#still trying to figure out how to do raven as a standoffish asshole

[groxglitch]

Contact

Pain.

Every synapse and nerve ending in 621’s broken body burned. The sudden Coral surge was overwhelming. It felt like his brain itself was buzzing, his head spinning. Every sensor feed from his stricken AC was more noise than actual data. The last time he’d experienced this much misery in one place was his initial augmentation; unlike that time, he no longer had a larynx with which to scream. Everything was red. Outside, inside, even if he closed his eyes all he could see was that flashing, jittering, intense red. At the outer vestiges of his mind he could hear a voice; soft, feminine, surprised and curious, though he was far from capable of making out what was being said. He clung to the margins, fading in and out as his AC was thrashed around the interior of the Watchpoint. He was fairly sure he had faded in and out of consciousness a few times now. And what was that voice? He was no stranger to hearing voices - usually the med cocktail took care of them - but this was different somehow, more alien and external than a voice in his head had any right to be.  Even in his dazed state, he could pick out angular changes in orientation, hear thrusters firing. Accelerometer data confirmed the changes, when his twice-fried brain could actually understand the signals. Was he doing that? Even his instincts had their limits.

“Raven.”

There was that voice again. At least she sounded soothing. Was this it? Was this the parting hallucinations of a brain that had figured out it was going to die? Something seethed  deep inside him. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had not come this far to die in some Coral-filled hole in the ground. His AC systems read off a full readiness report he could barely even comprehend. He did make out “operator vitals stable”, so he probably wasn’t dying. Not unless the Coral in his brain decided to cook off, anyway. He also noted he had absolutely no outbound signal. He struggled to un-slump himself within the fluid of his control pod.

“Raven, you need to wake up. There’s a PCA craft on direct approach, it’s jamming our signal.”

Suddenly his mind snapped awake. Combat. The noise had died off and he could make heads or tails of what was happening, albeit with some difficulty. His AC was standing on the roof of the Watchpoint. How? He could figure that out later. There was a hostile incoming. If he didn’t get it together now he wouldn’t live to worry about getting out of the Watchpoint, or the voice in his head that was evidently not a dying hallucination. He was still struggling to function, though; his movements were sluggish and he was struggling to process his machine’s full bandwidth of data. Frankly it was amazing he was doing as well as he was given he should, by all rights, be dead.

“I’ll synchronize with your brainwaves and support you as best I can. Get ready.”

Synchronize with- what? 621 struggled to make sense of the statement, but it wasn’t like he had time to worry about it anyway. At the very least, his datastream had cleaned up, and his AC was moving better, though it felt almost as if it were moving of his own accord. Wait, is this voice doing that? Who the hell even is this? Radar tracked a large AC screaming down to the Watchpoint at high speed. It swung around and drifted to a stop opposite his position on the roof, a large biped with what looked to be an EVA extension pack on the backside.

“Scans indicate it’s an autonomous PCA interceptor, designation Balteus. Be careful.”

The machine physically reached up and dragged down a sizable MRLS rack, locking in for a salvo. 621 already registered the hostile lock tone. This is gonna suck.

“Main system: reactivating combat mode. Move, Raven!”

He didn’t need to hear the suggestion twice. He lunged his AC forward with a booster-augmented kick, dipping low to the right to drag the missile volley towards him before suddenly juking left, sending most of the flight slamming into the ground behind him as he loosed a volley of his own from the plasma launchers on his shoulders. They detonated against Balteus, a shimmering off-teal field shielding the body of the machine from damage. Of course it has a pulse shield. Fucking PCA. He staggered discharges from the laser rifle in either arm as Balteus started to move, bolts rippling across the shield as the autocannons on the support ring returned fire in kind. Damage reports were fed directly to his consciousness as stray shells splintered off armor plating. Balteus came to a brief halt, and 621 reflexively fired his machine’s lateral thrusters, just barely clearing a cannon shell screaming past his left shoulder. He took the chance to loose another plasma volley, slowing down the rhythm on his rifles to give the poor guns a chance to cool, thermal warnings whining in his head. Not like he needed them; he could feel the rain sizzling off the barrels. No pulse weapons on hand. The only way I’m getting through that thing’s shield is with brute force. He tracked Balteus’s orbit, keeping pressure on with his lasers as it came to a halt, gaining altitude over him. The lock tone buzzed in his head. Perfect. He fired off the transit thrusters on his AC at full power, scraping low again to drag the missiles clear before streaking up underneath Balteus. It started to evade but it moved too late, as 621 brought his AC’s foot up in a rocket-powered flip kick. Sensors registered the shield protecting Balteus drop, and 621 carried his momentum through, bringing his weapons to bear as gravity reclaimed his machine. This time his weapons struck true, plasma fields and laser beams finding purchase against Balteus’s reinforced hide. It started to move again, putting distance between itself and its target as more autocannon fire raked 621’s armored hide.

