Drowning it Out (open, but PM before joining)

[Anonymous]

Training.

Sometimes it was the one thing Liv could stand, the one method he had of escaping everything.  Not Dragon training; he had to admit he had neglected that, which Falstaff seemed not to mind.  Oh, he got his Network fix about twice a week.  But he was treating it like the drug it fucking well was: for use delicately and in moderation.

He had opened up a training room for landscape sim.  It was his favorite: a rocky cove, steep cliffs, blue water, much bluer than real water had any right to be.  He had taken off his shirt, everything but military-issue pants, boots and gun belt, because--well, because he'd only look this good for so long.  Carpe diem.  Carpe one of the few dies remaining.  He did some stretching exercises, one eye on the water.  The water was the danger spot here, though he always had at least twenty minutes for stretching and other such blood-pumping exercises.  He dropped down for a quick set of pushups (one-two-three-four) then shoved himself back up.  There was a tree  handy, and he jumped up to grab a lower branch, brought his knees up, down, up, down.  Much better than the gym.  Dropping down, he paused for a minute, hands on knees, taking deep breaths.  It was so easy, at this moment, constrained by merely physical limitations, not to feel anything else.  He wouldn't think of what lay beyond the known neck of the nec plus ultra, he wouldn't worry about the Axis Point, which he wouldn't need to approach anyway.  He wouldn't worry about Falstaff, or the Network.  Knowledge isn't fucking power, Livvy boy, power is power, and the Dragons...  knowledge is the illusion of power.  Just want to live.  Liv.  Just be the one fucking thing I am.

He bent over sideways, stretching his latissimi dorsi.  Checked on one of his blasters; ostentatiously kissed the barrel, then tucked it back into his belt holster.  This was to loosen up, so he'd set up a selection of music with a thumping bass in the background.  Just as well.  Liv swung his arms wide and brought his hands together in a loud, echoing clap.

And there it was, as if precisely at his behest (though that wasn't the nature of the sim).  A wave started far out to sea, came closer, cresting--and the Arachnid D8 surfaced, metal limbs gyrating.  They had based the sim on an octopus, and it was a thing of beauty.  Until it tried to kill you.  This time it swept in toward the beach, veering to one side.  It wanted him in the cliffs.  OK.  One blaster shot wouldn't come close to disabling it.  The key to the damn thing was getting to the control panel on the creature's 'stomach.'  

It reared up out of the water sooner than he had thought, and Liv took off running, flat out, energy shield up on one arm.  Nevertheless, one of the creature's beams caught him a glancing blow on one shoulder and knocked him flat.  He ate sand, which scoured a burning trail over one cheek, then rolled end over end back to his feet.  At the edge of the cliffs now, he twisted to block another shot before he vaulted over a rock and crouched to take aim for a few blaster shots.  There--he had disabled one of the thing's limbs, though it gyrated onward in its seven remaining.  Another shot from its guns and the boulder rocked; Liv backed off and up, further up, toward the top of the clifflike overhang.  He knew this spot well; usually, he didn't venture toward the dangerous rocks and cliff's edge, which was wont to give way.  Instead he tended to draw the creature into the woods, or simply shut down the sim before things got too hard.  But he felt reckless today.

Liv whistled--though insolence was lost on the creature--and it trained its guns on him again.  Grinning, he lifted his shield and turned his own blaster.  Maybe he could blow the motherfucker from where he was... aim, aim... ohfuck.  

Backing up, he had hit a wet patch of rock.  One foot slipped--his weak ankle--and he went down, turning his shoulder at the last minute so the impact wouldn't do any damage.  Shit.  It wouldn't be so bad if he weren't on the cliff, and the thing weren't a mere ten yards away now.  But he wouldn't shut the simulation down--not now, not when it would go on record again.  If nothing else, Liv was a professional at ground combat.  

"Come on, you fucker."  Liv was already breathing heavily.  Back on his feet, doubled over, he backed up.  He was now out on the flattest part of the cliff, that overhanging the water.  And a fuckload of rocks.  

There it was.  The Arachnid bowled him over with one lazy swipe of a tentacle, and Liv was on his back again.  Shot with the blaster and the thing recoiled, but it was back again with another, and he felt his head whip round sideways; his jaw made an audible cracking sound.  Then the thing was practically on top of him.  Liv scrambled backwards over ground sandy, salty, and rough, covered in seagrass and pebbles.  The danger was its blasters--they were set to mere percussion, but if it got too close they could do damage.  Shit.  Shit.  And it wasn't giving him a clear shot at its belly.

Another thrash of the tentacle and his blaster went spinning, to land ten feet away.  Liv threw up his shield to deflect three, four, five hammer blows from the D8's tentacles, and then scrambled further on, on hands and knees, freeing his second blaster from his belt.  He had just gotten a hand on the first as well when the thing had launched itself at him.  Liv was on a narrow strip of cliff above rocky water.  He was between a rock an an Arachnid.

He pointed one blaster straight up and the other down, and fired on High.  The bottom dropped out from under him.

The creature made it halfway through its launch before Liv's second blaster caught it in the control panel.

Simulation Complete.

Instead of hard stone and cold water, Liv found himself sprawling backwards across the empty floor of the training room, the wind knocked out of him.  He blinked as the blank walls resolved themselves around him.  Breathless, he struggled upright, rubbing at one bare shoulder.  The D8 had clocked him a pretty good one, for a sim.  The abrasion on his cheek, unlike the very real electromagnetic blast, had been merely an illusion, but he put a hand to his face anyway, checking to make sure it hadn't really been sand-scoured.  Liv had only just sat up and begun the slow and laborious process of cataloguing which bumps and bruises really hurt and which were imagined--always tricky business after a sim--when the door slid open.

He blinked against the sudden inpouring light, one arm strung loosely over his updrawn knee, leaning forward and squinting to see who it was.

"D'you mind?  I was on my fucking Island Vacation.  I was having a fucking date."  That was, of course, the name of the sim, and 'date' was a play on the Arachnid D8.  "Can't a man get some privacy with imaginary metal monsters when he likes?  Honestly."

[Anonymous]

Now was one of Fala's periods of 'alone time'- those god-awful periods in between training sessions with her little Candidate bumpkins that left her either going to Jorinth for plug-in time (which he'd denied her today, the bastard) or into the ATC for a beat down session to keep her mind occupied. Nothing took her mind off being alone for a bit quite like beating the crap out of something, even if the beasts didn't happen to be real. With each click of her boots against the waxed floor of the halls leading to the training simulators, her mind flew through the possibilities- where would she fight today? Or more importantly, what? The terrain made little difference when one fought with only their hands and feet, since they mostly gave her open fields to work with, anyway. Cliffs and forested areas were always too much to her advantage, given her ability then to use the beasts' size against them.

Perhaps she would tackle a tentacled monster that needed to have its eyes crushed before it exposed its core, or perhaps a giant snake that spit poison? Perhaps today she'd get to see a new beastie she'd never had the pleasure of sparring against, before. She'd fought most of the beasts, but the simulator programmers were at least thoughtful enough to make sure she didn't get too complacent, switching up the coding every so often to give her the challenge she wanted so earnestly. She took pleasure in making the lazy son of a bitches work for their lucrative pay once in a while.

Lately, they had set her up against bastardizations of organic beasts, refusing to show such obvious weaknesses as buttons, dials, or control panels. Maybe Fala was pushing them too hard. It was about time they realized she wasn't dicking around when she came here. In real life, there were no 'obvious weaknesses' like that- best to get used to unseen weaknesses now, rather than get accustomed to and grow dependent on using such useless visual cues. In war, there were no magic buttons or control panels.

Then again, out in the battlefield, she couldn't get anywhere near a technologically developed battleground relying just on her hands and feet. She'd be vaporized before she even got close. But the exercises she got here made Piloting Jorinth that much easier...

