welcome

[Thessalian]

While the weyr in general has been intensely busy, if mostly on a clandestine level, there was something that required a bit of prodding, to Kezia's mind. It was what she did, after all. Besides, given a certain slip from a certain security guard, and some bits of her own history ... things needed asking. So she wandered in the general direction of Invictus Draco's quarters a little bit before he was supposed to be off-duty. She didn't want him able to avoid her, after all.

Curiosity got her trying the door. He did not lock his door. Huh. Well, there were two ways to play this. She could be seen to be snooping when he got in, or she could wait and see how he reacted to her beginning to snoop when he arrived. Assuming he didn't throw her straight out. Which was possible, she supposed.

All that to say that Draco would return from his regularly scheduled security detail to find a certain scout, dressed in her typically provocative off-duty 'uniform' (which basically involved a short sleeveless tunic, a pair of calf-length boots and what appeared to be high-cut black underpants) sat on the edge of his bed. It might be called lounging, were it more recumbent. But it's not; it's a little too alert for that. "Hi," she said when he walked in. "You know, personal touches aren't evil. Not here, anyway. Good patrol?"

[Grayson]

And right on cue - to within ten seconds - there was a Draco. His door opened, revealing most of the man himself; his eyebrows lifted, but he ducked into the room anyway, letting the door close behind him in silence.

Still in silence, he pulled a drawer open, retrieved a lighter and a small candle, set light to the candle and set it into a stained glass candle-holder, the only personal thing on display. The lighter went back in the drawer, the candle-holder went onto a small ledge, and Draco turned to lean against the wall, facing Kezia with his arms folded in front of him. Like that, his bicep was probably a similar size to her waist.

"Can I help you, Scout?" The tone was mild - mostly - but there was a touch of something rather less mild under the surface. Next to him, the candle-holder glowed gold and the red of fresh-spilled blood, that same eagle that adorned his armour in those same colours.

[Thessalian]

The man used a candle. That was almost quaint. And yes, he was huge. Huge. (Mmm. Down, girl.) Still, she didn't seem to find Invictus Draco intimidating, no matter how huge he was and how much training he'd had ... among other things. He'd have to catch her first.

Still, the way he phrased his question brought a smirk. "You should know better than to ask a girl a thing like that - might give her all sorts of ideas." Then, though, she toned the smirk down a little. "I ... admit I'm kind of curious, Sarge. And I thought it'd be better to ask about ... some things ... with a bit of privacy. Like the Codex Imperialis, for example. Gene-priests. Stuff like that." She shrugged, then, having gone rather more serious than most have seen her. "I've seen your ... brothers, maybe? ... before. I wear a token or two of their regard. I just wondered ... things, I guess. And I thought, given that we're both on this whole mission to root out the dark heart of the Pernese mission ... maybe some air ought to be cleared."

[Grayson]

Draco's jaw tensed for a moment, bringing the solidity of his facial structure into stark relief, and then it relaxed.

"Good call," he rumbled. "If they have to be talked about at all, better it is done in here. Swear to me you'll take no recordings, Scout."

He could feel his mind waking up once more, drawn out of slumber. He scented the air, and realised she'd been here for a few minutes. And, of course, she was sitting on his *bed*. Argh. It was going to take days - weeks - to get the scent out. Maybe moving to the Candidate barracks would be a good idea after all.

He reached out to thumb the lock plate, and the door clicked. That done, he exhaled and folded himself, taking a seat with his back to the wall, settling under the candle-holder as if he did this sort of thing every day.

He didn't. But he didn't have to tell her that.

[Thessalian]

In response to being asked to swear that she wouldn't take recordings, Kezia laughed, then stood up and did a little twirl to emphasise the outfit that wasn't. "Do I look like I could hide a decent recording device in this? But if you're that worried about it, you're welcome to ... frisk me." Flirtatious, yes, with the licentious little smirk and plenty of eyebrow-waggling ... but frankly, if Kezia stopped being flirtatious for long, most people would start looking for the pod.