“Thermal spike, Raven, get clear!”

The voice called it out before he even registered it, but sure enough, gouts of flame built at either side of Balteus’ support frame. The machine came screaming forward, lashing a gouge of superheated fire across the roof. 621 barely jumped his machine clear of the sweep, firing off a wall of plasma bolts as he engaged retro-thrusters and put some space between them. Balteus came forward for another sweep, which he evaded only by slamming down to the ground. He dashed forward underneath Balteus, barely managing to keep his machine standing as he pivoted around to bring weapons to bear once more. The damned thing’s shield was already back up.

“Keep fighting Raven, we can do this.”

Gotta kick it again, it’s the only way. Back to square one. Focus. He kept skidding backwards away from Balteus, throwing in erratic changes in vector to throw off its aim with the autocannons. He shifted into a hard left at the edge of the Watchpoint, tracking as Balteus followed his movements along the edge and repositioned accordingly. It initiated a staggered set of dashes forward, firing off another cannon shell in the middle, before launching into another flurry of flame blade strikes. 621 struggled to keep his machine ahead of the assault, thermal sensors spiking well past the redzone as flames licked at his machine. Finally, however, Balteus slowed down. It’s energy was, for a short window, spent. There’s my window. Once again, 621 fired his transit thrusters and slammed feet first into Balteus with as much weight and force as his spritely machine could muster. Its shield flickered out and 621 proceeded to hammer it with as much firepower as he could muster at any one time, driving his weapons as hard as they could go. Balteus tried to regain it’s stability under his barrage, and he fired up the thrusters again, this time sending it drifting across the roof with a shoulder tackle. He kicked off high, continuing his barrage until the weapons forcibly quit fire.  Flames poured from Balteus as it struggled to get itself under control. Flames billowed from several open blasts across the hull. Its thrusters gave out, and the machine tried to catch itself on its feet, swaying before buckling and dropping to its knees. It reached up and tried to drag its missile racks down for a final, spiteful salvo. However, in the midst of them sliding into place, several detonated in the rack, leading to a chain reaction that blew the entire craft to pieces. “Sympathetic detonation confirmed in enemy magazines; enemy craft destroyed. Well done.”

621 found himself huffing inside his control pod. Even if he hadn’t physically moved much at all, pushing an AC to its limits right after brushing shoulders with death takes a lot out of you. He took a second to collect himself. “Mind explaining to me who - or what - the hell you are, exactly?” He asked. Things weren’t adding up. Sure, a voice in his head could just be a hallucination, but his hallucinations never actively helped him drive an AC before. Short wave radio comms would pick up in his skull as well, but that PCA unit was very much jamming comms so that’s out, and there is zero chance of somebody copiloting an AC remotely over radio. “I am Ayre - a Rubiconian. We made Contact when you were subsumed in the Coral flow below. The surge of Coral throughout your machine allowed me a measure of direct control, and I was able to override the autopilot and extract you. The residual Coral in your machine is already fading, however… I am symbiotically bound to your implants.” Finally, a name to the voice- Ayre. It wasn’t just another mental side effect of his implants going haywire. Arguably, it was worse; he’d picked up a stray. How? Since when were there people in Coral? It was a mineral, a fancy sparky rock in the ground. It could do a lot of things, to be sure, but since the fuck when was Coral alive? “I understand that this is probably a lot to take in all at once. I tried reaching out to you before, but I… I guess you were still too far gone then to even understand me. Or maybe I hadn’t worked out how to communicate in a way you could understand.” “Well. Thank you for dragging me out of that pit, at the very least.” He said. “So, you’re in my head?” “Yes, specifically your cerebral implants. The Coral throughout your central nervous system acts as a resonator and allows me to exist within your brain, functionally as an extra brainwave.” “Well that’s grand.” 621 lamented. “As if I wasn’t enough of a wreck as-is. I’m going to guess you can rifle through my memories and the rest of my brain at a whim?” “That is correct, yes. At a surface level, that’s how I worked out your name, and worked out how to best coordinate with you in combat.” “Do me a favor then, don’t go poking around places you don’t belong. There’s places in my brain even I don’t touch anymore.” He chided. “I… will keep that in mind, Raven.” Ayre agreed. “Something you should keep in mind yourself: look up.”

