2010-07-21 - L'incontro Improvviso

Greece is a place known for its beauty -- at least, in certain locales. The place that Sovi Reincam has found herself dragged to today is a confirmation of just this generalization: an island just off the Grecian coast, this place has no name, or at least, has not had one in quite some time. Like many of the islands here, it is privately owned; background checks would bring it up under the name of several corporations that do not, in fact, exist. Just one of the many little mysteries surrounding it.

Regardless, the scenery is beautiful. Dense forests cover the island, the outskirts leading towards lavish beaches with beautifully white sands, providing an awe-inspiring view of the sea's horizon.

The beauty is marred only by one thing: a deep black scar of charred sand melted into sand stretched out from the sea beyond. Despite the obvious fact that work has been done to slowly repair the damage, it is obvious /something/ landed here.

Violently.

At the center of the island is a lavish estate, where Sovi Reincam will find herself today. It is sprawling, and it has practically everything a person could want; it is, in a word, excessive, and a little daunting. The servents here, however, are courteous, and any needs Sovi may have are aptly tended to.

Nice pool, too.

The whole mess that led to this moment, this /exact/ moment, was-- and is-- confusing and long, a sordid tale that leads from one end of the Eurasian continent to the other, a rush of rooms and color, and a blonde that virtually shoved her into the bedchambers that she occupied last night and made her rest.

In the past, Fable was never so pushy for her to take a break... was something wrong? No... when she woke up that morning, she had other pressing matters to take care of. She wanted to shower, clean up-- and get a fresh change of clothes. The estate's daunting size has been enough to make Sovi confine /herself/ to the only wing of the lavish mansion that seems remotely familiar, standing out on the open-air balcony overlooking the grounds.

The air on her skin. The warmth of the sun.

Things that she never thought she'd feel again.

She's dressed fairly lightly, all things considered. A white cap-sleeved blouse and loose dark pants, her cobalt blue hair tied back in a ponytail at the back of her head rather than the usual sloppy bun. Her arm, her hand, her neck, chest, and parts of her face-- all of them, bearing the near-tribal-style marks on her body after the potentially lethal dose of Metatron energy blasted through her body.

On a chair in the room behind her, her flight suit is draped. It looks a hair away from being absolutely skin tight, and there are huge tears in the stomach and chest. It's dominantly dark gray in color, light gray on the accents, and currently stained more red from chest to knees from her wounds plus the massive gout of blood that she coughed out just moments ago.

She's had a lot on her mind. She's still just glad to be alive.

Clear skies. Bright sun. Cool breeze.

It's a very different sort of paradise than the one that Sovi was forced into experiencing so briefly before. The sort of paradise only an individual is capable of experiencing.

For most of the day, Sovi has been graciously left alone to rest and recover; occasionally, the help comes by, offering things -- hot towels, a change of clothes, meals, and so on. But Sovi's privacy and space have been oddly respected during her time of recovery. Almost as if people were told.

The day drags on. Sovi stands outside, appreciating the light of the sun, the experience of the world. But her private serenity is not meant to last all day--

Before a gentle knocking on the door interrupts all of it.

"Miss Reincam? Excuse my rudeness, but -- may I come in?" The voice is soft, calm -- pleasant, even. There's something gently reassuring about it; at the very least, it is different than the typical help and servants that have briefly filtered in and out of her room.

"I have some things I'd like to talk to you about."

The gentle knock seems to move in time with everything else in the world around her. Gentle breeze, gentle slopes and curves of the estate, terrain, and horizon (minus one scarred section of the Earth). Gentle curves on the clouds, on the lavish drapes that flow outside of the door in smooth ripples of translucent fabrics. Her head cants, and she starts to turn away from the balcony.

"Of course," the crested woman says, her basic assumptions running in a handful of directions. The voice is too soft, the lack of animosity and the tone let her thoughts wander. Nobody knows they're there, and he-- he?-- doesn't sound like a servant. Hopefully this wasn't Fable's attempt to pry further into her personal life, after boldly and directly questioning the state of her "worldly experience."

