agoodyarn | Post Battle Reds and Whites and Greys

'Handy' wasn't the word that Aleifr would use to describe the woman at the heart of the Sororitas's push. 'Handy' meant that someone was clever, or had some useful skill to execute your strategy.

This woman was beyond that.

She moved so quickly, even his enhanced eyes could barely keep track of her. When she struck, enemies were sent pinning end over end as if they'd been hit with a thunder hammer instead of the fist of a mortal woman. She was a force of nature, carving her way through greenskins like a scythe reaping wheat.

She didn't fight like any Sororitas he'd ever seen, or even any Astartes. She fought like a fucking Primarch, and he wanted to know how.

When the battle ended, though and she removed her helmet ...

He wasn't certain what he expected to find, but it wasn't what he got.

She looked ordinary. Beautiful, but she didn't bear any of the hallmarks of genetic modification as he knew them. No stitching, no metallic components, none of the broadened features you'd see from Astartes gene-seed ... it didn't make any damned sense, and he wanted answers.

So, as the dust settled and his men were accounted for, he began making his way towards her.

She could give a very pretty speech about what she is in relation to her sisters, that her gifts were gifts given by and for the Emperor, and lots of very humble things that she does actually believe but mostly had been memorized any time she had to deal with questions from other organizations who might give her cannoness (or, today, her palatine) trouble over her gifts.

...right now, though, she wants to pull off her armor, get something to eat, something to drink. Perhaps see if one of the soldiers around here is suitable for other post-battle rituals though she doubts that, heartily. She'll settle for the other two, though, but she hears someone heading towards her so she puts her helmet to the side and turns to look towards the visitor.

"Yes?"

He's sure he'll hear all of that in due time. For the moment ...

"You fought well today." His voice came out of his speaker-grill in a vox-gnarled growl. "Exceptionally so."

It's a compliment, for sure, but there's undoubtedly an unspoken question underneath it.

Edited 2019-10-28 01:23 (UTC)

Ah. This old chestnut. She nods, bows her head as a matter of fact, and then starts undoing her armor. He wants to come at her before she's done pulling all the nonsense off? She can handle her turning around to get the pieces off of her. There's clothing underneath, after all.

"Thank you," she vocalizes as she gets to another clasp. "I'm assuming you're not just commenting on my mission's tactics?"

If so, he'd go to talk to her palantine.

"No." He shakes his head. "Your palantine's strategy was sound, but I expect competence from an experienced commander."

Or he hopes for it, at least. Far from a guarantee, but in his experience, the Sororitas had a better track record than most.

"I don't often see someone take the head off an Ork with a punch. Sororitas or otherwise."

The Sororitas does more with less and stands besides giants on their own human legs. At least, for the most part. She finishes with the clasps on the top half of her armor and tugs it off carefully, as she doesn't want to warp it. The last time she did, their quartermaster was cross with her for a full week. She places it to one side.

"It's even more impressive when I do it to a Chaos Marine," she says, but the words are low, mostly spoken in jest to herself. After a moment, she clears her throat and looks back up and over at him.

"I am unique among my sisters. Gifted by the Emperor in ways great and strange, but pure and uncorrupted." A pause. "You don't sound like you're concerned about my soul. So is there something specific you wish to know?"

His body language doesn't shift in response to that little joke, but his eyebrow arches under his helmet.

Her heartrate didn't climb even slightly. Far as he could tell, she was speaking the truth.

"I don't smell the warp on you, and it the Sororitas suspected your gifts were maleficarum, I doubt you'd be wearing their colours, much less in their vanguard."

In short: He knows she's not a mutant or a biokene.

"I want to know more about these gifts of yours."

A pause. "But your name would be a good start."

"Sister Karena," she offers as she starts in on her lower half. She's not surprised he isn't doing the same. Armor like that, usually no one wants to see what's underneath. It's why she doesn't tend to look. But she caught the uptick in his own heartbeat, the way he took that little joke. Hmm.

"And thank you for having the sense to know that. You'd be surprised how uncommon it can be."

She leans over to start working on the area near her knees.

"I would like to know yours as well before I start frustrating you with answers I may not have."

"Aleifr, son of Bjorn"

He reaches up, to the back of his helmet and thumbs the release switches underneath the lip. The seals holding it in place pop with a pneumatic hiss, the lights behind the eyepieces go dark, and he lifts off his helmet.

"Varangyr to Jarl Egil Ironwolf."

The same discerning eye he had turned on her is turned on him and her eyes widen just a little to see the man behind the helmet. One who is... much more interesting now, to be honest. Mostly for not being what she expected.

"Pleasure to meet you, Aleifr. What with us both alive after a successful battle. What questions did you have?"

She glances at his armor.

"And would you like to address them after you've taken more of that off?"

"That suits me."

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, in what could charitably be called a brief grin if one was watching closely enough to see it.

"You know where we've set up our barracks. See to whatever post-battle rites you need to, then come and find me. I'll be waiting by the cook fire."