<If I let you Pilot me. Tell me you're not going to the room he's in because of those... letters. I didn't track him down for you because those pieces of filth.> Jorinth's disapproving mental rumble made her feet stop just as she came to the door, making the green-haired Pilot roll her eyes behind the rose-tinted visor. It figured that, though he wouldn't let her plug in, he'd still hang around her mind to pick at her thoughts every so often. He was like a big wayward brother that wouldn't let her play with his toys, but would stick around to make sure she didn't do anything to get back at him after an inadvertent dismissal.

Oh, fuck off. Don't you have something else to do, you scaly voyeur? Sending him a few choice images of past lovers, she noticed that his presence almost immediately faded with a twinge of nonchalance from her mind. Mere thoughts of his intrusion during the midst of lusty trysts was enough to make him lose interest- he had no such desires, and didn't really understand why she felt the desire (not need- that was too strong a word) to constantly go out and mate with human males when night fell. Of course, he had realized by now that the rate of her searching for arbitrary human mates also coincided with times that he blocked her out of the Network. He let her do what she wanted, but only when he wanted her to.

Almost as an afterthought, she felt a nudge in her mind, and Jorinth's reassuring strength re-emerged into her psyche with just one statement to share:

<You're not plugging into me if you catch something.>

Pushing whatever remnants of his presence aside, Fala smirked and poked the keypad by the door. Just as Jorinth had confirmed, the training room was occupied- and she knew just who was inside. A sense of morbid curiosity made her pause for just a second, a grin spreading across her face at the mere thought of Marshal's face. She'd show him that waving around past flings wasn't the smartest thing to do if he wanted to get laid. Even if it meant going with the social misfit of the Pilots, it was a powerful statement that she was sure would sting the Seeker if he ever found out.

As she punched in her number to admit herself in, she inwardly wondered if Seiteki's anti-Marshal sentiments were getting to her. Or if she was the one getting jealous.

The latter thoughts were brushed aside as Fala's ears heard the locks of the door click open, then release as the door slid smoothly aside to admit her.

"D'you mind? I was on my fucking Island Vacation. I was having a fucking date. Can't a man get some privacy with imaginary metal monsters when he likes? Honestly."

Leaning against the door frame so that he'd have to get used to the brightness whether he liked it or not, Fala let a small chuckle shake her frame, looking at him with a small sneer. It figured that he wouldn't think that she'd meet him here, rather than at his room, as he'd asked her to.

"Oh, a date with someone else? Apologies if I interrupted your 'alone time'. If your palm is more amusing than a woman, then by all means, I'll leave you be." Sauntering over to him, her boots clicking against the floor, she sat down beside him and pushed against him with an assertive push of the shoulder.

"So, who was the beastie of the day? You look like you took a digital beating, checking yourself out like that."

[Anonymous]

Oh, well then.

Liv let his eyebrows lift, and his gaze followed, moving up and down Fala's body.  Nice... also nice... almost as nice as his.  Shoulders, anyway.  The rest was--not better--that was one of the lovely things about women.  It did not have a gol durn thing to do with competition or masculinity.  Nor did Fala, from what he'd heard.  She had some Issues.  Of course, who didn't?

Naturally he would have to play on them as on the plangent harp of--some plangent harp, anyway.  It was fun.  

"Depends on the woman," he murmured, in response to her gibe, and shifted sideways to accommodate her as she lowered herself to the ground beside him, the soft side of one hip pushing against his.  "And on the palm.  You may learn to appreciate mine."  He winked absurdly and, with a wide-eyed look of faux-naïveté, lifted one arm and set his hand down on her opposite shoulder.  He shut his fingers delicately, one at a time, parodying the furtive shoulder-grab used by adolescents everywhere.  

"So, who was the beastie of the day? You look like you took a digital beating, checking yourself out like that."

Liv blew out a long, pained breath and stuck out his lower lip, turning toward her with his best piteous face on.  "You look like you're checking me out.  Come on.  Admit it.  You like your boys a bit battered--gives you that sense of power, no?  I mean, that's how I like my--"  He paused just long enough to engender anxiety as to his sexuality.  "--girls.  And boys, but hey."  He ran one finger down his chest and stopped at a bruise over his ribcage.  "Kiss it and make it better?"  He laughed suddenly, unable to sustain the earnest flirtation, let go of her shoulder, and lounged backwards on both hands.

"It was an Arachnid, that's all.  I blew it away while falling down, listen well, through a cliff.  I am quite the catch.  Hey, listen.  I've been in this sim so many times I've learned to fuck with the settings.  If you like, I can get Island Vacation without any beasties at all.  We could go swimming."

Grin again, sideways.  "Or just fuck."

[Anonymous]

Fala had seen men of all sorts during her lifetime- men that were so forward they were borderline boorish, others that were so subtle that she didn't even catch them with their eyes directly on her, and many more in between. Liv was leaning towards the former, but at least didn't have the audacity to try to force subtlety. She hated the men that thought they were so skilled that they could look at her, then try to use a psychic shroud on her mind to try to force her into thinking that they weren't checking her out like some prime cut of meat. While she might not have been able to fight off most of it, the mere feeling of where the psychic powers had come from was often enough for her to be able to kick the culprit squarely in the crotch and assure they would be sterile for several weeks to come.

"Maybe you don't know what this woman has to offer, then." She rolled her eyes when his fingers went around- what, did he think he was sneaky?- to wrap around her shoulder. Despite this, she tolerated the gesture, looking up at him when he'd gone and labeled her as the starer with a questioning glance and a raised eyebrow.

It was awfully gutsy of him to accuse her of staring, considering his wiry frame and snide smile. It was even more gutsy of her fellow Pilot to try to stick a label to her psychological processes. As if anyone understood another Pilot's thoughts- Fala, despite her psychic shortfalls, knew that there would always be more to another psychic than met the eye. No matter what their eyes, body, and voice said, there was always that one last veil of communication that no one with her psychic powers could ever see past.

When the thought of how Marshal's wiry body looked oddly similar came to mind, she focused back on Liv's face, where there was absolutely no physical resemblance.

"Don't flatter yourself, Liv. If I wanted you to look beat and battered, I would have done it myself." To prove her point, she took a sharp, short jab at his side, returning the laugh when she pushed him away at the thought of kissing his ribs. She'd heard about this long-time former Candidate, but hadn't thought he'd be so forward with even half-baked and halfhearted advances.

"No kisses for you. Not there, anyway. I'm sure you'd agree that there's much better places for my lips to be, right?" Giving him a snide smirk and leaning back on her elbows, Fala let her short hair fall back against her shoulders as she let him deliver his spiel.

It was the typical male chauvinist spout- 'because I did this, you want to do this, right?' The same typical thought pattern that made her positively hate her male cohorts because it hindered their efficiency also made her laugh more than anything else. Though for once, she kept it in, there was nothing quite as funny as the not-so-subtle implications: 'Hey, look what I can do. Guess what I did? Impressive, right? So, because of that, you totally want to bang me, right here, right now.'

How typical that the men, who considered themselves so advanced, would still go around all these centuries later, clucking like peacocks while still flaring their feathers to impress the women.

"Island Vacation just gets messy. Sand in places where there shouldn't be and all that." Leaning towards him and stopping a few inches from him, Fala purred her next sentence just beside his lips:

"'Course, I came in when the door was locked. Anyone can walk in at any time. Who's to say we wouldn't be interrupted? Willing to take that risk, Liv?"