She could, however, get back to business with remarkable speed. "Anyway, yes, I swear. No recordings. Believe me, I have as many reasons not to want one as you do. Very different reasons, but still." She plunked down on the bed again and made herself comfortable. "So ... you don't like talking about it. But you still call them 'gene-priests' and quote the Code." It's clearly a question without a question mark, and a starting point.

[Grayson]

The smirk, the eyebrow-waggling, the flirtatiousness - it all washed off Draco as thought it hadn't happened at all. "We both know that outfit could hide twenty recording devices," he said mildly, as though there weren't vast amounts of feminine skin on display. "But your oath I will accept. Thank you, Scout."

He relaxed a little, adopting a straight-backed, cross-legged posture easily. "It is hard to forget the only life you ever led before coming to the Peregrine, Scout. A life and a vocation. But I cannot answer questions you do not ask, and I may never answer some of them. This is understood?"

[Thessalian]

The first question that came to mind was, frankly, did they breed the sex drive right out of you? Bastards ... but that was a little bit overly familiar, and there was something else he'd said that actually came higher on her list of 'needs to be talked about' than sex. "I never thought it was all that hard, forgetting an old life," she told him with a shrug. "But then again, I guess it depends on how you got into the life in question. Not to mention how you got out. Which I suppose brings me to actual questions."

She sat a little straighter. planted her elbows on her knees and looked at him. "I've been trying to figure out if I've seen you before, but ... you all look so alike. So first of all ... where were your last ... say, two or three commissions before the Peregrine mission. I'm only asking," she reassured him - or tried to - "because I generally like to know if I'm sharing quarters with someone who's ever shot at me."

[Grayson]

If she knew enough to know that the battle-brothers looked very similar, she'd been very close to at least two and survived it. Draco's system set about bringing more of his mind into working order.

"I was born into it," he said casually, while his systems worked away; rather than risk seeing her reaction, or have her see his to it, he closed his eyes in pretence of deep thought.

"I first saw action on Tarsus Quintus, then Tarsus Secundus." He'd been a child, then. Human-tall, six and seven years old, in a scout suit made for growing young Marines. Less protection, but room to grow.

"After those were Jelens Sextus to Jelens Prime." Ten to twelve. It had been a gruelling campaign. Most of the scars on his suit were from that one.

"Last was Thedas Tertius." Sergeant on his sixteenth birthday. It had been a dream come true. And short months after the promotion, the ceasefire. The pardon. The dissolution.

He could only hope he'd kept the memories off his face. He knew he was good, very good, but... if she knew that much, she knew how to read a Marine. She was going to be better.

[Thessalian]

"Ah, might have been you, then." For a moment, it looked like she wasn't going to explain that (yes, she was watching. Yes, she was cataloguing reactions. Yes, she has seen his like before), but then she did. "Thedas ... Tertius, huh? Anyway, that's where I'm from. I was working a ... let's call it a merchant vessel. Sounds a lot more swank than it really should, the work we were doing. That time was ... we had a blockade run out of the Free March Belt. Trying to get supplies to the rebel forces. Your flyboys shot us down and we crash-landed on the world you had your base camp on. And of course, we got shot at trying to escape the wreck." She sighed, stretched a little - clearly feeling old scars giving a twinge here and there. "Lost the cargo. Lost the ship. Lost the cap'n, too. So I guess you guys were why I got my first real command. Not sure whether to thank you for that."

Maybe he remembered. More than likely he didn't. She did, though; remembered being maybe sixteen, seventeen and running through more gunfire than she'd seen in her 'career' to date, watching the cap'n drop and going back for a keepsake. That got her a particularly nasty wounding.

Then she grinned. "I should thank you for the replacement ship, though. Your scout ships were damn roomy, if I remember right. Nesbitt liked the hidey-holes in the main cargo bay. They were great nap-spots."

Then she raised an eyebrow. "So ... they threw you guys in the field early, huh? And you venerate your geneticists. I guess making soldiers the old-fashioned way was too hit-and-miss? Or just too ... visceral?"

