Ysanne Isard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2020-07-02 05:18 pm
iceheart_imperial) wrote in maskormenacelogs2020-07-02 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
Isard's Open July Log [Open to All!]
WHO: Whoever wants in! Especially maybe Jedi or other Star Wars peeps she hasn't run into yet. (Looking at you, Poe. :P)
WHERE: Various, see below
WHEN: Whenever in July, feel free to back/forward tag
WHAT: Isard goes around, does things. People and conversations happen.
WARNINGS: Will add if anything happens worth warning about.
Option A - At her P.I. Office
The paperwork was wearying. Not that she couldn't handle the volume - her day's total paperwork was still a fraction of what she'd have to deal with before. If she felt in the mood to share, she'd have told people: authority comes with a lot of paperwork, be prepared. No, it wasn't the paperwork. It was having to learn to write in English instead of Aurebesh. Mostly it was just signatures, but marginalia were a chore, still. Cursive was easier, thankfully. And more elegant.
She sighed, finishing off with that week's paystubs before moving onto the new reports she had to read. She re-rolled the sleeve on her dress shirt, sighing, then tapped the intercom.
"Mariam," she called for her assistant, "when you get a spare moment, some tea would be just lovely, thank you. And I'm free if anyone comes in."
She got up, putting the signed pay stubs into the office safe. The pay would happen automatically, of course, but this planet ran on records. And she was quite keen that everything here be above board.
Option B - Cafe
She'd found a small cafe near her home, and it was becoming something of a favorite haunt. It was small, a little run down, but it had a small stage. She stopped by, at irregular intervals of course, just to enjoy the people who claimed it as their own for a small time. Sometimes it was poets, other times musicians. A few people who, very charitably, might be deemed 'comedians' - but there seemed to be no guiding principle to any of it. You came, you performed, that was that. It was so wonderfully disorganized.
When she'd arrived, it had been a duo of a pianist and a violinist. She'd been there long enough only for their last song - a melody that she found haunting and beautifully sad.
Later, she was unable to entirely quantify their genre, but the music was very different indeed. But she listened with every sign of enjoyment. She was seated with a clear view of the door - some instincts died too hard - a rather overcomplicated coffee drink in front of her. She wasn't sure what it was. She'd just asked the barista for something interesting.
Option C - A Mastermind Stops a Criminal
She'd been walking past the bank when he'd come out. A man, wearing metal. That in itself wasn't unusual, but the shoddiness of it certainly was. Oh dear, someone thought he'd found a clever solution to the problem of imPorts being on guard, hadn't he? Someone who thought he had wit when he had only half of one.
He was yelling something about being 'the new Ned Kelly' or something she frankly wasn't paying attention. To that or the gun he was waving. Which was meant to look complicated and futuristic, but she was quite sure was actually some kind of painted prop. The man's 'armor' hung down over him past his waist, which had to be hampering his movement, surely. Had he converted a hot water heater, or...?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the man pointing the weapon at her and demanding her car keys.
"Oh, no, absolutely not," she replied, clenching a fist and allowing herself a small smile.
"Who the hell d'you think you are?! I'm the new Ned Kelly and I'll do what I-"
"They call me Iceheart," she interrupted, breaking into a grin, "and I've had about enough of this." With that, she threw her weight into an uppercut, enhanced strength hammering a dent into the metal and lifting him clear of the ground to land flat on his back with a very satisfying sound.
D - Relaxing at the Gym
She wore a blue one piece bathing suit, her hair done up in a tight ponytail aside from two strands of white hair that had escaped at the front. With a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck, she crossed over to the gym's spa-class hot tub, easing herself into the water gingerly. She'd had a regular sparring session with Ryuko and it had gone...predictably badly. She knew one hip had an ugly bruise from a kick, that was for sure.
But she hadn't been run over by a freight train this time, at least.
She settled back into the water, submerging up to her chest with a sign, leaning back with both arms on the railing.
E - Create your own!
WHERE: Various, see below
WHEN: Whenever in July, feel free to back/forward tag
WHAT: Isard goes around, does things. People and conversations happen.
WARNINGS: Will add if anything happens worth warning about.
Option A - At her P.I. Office
The paperwork was wearying. Not that she couldn't handle the volume - her day's total paperwork was still a fraction of what she'd have to deal with before. If she felt in the mood to share, she'd have told people: authority comes with a lot of paperwork, be prepared. No, it wasn't the paperwork. It was having to learn to write in English instead of Aurebesh. Mostly it was just signatures, but marginalia were a chore, still. Cursive was easier, thankfully. And more elegant.
She sighed, finishing off with that week's paystubs before moving onto the new reports she had to read. She re-rolled the sleeve on her dress shirt, sighing, then tapped the intercom.