[Anonymous]

Liv could recognize ambivalence almost as unerringly as he recognized attraction.  He simply chose to ignore it.  Fala's less than enthusiastic look down at his torso was clearly deluded.  Sure, he didn't have what one might precisely call 'pecs,' but really--

Oh, feisty.  Her poke in the ribs didn't hurt; not really.  Sims could only do so much to you, regardless of what Lesky might like, and Liv had sprung back admirably.  So to speak.  But his body wasn't really the issue, was it?  He let his smile quirk sideways, one of the cuter expressions in his repertoire.  Hers, in answer, was just a little cynical.  He couldn't read her eyes beneath those silly pink glasses... had he just thought 'silly'?  Stylish was more like it... he was only jealous.  He had a pair of green shades, but they just weren't the same.  These cast red-tinted crescents onto the crests of her cheeks, which lifted with the sardonic slice of smile she offered him, glistening with lip and tongue.

"I'm sure you'd agree that there's much better places for my lips to be, right?"

Obviously, some braggadocio followed by a suggestion of sex was the proper response to that.  Sometimes he wasn't quite sure Fala was for real.  Or maybe she'd just watched Saturn Alien Sizzlers one too many times?  And he'd thought he was the only one with punny tastes in porn.

She was unmoved by both the braggery and the suggestion, which Liv found mildly deflating.  He'd wanted to revisit the island, site of his great triumph half an hour ago... maybe Macky would let him replay the tapes, it had been particularly ace.  No.  Liv.  Bad.  There's a woman here, don't think about yourself.  Of course, when he did start thinking about her, self-control became--difficult.  He eyed the shift of her hips against the floor, let his gaze move up... stop... and up again, to settle somewhere between cleavage and clavicle, or what he could see of them through her shirt.  An outline, really.  Why did she wear so much clothing?  It was hardly sporting.  

Fala leaned toward him, and he peered more closely as cloth shifted and strained.  She was saying something, but Liv didn't particularly care what it was; he was too busy cataloguing the movement of her mouth, planning the next few minutes, and trying to decide whether he ought to take the shades.  It could be classy.  Anyway, the tone was the important thing.  He'd have to ask her later if she'd seen that holo, because she really sounded like--

"--Willing to take that risk, Liv?"

She'd come very close.  In a grand gesture, Liv flung one arm out, then brought it down to grip one side of the pink glasses.  He liberated her of them and, with another flourish, settled them on his own nose.  "Risks, through rose-colored glasses, my dear," he said, letting his fingers drop slowly from the rim of the glasses, down to his own neck, then over to her jaw.  "--are unimportant."  He kissed her, and thought:

Item, that she was a wonderful kisser, item, that she'd probably had practice on Marshal--which he quickly pushed aside, to wonder... how exactly did one get her out of all that blue stretchy fabric?

[Anonymous]

(Whoo, got permission for some light godmodding. Pardon.)

There was something odd about Liv's glances- what, did her words really clip his wings so much? Thankfully, he bounced back quickly, suddenly looking more than eager to play her little game. To the cat ran the mouse, in what would be this insane race of passion and hormones, sensation and chemistry that would hopefully give them both a slice of heaven, however temporarily. A very short-lived sense of utter bliss and euphoria that would block out the horrific chill of loneliness that would otherwise drive her normally aggressive mind mad, forcing her psyche into a corner and pounding it into submission.

He'd moved fast- too fast for her to stop him, the clips thankfully disconnecting smoothly from the ports on her temples as he lifted her visor away. Though there was an initial shock- the world was no longer the reassuring shade of pink she was used to- she had to admit that there was something oddly charming about seeing them on someone else. She made a mental of that as he moved his fingers to caress her jaw, and let herself lean lightly into the light, tingling sensation of those teasing digits.

His kiss was eager- he swooped in to rake in the spoils of a small verbal war whose odds were already in his favor with a kiss that left her breathless. Though... that didn't mean it was a good thing. His overeager kiss had left her tilting her head slightly in order to prevent a very painful collision of teeth against lips, even though she did figure that he knew what he was doing. It just seemed like he hadn't been laid in a very, very long time.

Smiling against his lips as he tried to lean in further, Fala pushed him back just enough to slow his advances and position herself in a way that would make his enthusiastic kisses deeper, more passionate, and--

Had he just tried to stop her hands?

The green-haired pilot put her palm against his chest, making him pause just long enough to let her pull the dark gray tank top over her head, shedding her white gloves as well. Her torso was only covered in her skin-tight blue outfit, with her sheer skirt, boots, and leggings being the only other items of clothing on her person. It wasn't bad, for only a few minutes' worth of work.

Immediately, he had closed the gap again- and she tried to push him back again, even as their kisses grew more heated and all the more intense. A few seconds of this, and an insistent hand grabbing at her backside, and that was all she needed to know to figure out this game. All this time, she assumed he'd just roll on his back and let her do as she pleased with him- it was how it had always been, for the most part. But unlike the targets she normally sought out, this one didn't seem quite so eager to put his proverbial tail between his legs and do what he was told.

When his hands searched for that elusive way to open her suit, she guided his hand to the back of her neck, where a small zipper awaited, and let him pull it down, while one of her hands combed gently through her hair while the other clawed at his back.

And to think, they hadn't even turned on a simulation, yet.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Back before he was a candidate, Gabriel would have never dreamed that he would actually like fighting. He'd been a scrawny, skinny kid growing up who spent way too much time on the computer--thank gods for a good metabolism--and when it came to bullies, he ran. If he couldn't run away, he fought back, and when he could no longer fight back, he curled up into a ball and waited for it to end. There was nothing fun about it, only bruises and bloody lips and pain and humiliation.

That had changed, though, somewhere during candidacy when he was taught proper combat and learned how to win. There was something empowering about a good fight, about feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins while you squared off against some beast and...okay, yeah, so he just liked pretending he was the hero of some RPG taking down simulated monsters in strange worlds. Escapism and fitness all in one! It really didn't get any deeper, or better, than that.

All he needed now was a sword.

It didn't take long to reach the sim room, the door wide open--nice, saved him a few seconds punching in his code--and he picked up his pace and slipped inside before anyone could decide to shut it first and--

And then he just froze and stared.

And stared a little more, mouth dropping open and eyes widening at the sight of Liv and Fala--Liv and Fala--locking lips and pawing all over each other, Liv tugging down her zipper, Fala clawing at him...

For a few horrifying seconds, words just wouldn't come and like some devastating crash with no survivors he just couldn't look away from it, couldn't think. Then reality snapped back into focus and he felt his face heat up, heard himself make a sort of strangled noise in his throat before he could speak properly.

"OH! Oh, whoa, jeez, sorry!" he blurted, throwing his hands up as though to shield himself from the scene before he realized he was still staring. With a loud groan, he slapped a hand over his eyes and turned his back on the two, shoulders hunched. Oh...jeez. Liv and Fala. Liv and Fala? Somewhere in the back of his mind he found himself grateful it was Liv and not Marshal--thank gods for small miracles--and yet not so grateful because it was Liv and Fala and that was pretty much the last thing he wanted to see, or close to it. He loved his friends and all, but not that much.

What the hell. First he gropes Roman and sees him naked, then he sees Vaughan naked, now he walks in on a near coital Fala and Liv.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but man. When it came to bad timing, he was on a roll.

"Uh...wow. What the hell..." He rubbed his eyelids as though to massage the image out of his retinas and didn't dare look back at them. "Right. Wow. So uh...huh. Well. I'll let you two get back to, er...training?" he said lamely, running a hand though his bangs before letting it drop back down to his side. His face still felt uncomfortably hot, and he was pretty sure he'd turned a nice shade of red. Dammit. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the room and toward the keypad. "I'll just...close the door. You should really close the door. Yeah..."

[Anonymous]

((So Kurai messaged me saying I should have Marshal interrupt. Sam was meant to PM me apparently but she didn’t, so I’m posting now anyway.))



It was one of those rare days when Marshal was actually happy.

Au Guang had given him his fill of the network, flooding his mind with enough information to justify a day off from work. Well, a half day anyway. Gospels always needed hunting.

