig who makes a hobby out of giving but takes much more. She is not a hidden dagger or the whisper of oblivion. Penna is only as dangerous as words can be.

“I want something exciting,” she admits, running a hand through windswept hair. “Something clever and grand,” the declaration is clear and spoken without doubt, unconcerned in front of this deity she considers an equal.

“This time with a happy ending.” There’s a pause as she considers, then laughs, mirthful and high. “Well I suppose I could be convinced either way, if the story’s good enough.”

“Well, in fairness, all happy endings are a matter of perspective,” answers the little brown weasel as she scratches her ear with a hind paw, “Mortals die eventually, no real getting around that. A cynic might say that that’s where all stories end. Even fantastical heroes either die, ascend, or get popped up into the sky for the rest of us to look at…mmm except maybe for the ones turned to stone? I always wonder if they still keep a sort of life.”

The weasel stands on its hind legs, looking up at Penna with its head cocked to the side.

“I must say you sound as if you must keep rather cynical and dreary company, to think so little of our current mortal companions! Well, not that you’re wrong but it depends on the humans you watch. I can give you hundreds of little love stories from the last week alone-and heroes! Oh I can find you a hero. It might take some work, but heroes tend to call on my friendship whether they know me or not. It’s a shame how few of them get their stories told anymore, but your liars and idiots, the ones who can afford to hire bards, don’t tend to like my brand of hero very much,”

The weasel titters.

“Even if they might be liars and idiots as well. I love a merry idiot. The grand adventurers who retire to be fruit farmers and happily die irrelevant and of old age with a dog on their lap. Those are sweet stories. Much less grim than the petrified saga holders.”

She gazes down at the mortal plane with ears and tail twitching.

Deu’ma’s voice goes soft, “I doubt this will be surprising, but you’re first non-mortal who’s ever called on me. I was almost shocked to feel your prayer. You must be finding a lot of that death and destruction for you to want something better so strongly.”

@talariis Roped In– reply to Scout’s Rewriting the lore ft. Messenger spends five and a half months in jail with Spy and Scout

————

“Who me? Escape plan? Psh, pshh naaaawwww I would never,”

The playful sarcasm was a bit more tired than usual, but Mess still managed to grin at Scout from the bottom bunk. She’d been keeping quiet today and mainly just staring at the graffiti above her. And avoiding looking at Joey Murders. She was pretty chill with most dangerous people, but this one high key terrified her. It was the nose, she was sure of it.

Messenger held her hands out to catch the book.

“You’re doing a lot of work, buddy, and It’s pretty damn admirable, but honestly? I don’t think we’re getting out of this one so easy.”

She sat up and faced him, leaning against the wall.

“The verdict is gonna be guilty, Scout. I know you’re from a big city with actual interesting things happening and a…relatively… somewhat functional judicial system, but Teufort’s not like that. Grew up in a sorta backhill sweetcorn and horses, hunting farming town so take it from me when I say we’re not gonna convince anyone anything. We’re up against him boredom, bud. The mercs’re the only interesting thing this town has so they’re gonna squeeze a last bit of entertainment out of us now we’re fired.”

She took a pause and looked up at an interesting fleck of something on the ceiling.

“Our best bet is to play to that. Verdict’ll be guilty because we don’t know exactly what we’re being accused of so how the fuck do we prep for it, and also cuz Mike is a giant chode. Dodja know he hung a man for jaywalking in his own cornfield a few years back?”

“But I think I can get you out. I’m really good at playing the excited idiot: I think I can convince mike to draw out the fun by killing us one by one. Like a pageant. Then I’ll volunteer to go first, people love a go getter, and, while everyone’s focused on hanging me, you and Spy get the hell out of dodge.”