[Grayson]

"The gene-priests work the Emperor's will, honing His fists to be the greatest warriors in the universe. In turn we protect them, as we protect all His people, so that they may serve." Simple logic while he checked his memories. "All things spring from the Emperor, and to him all things are due."

Hmm. This much could be said. Probably. "I was not there. I saw the report. Your bravery was commended, as was your loyalty to your Captain. You were a heretic, of course, but you were considered proof that Thedas was worth fighting for, that it was a system worthy of the Emperor's attention. Anyone who could take a scout ship was wasted in opposition, and mere trade..."

Draco didn't really understand how anyone could make a living at trade - but then he didn't understand most of humanity. Then again, he didn't need to. Protecting them didn't require understanding them.

"I am pleased that you survived."

[Thessalian]

The first bit got a bewildered sort of look. "You really believe that? Still? 'Cos I'll tell you this much; I did not spring from your Emperor. I sprang from some bitch from Rivain ... what you'd call Thedas Septimus, I guess ... and an unidentified man who probably died of pox in a winesink somewhere. And if they sprang from your emperor ... well." She bit down on the rest, which had to do with how his God-Emperor would look in a pimp-hat. She'd only go so far on full disclosure, really.

Besides, there was the rest, and she blinked at him for a moment ... and then burst into merry laughter. It lasted awhile, interspersed with attempts to calm down that were inevitably squashed with a sputter of "mere tra--aaaaaahahaha..."

Finally she calmed down and waved a semi-apologetic hand at him. "Oh, Sarge; nice to know I was spreading misinformation even then. No ... see ... I wasn't a trader. I was ... well, a lot of things, but at that point, 'blockade runner'. Which went along nicely with the other job descriptions - among them, 'smuggler' and 'pirate'. Be glad we weren't from..." She counted on her fingers. "...Sextus. Though we did have a man from there. He never even took a hit. Bloody Antivan. Bloody Crow training. Bloody assassins. Man." She was back to chuckling, but at least the laughter wasn't totally debilitating this time. "If that's what they said about the Call's crew, I'd love to hear what they said about the rebels keeping your boys the hell off..." More counting on her fingers. "Ferelden. Quartus. Whatever."

Then she grinned at him. "I'm glad you survived too. And also? Thanks. Though ... you said I was a heretic. Do you still think I'm a heretic?" Despite the grin, she was watching him, assessing. It's nice to know things ... like how seriously he still took his convictions in that regard. Particularly in light of current events.

[Grayson]

Draco's eyes opened again, the big man looking up without apparent rancour as Kezia started laughing.

"I know how you differentiate it. But you did not work in the name of any but yourselves. That is trade, of one sort or another. Forced, free, quiet, loud, it is all trade. But in trade, a soul may show its true colours, and learn skills fit for war. I hope that in time, you fought for more than profit." A pause. "Quartus was a good fight, a testing one. I lost many brothers, but legends were born there - and a legend cannot be born without real battles." The less said about Sextus and the Inquisition's interest in that world, the better.

To the rest, he simply nodded. "You are a heretic, yes. I am surrounded by heretics. It is not your fault. My duty is to protect you, show you the truth through my deeds, and educate you when you have seen the Emperor's light and wish to serve His will. And if you never do, so be it. Even His fists are not perfect."

Calm, confident, serene - the huge marine seemed at peace with himself, if not with the world he'd found himself in.

"As to your parentage - that is immaterial to the Emperor, and to me. How can it not be, when you speak with one such as I?"

[Thessalian]

This? This right here? This is why religious people confused the life out of Kezia. There seemed to be no logic and everyone was happy to accept the lack of logic. And would probably backhand you into next Tuesday if you called them out on the total lack of logic in their faith. Mostly, Kezia didn't bother, but ... well, their God-Emperor was a collosal dick.