Sovi's had a hard enough time maintaining personal relationships, what with the whole "pulled away from Mars to fight on the stupid Earth half the time" thing. So when he enters, she might just give him a more appraising look, as though she's trying to figure out just what his deal is within seconds of entrance.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mister...?"

The door creaks open. A young man slips inside with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to such a large estate. His features are delicate and his clothes refined, composed of a simple dress shirt, dark slacks and a navy vest. His hair is long, and--

"Silver," Leonard Testarossa offers with a smile. "Mister Silver."

Closing the door behind him easily, 'Mister Silver' slips his hands into his pockets and cants his head vaguely to the right. His steel gray gaze meets that appraising look with the faintest of knowing smiles, his brows lifting.

"Don't worry," the young man offers in that calm voice. "You can consider me a friend of a friend. Miss Ardross told me that someone she knew could use a place to rest and recover for a little while. I hope you don't mind -- I took the liberty of arranging a room for you when I heard." A pause. Leonard sweeps his gaze down before meeting Sovi's again, noting the strange markings. For now, he says nothing.

"I hope you've been finding yourself well here? I promise, you won't be receiving any troubles; the Federation doesn't have any influence here," he offers, with the most charming of smiles. "Miss Ardross seemed very concerned about your personal wellbeing."

"Mister Silver," she repeats, though the name rolls off her tongue with a bit of question. His bearing, his manner of dress... his hair. While her own hair color, that lusterous blue, is unique and strange all to itself, the BAHRAM Frame Runner-- no, Lieutenant right now, a pilot has a Frame to use-- finds herself trying to smile just a little bit, rolling on the last tapering bits of the euphoria following the near-end of the world.

"Then I suppose I should thank you," she says, walking further inside. Her posture, her centered balance and stride speaks of a strong athletic history. Yet, today, there's just a hint of a feminine touch there that never was, much like the other small, strange urges that have appeared within her mind. Artistic urges and talent, memories that are not her own but /so familiar/...

"Ha ha. Sometimes, I wonder about that," Sovi says, hand rubbing the back of her neck. "Fable doesn't get worried about a lot of things, so I had to wonder if this was part of her way of showing it. I apologize on her behalf if she's been a little... overbearing."

"A woman like Fable Ardross is a woman who carves her own path, her own way of expressing herself," Leonard says amiably.

"That you can recognize that path and interpret it speaks volumes to me about how close you actually are."

Despite his words, Leonard carries himself with an incredibly easygoing air as he strides deeper into the room. She has the movements of an athlete -- no, a soldier. It's not unexpected. But there's something more...

"There's no need to thank me. Any friend of Ms. Ardross' is a friend of mine. And from what I've seen, you are a very impressive woman yourself. Your partner's name was... Ninlil, wasn't it?" Was. It seems to imply something, and is carried with a hint of sincere sympathy in Leonard's voice as he moves to settle into a comfortable white chair close to the balcony. "The two of you carried yourself with a distinct sort of grace in the battlefield. Like watching a dance." A pause, and Leonard offers an apologetic smile.

"I apologize; there's just something intriguing about Orbital Frames and the way they work. Skillful runners should be appreciated like diamonds in the rough, don't you think?"

Steel gray eyes turn towards the view beyond as Mister Silver's legs cross. Hands settling in his lap, the young man leans back languidly, his expression going vaguely neutral as he speaks again. "I understand you were discovered near the ruins of Tokyo-03." His gaze rolls back, toward Sovi. "How does it feel, to have a second chance at life...?"

Thinking back on Ninlil makes Sovi's expression shift. Though Ninlil was an Orbital Frame, though Ignis was only an AI program designed to help protect her and help guide the piloting controls of the machine, it was still an important part of her life. Just the thought of the machine being gone-- if the black box data /can't/ be fully salvaged-- will probably feel like the death of a best friend.

"Ah," she says, turning a small smile forward at his compliment. "Thank you, sir. Though I don't know if I'm deserving of the praise, with what's happened."

