As far as missions go, this one could be a lot worse. Devero's been deep into ludd territory on protection details; he's camped out in wild forest to keep a team of Reclamation Corps civilians safe from the kind of outsiders who liked to make their own ignorance and poor choices into Gov's problem. He's had to run interference with megafauna wildlife in extreme conditions to ensure research teams can finish collecting their data. He's had to make choices that result in ended lives. Unlike most World Guards, he's a Scorpion, and that means he's had to fight.
This mission has not involved any fighting.
This time, his squad is accompanying a diplomatic envoy, escorting political specialists to a treaty renegotiation in... whichever outsider town this is. Is this the one with the copper mine? He thinks this is the one with the copper mine. If this place wasn't deep in the NorAm territory, Gov probably wouldn't have sent a Scorpion squad at all, but there are too many uppity ludd factions on this continent. It's not worth risking citizen's lives.
He ducks his head a little as he pushes inside, glad to get out of the dry heat of the town. Sun's been down for almost an hour and it's still hot; he is ready for a drink after enduring it.
He's aware of the locals watching him as he weaves between tables and up to the counter on the far side of the room. He's aware of the eyes on his Interface, its gleam and glow standing out in a place where the people don't even seem to have handheld Interfaces, much less wearable ones. (He knows he's not supposed to judge these people for their baffling indifference to joining Gov, but he can't help but be at least... bewildered by it.)
He finds an empty stool, eases his big frame down onto it, reaches without thinking for a feed that barely connects here like he'll be able to pull this place's menu up for a look. The bartender who approaches him gives him a weird look, but dutifully asks, "Get ya something?"
There's a hitch between the question and Devero's answer, his eyes going a little distant as he checks his Interface for the transcription of their words. Then he nods, head and fist both, and says, "Whatever local beer you recommend, please."
He says it... with his hands, flowing quick and comfortable through the motions of Global Sign. The bartender's brow furrows immediately, but only a moment later, Devero's Interface translates his words. His artificial voice is neutral and pleasant, masculine in timbre, and emits from his Interface eye where it sits on his face. The bartender blinks at him, smiles uncertainly, says, "Uh... sure, yeah," and heads off to the taps at the end of the counter.
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Date: 2025-12-04 03:46 am (UTC)From:This mission has not involved any fighting.
This time, his squad is accompanying a diplomatic envoy, escorting political specialists to a treaty renegotiation in... whichever outsider town this is. Is this the one with the copper mine? He thinks this is the one with the copper mine. If this place wasn't deep in the NorAm territory, Gov probably wouldn't have sent a Scorpion squad at all, but there are too many uppity ludd factions on this continent. It's not worth risking citizen's lives.
Ah, but right now, he's off-duty. He doesn't have to worry about anyone's life but his own. He and Alé and Keighjo had all set off together to explore this weirdly low-tech little town, but he'd lost the other two in a gaming hall. Watching them watch non-citizens play weird analog games was boring as fuck, so he'd left them to it and continued on until he found this place: a proper bar.
He ducks his head a little as he pushes inside, glad to get out of the dry heat of the town. Sun's been down for almost an hour and it's still hot; he is ready for a drink after enduring it.
He's aware of the locals watching him as he weaves between tables and up to the counter on the far side of the room. He's aware of the eyes on his Interface, its gleam and glow standing out in a place where the people don't even seem to have handheld Interfaces, much less wearable ones. (He knows he's not supposed to judge these people for their baffling indifference to joining Gov, but he can't help but be at least... bewildered by it.)
He finds an empty stool, eases his big frame down onto it, reaches without thinking for a feed that barely connects here like he'll be able to pull this place's menu up for a look. The bartender who approaches him gives him a weird look, but dutifully asks, "Get ya something?"
There's a hitch between the question and Devero's answer, his eyes going a little distant as he checks his Interface for the transcription of their words. Then he nods, head and fist both, and says, "Whatever local beer you recommend, please."
He says it... with his hands, flowing quick and comfortable through the motions of Global Sign. The bartender's brow furrows immediately, but only a moment later, Devero's Interface translates his words. His artificial voice is neutral and pleasant, masculine in timbre, and emits from his Interface eye where it sits on his face. The bartender blinks at him, smiles uncertainly, says, "Uh... sure, yeah," and heads off to the taps at the end of the counter.