@talariis: Questions and Answers

❝ What is it like deliverin’ messages n’ guns for the teams? Is it dangerous? Didja’ ever get into any fights with the other guys? Why a messenger? What’s even your real name? Would you like to go on a date? What made you choose to work for Mann co.? Which team do you like better? Would you link to hang out at the base with me?❞

“Woah wow woah boy- I need a minute,” she put her hands up and pulled out a pad of paper to scribble the questions down before she forgot all of them, “…Y’know, honestly? Delivering to you badlands teams is actually the most relaxing part of my job?”
She paused and put a pointer finger up.
“Mail wise and stuff I mean, not TV messages so much. Some guys still…don’t like that.”
“So yeah, it’s dangerous. I mean, it’s been dangerous, right? Back in uhh…’60? People were still dying and swapping out all the time before respawn got solidified so it was a coinflip on friendliness day by day. Now I at least know who to avoid and/or use ranged delivery on so local delivery is somewhat less life threatening. But uh, I wouldn’t call anything here a fight. Little too one sided for that. Mostly I just hit the deck and wait, y’know? Not much I can do if anybody really gets a hankering to kill me…mostly.”

“Why ‘Messenger…’ well it’s kinda a rank thing on one hand? I’m like…the least expendable of the messengers and‘ve always had more job variability than ‘em so I get that nice proper noun priveledge. Lower pay grade technically but I’m pretty sure only one of em has managed to collect more than three times. And when they die I get half their severance as kinda a reward for outliving another grunt…I donate that.”

“On the other hand, Boss essentially owns my name, and I don’t want to put my family at risk so. Sorry Scout, it’s confidential.”

She looks over the questions again and goes pink very fast.

“Uh, I um I’m gonna answer that one last. Mann co was a… well I needed a job outta town and happened to see a listing for a satellite office of Mann Co that had like…the qualification was essentially having a pulse so. Then uh…that office…closed. But I…got moved. To HQ. Figured it was easier than searching for a different job so… eh,” she shrugged, “I need money if I’m gonna buy a little farm and have a bunch of dogs and horses someday. With room for my mom.”

Certain aspects of that answer could be seen as somewhat guarded.

She raised an eyebrow at the favorites question:
“You better not spread this, but so far Red’s ahead. I fear for my life significantly less when here. Some nice guys on blu, but generally I prefer y’all. Plus that Hot Choc won you points. Y’all would’ve lost points for killing my grunts and using their bones as art deco… but blu’s done it too. So you’re even.”
“So count that as yes I’d like to hang out sometime. Not running around for a bit is nice, and I like bothering you with shitty jokes.”
She took a breath, her face getting a whole lot redder. She rubbed her neck and shoulders and looked at the floor.
“I mean. If you’re actually serious about a date? S-sure? If it’s a joke, that’s fine.”

She looked up with a smile, responding in a very level voice, “It’s funny, in that case.”

Under the stars

“Oh boy I don’t like your phrasing there,” she grimaced, “what might go wrong sounds a bit better. Though at LEAST you didn’t say ‘what could go…’ you know the phrase.”

Messenger strapped herself in and leaned out the window like a happy dog.

“I haven’t been camping since… jeez since…well I haven’t been non-”Hale Style” camping since I moved out west. I think the last “for real” time was in Iceland. Yeah. We used to go all the time when I was a kid. Thanks for offering Dell…it means something big to me.”

Courier: “Sky High! Mess, Is that you?”

oldboyjensrps:

“Oh It sure is. What gave it away- the fact that I look exactly the fudging same? I saw Pauling earlier and she didn’t even do a double take. Neither did Admin. I’m full of crybaby rage, too short to use Mailcall for rounds, my feet don’t reach the pedals on my Vespa, and ready to pop off on Meramus like a shaken ginger ale.”

True to her word, smallsenger’s eyes are teary and full of anger at the world.

Messenger could see the struggle in Courier’s face and set her own in a deadpan. On one hand, she appreciated Curry trying to hold it in. On the other, she knew exactly how Curry would be acting if she weren’t showing restraint. Just the thought of the cooing made her cross her arms in frustration.

The offer, though, that was some good shit.

“…I feel like dragging Merasmus to the entirety of the mercenary world is asking for trouble.”

She thought for a moment remembering how Borya and Dmitri in particular would probably hear the program. And Witch, if she was awake. She was probably awake. A chaos child grin spread across her face.

“Lets freakening do it. I have so much dirt, not to mention that you KNOW we could get hundreds of call ins.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“And um, s’mores and shakes sound good but… could you pretend I’m my own cousin or something? I love Claire but I know she’ll never let me live it down.”