Leonard seats himself at one of the chairs; Sovi starts walking to the matching set across from it. Her feet are notably bare, the short woman's left foot bearing a few of those strange dark marks across the top. Once she's settled in, she looks at Leonard, trying to piece together everything that happened. The mass production Evangelions. The shrapnel sticking through her stomach, her chest. Melting, literally, and the reports and what could be recorded. The aftermath.

Ninlil. Ignis.

"I almost want to say that it feels like... an ordeal."

Tone legs cross, and her elbows prop on the arms of the chair. Her fingers are half-folded, crooked and second knuckles leaned against each other. "I don't know what happened to me, that day. I honestly thought I was about to die, and I worried about everything that meant. I wouldn't be able to see my friends on Mars, my parents. My brother. All the things I never had a chance to do. Then..."

Troubled, her yellow-colored eyes turn away from Mister Silver. "Then it felt like I was weightless. No pain, no injury. It was the end of my life as I knew it, and yet, I felt the most unbelievable sense of bliss and euphoria. It felt like, for lack of a better phrase, I was in Heaven. Then..."

"... Then I woke up in a crater, and I felt different. I lost that... that /connection/. I don't know if I'll ever find it again. It's also given me a lot of time to think."

"I'd say your endurance of those ordeals is more than deserving of praise," Leonard says musingly. He meets Sovi's gaze evenly, and smiles. "There are many others who wouldn't have been able to claim the same."

His gaze turns, to observe the skies. Evening begins to encroach as the sun slowly sets, the world bleeding into sunbursts of orange and pink and red, dying the clouds in their shade. He remains silent as Sovi explains her situation - her feelings - everything.

'It felt like, for lack of a better phrase, I was in Heaven.'

"Are you sure that wasn't a false paradise?"

The question comes not accusingly, but wonderingly, as Leonard keeps his gaze focused on the sky. His expression softens. "Oneness feels blissful, doesn't it? No differences, no hatred. But don't you think it's an illusion? Think about it. The little nuances that make you, you. That bright and optimistic look about you, that skill with your Orbital Frame -- that determination I can see in your eyes that truly make you a beautiful individual.

"All of that would be gone in an incomprehensible mass of unity and stagnation. You no longer matter." He knows this subject very well. Leonard looks up, his expression wry.

"The greatest irony of all is a paradise in which one can't even appreciate the sunset of an individual."

Silence passes. Then: "Sorry, sometimes I let my thoughts wander." Offering the apologetic lift of his shoulders, Leonard turns his gaze back towards Sovi, his expression holding a faint sign of mirth. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of retrieving what remained of the Ninlil as soon as Ms. Ardross informed me of your situation. I'd like to say 'I did it for your sake,' but I do have something of a vested interested in it. Regardless... we have the pieces underground currently, seeing what we can salvage for you." Leonard's expression grows more serious as he watches Sovi, perhaps looking for something. "The damage was fairly extensive, however, not just to the superficial extremities. The odds are high that the more complex systems onboard the Ninlil have been compromised beyond repair... including its artificial intelligence systems." Steel gray eyes drift down, observing those crests. "I apologize."

Her pressed-together knuckles lean back a little bit, left pressed to her lips. A false paradise? "Perhaps," she says, considering the notion. Oneness, unity, a perfect understanding of the feelings and hearts of others-- isn't that the crap they also preach about with Newtypes? And is there a purpose in being part of the whole if she can't retain her individuality?

Still, Sovi's only human. False or not, it's tempting.

Then, Mister Silver reveals that they've managed to bring the salvage of Ninlil back. Her lips purse against her crested hands, against the soft curves of her knuckles at the border to fingers and palms calloused from a lifetime of practicing multiple martial arts. A lifetime of training. A lifetime of being a soldier, just like her daddy before her. Her thoughts briefly turn to Ignis as Leonard mentions the state of the Ninlil's salvage, and a heavy silence falls over her.