There were no alerts, the subnet was quiet, the police channels devoid of phrases like ‘I just don’t know what happened, it was like I couldn’t stop myself’ and ‘It just started floating by itself I swear!’ which could indicate a Gospel or a new potential psychic. Everything was going well for Marshal, which was a rare thing.

On his down time there were a few things Marshal enjoyed doing. He liked spending time with women, most of all, and often not in any sexual way. He just liked their company; it eased his mind, made the constant churn of thoughts slow. Then there was training his candidates, which promised the subtle pleasure of watching them develop into able Pilot’s, which (though he’d never admit it) made him very proud.

The third thing he enjoyed was training. Back in the war with Edanith, where he and Roman had both fought, he got the same pleasure from taking control of enemy commanders and puppeting them, watching as they destroyed their own troops moral by ordering them to their deaths. Without a current major conflict the same pleasure could be gleamed from messing with Aedolis’ own soldiers, or failing that, simulations.

With Satori still moping over Wulf and Fala behaving...strangel y, and his candidates attending classes, Marshal headed towards one of the training rooms where he hoped to find some young soldiers who he could teach the meaning of respect to. He longed to probe Fala’s mind, to understand why she was behaving oddly, but out of respect he restrained himself.

Ugh, women.

Just before he rounded the last corner Marshal noticed Gabriel, his probing mental filaments brushing the pilot’s mind so lightly they wouldn’t be noticed. He was leaving the training room it seemed, and after quite a work out too, judging by his face.

Rounding the corner he walked down the uniform corridor, artificial light casting him in a white-blue glow. He gave a curt nod to Gabriel, not really wanting to get into a lecture about how he shouldn’t torment the new recruits, and continued on at a brisk pace. Ignoring Gabriel, just in case he tried to make him stop or draw him into an argument, Marshal stepped past him through the door.

There he froze, expression caught in neutral as he gazed down at the two bodies. Beneath his calm exterior, Marshal boiled. His heart started to pump faster, back muscles tightened and palms grew sweaty as his hands clenched and unclenched slowly.

Marshal had, at the beginning of their...whatever it was with Fala, relationship he supposed, had been very clear as to his rules. He didn’t share, not with other men. Despite being often clinical and logical in all things, Marshal was a very primal creature at heart. He didn’t share his females; it was as simple as that. She had expressed no concern with him sleeping around, not that he had though.

If she had wanted out, she should have told him so. This, this was betrayal, of the worst kind. He knew how she was, knew her tendencies, and had expected her to grow bored with him eventually, but he also expected her to have more sense than to test him like this. Below all the anger, somewhere there was disappointment.

But now it was in front of him, and thoughts of what was right and wrong disappeared under a wave of anger. Liv, a pathetic pilot in his own right and often regarded by Marshal as being part of the group in his mind that included Latona who, by all rights, should never have been allowed to become pilots, was kissing Fala. His Fala.

Liv was touching Fala. His Fala.

Liv was undressing Fala. His Fala.

His eyes lingered, not on their faces or their bodies, but oddly on her zipper. It was a symbol, something that she wouldn’t let anyone touch unless she planned to sleep with them. Inside, something snapped.

The usual restraint with which Marshal held himself was gone, sharp tendrils extending from his mind as his mouth twisted into a sneer. Liv was known for being, if nothing else, adept and mental barriers, but his fortress was like a paper house against a hurricane in comparison to an enraged Marshal.

A dozen threads lashed out, most heading for Liv, a single one for Fala. Her defence was weak, and he knew it well, only one was needed. Those that attacked Liv scraped at his mind, moving independently and unpredictably, so as to be near impossible to defend against them all. They hunted for weaknesses, for flaws. Everyone had them, it was just a case of finding one and boring in.

While most of his mind picked apart Liv’s, aiming to strike at the centre of his brain that controlled his psychic powers and block them, the single thread tore into Fala’s mind. There was no need to hunt here, he knew the way in. He deftly blocked the path to her psychic node, rendering her mundane, before turning on her emotions.

With the right prodding he made her feel shame, such incredible shame. It would be clear what it was, what he thought she should feel, because at the same time he poured his pure fury into her, communicating as she liked to, and it was terrible. Finally the tip of his tendril, sharpened like a blade that would never cut anything physical, hovered above a section of her brain that let her breathe. He let her know he was there, about to choke her to death should her immediate response not be satisfactory.

Liv might not get that chance.

People tended to laugh Marshal away, come up with cute nicknames and call him grumpy, but when it came down to it he was one of the most deadly Pilot’s alive.

And you did, not, fuck with him.

[Anonymous]

It was going wonderfully. They had a bit of an initial grapple--it seemed she liked control nearly as much as he did--but that was all right. He could cope with that. She had an amazing ass. It made everything forgivable, really. And he could tell she thought the move with the shades had been cute. Liv's radar for those who thought him cute was, for want of a better word, acute.  

It endeared her to him, it made him less insistent about dominating her. Liv didn't like to be dominated, exactly, but, well... it'd been awhile since he'd had sex, and it was easier to let her share control. Besides, he was a little distracted. How did one get this blue thing--ah. She guided one of his hands to the zipper at her back, and Liv set to work on it, leaning over her, pausing for intermittent kisses. He missed her mouth at one point and hoped she wouldn't notice... got the sheer skirt off.  Step one.  Zipper, step two.  

He lost himself in kissing a spot on her neck under the sticky ends of her hair.  She had scratched his back, but he hardly minded.  They'd wound up half-sitting after all the struggle, Liv's knee in between Fala's legs, his back to the door.  There.  He got the zipper and pulled back, briefly, breathlessly, because as much as he hated to ask, he probably should, shouldn't he, dipping in where Marshal'd been, what ho.  Liv liked to be careful.  

Well.  Careful.  Lifting his head to finish tugging down her top, Liv caught a glimpse of something blond--chalked it up to a hallucination of conscience--wait, what?  He loved Gabby, but not that much.  Maybe.  

"[...]Wow. So uh...huh. Well. I'll let you two get back to, er...training?"

Sure, Gabs, if that's what you want to call it.  Poor guy, they'd probably just given him his first sex ed lesson.  Later, Liv would have to apologize.  Damn.  Why'd it have to be Gabby?  Liv was as much of an exhibitionist as the next guy lounging around shirtless; probably more.  When you reached a certain level of charm and endearing quirkiness, you practically owed exhibitionism to the world.  But Gabby wasn't exactly the ideal... he felt a bit bad.  Would have felt worse had the blond Pilot's blush not been so endearing.  Liv grinned at him, sideways, one hand still down the back of Fala's suit.

"I'll just...close the door. You should really close the door. Yeah..."

Liv relaxed.  "What, there's always room for one more--"  

Too late.  Oh, well, he hadn't been serious.

Maybe half-serious.  But Fala was more than enough and certainly more than usual.  He tugged her top down a little further.  See, Gabe just didn't have some of the qualities he was... nice qualities.  He'd just bent to examine them more deeply when the door slid open once again, and the tenor of the moment changed at once.

Liv looked up.  Maybe Gabe had returned?  Could be a bit awkward, but hey, if he--

No.

Marshal.

Oh.  Shit.  Liv had figured it would be all right, since Fala had started the flirtation on a public blog, but one look at Marshal's face told him he was about to get fucked, and not in the way he'd wanted.

Oh shit oh shit oh fuck.  Liv made it his life's work to avoid things like this.  Oh fu--

Fala was already gone, flat on her back, and Liv pushed himself away from her, theorizing it might lessen Marshal's anger, in the split second before Marshal's will descended.  Everything went black with dazzling silver around the edges--his visual cortex couldn't process, the pressure was--everywhere.  He tried to shunt it where he wanted it to go, but fuck

fuck

how could Marshal

fragment consciousness like that

A flame leapt up to his left and went out, he'd hit on the pyrokinesis, obviously, and he--

it hurt

Liv didn't usually speak mind-to-mind; it was hard for him to maintain distance if he began.  But in this case there was no question.