Besides, he'd said it was his duty to protect her, which just ... noooooooooo. So she blinked at the comment a few times and then said, "...I don't know where you learned your logic, but I'm thinking it might have been the moral and intellectual equivalent of an Escher print. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm fine with you thinking I'm a heretic. I'm just having issues with ... to start with, if all things sprang from your Emperor-guy - which, given he was, what, sixty? That's implying some really weird wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey shit going on - why did he let heretics turn up and people the galaxy in the first place? 'Cos if it was just to give his super-soldiers something to do, he could have just not had the fun-centre of your brain surgically removed..." She shrugged. "Or, hell, there's plenty of legends to be made without having to fight other people. I made a name fighting albino sewer wyverns, for starters. Way more fun than fighting people."

[Grayson]

Draco didn't seem to mind the accusations of wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey shit, or the rant about fun-centres, or the complaint about who he'd been fighting. It all rolled off his broad shoulders like so much hot air.

"You don't understand, and that's fine, Scout. No-one else here does either, which is why this conversation hasn't been had before. The Emperor is more like six thousand years old, and He chose when He should be enshrined in mortal flesh and lead His people in person. So sayeth the Codex Imperialis; whether it's true or allegory doesn't really matter, because He is a very, very long way away and I am right here."

He looked up, meeting Kezia's eyes, his own far more full of life and intelligence than usual.

"The training vids had us ready to battle any threat to humanity. There was a hive of Tyranids on Tarsus Sextus. One of the young hybrids looks close to them, which worries me - and once the Tyranids get a foothold, they have to be absolutely eradicated, or they'll turn everything on a planet into more Tyranids before sending more spawn out into space. We had to make sure the other planets in the system were uninfected."

He nodded. "I don't know why we came to Tarsus. But there must have been *some* reason."

Again, that look with powerful intelligence behind it, intelligence almost wholly missing in day-to-day life. "As to my fun-centres, those are my business."

Fun-centres. That was the bit about dragonriding he wasn't really looking forward to. Still, even if a dragon chose him at the Hatching, that was at least a year away, maybe more.

The look sharpened. "Scout, why do you rail at the gifts I have been given? Because they were turned against you and yours, or because you disagree with me, or because you think I have had terrible things done to me that I seem incapable of recognising?"

[Thessalian]

Kezia listened ... sort of. Religious doggerel wasn't exactly her cup of tea, and really, that was all Draco's commentary was, to her. For her, what mattered was the question at the end, which got a raised eyebrow. "Oh, this isn't railing. Believe me, you haven't seen railing. Probably won't, either - not from me, anyway. It's a waste of energy. This is just ... information." More precious than anything in this or any other world, was information - or so Kezia had come to discover, anyway.

Then she addressed the points. "I wasn't exactly a freedom fighter when your lot landed on my turf, as I've already said. So ... y'know, you guys could have venerated the Maker, the Old Gods, your God-Emperor or the Flying Spaghetti Monster for all I cared. So it's hardly going to make a difference now. If your boys hadn't been shooting at me, someone else would have." And did. A lot. But that wasn't a necessary bit of information to inject into this conversation. "So no, it's not that."

She settled in, ticking off the other points on her fingers. "Yeah, I think your entire belief system is a load of nug-shit - no offense - but that's not it either. Mostly because what you believe in your own head is your own business. As to whether you had terrible things done to you ... that's in the eye of the beholder. You've got skills, it doesn't take genius to see it, and yeah, they're useful and everything. And for the record, I wasn't only talking about horizontal groin-involved fun, y'know. I can get my brain out of my knickers for five minutes at a time. What I meant was ... you've got this rut. But you seem to like it, so that's not really my business either, I guess. Even if you were more or less created to like your rut and haven't even bothered to see what's outside of it. But that's your business too. I don't judge."

Then she looked at him, and for a change was very serious. "I just don't think that Doc Salvador's all that different than your God-Emperor, when all's said and done. So the fact that you're still loyal to someone like that, who's years' worth of space travel away--" (and, if Kezia had to guess, probably dead by now - she'd believe he was six thousand when nugs flew) "--well, makes me wonder what'll happen when and if you crave leadership outside what you generate of your Emperor-guy in your own head."