The marks on her body-- the visible ones-- are presented as smooth and careful curves, an elegant and almost tribal-like design where one line or curve seems to flow seamlessly into the next. A pulse of light and life... and a pulse that is not often seen, given the ways Metatron exposure typically treats people. Those careful, lean curves settle back in the chair, and Sovi's hands shift down to rest in her lap.

"If you don't mind, Mister Silver, I don't like to be left entirely in the dark. Fable all but dragged me out here before I could file a report to a place that puts the Elysium Penninsula back home to shame, you've managed to salvage what's left of my Orbital Frame from what should be crawling with Federation investigators, and you apparently have the means to store at least one machine underground." Her hands lift a bit, palms presented.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful to you, sir. I would just like to know who you are and what you intend on doing with her corpse," she says, in reference to her Orbital Frame.

"It might be precisely because you were about to make that report that she all but dragged you here. What do you think?" Leonard asks, wonderingly. To file that report -- it would be like handing an executioner the axe to execute you with. But--

Leonard Testarossa smiles. It is one of those kind, patient smiles -- the understanding sort a person might give to one trying to grasp their situation. "You're a bright and resourceful young woman, Ms. Reincam. You've served a magnificent career as a pilot. You have a bright future ahead of you. But what do you think will happen when you file that report to BAHRAM?"

Having a machine representing Martian independence destroyed trying to assist in a Federation operation on Earth. Even if the circumstances grew beyond that -- what would they focus on?

People rarely spread their views beyond their hatred.

"But it's exactly as I said. I'm a friend," he continues, his voice and demeanor as polite as ever as he stands up. "I belong to an organization that has been assisting the Divine Crusaders for quite a while now. We're not beholden to any government. We're not especially fond of restrictions. But I'm not helping you out of their interests." Leonard stops at the balcony, turning to look back at Sovi calmly.

"I'm helping you because I do not want to see you suffer needlessly.

"Because I want you to become as great as the potential I can see in you."

There is a pause; Leonard looks back to the balcony, walking forward and resting his palm languidly on the stone rail. "What I do with her corpse is up to you, isn't it?" he asks softly. "She's your partner. I wouldn't be so forward as to think I could simply take her and be done with it. We're currently holding her in the bunker below this estate; it's more than large enough to accomodate."

Leonard looks up and, almost off-handedly, adds: "I hear that even after an Orbital Frame is destroyed, the metatron still retains its space compression properties, however. In other words, the soul of Ninlil is still alive in those pieces down there." He looks behind him at Sovi, pointedly.

"Do you really want to end her life so readily? Even Orbital Frames deserve rebirth into something new and grand, don't they?"

Being a soldier was all that she ever knew-- she grew up in a military household, even if her mother was a scientist and researcher in the agricultural companies and farms that kept the people of Mars fed. As she grew up, a divide formed between her and her older brother. He left to become a doctor, she left to follow in her father's footsteps. BAHRAM was a way to make him proud, even if his expression was often more disapproving than anything... that was just how he was.

Then, she became Unified. There was so much that she saw and felt, so much in mingling consciousnesses that she could never forget or deny. The thoughts, feelings, and memories inside of her that linger at the edges of her mind as softly as a dream; the feeling that something's different inside of her, and the feeling of the space-compressing Metatron ore and it's derivative energy that lingers inside of her body. It /was/ Heaven, whether or not it was false, if it stripped away individuality.

"I was there doing reconassance work," Sovi asserts.

At the very least, Leonard Testarossa cuts to the chase. With the soft breeze flowing in through the large open doors that lead out to the balcony, Sovi's bangs shift and flow in the cool air, and she rises to her full and admittedly unimpressive height. There's a little bit of hope in her eyes, a faint glimmer. "Are you saying you can construct an Orbital Frame? There's no way that technology would be allowed to leave BAHRAM... the Federation may've captured one Frame, but the most they have is that knock-off LEV. They don't have the technology to engineer new ones, and neither should you..."

But he seems to.