"Mariam," she called for her assistant, "when you get a spare moment, some tea would be just lovely, thank you. And I'm free if anyone comes in."
She got up, putting the signed pay stubs into the office safe. The pay would happen automatically, of course, but this planet ran on records. And she was quite keen that everything here be above board.
Option B - Cafe
She'd found a small cafe near her home, and it was becoming something of a favorite haunt. It was small, a little run down, but it had a small stage. She stopped by, at irregular intervals of course, just to enjoy the people who claimed it as their own for a small time. Sometimes it was poets, other times musicians. A few people who, very charitably, might be deemed 'comedians' - but there seemed to be no guiding principle to any of it. You came, you performed, that was that. It was so wonderfully disorganized.
When she'd arrived, it had been a duo of a pianist and a violinist. She'd been there long enough only for their last song - a melody that she found haunting and beautifully sad.
Later, she was unable to entirely quantify their genre, but the music was very different indeed. But she listened with every sign of enjoyment. She was seated with a clear view of the door - some instincts died too hard - a rather overcomplicated coffee drink in front of her. She wasn't sure what it was. She'd just asked the barista for something interesting.
Option C - A Mastermind Stops a Criminal
She'd been walking past the bank when he'd come out. A man, wearing metal. That in itself wasn't unusual, but the shoddiness of it certainly was. Oh dear, someone thought he'd found a clever solution to the problem of imPorts being on guard, hadn't he? Someone who thought he had wit when he had only half of one.
He was yelling something about being 'the new Ned Kelly' or something she frankly wasn't paying attention. To that or the gun he was waving. Which was meant to look complicated and futuristic, but she was quite sure was actually some kind of painted prop. The man's 'armor' hung down over him past his waist, which had to be hampering his movement, surely. Had he converted a hot water heater, or...?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the man pointing the weapon at her and demanding her car keys.
"Oh, no, absolutely not," she replied, clenching a fist and allowing herself a small smile.
"Who the hell d'you think you are?! I'm the new Ned Kelly and I'll do what I-"
"They call me Iceheart," she interrupted, breaking into a grin, "and I've had about enough of this." With that, she threw her weight into an uppercut, enhanced strength hammering a dent into the metal and lifting him clear of the ground to land flat on his back with a very satisfying sound.
D - Relaxing at the Gym
She wore a blue one piece bathing suit, her hair done up in a tight ponytail aside from two strands of white hair that had escaped at the front. With a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck, she crossed over to the gym's spa-class hot tub, easing herself into the water gingerly. She'd had a regular sparring session with Ryuko and it had gone...predictably badly. She knew one hip had an ugly bruise from a kick, that was for sure.
But she hadn't been run over by a freight train this time, at least.
She settled back into the water, submerging up to her chest with a sign, leaning back with both arms on the railing.
E - Create your own!
no subject
He's sticking to the same body, for one reason and one reason only: fashion. He's 'borrowed' some clothes from his official job as a runway model--something appropriate for the summer heat, and kept his waist cinched in with a corset. Wonderful, horrible invention, the corset. No substitute for body mods, but it helped define more of the traditional hourglass figure that grineer looked for in men. And it came in blue, which was his best color.
Combined with some heels to make him even taller, and he was gleefully turning heads and intimidating his lessers all the way to the office.
((ooc: bless the mods for giving him this job, I get to have so much fun with the idea of stuffing a giant man into this stuff.))
no subject
A small dossier is also on her desk. She's been busy in the meantime. Preparing technical drawings, to the best of her ability. She's not terribly scientific, really - but her attention to detail is exact.
"Well, that must have turned some heads."
((OOC: I'm just imagining Dolph trying to strut down a runway and it's wonderful, thank you so much for that.))
no subject
"So," He draped himself across a chair, giving the human a once-over. "What's this secret plan of yours?"
((Tyl can work it. He's got practice. :D))
no subject
Inside the folder were her precise drawings, augmented and fixed by her staff. Her memory was precise enough, but expertise was better - as the current situation proved. The first set of drawings was for a complete set of Stormtrooper armor, though the notations were for local materials rather than the plasteel and other materials she could rely upon in her galaxy.
Probably beneath an intellect like his if half of what she'd surreptitiously gathered about him was true - which sadly wasn't as much as she'd have liked. The second, however...
"The armor I would like as precisely as possible. A hundred sets, to start, though I understand if mass production is out of the question. A trickle will do fine. The only stipulation being that it is proof against the basic weaponry of this world, namely projectile weaponry. Whatever you can do to improve the second, however..."
The second was a rough set of drawings for what had been fairly standard munitions, in a world in which force-wielders were becoming a possibility again: a flechette launcher.
