Kira Nerys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thenewways) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-08-20 09:59 pm
thenewways) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-08-20 09:59 pm
Entry tags:
- !mingle,
- - plot: primitive weapons,
- 100: raven reyes,
- asoiaf: margaery tyrell,
- asoiaf: robb stark,
- great library: jess brightwell,
- heathers: veronica sawyer,
- kate kelly: kate kelly,
- losers: cougar alvarez,
- losers: jake jensen,
- martian: mark watney,
- marvel: frank castle,
- marvel: sam wilson,
- ouat: killian jones,
- spn: jo harvelle,
- star trek: kira nerys,
- tvd: kol mikaelson,
- vinland: thorfinn thorsson
keep that fury deep inside you: primitive weapons plot
WHO: Kira Nerys
WHERE: the Inn
WHEN: Saturday,
OPEN TO: All (August Plot, part 2)
WARNINGS: none at present
STATUS: Open
When Nerys heard about the boxes that Jo and Killian Jones had found, she was surprised. When she heard what was in them, that they were all marked with intent, the surprise lessened, and now was turning into sinking overwhelming tunnel vision in her head, her gut. The physical sensation of knowing, knowing that someone had plans for you, and those plans were likely ugly--oh yes, she knows it. Just because it's familiar, though, doesn't make it something she enjoys by any stretch of the imagination.
No, it's the kind of feeling that Nerys had learned at a very young age to transmute into anger. The kind of anger that fed her family, then the kind of anger that blew up Cardassian weapons depots, then the kind of anger that kept her focused on her job and kept her people safe.
She knows that if she's feeling this way, things are just as bad or worse for others. While she hasn't been entirely candid with everyone about her past, though she certainly hasn't lied, she's pretty sure she's seen complexity (let's be frank, darkness) in some of the people she's met, and like fuck did they need a full-scale civil war on their hands here.
It's a good way for them all, in the not-so-long run, to die.
Clearly, they all needed to have a gods damned talk before this boiled over, and as Nerys sees no one else volunteering, she steps up, roaming through the village like an old-fashioned crier. "Hey," she shouts at the people in the field, around the town, using the rather powerful pipes the Prophets had seen fit to give her. "Hey. Meeting at the Inn, fifteen minutes. We need to talk."
She gets to the inn in a few minutes' time, then clambers up onto one of the tables in front of Jo's lists, and sits, cross-legged, to wait. Folks filter in, a few at a time, and Nerys taps her jaw with her fingertips, counting out the seconds (she'd like a chronometer, but that'd be like asking for latinum dust). Once enough time's passed, she clears her throat. It doesn't really do much, so she rolls her eyes, then turns up the volume a little--not aggressive, but enough to catch people's attention. She's accustomed to walking the fine line between too much and too little leadership, because unlike her Starfleet colleagues, she doesn't expect the hierarchy of rank and linked formality of sometimes-grudging respect. Makes it easier to actually talk to people.
"Hey. My name's Nerys, for those of you who I haven't met properly yet. You've probably heard what was found out in the forest," she starts. "I figure we should all sit down and discuss it, because the last thing that's going to be any good for anyone is us starting to distrust each other and get into fights. So...let's hash it out, right?"
If she has to scream the 'this is what they fucking want, they want us to hurt each other, fuck them' message into people's heads, she's willing to do that. Eventually. Hopefully someone else will agree.
WHERE: the Inn
WHEN: Saturday,
OPEN TO: All (August Plot, part 2)
WARNINGS: none at present
STATUS: Open
When Nerys heard about the boxes that Jo and Killian Jones had found, she was surprised. When she heard what was in them, that they were all marked with intent, the surprise lessened, and now was turning into sinking overwhelming tunnel vision in her head, her gut. The physical sensation of knowing, knowing that someone had plans for you, and those plans were likely ugly--oh yes, she knows it. Just because it's familiar, though, doesn't make it something she enjoys by any stretch of the imagination.
No, it's the kind of feeling that Nerys had learned at a very young age to transmute into anger. The kind of anger that fed her family, then the kind of anger that blew up Cardassian weapons depots, then the kind of anger that kept her focused on her job and kept her people safe.
She knows that if she's feeling this way, things are just as bad or worse for others. While she hasn't been entirely candid with everyone about her past, though she certainly hasn't lied, she's pretty sure she's seen complexity (let's be frank, darkness) in some of the people she's met, and like fuck did they need a full-scale civil war on their hands here.