Walking out onto the balcony but maintaining a respectful distance from the silver-haired young man, Sovi's caught between her emotions, the faint frowns and the creases in her brow. The shifts in her expression only seem to accenuate the crests marking her skin. "There's fine print, I'm sure. You said yourself that you had your own interests in her. You want me to leave BAHRAM and work for you, is that it?"

Like reaching for the forbidden fruit, Leonard Testarossa is her serpent whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Sovi's gaze turns downward, and she looks briefly depressed, mulling over her options. No matter which way the conversation goes, she's now burdened with that need to choose-- choose if Ninlil's sacrifice will go to waste.

'I was there doing reconnaissance work.'

"I'm sure you were," Leonard answers honestly. "And I think it's commendable that you did what you could to stop something so much larger than you. That ferocious spirit even in the face of the overwhelming is something worthy of the highest praise." The breeze rustles long, silver hair as Leonard shifts, turning his back to the balcony ledge.

"... But is that what BAHRAM will focus on? Their goals are noble, but that also means that they can't abide any exception to them, can they?" His brows furrow together sympathetically. But... there are other topics to occupy his time.

"An Orbital Frame? Maybe not exactly," Leonard admits thoughtfully. "But you could say I'm a little good with mechanics and engineering. And I do happen to have access to a reference point." He doesn't deign to expand on this particular comment, instead turning his gaze back to Sovi as she lifts out of her seat.

"What I make will not be Ninlil as you know her. But the soul will be the same. The partner you've worked with all this time will have a new shape, a new name. A reincarnation from the remains of the old." Leonard's explanation trails, as if to allow this to sink in.

But then she speaks about fine print. Leonard's brows furrow, and his lips twitch into a demure sort of half-smile. "I suppose it'd be better to say that my interests are in 'both of you.' Orbital Frames - or maybe more importantly, metatron - have a wealth of potential. And you... you don't just fight for the sake of Mars, do you? They're important to you. But people are important to you, too. You could say that is a potential that I envy."

Conflict catches Sovi's expression; Leonard can see it, that turmoil of emotions, and as she seems to battle between them, he takes a single step forward, outstretching a hand like an offering. "The path you take is up to you. Isn't that how it should be? I can send these remains back to BAHRAM, and plead your case for you to the best of my ability. It is the least that I can do for you. Or... you can give your partner a second chance at life in a new form. ... And yourself, as well." Leonard slowly tilts his head to the side, curiously.

"You've felt that connection. Can you say that limiting yourself to saving one group of human life is fitting to this new life you've been given?"

Sovi thinks back to her orientations and training on Metatron ore and it's uses, how often times a machine is so easy to repair-- sometimes, as they explained, as simple as pressing the miracle metal against the Frame and allowing the advanced technology and the very nature of the ore itself to work it's magic. But without a base, without a framework, a guide--

-- he has ... a reference point?

There's a hint of intrigue in her eyes there, her concerns quelled but questions raised further. Now, in the open air of the balcony, Sovi starts to think hard about what Leonard is saying, and has said, and what it could mean for herself, her family. BAHRAM, and her father's reputation. Her own goals.

"I don't know what that potential in me is supposed to be, but I... I think you are overestimating me a bit, Mister Silver. I /felt/ that connection, but I don't think I'm ever going to be exposed to that sort of thing ever again. I don't know if I could be able to take having that sense of bliss arrive and have it torn away from me twice."

Her crested hands shift on the railing. "I've thought about asking BAHRAM Command to allow me to spearhead a campaign to drive the Federation off of Mars. I don't have a plan yet, per se, but I was considering an attempt to petition for aid from Axis. I'm twenty-four, Mister Silver. I'm past the point that I selfishly think I can save everyone, but I..." Sovi says, trailing off a little. "I want to at least start with my home, and my family."

Sovi's eyes close. Taking that hand is so tempting. "But you're right. I do care about people, and the people I fight or who dies because of me." She pauses, head shaking a little bit. "Christ. I'm one terrible soldier."