In the gaps between clouds, as the storm overhead began to part, 621 could see the bare sky. Streaked through in red, churning as crimson lightning raged within. It traced clear back to the horizon, to the northern coast, where smoke and debris were only just beginning to settle. “That Coral surge you were caught up in was but a drop in the greater tide… and only a small taste of what is to come in Rubicon’s future.” “Fuck.” 621 found himself at a loss for words. How much Coral did we just release? What kind of well was that cork holding closed? “Raven, you need rest. Both you and your AC are in rough shape. I’ll re-establish communications with Handler Walter.”

621 looked to the-now smoking remains of Balteus. Maybe the PCA had a good reason for trying to keep the Watchpoint sealed.

[nekojitachan]

Hmm, slowly working on Casts a Shadow ch8 while trying not to be distracted by the MDZS fic (so many ideas!). Trying to decide to post the next CAS chapter or upload the Raven!Andrew soulmate fic this weekend.

Either way, here’s a sneak peek at ch2 of CAS. Warning for the Nest, and dealing with sexual harassment in a... removing parts way.

*******

“You are such a speedy little demon; we should put a bell on you so we can at least keep track of you on the court,” Kari complained while she tousled Nathaniel’s hair. He grimaced at the affectionate gesture but allowed it since the offensive dealer was one of Natalie’s friends.

“You’re gonna give your mark fits once you’re an official Raven.” Octavia frowned as she handed over her apple. “We need to bulk you up some more by then.”

“He just burns it off,” Natalie said as she gave Nathaniel a slight nudge in the side. “This one seems built for running. Maybe he should be a striker or a dealer.”

“I like running,” Nathaniel mumbled after he swallowed a bite of apple; it was crisp and tart, just how he liked them. “And I do fine as a backliner.” He certainly had no problem blocking Riko and Kevin.

The three young women agreed and commented that lack of size didn’t equate to lack of toughness; Octavia and Kari were two of the newer Ravens, both sophomores, and among the few women on the team.

The Ravens – or at least some of them – had stopped being so standoffish with Nathaniel and Natalie in the last few weeks. Part of it had been them noticing the split (such as it was) between the two of them and Riko and Kevin (the ‘heirs’ of Exy), and part of it had been when John, an asshole freshman striker, had heard about Natalie’s sixteenth birthday and thought it a great idea to ask her if she was now ‘ready for some fun’.

Natalie had immediately pulled a knife on him and asked if he was ‘ready to live life as a eunuch’, while Nathaniel told her to leave him his balls and go for his dick instead.

For some reason, that had endeared the handful of women Ravens to them, and earned them the respect of some of the men. It also meant that Nathaniel had to put up with people messing with his hair and teasing him about his height (more the lack of it), about them being ‘asked’ to fetch drinks, snacks or other items during their downtime… but no one tried to hurt them.

(Other than Tetsuji when they messed up drills or practice, or Riko with his tricks out on court, but that didn’t count.)

Nathaniel supposed he could put up with becoming the Ravens’ ‘unofficial’ mascot when it made Natalie smile and got him extra fruit.

After lunch, everyone returned to their rooms or one of the common areas to study during the short time before the final practice of the day; Nathaniel and Natalie usually went to her room to do their homework together. They passed Riko and Kevin in the hallway since their rooms were nearby, and of course Riko couldn’t resist getting a taunt in while passing.