It's a good way for them all, in the not-so-long run, to die.
Clearly, they all needed to have a gods damned talk before this boiled over, and as Nerys sees no one else volunteering, she steps up, roaming through the village like an old-fashioned crier. "Hey," she shouts at the people in the field, around the town, using the rather powerful pipes the Prophets had seen fit to give her. "Hey. Meeting at the Inn, fifteen minutes. We need to talk."
She gets to the inn in a few minutes' time, then clambers up onto one of the tables in front of Jo's lists, and sits, cross-legged, to wait. Folks filter in, a few at a time, and Nerys taps her jaw with her fingertips, counting out the seconds (she'd like a chronometer, but that'd be like asking for latinum dust). Once enough time's passed, she clears her throat. It doesn't really do much, so she rolls her eyes, then turns up the volume a little--not aggressive, but enough to catch people's attention. She's accustomed to walking the fine line between too much and too little leadership, because unlike her Starfleet colleagues, she doesn't expect the hierarchy of rank and linked formality of sometimes-grudging respect. Makes it easier to actually talk to people.
"Hey. My name's Nerys, for those of you who I haven't met properly yet. You've probably heard what was found out in the forest," she starts. "I figure we should all sit down and discuss it, because the last thing that's going to be any good for anyone is us starting to distrust each other and get into fights. So...let's hash it out, right?"
If she has to scream the 'this is what they fucking want, they want us to hurt each other, fuck them' message into people's heads, she's willing to do that. Eventually. Hopefully someone else will agree.
no subject
The sudden appearance of the ruins and the crates hit that point home disturbingly well--they had no means of predicting where or when an attack, or a message, or even something as simple and random shoe box with a gift inside could come. There were too many blanks. Jess hates blanks, and he'll continue to hate them until he can fill them.
"What do you think our play should be?" He already knows what he intends to do--and he has a good idea of what the majority of the townsfolk will decide based on the snatches of conversation he's been listening to since he arrived. Now he's asking Raven.
no subject
"We don't let this get to our heads," she says after a moment. She wants to shrug her shoulders, but instead she keeps her arms folded to prevent herself from feeling as useless as she never wants herself to feel again. "We use the weapons. We take all we can get from whoever these people are. If they're really narcissistic and want a thank you, they'll let us know."
Raven would prefer a more narcissistic captor; the Grounders had been easier to fight after they'd grown angry at the Sky People, while the Mountain Men were scarier with how patient they had been.
"We don't know who we're fighting, and I think it's pretty important we strengthen ourselves before we start trying to pick a battle we're going to lose. I'm tired of losing."
no subject
The thought gets more painful when he imagines the Artifex's voice dictating it.
"If we have to be chimpanzees, we might as well be the opportunistic kind," he agrees, running a hand down his face. It's been a trying day already, and it's not even over yet. When he drops his hand, his expression is set. "Losing's not an option. I might lack this radiation immunity and be from what you consider the past, but we Earthlings have some tricks up our sleeves when push comes to shove."
Fighting words, but then that's what Jess is: a fighter. It's abundantly clear not everyone is; he can see by watching that some are more rattled by these discoveries than others. Still, he can't fault them. For a ragtag group of this size, they're keeping it together as best as circumstances allow.
There haven't been any brawls or out-and-out arguments yet. Could be worse.
no subject
Letting out a sigh, her shoulders hunch, and any rigidness that had been in her posture fades. Raven isn't giving up the fight, but she's learning when to pick her battles. A knife up her sleeve is a card she has to play wisely this time around; trusting someone to use it when it should've been her hand holding the hilt is a lesson she'll take to her grave. She can't trust anyone.
But maybe she can trust Jess. Just a little.
"All this talking in circles has made me hungry." It isn't like there's plenty of food to pick from, but Raven's over it. The arguments. The snide comments. The lack of answers. It makes a girl grow a little hungry for something, and her hands wish to piece together the gaps their conversation has only just amplified.
She tilts her head to the side. "I'm going to see if they've dumped any food outside for us."
no subject
The only thing that might provide some answers is visiting the ruins for themselves, but that'll have to wait until tomorrow. It's too late in the day for it now.
"All right," he says in response, coming out from behind the table to see her to the door. "I'll let you know if anything interesting comes out of this. Save me some dandelions, will you?"
no subject
With her lips curved upward, she quips, "Get your own dandelions, Brightwell."
Giving him a quick slap on the upper arm, Raven's out the door in search of what she doubts she'll discover — and some dandelions.