"Just feeling it once is enough," Leonard Testarossa asserts calmly. "Even if just a piece of it, for a fraction, for a moment. You should know better than anyone, now.

"For all the differences in the world, there is no difference between any of us. In the future, the present... or the past."

That connection. Even feeling it once changes a person. Warps them. Warps worlds. Leonard's expression is absolute, pristine calm as he keeps that pale hand outstretched, his smile kind. Understanding. Accepting.

'I'm past the point that I selfishly think I can save everyone...'

"And what's wrong with being selfish?"

The question comes pointedly. Leonard tilts his head slowly as he considers Sovi. She's a poor soldier. She cares about the people she fights or dies because of her. It's not something he can relate to, but-- "The only time it stops being possible is the moment you think it is. Perhaps you can't save everyone... but I believe a terrible soldier is one who thinks nothing of taking a life.

"After all, isn't the point of a soldier to protect it?"

Leonard certainly does, at least, sound sincere. He smiles again, looking to the horizon as the final slivers of sun begin to slip beneath the horizon. "I won't ask you to leave BAHRAM. But I would like to retain your services in the future. I believe you're a woman who can help change the world. The tasks I'll ask you to do for me won't seem pleasant. Many of them may conflict with your morals, your striking compassion. But believe me... what I want from you is to help me make a second chance at life for everyone.

"What I want from you is to be a true soldier."

'And what's wrong with being selfish?'

Sovi's eyes open in a snap, her lips parting just so. Slowly, her head turns, cants just enough to look at Leonard with both eyes and through the occasional lash of cobalt blue. The look in her eyes makes it clear enough: She's always been a team player, always been there to look out for others before herself. She's always been there to make sure someone else doesn't get killed.

She doesn't fidget or shift, but there's no doubt that someone as astute as Leonard Testarossa would be able to continue to pick up on her inner conflicts and her crisis of loyalty, of morality, of... of everything she's ever known or done, from the time that she could walk to the moments before the false Lance of Longinus pierced Ninlil's chest at the onset of the battle of Tokyo-03.

Sovi's yellow eyes turn to the setting sun disappearing over the Greek horizon, letting the glow of the daystar burn briefly into her vision. One hand shifts to her arm, to gingerly touch at the crested marks hidden under her sleeve. Turning, she walks the few steps closer and extends her hand to take his. Her hands are a little rough and calloused to the touch.

"I only ask that you do not betray my faith, Mister Silver."

Sovi Reincam is experiencing her own little inner turmoil.

It's that much that lets Leonard Testarossa know exactly what way she's going to choose next.

Sovi turns. Mister Silver still extends his offer, as patient as God himself. His smile is warm, charming even as Sovi extends her hand, somehow looking as if he might have known this outcome all along. Despite it, there is nothing overbearing about the way he firmly takes Sovi's hand, his fingers squeezing warmly in a single, binding shake.

'I only ask that you do not betray my faith, Mister Silver.'

"Don't worry -- that's the absolute last thing I'd want to do."

Gently, Sovi's hand is released. Leonard focuses his gaze on Sovi, his expression considerate. "You can feel free to use our accomodations for as long as you need. It may take some time to build your new partner; in the meantime, you may feel free to use one of our ARM Slaves. The controls are a bit different--" Though oddly, not much-- "than an Orbital Frame's, but it might do you some good to get accustomed to them. And the Zy-98 Shadow is top of the line, I assure you."

Leonard's right hand slips into his pocket. "I really would recommend you take the time to rest, though..." Even as it does his other hand lifts, quite suddenly and unabashedly invading Sovi's personal space to rest his fingertips on her face -- specifically, where those crests are, curiously tracing them several inches as he speaks. "... And make use of our medical facilities. As beautiful as those markings are... you didn't choose to have them, did you?"

An enigmatic smile is flashed before Leonard drifts away; unless stopped, he'll begin to move towards the door, both hands now nestling inside his pockets as he goes.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Ms. Reincam. Please take care."