"GABE!  Gabe, 's Liv, help--"

Even at a time like this he hated saying that word.

But it was

gone.  Marshal clamped down and Liv found he couldn't have used his mind-speak if he'd gone to aneurysm trying, and he might, or worse.  The barriers he'd set up around the dark core of things were sliding like layers of slate.  Slowly.  One.  By.

Liv would be nothing without

without

[Anonymous]

There was always a haze that Fala felt, just before she did the deed- a wonderful sensation of obliviousness and bliss that seemed to fog over all her unnecessary senses. While she could feel Liv's eager grabbing, and hear his breaths as the zipper whined as he pulled it down, she couldn't be bothered to look at his face. She doubted her eyes would be true to her, anyway. At times like this, her lovers lost their faces, all blurring together to form a nonsensical mess that would assure that she wouldn't develop an emotional bond to whoever she happened to fancy that day. Or, in this case, whoever she happened to find at a bad moment, this particular day.

Fala smirked as she let the skirt fall off of her, and nearly purred when she felt the top coming off, feeling the cooler air on her chest. While Liv wasn't exactly on the top of the Pilot totem pole, neither was she. Not bothering to chastise herself for comparing the two Pilots, she let him hover over her for a short while. It wouldn't hurt to give up control for a few minutes, just so long as he didn't think he had rights to that when they got down to it.

Her back was to the door, but she could see the silhouette on the floor- not that she cared. There were very few Pilots that she'd truly be afraid of if they saw her, and the chances of them being away from their work was incredibly low. Listening carefully to the noises... was someone choking a cat?... Fala resisted the urge to laugh at poor Gabriel as he let himself finally talk.

"OH! Oh, whoa, jeez, sorry!"

"Look, kiddo, unless you're gonna join us or watch us, you'd better get goin'." Leaning back, half-exposing herself to him, she looked on him with uncovered eyes and grinned. The momentary lapse of contact of lips on lips wasn't all that bad, since the sensation of Liv's hands on her was enough to keep the illusion alive, for even a little while. The vision of the faceless lover still hovered strongly in her mind, even as Gabriel's own features seemed very clear to her.

The rest of the blond's words were a blur- she didn't care to listen. All that went through her mind was how she needed to hold onto that blurred image of Liv, not let anything swim back into focus! Already, Liv's slowed movements made the haze begin to lift- she couldn't let that happen. They were already too far gone, he wouldn't say yes to stopping, even if she couldn't stand the sight of seeing his face hovering over hers, and--

Thankfully, he returned to her, renewing the illusion just before the door slid open again.

Again, the dreaded pause--

She felt the chill, a purely instinctive shudder coursing through her spine and spreading through her body. Something was wrong. Something was off- whoever stood behind her and just out of sight was one of the few she feared, she knew it. However, she did not dare turn around... did not dare face--

Marshal did all the advancing for her. In a split second, a shriek tore itself from her throat. A guttural, inhuman cry of fear and pain as she felt what pitiful mental defenses she had shatter instantly before Marshal's pure telekenetic strength. She felt something cold course through her mind, an invasive presence that she had once known as something almost welcome in a soul that never allowed another to intertwine with it.

She hadn't even noticed that she had fallen, that her back was against the floor while her chest was half-exposed, heaving as she struggled to take a breath. Fury, pain, guilt- the combination of three powerful emotions in an already unstable mind made her mind shriek even as her voice ran thin. Stuck in a maelstrom of negative emotions of such high intensity, she could not have sent a coherent emotional message even if Marshal had not severed her psychic core from the rest of her psyche. Unable to move, barely daring to breathe as something pressed against a vital core in her mind, her eyes turned up to meet the silver-haired psychic she had infuriated.

Her lips moved, but nothing emerged.

Pupils that were dilated had constricted from fear and a desire for avoidance.

And still, her defiance remained, however stifled.

Her eyebrows had furrowed, and a tear had made its way from a corner of her eyes.

A silent proclamation of fury and jealousy that she hadn't wanted to admit to herself would be there, if he cared to hear it.

That, and a mental picture of Satori that blared at the forefront of her mind, would be there if he wished to see it.

[Rhi-Rhi]

"Y'know, for that, you can get your butts up and close the damned door yourselves!" Gabriel called back to them--without looking back at them--and strode past the keypad and down the hall at a brisk, but hopefully not too ohmygodgetmeoutofhe re, pace. Didn't want to look like a prude or anything, this was embarrassing enough. And both of them inviting him to join in? Joke or not, the thought was mortifying.

Just...no. Major, resounding NO.

Rubbing his face, which was still hot, he hadn't gotten very far down the hall when Marshal rounded the corner ahead and walked on by. Gabriel dropped his hand back down to his side and nodded back at the older Pilot, said an automatic, "Hey, Marshland," and continued down the hall a few more paces before cold realization struck and stopped him in his tracks.

Oh. Gods.

Oh shit.

Marshal.

Gabriel spun around, just in time to see Marshal slip inside--into the open training room where Liv and Fala--FALA--were half naked, possibly fully naked, possibly already rutting like bunnies or bucks or whatever the analogy was. Fala. Marshal and Fala were an item. Maybe. Everyone knew Fala did everyone, but this was still Marshal, relationship drama never ended cleanly, and Liv was...

"GABE! Gabe, 's Liv, help--"

...probably being murdered.

Gabriel bolted back to the training room, unnerved by the silence. It was way too quiet, silent save for the sound of his shoes thudding on the floor. Didn't this kind of stuff involve like yelling and apologizing and fist fights? Not silence.

Then he heard Fala shriek.

Shit!

He slipped inside the room and came to a stop, and when he saw Fala sprawled out, Liv despondent, and Marshal standing there silent and cold, he reacted without even thinking. Delicate, wispy tendrils extended from his mind and lashed out at Marshal, around Marshal, not attacking, just touching. They brushed against the strands Marshal wove, locating them and feeling out their strength since they were too small for Gabriel to see.

"Marshal, stop!" he ordered, fully aware he was interfering with his superior but at this point it didn't even matter. The little threads withdrew and he launched a larger assault, subtlety abandoned for pure brute strength, what he was best at. Shields were his specialty, defense his strong point, and he wove a barrier then--but he didn't throw it over Liv or Fala, or both; that would take too much energy, splitting his focus to protect them individually or weaving one big enough to cover them both, and he was all too aware of Marshal's capabilities. The man was good at busting shields.

Instead he threw it over Marshal, bludgeoning his way through the other Pilot's thin strands and wrapping him in a mental barrier. It wouldn't stop him from moving, but it would effectively cut him off from the outside.

Gabriel held it steady, bracing himself in case Marshal started battering at it--which he was not looking forward to.

"Marshal, just calm down, alright? Don't do this..." He chanced a glance over at Liv and Fala. He had no idea what Marshal had done, but he hoped they were okay.

[Anonymous]

He couldn't hurt Liv, couldn't rip him apart like he wanted to, like he could. It would be so easy, to just start cutting at random, tearing apart the pilot's mind until there wasn't a shred of himself left. But no, there were rules, and Marshal stuck to the rules for the most part, even if he bent them a bit.

A dagger of his mind was about to descend on Liv, ready to do the worst he dared, the worst he believed he would get away with, when Fala gave him pause.

It wasn't the tear that tumbled so uncharacteristicall y from her eye, nor the panic that flooded her face behind the mask of defiance, not even the sounds she made. No, it was the image he saw floating in the fore of her mind.

