[Aside] Art over History

This is a space for in-character events that do not occur within the line of duty and/or did not fit into the "Daily Life" section as it played out. Threads herein are meant to supplement character development and flesh out the setting elements, but are not necessary to understanding the plot or characters involved. These events are to be considered canon unless otherwise noted.
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CadetNewb
Posts: 296
Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 12:59 am

[Aside] Art over History

Post by CadetNewb » Sun Jan 09, 2011 4:14 am

Killy, separated from the Terran squad in "Fall Arc"

*****

As the alien simply walked away from the recently deceased Terran-based mutants, it swore in a tongue filled with clicking chirps, tweets and guttural whines. The feather crest rising from its helmet didn't pick up so much as a breath or footstep nearby disturbing the air; it was safe to swear all he wanted. Even though milky purple blood had splattered from his left armpit, he kept on swearing. Not about the creatures that wounded him, oh no. Yotruyan, oft named 'Killy', swore and cursed the Terrans. Much of his time aboard The Battle Hymn of the Republic was spent either following Cibo, the Terran assigned to watch him, or going over After Action Reports and historical documents the Terrans had. As the suit sealed up and stopped the bleeding, his mood did not improve. It got worse.

The sun was setting quickly, and he had to find shelter. The bookstore nearby would do fine. Not that reading anything the Terrans had to offer was worthwhile. It was all probably worthless, much like their 'history' and 'after action reports'. He paused and listened for any sign of life, and satisfied he was clear, moved on again. Even as he made his way up the fire escape on the side of the building, Killy continued to speak to himself out of sheer frustration born out of the disparity between what he read, and what he saw.

Everything he read suggested the Terrans were simply experts at killing things, rivaling the Galactic Marines in terms of mental cunning and ingenuity. One Terran World War, and then another following it's heels. High levels of insurgency and instability throughout their homeworld in the years before true spaceflight. Another World War. Later, the subjugation of many species across their own Galaxy with the help of the Drathonians. And the after action reports all indicated that one Terran soldier was worth at least four Drathonians at the very least.

But what was all this just now? Squabbling, arguing amongst themselves like undisciplined one year old children. At the very least, the one year olds knew when it was appropriate to do so! Not with the Adult Terrans by the looks of things.

'Incompetent, weak, overall inferior...This isn't what we're looking for.'
he thought, entering the empty bookstore through the roof access. As he settled down in a back room, most likely the manager's office, Yotruyan looked at his drying blood. 'It's supposed to be a milky blue. Too much iron and not enough cobalt or copper in their meats.' His stomach started to ache with hunger as the suit sucked resources from his flesh to repair the damage.

Getting food was likely out of the question as darkness began to descend on the mutant infested city.
Last edited by CadetNewb on Mon Feb 21, 2011 4:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.

CadetNewb
Posts: 296
Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 12:59 am

Re: Art over History

Post by CadetNewb » Tue Jan 25, 2011 1:31 am

By now, the Ottyo had calmed down. However, his tail was wrapped around the swiveling chair, and his feet had grabbed several pencils. His helmet was off, and a mirror was in one hand, while another touched his mouth. An eye examined the long rows of small, razor sharp teeth that eventually lead to unnatural molars at the back; on his tongue was a pair of teeth. They had been knocked out despite the helmet that covered his entire head, but had managed not to spit them out into his suit or swallow them through all the fighting.

So, claws came down and plucked a tooth up by the tip, and then jammed it back into the spot from where it came. Pencils held in his foots' grasp snapped as the finger-like toes crushed it. His long tail wrapped about the chair and tightened as though a snake constricting prey. And he did it again, pushing the second and final tooth back into place. Why grow new ones when these were still perfectly good? It was painful, but most efficient resource wise. A bored eye glanced at the mirror once more before putting it back in the drawer. 'I suppose we would look a little like the Drathonians if we painted ourselves red.' he bitterly joked, reclining his feet up onto the desk.

With that done, what else was there to do? Go after the Terrans? He didn't look forward to that. Though they were putting up the best fight against the Drathonians, by the looks of things, it wasn't going well. Making sure that the natives took care of each other so the Principality could have some peace and quiet in it's own little corner wouldn't work. The Terrans were going to fail if they fought alone. And after what he saw, he didn't like the idea of punishing others by having them fight alongside the sweaty hominids. At that thought, he glanced at the manager's office terminal. He was in what was similar to a library. A storefront for books and other tomes and all sorts of other things like magazines and childrens' light reading and more. All their literature, and therefore their culture, was here on paper and on databanks. Yotruyan sighed. Truth be told, he joined The Inquisition to kill with impunity and as he pleased, not to scout and learn about another species' culture. His below average scores on matters xeno-cultural reflected this, but he still passed due to high proficiency in combat tests. He thought back to close friends and squad members who were much better at it than he. If the Terrans fell... "Maybe another Inquisitor will like to look at all this. I might as well grab it all."

The city's infrastructure was still quite intact, and so the console flickered to life. As his mind and soul dove in, protected by newly erected filters and barriers, he became more and more surprised as he looked over his finds.

