2010-07-09 - La Bohème

VASCILIA COUNTY 20:30 HOURS BAHRAM ORBITAL FRAME HANGAR

Men and (a few) women work very hard and very diligently on maintenance of BAHRAM's famous Orbital Frame units docked with the Martian hangar.

Fable Ardross does not.

Instead, she's comfortably half-laying across several large boxes, on which are marked 'VERY IMPORTANT' and 'FRAGILE' and 'HANDLE WITH CARE' and what appears to be some sort of hazardous materials stickers slapped upon them. She treats it less like a temporary place to kick her heels up at and more like a recliner, complete with a neo-Diet Coca-Cola set upon a self-made divot upon the surface of one of said boxes. Relaxed, she reads through Neo-Cosmopolitan.

"Ha ha, oh /wow/," the Martian sniper notes aloud, to no one in particular. A few mechanics shoot her a strange look before looking to each other, shrug and move on. Fable just shakes her head, wavy long blonde locks tussled about before she lifts a gloved hand and turns the page.

Yes, she's in her BAHRAM-issue normal suit.

"Turquoise is so not the new black," she laments, followed by a quiet tsk.

"Pink will /always/ be the new black. That's a fact."

Fable Ardross, valuable asset to the Martian BAHRAM forces. Yeaaah.

Turning another page, she doesn't bother to look up as she yells, "HEY! Are you guys done with my precious Beletseri yet?!"

"Beletseri. That's an interesting choice in a name."

The voice hardly seems the type to belong to any of the rough sorts of mechanics wandering around the BAHRAM hangar. Coming from the right of Ardross, it is a soft, calm voice -- carrying with it an odd sort of confidence on the undercurrent of its tone.

The person the voice belongs to is hardly any better: a silver-haired youth stands just off to the side of Fable, staring upward at the Beletseri still currently being worked on. He is flanked by two far-too large men, their faces covered in by the hoods of the thick, well-used tan jackets they wear. Whoever the young man is, one thing's for certain -- the last place he probably belongs is a mechanic's hangar, much less a BAHRAM one.

"It's Babylonian, isn't it? The goddess that maintained the flow of souls to the underworld. 'The Scribe of the Earth.' Though I always liked her other title a bit more, myself." Finally looking down, Leonard Testarossa smiles, his head canting forward in a faint nod of greeting toward Fable.

"You'd be the Desert Queen Fable Ardross, correct?" A pause follows, before the silver-haired man looks up again, disregarding the confused stares and calls of 'hey! What're you doin' in here?!'

"You should be careful, you know.

"I think those boxes might be hazardous."

"That was not the answer I was looking for," Fable sharply notes.

Whether that voice belongs to a mechanic or not, the blonde Martian doesn't seem to even look up from her magazine. Instead, blue eyes continue to casually skim-read over the article in front of her, full lips pulled into a thin line across her face in a pensive gesture. As far as anyone can tell, she doesn't even seem to realize that this guy is a) younger than her and b) flanked by two large men.

But looks can be deceiving.

Shifting her weight before she crosses her legs at the ankles--also propped up on boxes--the woman turns another page as Leonard speaks. "Hmm, maybe..?" she wonders with what sounds to be minimal interest in the conversation. Inwardly, she's probably delighting in the fact someone knows as much about her OF than she does.

When he addresses her by her 'other' name, the woman's blue gaze finally darts up. It's a look of scrutiny she gives him before sizing him up for a moment. Then--

"You're not with Internal Affairs, are you?" she asks, frowning. "I didn't /know/ that guy was with the top brass, and I have /said/ several /times/ I am /sorry/ for punching him in the mouth. But he wouldn't stop /hitting/ on me."

As for the boxes..?

"Really? Maybe that explains why they're so cozy."

"I apologize," Leonard responds, sounding completely sincere. "I'm afraid I don't know about your Orbital Frame. Though the Metatron's recomposition is going remarkably well, and it seems the mechanics are working on retuning that interesting weapon of yours. I'm sure it'll be done very soon."

The smile that the young man offers is entirely disarming when Fable finally looks down. Hands sliding easily into his pockets, his brows lift upward at her suggestion. "Internal Affairs? No, not that. I'm not affiliated with BAHRAM, you don't have to worry about that. Besides... I don't believe in punishing a woman for embracing her nature.

"Pink /is/ always the new black, by the way."