Satori Clare, a rather exaggerated version of Satori, looked back at him, accompanied by a wash of jealousy not unlike the rage that pulsed through Marshal. She looked like Satori, but with fuller lips, bigger breasts, smoother skin. A perfected version that existed only in Fala's mind, created by jealousy. To a point, he understood, but on the other hand it was irrational. What he was doing had purpose, Liv was touching his Fala, the reason she was giving was irrational. But then again, she was a woman.

Rage subsided briefly in the wake of surprise, surprise to find his delicate tendrils cut by a powerful shield. He wasn't finished. How dare someone cut him off?

Treason.

The severed cords that had connected him to the two harlots now writhed free, still embedded in the others minds but diminishing by the moment without a constant feed of energy from Marshal. His mind seethed with newfound anger.

Gabriel! he hissed, mind sending the message over and over again into the shield, making it reverberate again and again into a symphony of mental noise. Head and body turned slightly to face him, face twisted into a grimace of outrage.

"Lower your shields Pilot Tierney," he hissed, "You are assaulting a superior officer. This offence will not go unpunished, unless you release me now." The last word was said will all the authority he could muster. It was the authority of a man who had seen him go through candidacy, and hopefully, as it did back then, it would terrify him.

He wasn't finished, and he'd be damned before Gabriel stopped him from ripping the memories of what he had done with Fala out of his head so he may never enjoy them again.

The threads that had been attacking Fala and useless cunt now turned on Gabriel's shield, becoming razor sharp fingers that scraped along it like diamond nails on a steel chalkboard.

This was nothing new, something Gabriel had experienced before when Marshal tested him during his training, and as such he had built up a resistance to the mental scream that was now assaulting his brain. Marshal never gave up all his secrets though, even Roman didn't know his entire hand.

Through the claws he sent images, images that flowed back into Gabriel in a confused jumble. He sent through images of Roman as a candidate, of him at Gabriel's age. He sent through images of Gabriel, embarrassing moments from his past, from when he was a candidate, from...well there were a lot of embarrassing moments to send. He sent choice images of Temple as well, Marshal being perhaps the only person to understand why that would be painful. And finally he sent images of his sister, sick things that a brother should never see that Marshal had trawled from her head as he had all his candidates, images of her touching herself, of sex and of drugs, of things she wouldn't want him to see.

Gabriel could block them out of course, if he wanted to weaken his shield.

[Anonymous]

((eh, tell me if this post is okay, I'm not really sure))

Then the pieces came together again.  

Marshal's mind was still there, foul and sticky and poised to crack open everything Liv had.  Liv was unused to reaching out to read people.  Most usually he kept himself to himself; it was less risky.  But he could follow the tendrils back, somehow--could feel the intention seeping toxically off of Richards, a cruel kind of psychic sneer, utter, abasing hatred.  

Liv felt his psychic shields sliding and sloshing and continentally colliding, from the careful, brittle nothingness and uncertainty he kept up at all times, down to the self-preserving core.  Marshal hadn't broken them, but he'd weakened them, gotten through the cracks.  Now the only thing holding them together was anger.  Nothing but.  When everything else failed and fell apart, he had anger; or anger had him.  He didn't have a 'him.'  Had anger for years before he built up the rest, how he dealt with Hasdrubal, Roman, Marshal, Raley, Cross, Sabela--the Dragons--because Liv did not exist.  He existed as a careful set of breakable things and anger.  And when all the breakable things broke--

He gathered his anger and felt, carefully, along the threads twisting in his mind.    

Marshal wanted to destroy him.  But

he hadn't, and had begun to pull back

why

Gabe.

Liv felt his friend's mental shields slam into place and sprawled backwards, winded by the sudden relief of pressure.  Marshal was still there, sticky, insidious, but

Liv blinked vision back into one eye, and, through a lingering black miasma, saw him looking at Fala, Fala looking at him and

fuck them

Fala wasn't his, she didn't belong to Marshal, she could have been one of the good ones, back when, could have been--

But as it was she was Marshal's.  

Marshal's.

There was nothing Liv hated more than that sort of betrayal.  Everyone sold out eventually.  Even Gabe, with Roman--Roman, didn't he see how he behaved?  Even Blaine.  Fala had been one of the good ones.  He had liked her.  And now she was a Dragonpet and

the sickening thing wasn't that she belonged to Marshal or her Dragon but that she belonged to anyone

that everyone fucking belonged to someone.

Something shifted--he felt a snap and a recoil--Marshal was doing something to Gabe.

"Lower your shields Pilot Tierney," he hissed, "You are assaulting a superior officer. This offence will not go unpunished, unless you release me now."

No.

Liv bit hard on his tongue and struggled to regain the parts Marshal had shut off.  Like trying to pick yourself up by your own bootstraps.  

A long time ago he'd decided:

He would never get one of his few friends hurt defending him.  No one belonged to him and he belonged to no one--that was how it went.  Liv could take it; he could take anything, because it didn't matter and he didn't matter.  Gabe shouldn't have to take it.  He hadn't though Marshal would really go after him.  

You did not fuck with Liv's friends.

There wasn't much he could do against Marshal's power, but he could tug at one of the threads he had left behind and send something rage-impelled racing along its neuronal length; he could loosen it; he flung it free; and he could think again.  He had something back.  What?  

Tentatively, he reached out--could he--Gabe's shield was strong, but he could feel something through it.  Made sense.  No need to block out friends, just had to keep Marshal in.  Liv felt his way in through one permeable space and poked at Marshal.  His mental voice was tentative but backed by anger and just a little recovered irony.

"Hey, Richards, go fuck yourself, eh?"

[Anonymous]

Fala saw Gabriel enter, heard his voice, and would have arced her head up to look at him, had Marshal's mental knife not been so close to vital areas. As it was, she kept looking up at the silver-haired man with a challenging glance, the fear burning a hole in her chest. Any moment now, and he could sever her life. Any moment, and he could have her thrown into TRIM with a barely functioning respiratory system, leaving her weak mind intact to do all sorts of experiments on in the labs. Any second, and that other woman could take over her place. She knew she was expendable, but damn, this wasn't the way she wanted to be thrown aside.

She was a Pilot Cardinal. Though of low rank, she would hold command of those weaker than her. Show her supremacy, express her dominance, not bow before the mental attack of a physically weak man she should have been able to overpower... Her mind demanded that she overpower him, use him, and throw aside like all the other flesh dolls she had done that with in the past. Achieve that split-second victory, then throw the figure aside before the fog faded and the faces appeared again.

Only this fight was not so easily won.

Another face without physical, brute power had stepped up after a loss, ready to sweep Fala's current quarry aside without so much a word to her. Old feelings? Old flames? All it meant was that there was a sense of competition that she could not deny, and a fight that she had a fair chance of losing.

Her thoughts were becoming more coherent, her breathing was growing easier bit by bit, and--

The knife in her mind remained where it was, but it now lacked its cutting edge without its master's current input of energy. Letting up, the single psychic tendril that had ensnared itself in the confines of her mind now lay flaccid in her psyche, ready to be removed if she had half the strength required to do it without killing herself in the process. Touchy business, removing a knife from a living brain, and Fala wasn't quite sure she was up for it.

However, she did let herself sit up, pulling up her top and zipping it up. Whatever happened from here on out, her original intent was gone. Nothing at this point could convince her to screw someone's brains out now, not with her system hopped up on pain, adrenaline, and enough fear to make her jumpy for the next few days. While it was great to work out adrenaline against the grind of coital goodness, fear wasn't a spice she wanted to add anytime soon. Not on her end of the deal, anyway- that wasn't her gig. Made things far too sobering, real, and 'personal' for her tastes.

Her eyes hadn't caught Liv's escape, but she wasn't stupid- even a weak psychic like herself knew the gist. To get rid of a psychic attack, one had to return it in favor.

Easier said than done.