“Ooh, what class is it today? Reading for dummies?” He laughed at the pathetic joke while Kevin gave them an apologetic look; long used to the asshole’s antagonistic behavior, Nathaniel and his sister simply ignored him (which they knew would affect him the most).

For once, Riko left the insults at that, which was a surprise; he enjoyed taunting Natalie over the fact that, despite her being sixteen, she wasn’t that far past Riko and Kevin in academics since she’d dropped out of school after joining the Bloodhounds. She’d done an incredible job catching up while living in Baltimore, but Tetsuji’s intense training regime didn’t leave her much opportunity to study ahead so there was talk of holding her back at least a year, probably two, which would grant her more time to work on her Exy skills.

(Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Nathaniel wouldn’t complain about having Natalie around the Nest longer.)

They didn’t say anything until they were in Natalie’s room. “He’s been a bit odd lately,” she said as she fetched her laptop.

(There was no question about who ‘he’ was.)

“He’s an asshole,” Nathaniel muttered as he dug through his bag for his own laptop. “What’s odd about that?”

“It’s just….” Her brows drew together as she stared at the device’s blank screen then shook her head as she powered it on. “He was so angry when he found out about us swearing to Ichirou, but the last few days he’s been less antagonistic.” At Nathaniel’s dubious look, she rolled her eyes. “For an asshole.”

“Maybe he’s plotting something,” Nathaniel suggested as he logged on to his online classes. “Maybe he thinks he’s figured out something so much better than messing with our beds in that little asshole snake brain of his.”

Natalie smiled as she bumped into his left shoulder. “Tell me how you really feel about him.”

Like he needed an excuse. “He’s an asshole snake of a bastard who-“

His sister cut him off by smacking him lightly over the head with a pillow. “I think I get it!” When he batted the pillow aside and glared, Natalie grinned and pointed at his laptop. “Show some of that creativity for the essay you have to write for English.”

“School sucks almost as much as Riko,” he grumbled as he clicked on the mentioned assignment. “Hey, I’ll do your math if you-“

“No,” Natalie said, smile gone as she focused on her own lesson plan. “You need to learn more than math, Ram.”

“Why, when we’ll be playing Exy and doing stuff for Ichirou.” He narrowed his eyes when he spotted his latest reading assignment. “We gonna debate Pride and Prejudice while slitting some guy’s throat?”

“Perhaps,” she mused while she typed something. “You never know what triggers some people. Might be the thought of figuring out a calculus problem or they’ll lose a finger, or hearing the breakdown of War and Peace’s plot.”

Nathaniel gave his sister an intent look for several seconds. “You’re terrifying, you know.”

Natalie’s special smile returned, the one which she mostly reserved for him, the one that brought out the dimple in her right cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He resumed lying down next to her and forced himself to start on the detested essay. “Hey, why do people hate math so much?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Hmm, not sure, maybe because it doesn’t come to them as easily as it does you. Just like how you pick up languages.” She flashed the special smile again. “But not essay writing.”

“That’s for you to do.”

She hummed in pleasure and stroked a hand over his hair in agreement.

They studied for the rest of the hour (Natalie corrected his essay once he had it written, and he checked her math – they still covered each other like that), then they got ready for the last practice of the day.

There had been some uncomfortable stares from the Ravens when Nathaniel had first changed with them, as they took in the knife and burn scars on his chest and back, but now they no longer paid attention to them. Instead, they teased each other about who would score the most points or rack up the most blocks, then took turns rubbing Nathaniel’s head on the way out to court.

“Why?” he demanded to know as he fended off Gerry’s hand.

“For good luck of course!” the older backliner declared with a laugh, while his partner, Liam, nodded in agreement.

“Your fault for being a redhead, Nat,” Omar called out while he tugged on his gloves. “And so adorable. You should-oof.” He stumbled as Riko ‘accidentally’ swung his helmet at the junior striker while he stormed out of the locker room, a quiet Kevin ever his shadow.