Turning smoothly on his heel, Leonard walks in the direction of the Beletseri, striding closer to Fable's location as well as if simply by coincidence of her relative proximity. He laughs a little at her comment, though it's hard to hear over the sound of his would-be 'guards' following him as their every footstep seems to shake the ground beneath them vaguely.

"But no, I'm not here about your Orbital Frame's repairs or your superior's broken jaw.

"Forgive me for being forward, but..." He turns back, to look at Fable. "I'm actually here to scout you."

Arching a brow only slightly as he apologizes, Fable's blue eyes peek over the edge of her magazine, following Leonard as he moves. He seems to know his stuff at least, so that seems to be another plus going for him. "Well," she notes. "That's good to know. It's what I told them I wanted them to do anyway." How does he even know that, she wonders.

No matter.

When he suggests that he is not, in fact, with IA, there comes from Fable a rather visible sigh of relief before she just throws her magazine over a shoulder and back behind the stacks of boxes. "Well thank the /stars/ for that," she states, lifting her lanky arms up and folding them comfortably behind her head. "I can certainly rest easier now." And she rests /right there/ on BAHRAM company time.

As for the latter, Fable chuckles quietly as her blue eyes snap shut. Secretly, it lets her focus a bit better on her surroundings--and the fact that his 'guards' are making rather loud footsteps. When he says he's looking to scout her, a single eye slowly opens up, locked right on the silver-haired young man.

"Are you with Zeon?" she wonders.

"Zeon? No, no," Leonard assures, waving a pale hand through the air dismissively.

"I'm not with anything as desperate as that."

Ultimately, the young man comes to a stop about ten feet from where Fable lies. His would-be companions stop abruptly beside him as if on cue -- like they were nothing more than puppets being tugged on his strings than people.

"I'm from an organization that places its values in talent rather than ideals. We like concrete things." Tilting his head up, Leonard continues to disregard the rest of the rabble in the hangar, as if his attentions were meant exclusively for Fable and her Frame. He carries himself as if he has all the time in the world as he turns back around to face the Desert Queen, his smile soft, faint, but pleasant.

"'Fighting for your ideals is a wonderful thing,' is what I'd like to say. But working with BAHRAM must be stressful, isn't it?" he wonders aloud. "I don't mean the dangers of piloting... maybe 'frustrating' is a better word. After all, do you really get your share of excitement here? Are you able to truly test your limits in this sort of scenario? Fighting a battle over loose ideals doesn't seem to fit your style, Miss Ardross." His hand lifts, palm presented skywards as he gestures -- as if like an offering.

"I'm here because I don't want to see a woman with your distinct talents waste them in an environment where you can't put them to your full potential. This might sound too bold, but... I would like to hire you." He pauses, before adding on a simple addendum: "My organization also believes in the concrete concept of 'substantial paychecks.'"

"Hah, desperate."

While Leonard and his 'goons' come to a stop several feet from her pilot of possibly-hazardous boxes-turned-sofa, Fable seems content to simply lounge about and listen to what he has to say. After all, why should she speak? /He/ came looking for /her/, after all. He needs to sell himself!

However, when he mentions 'organization,' Fable's single blue eye peeks with a touch more scrutiny upon Leonard. Organization? Here? In BAHRAM's territory? How bold, she thinks. He's trying to take their #1 pilot! What would they do without Fable Ardross, Ace Pilot??

When he mentions work for BAHRAM is stressful, Fable opens her mouth to speak--but snaps it shut when he elaborates. Frustrating? Yes, oh yes. He's speaking her language now, and the blonde Martian is interested. This much is evident in the way her other blue eye opens and the way she leans forward just slightly.

But Fable does not immediately reply. Instead, a distantly thoughtful expression passes her smooth features. First, blue eyes shift toward her brown and pink-toned Beletseri. Her faithful machine, her ticket to fame--the unit that has made her an absolute terror in the battlefield.

But, slowly, Fable's attentions shift toward the hangar proper, over the faces of the men and scant few women milling about. Martians. Fellow BAHRAM colleagues, if they can be called as much. Quietly--discreetly--Fable scoffs. No loss there. Except for maybe 'her.' How can she continue to goad 'her' if she leaves..?

Then, slowly, Fable's gaze falls back upon Leonard. Reclining a bit like a queen in her cushy throne, Fable's gloved hand reaches out toward him and lightly gestures before--like her other--reaching up and back, to rest behind her head.