Her lashes of frustration against the remaining link at first did absolutely nothing. A banner in a weak breeze moved more than that tendril, mocking her as she felt it still weakly holding on. Infuriated, she pulled instead from a different emotion- one that could effectively be the strongest force she had, though that wasn't saying much. A gifted psychic child could hold more psionic force in the palm of his hand.

Mustering up her jealousy and anger and giving it a sharp snap, the weave loosened, shuddering before falling from her like a leaf in a fall breeze. The knife that had threatened her was now... gone.

Thus leaving her with a headache, a drained psyche, and absolutely no desire to get up and test him again. Only one factor kept her from running as fast as she could from the area.

With Gabriel currently risking it all to protect her, she couldn't just walk away- she was the cause of it all, after all, however tempting it was to wave and walk off, had it been any other Pilot holding up the wall. As it was, with young Gabriel giving her the only reprieve from Marshal's mental attack... Well. That would leave her more than just a little bit guilty, and with more than just a bitter taste in her mouth. He shouldn't have come back. He was meddling where he shouldn't be.

She was man (woman?) enough to figure out that, yeah, this shit was all her fault. And it'd be better to face it now, rather than try to avoid him every day for weeks on end. They worked together, for god's sake.

Her throat rasped, but she opened her mouth and the words- as always- fell out before she really had a chance to filter them out and think, Hm, this might not be a good idea, huh? Regardless, by the time she even thought about closing her mouth, they'd already fallen right out into the open, too far out now to take back.

"Damn it, Marshal, leave him! So I fucked up. Come at me."

At the last statement, she cringed.

And she felt just a little more concerned at the prospect of facing him completely alone.

[Rhi-Rhi]

"I'm not assaulting you, dumbass, I'm shielding you!" Gabriel snapped before he could censor himself, but with all his mental energies focused and his mind thrumming from the effort of maintaining a shield strong enough to hold Marshal back, his brain-to-mouth filter suffered a little more than usual. He wouldn't lie--the order, the threat, it scared him. He was going up against his superior, Marshal of all people, a bloody Seeker, and even now almost three years out of candidacy, the guy freaked him out. No lie. Sure he liked to bicker with him and tease him with stupid nicknames like 'Marshland', but the fact remained that Gabriel knew he wasn't someone you messed with.

No regrets, though. Just because he was afraid it didn't mean he was wrong. As much as being a Pilot meant sticking to the rules and obeying the hierarchy, it also meant making judgment calls and disobeying orders if the situation called for it. One couldn't trust anyone fully here; there were Gospels among them.

Marshal had attacked Liv and Fala both. With psionics. He'd made Fala scream. They both looked weak and out of it. Gabriel didn't know exactly what Marshal had done, but he knew what Marshal could do to a mind, and relationship issues or not, this was crossing the line.

"I'm not lowering them until you convince me you're not gonna assault them. Stand down, Pilot--" He cut off with a groan and a grimace as Marshal launched his counter-attack, as he felt him scraping at the barrier. Diamond nails on a steel chalkboard was putting it lightly; it was worse, and it didn't matter how prepared he was or how many times he had dealt with this before in training exercises, it never got any better--he only only got better at tolerating it. There was no sound, but it felt like shrieking in his mind and his head pounded from it, sharp pangs stabbing at his temples. His mind wanted to flinch away just like his muscles would in response to pain, but any fluctuation would let Marshal punch through and he was not going to risk that.

Then the images came flooding in, and there was no way to block them out.

Some of them were all right. Embarrassing, but tolerable. Some of them hurt.

The ones with his sister, though...

"Fucker!" he panted and grit his teeth after, face paling with mortification. He didn't know if those images were real--didn't care to know, and he never wanted to know, either. Psychic or not, there were boundaries you just never crossed--like poking around in family members' heads. Just felt damned incestuous.

"You asshole! What the fuck is your problem?! You going for three now? Stand down, Pilot Richards--all of you, just chill the hell out!" His head was really aching then and he wanted nothing more than to let down the shields and escape the pressure building up in his brain, the screeching and the images, but he couldn't yet. Still, he spoke through the pain even though the sound of his own voice hurt.

"No one's going at anyone, alright?! If this is about your stupid relationship crap you can all talk like fucking adults. Now stand down, Marshal. You've assaulted two Pilots and you're on your third. You really wanna go there?"

[Anonymous]

Liv's message came through loud and clear, making a vein in Marshal's neck throb. The pathetic little snot still had the gall to talk back to him.

A tendril of thought scraped along Gabriel's shield, resting on the spot where Liv was penetrating. A moment later it moved on. It was too much to hope the shield would be poorly made enough to be foiled by outside entry.

There was a link between Gabriel and the shield, the link Marshal had been sending the memories down, and that is where he struck. His scraping stopped, the threads disappearing to be replaced by a single, softer weave. He touched the point where Gabriel fed his shield, sending a single memory into his mind and with it a projection of his own self.

He stood in Gabriel's mind, in the vestibule of his consciousness where he could communicate without invasion. A pale, translucent image of Marshal stood in the memory he'd sent, looking at a solid version of himself in the training room.

Fala and Liv were there, still locked in their sordid embrace, but Marshal controlled himself.

"Look Gabriel," he said to the mental projection of the other pilot, sweeping his hand at the remembered group, "And watch what I have done."

Tendrils extended from the memory Marshal's head, clear and bright to the naked eye and the psychic probe in his memory, allowing Gabriel to watch the scene unfold.

When it was finished, up to the point Gabriel walked in, Marshal held his wrists behind his back and spoke again. "So you see, I did not hurt them. Yes, I invaded their minds. Yes, I threatened Fala. Your intervention was wise, but you were ill informed. Lower your shield now and I will not harm Fala or," he paused and grimaced, "Pilot Sulo. In addition I will remove the memories I just sent to you. I have no intention of allowing you to remember Rachel's secrets."

With that the connection broke, only a few seconds having passed in reality. Mental communication could be quick.

His attacks on the shield had ceased, and now Marshal stood still, still that is until Fala spoke.

Rounding on her, Marshal crossed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. With a scowl he snarled at her, "I plan to. Do you even realise what you've done? You've ruined me!" His career, specifically, was somewhat in danger since he had done quite a bit of law breaking. And there was more to come as well. Punishment or not, Liv neither of them could be allowed to get away with this. Fala would pay in....other ways, but Liv, well for Liv he had something special planned.

[Anonymous]

Liv got slowly to his feet and stood, arms crossed over his chest, wavering from side to side.  He still had a link to Gabe, and he could tell some of the stress had slackened.  Marshal wasn't going to do anything more than he already had.  He had to believe that.  It was over.  They were all Pilots.  Nothing had happened; he'd been silly to think--  Fala had sat up, he registered, she seemed fine, but 'bros before hos,' as they said; not that he subscribed to it as such, but fuck, she could have warned him.  Or she could've resisted attaching herself to that--Liv realized, belatedly, that his shields were still in shambles, and tucked that thought neatly away behind his true opinion of grape-flavored toothpaste.  

Gabe was angry, he seemed--when had he gotten so--so fucking wonderful?  Called Marshal a dumbass?  Amaaazing.  Nice one, Gabby.  He'd have to tell him, so, later, but for now sent a pulse of soothing approbation down their provisional link.  It hadn't been right that he'd called him in.  Coward, Liv.  

"Thanks, man."  It came out blurry and not quite there, the way his mental communication always did--more the feeling of the words than their specificity--but Gabe would get the point.

He felt stupid.  Paranoid, Liv, paranoid.  Of course Richards wasn't going to really fuck anyone up.  Too used to being a Candidate, when Pilots could, could anything, really.  Well, fuck me.  

When Marshal shoved away from Gabe, Liv took a few quick steps toward his friend, only to turn at Marshal's snarl.