"Payment isn't an issue, and I doubt it would be terribly important to you regardless. But I can provide...alternative benefits."
(OOC: I can get behind this. But I'm just imagining Lundgren thudding down the runway like the tank in Indiana Jones, saying 'Sashay sashay sashay TURN'. :P)
no subject
"And the boots! Feet are awful, but I thought humans liked to keep theirs. Why aren't they plated? Did you run out?"
That gun, though, that had some grineer sensibility to it. It looked like if a stunningly ugly version of a zarr. Could be fun.
(OOC: I meaan there was that one time he wore a wedding dress...)
no subject
They are a symbol of Imperial authority - her authority, in short. And if she's to control any other Imperials who find their way here, she'll need that symbol. And the strength it provides, naturally.
"The originals were manufactured in the billions. Unfortunately, a few corners too many were cut to reduce the production costs overall."
Namely to fund not one but eventually two ridiculous battle stations. Of all the promising special weapons projects, such as Mohc's Dark Troopers or the TIE Phantoms, it was those idiocies that were chosen. It still galled her.
"Such scale and expense is not the issue here."
She found it interesting, too, how quickly he had focused on the work rather than the reward.
(OOC: That is the best thing I have seen today, and needed it as the AC has been busted since Friday :P)
no subject
"So it's a standard stamped-out model that you want for a custom made small batch? Can't say I'm convinced by that change of heart you've had. Why not go a little manic when you've got the freedom? I did."
Good to know, though. It might be gauche, but it made sense to him. Felt like something conditioned into her. Directives still being followed, cos it was unthinkable to do otherwise. He should know--he felt that! And he knew he felt that, unlike the average plod--he'd done it to his grineer too.
(OOC: I'm honestly impressed he could walk in those heels, that ain't easy unless you know what you're doing. :P)
no subject
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," she replied, voice carefully neutral.
Appearances mattered to what she was planning. It was about stamping her authority on events - and ensuring that if other Imperials arrived, the Sith wouldn't be the ones bringing the into an orbit. The symbolism mattered, to other Imperials. And would be intimidating to others from her universe. Authority and power projected to the familiar, fairly innocuous to those who were not.
It was the way her mind worked all the time.
(OOC: Dolph Lundgren, like Skeletor, dares anything? :P)
no subject
"You want this planet? Stand yourself up taller than the others? Go on. I don't care. But I," he leaned forward in his chair, eyes unblinking, "I'm grineer elite. And I'll actually tell you what that means--I do what I want. I do it better than anybody else. 'n I do it so long as the Queens like it, not you. You tell me what's going on in that little head of yours, and what this means for me," he gesticulated with the file, "Or you lose your chance to sample my skills."
(OOC: Given the block heels on skeletor's boots in that movie? Yeah, I'd say so. :P)
no subject
"Very well," she finally responded, her voice as cold as a tomb. "Let me explain a few things for you, then, since you seem unable to grasp the concept of leaving things unsaid." She reached over and flicked a switch under her desk, activating a jamming mechanism for recording devices. She swept her office twice daily, and the odds of him having one were low - but in her world you checked regardless. Hers was a world of details.
"This is a transaction, Tyl Regor. It does not entitle you to knowing my mind. You will be generously paid for your work, and in the offing I'll even keep the government off your back to let you continue to pursue your...projects. In fact, if you throw a few trinkets their way every now and again, I can even arrange a small amount of funding from the CIA. This I can arrange, today, now."
She stood up, hands on the desk, staring directly at him.
"That is really all you should care about. But - just this once - I'm going to let you in on the...inner workings. I made a deal, and these soldiers are part of it. There are beings here who need, shall we say, limiting. And this is how I'm doing it. This deal is the rising tide which floats all boats - including yours."
"That is all you need to know and, frankly, all I would think you would care to. But for the future, bear this in mind: I will be more than fair, in my dealings with you. But make sure the wheels turn smoothly. Circumstances can, after all, change very rapidly."
In other words, don't try to dictate terms to her.
no subject
"If the deal's good enough, I'll do it. Could be fun." Could be. He'd yet to entirely decide about that.
He didn't care about the humans. It really was never about them as far as he was concerned. They were wrong-faced little creatures that scurried around, doing their own little intrigues until the Empire got around to dropping a fleet on them. Here? Sure, no fleets here, but that didn't change his opinion of them. He could find some respect for a ruthless woman, though--that was what proper society ran on, after all. Women who smashed the whole system into submission.
"But don't think I'm going to be a good little drone. My boat's gonna rise or sink when I feel like it, and nobody stops me being curious. 's what I'm for."
no subject
Kriffing mad scientists. Always such a hassle. If only they weren't geniuses. Or so necessary, time and again.