"Go on," she encourages. "Tell me how /amazing/ a pilot I am and how invaluable an asset I'd be to you."

Closing her eyes, the woman's lips split into a grin as she adds,

"It's okay if you're shy. I've got /plenty/ of time to wait."

Shy?

"Who could blame a person for being shy in front of a woman like yourself?" Leonard says apologetically; the flash of mischief in his eye suggests otherwise. He moves forward with a single, easy step; the lumbering hulks of companions behind him begin to move, before he lifts a hand. "That's fine," he assures. "Maintain your positions."

"ROGER," issues a strangle tinny voice from the left figure as they both sink backwards.

"You're as ferocious as a raging inferno but as calm and composed as the most serene of lakes," Leonard continues as smoothly as ever, striding towards Fable's very-slightly-probably volatile perch with a practiced and confident sort of ease. "Both merciless and regal, unbending and unafraid to carve your own destiny regardless of who might call you their subordinate -- you are like a force of nature."

He flashes a smile; his tone is entirely sincere as he steps up to the edge of those crates, folding his lfet arm gracefully over his chest and bowing his head.

"Beletseri -- the Desert Queen. It's a name that fits Fable Ardross to a 't', isn't it?"

Leonard's gaze lifts, to meet Fable's evenly. His right hand lifts, extended upward toward Fable like a man asking a woman to a waltz. "A force of nature shouldn't be constrained. My organization works with the Divine Crusaders, but we don't really believe in limitations. Mars, Earth. Crusaders, Federation. They're all opportunities -- not restrictions. Work for us, and you can free those fetters that bind you. Work for me... and I can promise you the most thrilling challenges you'll ever get the opportunity to experience. After all...

"Shouldn't the Desert Queen feel free to rule the seas and the heavens as well if she likes?"

Oh.

That explains it, Fable thinks. They're not even /human/. A brow twitches discreetly in interest.

It's only piqued when Leonard--to her surprise--actually /humors/ her whims, making the effort where most organizational recruiters would likely scoff and tell her to politely 'fuck off.' It would be a lie to say that Fable anticipated that response...not the flattering prose and gentlemanly elegance.

Rising from her previously reclined position, Fable actually sits upright for once, elbows comfortably perching upon her bent knees. Resting her chin in the palms of her gloved hands, she just glows as brilliantly as the sun, lips pulled into a Cheshire's grin as she sits, comfortably crooked forward. When he smiles, her heart almost skips a beat.

Almost.

"The one and only," Fable quietly notes. Her Cheshire's grin only broadens.

Then Leonard extends a hand, the woman looks upon him with newfound interest. Certainly, working with BAHRAM has been /dreadfully/ boring. Sure, she's had her share of amazing(ly one-sided) fights in the field, but her work has primarily been thanks to the Crusaders as a whole. Thank god they provided her such an amazing machine--the soldier's stipend isn't much, either.

But /this/ guy...

Hopping up, it's almost a miracle the boxes don't cave in underneath her. Yet, Fable hops off of them and comes to stand in front of the silver-haired young man, to take his hand. Grinning still, the woman tilts her head slightly and notes, "Well, you've certainly impressed me. I'm sold; however, there's just one little catch--"

Said gloved hand does not take his; instead, the Martian points toward the Beletseri towering behind him.

"I can't leave my beautiful Frame here...and I don't know if BAHRAM would be too keen on me taking it to use with...'other groups with differing interests.' So,"

Glancing to her Frame, the woman grins thinly as she asks, "What do you propose as a solution to this obvious problem and conflict of interest, mister..?"

Leonard Testarossa is the epitome of patience as he waits, his hand presented in the most humble of offerings. He looks very much like a man addressing a queen -- and why not?

Leonard has never been one to not show his utmost appreciation.

His words strike true. The flames of curiosity have been stoked into interest inside Fable; he can tell by the look in her eye, in the grin that lights her lips. But still, he maintains that ineffably affable expression, his steel gray eyes following Fable as she hops. His smile tugs further.

"I've always thought catches are just obstacles to make victory all the more satisfying."

Still, rather than take his hand, Fable points. His gaze follows, looking towards the pink machine beyond. The space around it still looks distorted, even disabled. Metatron is truly an interesting material.

'What do you propose as a solution to this obvious problem and conflict of interest, mister...?'

"Silver," Leonard replies with a charming sort of smile. "Mister Silver."