Oh.  Not quite copacetic, then?  He had Fala's shoulders in his hands and

Liv's mouth twisted into a fair approximation of Marshal's sneer.  Fucking fuck... fuck.  Calm down, Liv.  Calm down.  It's not you.  It's not the time.  It's her own fucking... hey, there's a healthy relationship right there.  He doesn't own me.  My, my, that sounded familiar, didn't it, Livikins?  Yes it do indeedy.  He stared at Fala.  If she took this--she had a choice, didn't she?  To think he'd liked her upon a day, back in the candeeday... well, it got to everyone, dinnit.  Fucking Dragonpet.  Fucking everyone.  Fucking Richards.

Never know when to shut up, you never do.  Look at Gabe.  He bumped their shoulders together, touched him lightly on the arm.  Breath.  It didn't work.  Not that he was the meddling type, other people's business was other people's business, his had been his own; wasn't the point anyway, couldn't help people, could only help yourself.  But those weren't your words, Liv dear.  His head felt all jumbled without his barriers, bits were clinking into the wrong places while he tried to get the slate walls back up.  

"Oy, Richards, don't break her, you might want her later."   Liv laughed off-key, looking not at Marshal but at Fala.  "Right, yeah?"

[Anonymous]

((Hur hur, short post. >_>))

If Marshal had had the physical strength to break her shoulders, she was sure he would have done it. As such, however, his grip felt weak to her toned shoulders- the grip of a man whose physical prowess would always pale before her own. But it wasn't the body she was intimidated with, it was the mind- the mind that could crush hers as easily as a rotten peach before a sledgehammer, if he really put his mind into full-out assault. Which would be suicidal for his career, if this move didn't do it already.

"Boo. Fuckity. Hoo." Fala's shoulders tensed with mild apprehension, but her voice was still as venomous as ever. A spit to the side-though she was tempted to do it at his face, if he hadn't proven that he'd use his mind to give her quite a bit of grief- and Fala directly met the Seeker's eyes. Let him try it again. It seemed the ramifications of his impulsive actions had finally begun to sink in, and that was all the leverage she needed. If she feared him, that was one thing. But now he feared the consequences.

"Get a hold of yourself. Don't fuck around, and others won't do it back. 'An eye for an eye', ain't it a bitch?" Again the image of Satori moved to the forefront of her mind. Again it flared up in her consciousness, ready to be picked like a ripe apple if Marshal would only reach out and touch it with his mind. There were no shields- now she was daring him to do it again. Fear started to slide, and she felt her confidence start to come back. Bitterness fueled many things, with stupidity at the forefront, but damned if she didn't feel better for it.

The fact that he might not have slept with Satori for years didn't even surface in her mind. What was and what had been- the barrier between the two was so horribly skewed by repeated ambiguous messages, she didn't have a damn clue what to believe anymore.

Her eyes met with Liv's for a quick second. Gone was the haze, replaced by the nervous laugh and the bitter sneer that was fading away by the second. Though memories of their Candidacy came back to her, she pushed them away. Those days were done. Her days of independence were over. When it came down to it...

It just came down to who held all the chips, was all. It was nothing personal.

And still, though she did give him the benefit of staring at him with a defiance- They will never break me, use me, own me- she knew even as she did so that it was nothing but a steaming pile of bullshit that he would see through in an instant. He knew her well enough.

Fala pulled up her suit again, zipping it up with a quick lift of her fingers. And though stupidity covered her fear, at least now a fake sense of dignity covered her twisted sense of justification.

[Rhi-Rhi]

The attack stopped and for a moment Gabriel felt like he had gone deaf, the room utterly silent after all that mental shrieking. His temples still throbbed though the pressure in his skull had lessened, but even though Marshal had withdrawn he remained braced for the next attack--which didn't come. Distantly, through the bleary pain, he felt a random surge of gratitude and blurred words, and even if the words were indistinct the connection was familiar.

Liv...

Didn't have much time to think on it. A vision flashed through his mind then like a waking dream, over in a flash but processed like a much longer film. When it was over Gabriel blinked and his eyes refocused, the sort of blank, faraway look he got whenever he talked with Siren or was otherwise distracted fading away. Marshal was still standing, no longer attacking, but Gabriel kept his shields up and didn't budge. The distraction was enough to dampen his anger a little, but not his wariness, and he wasn't quite sure that what he'd seen was the truth.

Everyone knew Marshal was good at mental manipulation--but it wasn't up to Gabriel to be the judge.

"Thanks, but I'll let Imperial Xhi determine whether you hurt them or not," he said with a grim smile, sending the thought back through the same channel Marshal used. "And please to be staying out of my brain, 'kay thanks? I've no intention of letting you in to muck things up." As much as he didn't want to know all that about Rachel, ohgoodgods she hadn't! But, uh, well...he'd just have to file those away with the rest of his Do Not Want memories. He was fairly good at that, years of escapism helped, and he just didn't trust very many people to fiddle around with his thoughts and memories. Certainly not Marshal, definitely not after this. He would just have to deal with it.

...My gods, Rachel didn't really--and with THAT fucking loser--!

Uh, right. Moving on. Before he threw up, and with the nasty headache building up and adding to the nausea, that was a total possibility.

He didn't lower the shields, though, until Marshal turned on Fala and took her by the shoulders. Then he waited a few more seconds, tense and achy, before he let the shields fall away and dissolve. It looked like Marshal had finally realized what an epic fuckup he'd committed which meant if he were smart he would control himself from here on out--that, and Gabriel's head freakin' hurt from that assault and he was satisfied enough that the danger had passed so he could afford to be a little selfish now.

He reached up and rubbed at his temples, drawing in deep breaths, and when Liv bumped their shoulders together and touched his arm he felt himself relax and realized then how stiff he'd gone. Letting out a sigh, he leaned against his friend, careful not to throw all his weight against him and topple him over, and gave him a weary half smile. "Hey..."

More relationship drama. Now that the craziness had passed, it just felt awkward being here again, in the middle of this. It wasn't his business. Marshal attacking his friends was, but this? Nope. He sent a line up to Siren, a quick, sloppy message that gave the gist of what had happened--in images since words took more effort and were less concrete anyway--and asked him to report it to Imperial Xhi.

Whatever happened with that wasn't really his business, either.

[Anonymous]

As soon as Gabriel's irritatingly well made shield was down he was back in Fala's mind. There was no invasive force this time, just a presence, fingers brushing the outer layers where surface thoughts and emotional impulses dwelt.

He felt her shoulders tense beneath his fingers, felt the slight twinge of fear dance across her mind. A tiger, pushed into a corner by a superior enemy, ready to lash out with more ferocity than could be imagined.

She had misjudged, confused anger with fear. True he regretted his haste, and was furious now that he had to face the consequences despite seeing only justice in his actions, but there was no fear of punishment. They needed him, as much as they needed Roman, and if it came down to it Marshal had no problem reminding the Imperial himself of that fact.

A sudden yank pulled her closer, his mouth twisting into an angry sneer that showed clenched teeth. He could see the image, see Satori and understood. Through his teeth Marshal hissed, "I didn't."

There were too many things for him to focus on to give anything more than that simple response.

"I ask again Gabriel, he said mentally to the pilot behind him, "Return those memories. They are not yours to have. Or keep them, if you want to make your sisters time here less....enjoyable. Or more, perhaps. You've seen what she likes...

He let the threat hang. Marshal would never do anything like what Gabriel must be thinking to one of his candidates, but what was important was that Gabriel believed he would.

Another tendril extended from his mind, this one different from the strands almost caressing Fala's. It stretched towards Liv as if about to strike him, then pulled up just before reaching his head, plucking the visor from his face. Marshal barely had enough telekinetic strength to lift a book, but the visor he could still manage.

He let his hands drop from her shoulders, the visor floating to one where he gripped it tightly.

"Gabriel," he hissed, eyes still focused, almost glaring, at Fala, "Leave now. That is an order."

It would be easier to finish Sulo if Gabriel wasn't around.