She is. And it makes her like him. She knows their lives are... well, their lives. But there's no reason not to enjoy things. Her sisters could be a great group of gals but occasionally, one or the other would get riled up in the wrong direction and it was a lot less fun of a time.

"That's where I'd be headed regardless. But I'll see you there."

And she makes sure he sees her actual smile.

The smile he offers in reply isn't any less reserved than the brief grin, but it sticks around long enough to make it clear that it's more than a flicker of amusement.

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."

His golden, wolfish eyes linger on her for a moment before he turns and leaves.

An Astartes's armor is a difficult thing to remove. Aleifr doesn't have the tools or the flexibility to do it himself, but his thralls have the solution to the first problem and the second doesn't apply to them.

He's seen to that by the time she arrives at the circle of tents and prefab structures that's serving as the Rout's encampment. Dozens of wolves linger around the cook fires that dot their makeshift aett. Some sit alone with their thoughts, nursing drinks. Others hang in groups, loudly bantering and swapping stories.

A few Wolves hang around the fire Aleifr's sitting at, but they rise to their feet and depart as Karena approaches.

Aleifr, clad in a loose-fitting tunic, rises with them, but remains. Even outside of his armor, he's noticeably larger than his brothers.

"Sister." He greets her with a small nod of his head.

Thankfully, her armor is a little different than most. It had had to be designed differently to withstand the force of her blows, the kind of damage that she could take... and to protect her from the things that were actually harmful to her. Less clasps, perhaps, but a great deal more underthings, not that she doesn't keep many of them on regardless of where she is or whether she's in an active battle.

But as they'd agreed, she makes her way to the fire, looking at the other Wolves, nodding to them as she heads over to the man she'd agreed to speak to. When he greets her, she dips her head in reply.

"Varangyr."

Since he'd called here merely 'sister'. Then she gestures to him: shall they eat?

It was a matter of respect. He liked her, and he got the sense that the feeling was mutual, but until they'd had an opportunity to learn more of each other, he didn't want to offend her by being overly familiar.

He nods, and reaches for one of the platters set about them - one full with a sizeable portion of meat and some dark, brown bread - and holds it out to her. Once she takes it, he gets his own as well as a mug of a dark brown liquid that ... to say it smells strong would be an understatement. It smells as though you could run a jet engine with it, and yet he takes a drink without so much as batting an eye.

"So." He says, easing into his seat. "You've said your gifts are given by the Allfather. What's the extent of them?"

She tends to go familiar pretty quickly, which is why she'd just returned his manners. But the manners are a lot less of her concern when he holds out the plate of food. That gets taken, but she'll leave him to have his jet fuel; none of it gives her the advantages that it ought to so it's hardly worth the flavor.

To his question, she raises an eyebrow.

"They're... many. And varied. I'm sure you saw some of them." She takes a bite of food, chewing it before finishing up. "What are you interested in?"

"All of it." He replies bluntly. "You're stronger than any Astartes I've seen outside of a dreadnought. I'm curious what else you can do."

"What else do you need done?" is a better question, because the one he's asking... that's a list. And it's one she doesn't particularly like going over. Mostly because it's long.

"At present, nothing." He grunts, taking another swig of his strong-smelling grog and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Never seen someone do what you did today without maleficarum, biomancy, or enhancements that you don't bear the scars of. You've intrigued me."

Edited 2019-10-29 00:17 (UTC)

"Well, if you figure out what it is, you'd best let the rest of the Ecclesiarchy in on the secret," she says with a wry little smile. "But the fact of it is... I've always been like this. Since I was found at the convent."

She looks up from her plate and, after a moment, lets out a little sigh. It's not tired, just mildly amused.

"I could crack your armor in half with my little pinky," she says with a shrug, "and, well... you've seen me move. I don't need the wings like most of the order would."

She watches him.

"And I can hear your heartbeat. Smell the chemical you use to clean your armor. See... through. Any number of things." There's a faintly wicked smile. "But I like to behave with strangers."

And he watches her with those golden, canid eyes of his. The shifts in his expression are minute, but with the attention she's paying? She'll pick up on them. His eyes narrow slightly as she begins, but that scrutiny gives way to ... awe is strong, but he's impressed at the very least - especially given she seems to be utterly honest about all of it.

And of course, a hint of that wolfish grin creeps back into his expression at that final statement.

"If I hadn't seen what you did on the battlefield today, I'd think you were lying through your teeth."

"And anyone lying like that deserves the trouble they get for it," she says before taking another bite of her food and a drink of her drink. She finishes it up before looking back at him.

"I'd tell you the color of your underwear if I actually wanted to look."

Aleifr arches an eyebrow and that grin stretches just a little wider.

"I don't doubt it."

There's no fear in this one. He likes that.

"Then again," she says thoughtfully as he takes another sip. "I've found it's usually more enjoyable to find that out hands-on."

"I didn't think Sororitas were allowed to do that."

Not that he's rebuking her, of course. If anything, judging by the shameless up-and-down look he gives her and the lopsided grin he's fixing her with, he likes the idea of that quite a bit.

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