His hand falls as easily as it was lifted; sliding into his pocket, the appropriately silver-haired young man turns again to face the Beletseri fully. "I certainly wouldn't want you to have to leave your partner behind. But you know, there's one binding rule in this world," turning his head, Leonard glances at Fable, the smirk that tugs his lips far more wry than his pleasant voice ever comes close to affecting.

"Even the most - especially the most - devoted of idealists need to have a selling price."

His gaze turns again. Rolling his shoulders, Leonard looks entirely unconcerned with this 'predicament' as he walks towards the Beletseri. "Like I said, we have ties to the Divine Crusaders. And we're very good at getting what we want from our friends. For now, consider us your side job. We'll make the necessary arrangements in the meantime. And in time...

"... you can consider us your gateway to new heights."

"I can't argue that," Fable swiftly notes of obstacles.

Still, Fable's primary concern is, of course, her precious, prized Frame--the Beletseri. It has been nothing short of simply amazing in her hand, and there's no way she could ever abandon it. It is /her/ machine--no one else could use it like she could. It's a weapon and a tool for her fame.

So when Leonard--Mr. Silver--obliges her one sole concern beyond herself, Fable feels a touch more at ease. Grinning slyly, the woman's blue eyes hood slightly. "Interesting name," she comments, pointedly eyeing the young man's obviously silver hair. "I wonder where it came from..?"

Absently giving her head a dismissive shake, the woman nods, sharing his sentiment. Watching the man walk toward the Beletseri, her head tilts lightly, eyes watching his every move--only flickering aside on occasion toward the two lumbering less-than-human brutes in his company. How eerie.

"It's probably a good thing," she notes casually. "As I recall Zeon's been making rumblings about /something/, but who the hell knows about what. But, you know," Shrugging lightly, Fable turns casually on her heels and lifts her arms, crossing them over her chest. "It's not as if I have any heavy ties to BAHRAM or anything. I just need the right opportunity to...pursue other interests on a full-time level, that's all."

Glancing over her shoulder, the woman grins.

"So! I take it you'll call me--" Lifting her hand to her ear, she makes a mock phone with her fingers. "When you need me?" To make it just a little creepy, she winks.

"I wonder," echoes Leonard, folding some silver locks casually behind his ear.

His attention, for the moment, is taken up by the Orbital Frame. Metatron -- he's always wanted to know it more. A property that can warp space. The full potential of that could be staggering. He remembers, distantly, the Whispered in the Crusaders. She's in A-LAWS now, isn't she--

"It's a remarkable machine," he observes almost off-topic. His hand lifts, attempting to press it against the leg of the machine; he feels the invisible resistance almost immediately, pushing back against his hand. A smile tugs at his lips. "A weapon that is truly only suited for one pilot. I have to admit -- I'm quite the fan of you and your partner's career."

But, slowly, Leonard turns. As he does, he lifts a hand, gesturing once; his two lifeless companions, having been like statues before, suddenly move, lumbering gradually toward the Amalgam manager. "I couldn't stand to let such a woman to be confined in a cage like this. So consider this your opportunity to truly spread your wings."

Slowly, Leonard begins to walk. As simply and almost casually as he entered the BAHRAM hangar, he begins to leave, only pausing to look over his shoulder at the same time Fable does.

"How could I resist?" he asks, before adding, as he begins to walk again, "When I need you, you'll certainly know it."

Just to make it a little creepy.

The closer he gets to the Beletseri, the more uncertain and apprehensive Fable gets. While she has no qualms about letting losers like 'mechanics' and 'technicians' touch her machine, mysterious people from mysterious organizations offering deals of a lifetime make her a little uneasy--especially since it's her machine.

/Her/ machine. No one else's.

She doesn't let it show, of course; instead, she just smiles, blue eyes half-lidded in a casual fashion. The compliment only helps to soothe any uncertainties, naturally. She's not a difficult woman. "Well, I'm glad you can see and respect that," Fable admits with no shred of humility. "You'll have quite a force in your hands. I just hope you know how to handle it."

When he moves to leave with his lifeless goons, the woman shifts her weight, hands akimbo on her hips as she smirks. "Very well. I'm sure you--"

Well, he admits as much. She'll know it when he needs her. Fable exhales softly through her nostrils. Only when he's gone does the woman's gaze shift up to the towering Frame. "Well," she states aloud, presumably to the unit.

"Maybe /now/ we'll have the chance to /really/ show them what we can do..?"