“Spoiled little brat,” Omar muttered as he rubbed his ribs, a sentiment that was echoed by a few other Ravens; Nathaniel wisely kept his opinion to himself (even if it was much the same). He might badmouth Riko to his sister all the time, but they were still Moriyama property even if they now answered to Ichirou and not Tetsuji.

Tetsuji had Nathaniel, Natalie, Kevin and Riko work on drills while the official Ravens warmed up, then scrimmage together for a while. Nathaniel enjoyed the matches because even if Riko was an asshole who always used excessive force against him (which Tetsuji ignored), he was a talented asshole, along with Kevin (who wasn’t as much an asshole as Riko’s toady).

When it was time for them to stop and join in with the Ravens, Tetsuji ordered Nathaniel and Natalie to go back to working on drills; Riko smirked at them as he and Kevin left to join the older players. Nathaniel opened his mouth to complain about being deprived of scrimmage time, except Matsumoto offered to call out drills for them.

Tetsuji nodded in approval while Nakamori and Akagi fell in step behind the ‘Master’; normally, Nathaniel was uneasy around older men (especially ones his father’s age), but Matsumoto was in his early sixties, possessed a quiet voice and kept his hands to himself.

He was also very pragmatic and while he might be one of Tetsuji’s assistant coaches, he realized that ‘the Master’ and his grand Castle Evermore only existed with the main branch’s blessing. That meant he often passed along useful bits of information to Nathaniel and his sister.

They spent half an hour going through the eight Ravens drills (which they’d perfected) in the random order Matsumoto called out, knocking down cones again and again. It was while Nathaniel was setting up the cones yet again that he caught Matsumoto leaning toward Natalie and whispering something in her ear.

He had to wait until after dinner to find out what it was; Natalie joined him in his room. “It seems that someone owes a debt to Kengo, and the only way he can pay it back is to offer up his son, who plays Exy very well,” she explained in French.

For a moment, Nathaniel felt an intense wave of anger at the thought of another kid being sold to the Moriyamas, of having a father like his, before he shoved the thoughts aside. He jumped a little when Natalie gave a gentle touch to his left cheek (scrubbed clean for the night of the stupid ‘3’ which Riko insisted he bear). “I think it’s why Riko’s been acting up lately. Matsumoto said that he overheard Tetsuji telling Riko that you’re getting a partner, so he probably knows about the kid’s background.”

Nathaniel huffed as he rubbed his sore ribs, the ones which Riko had smacked with his racquet earlier in the day. “Knowing the asshole snake, he’s probably expecting a new ‘toy’ to play with.” One his big brother wouldn’t snatch away this time.

“Perhaps.” Natalie didn’t appear pleased with the thought, but there wasn’t much they could do about Riko’s personality worsening by the month. “Come, time to practice.”

“Slave driver,” Nathaniel groaned even as he climbed off his bed and slipped free the knife he kept sheathed on his left ankle at all times; he figured the sooner he suffered through their nightly fighting practice, the sooner he could sleep.

More like pass out on his bed, by the time they were done.

Jean Moreau arrived two days later, a young Frenchman around Kevin’s and Riko’s age, with black hair, grey eyes, and a massive attitude problem. He glared down his nose (of course he was taller than Nathaniel) at everyone but the adults while Tetsuji introduced him to the rest of the ‘Perfect Court’ (as Riko had dubbed the four of them). “Nathaniel, Jean will be your partner. He’s a backliner, too.”

“Understood, sir,” Nathaniel said with a slight bow.

“You’ll teach him everything he needs to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll be-“

“I don’t want to be here!” Jean complained in French as he tugged on the front of his new uniform, which bore the number ‘4’. “All of you can go to hell, I refuse to-ow!” His pale grey eyes grew wide as he stumbled forward beneath the force of the blow to his back from Tetsuji’s cane.

“You’ll speak English,” Tetsuji reprimanded while Riko smirked and Kevin stared off into the distance as if he wasn’t participating in the whole ‘here’s a new possession’ thing.

“I’ll speak whatever I wa-ow!” That time, Jean was knocked to his knees, where he was hit several times before Tetsuji relented; Nathaniel was disgusted to notice the gleam of pleasure in Riko’s dark eyes over the abuse.