CadetNewb
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Re: Art over History

Post by CadetNewb » Mon Feb 07, 2011 12:38 am

Something skittered across the wall of the University building. Another empty can of Spam was quietly discarded into the automated trash receptacle below, which caught and quickly shuttled it away to a recycling system likely far over loaded with junk, or broken. It didn't matter; so long as the thing worked, nobody would hear the sound of can against cement. Cement. The Terrans liked it a lot, but from what he could tell, wasn't their favorite thing to look at. But if that was the case, why have so much cement? They could have at least had numerous vines and other plants overgrow the city, but there were no scars in the buildings that told of such occupation. The feathered pseudo-reptilian continued on his path.

Night had fallen upon the Terran city, and the mutants, or whatever they were, were out in full force. The Ottyo's armored environment suit blended and shifted and blended as his limbs worked to silently skitter closer and closer to his destination. He had everything he needed for the work at hand in a pack tightly bound to his chest and belly; food, water, some books he had printed by the store's machines. Those last ones were a gamble, but, assuming he got back to the Terrans, would be worthwhile later on. The packs, for lack of a better word, were going in the opposite direction of where he was heading. They knew the scent of blood, no matter the womb or egg, and were heading right for where the Ottyo was, but not where he is; he had taken a knife and deliberately bleed on the cement before climbing out of sight several blocks back and sealing the wound.

Yotruyan's ruse worked wondrously. As he neared his destination, stealthily bounding across rooftops, crawling across surfaces, he looked forward to the work he would get to, and the Terran works that he would get to read as he did so. Shakespeare, J.K.Rowling, Charles Dickens, Aristotle, Orison Scott Card, Edgar Allen Poe,...Vātsyāyana? Kama Sutra? The Ottyo stopped moving across the side of the Engineering building. 'This is...oh no. No. NO!' Yotruyan's mind reeled from the scripture and all items with related tags. He climbed up to the roof and stealthed away for a brief moment, as some of the creatures below had noticed something amiss. And there was something amiss. Even though Yotruyan was there on that Terran world, he was really back Home, if only in his mind, and for the moment.

*****

Yotruyan strode through the doors of the great church, his long feathered tail waving between the coattails of the dark blue riding coat he used to wear when young. He discarded that as he strode down the aisle, then loosening the kerchief at his neck as he neared the altar. The air stood still, nothing moved. The altar to a god they no longer worshiped stood there, broken. As it should have been. Still. He needed to do this. "WHY YOU SON OF A BITCH? WHY?!" He roared, arms raised towards the lights filtering in from above.

*****

Done raging in disgust in the confines of his mind, Yotruyan pressed on, merging with the shadows. Terrans were an astounding people, capable of great works of literature. But Terrans were disgusting as well.

More so than he ever thought possible.

CadetNewb
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Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 12:59 am

Re: Art over History

Post by CadetNewb » Tue Feb 15, 2011 2:09 am

Yotruyan, Ottyo Liaison to the Terrans and Inquisitor of the Ottyo Principality was doing much better than his Terran counterpart. The city's University Campus had little to no resources -food- for the strangely ageless mutants. Those that were there were small and weak; based off his observations, the weak ones were shoved out of the more populated cities by the stronger ones encountered earlier. A few chance encounters that were ended quickly and quietly proved the fact that they were not up to par. As Yotruyan sat in the now cleared chemistry wing, not that it was very populated in the first place, a pot of stew cooked away under one of the fume hoods. He was particularly proud of using the fume hood to eliminate the scent of food too; it, combined with more savory selections from the Terran literary and visual arts helped to assuage Yotruyan's...prior suffering.

As he sat there, watching over his stew with one eye, listening for his alarms made of cans and twine with his ears, and making sure the chemical process for a few things went right with the other eye, Yotruyan also made sure he was enjoying himself. 'Saving Private Ryan' flashed by his mind at 2.5x Speed while reading about Gaius Julius Caesar. So many similarities. And differences between their peoples! And all fascinating.

He felt like he was 9 years old again, in University and taking classes. Who would have thought a Terran Establishment would bring him such nostalgia?

CadetNewb
Posts: 296
Joined: Fri Dec 24, 2010 12:59 am

Re: [Aside] Art over History

Post by CadetNewb » Mon Mar 07, 2011 7:30 pm

The thin, flesh covered plates dully sounded as they rustled against the floor. Plastic bags full of some sort of powder lay strewn across the floor, the contents of one slightly strewn over the threshold. The Ottyo lay on the floor curled up in pain; the sound of synthetically forced breathing echoed through the abandoned University's hallway as Yotruyan lamely struggled to get up, failing to do so again and again in a pathetic manner. He finally gave up and stopped moving to rest, stuck on his back and unable to roll over much like a turtle flipped over. Wheezing breath continued to be meted out by the suit, soft and miserable in it's tenor. It sounded like he was dying. The indiscretion didn't go unheard, as soft, pattering and curious footsteps neared, finally coming to a stop around the corner.

Yotruyan propped himself up with an elbow, as the lesser mutant went into a screaming charge.

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