Motherhood

Brianne ( @prvtocol ) reaches from beyond the grave to say ❝glance: sender looks at receiver.❞ to Neytiri!

ACTION STARTERS!

The feeling of being watched does not bother her, though there's a quick swish of her tail that conveys something of irritation. Still, she tends to Seyta, the ikran that Tuk had named after learning that Neytiri had yet to give the bonded creature something to call. After Seze's death...mm, she won't think any more of that.

Finally, she's had just enough of this feeling — a pair of eyes trained on her — and she turns around, hand pressing to Seyta's neck.

❝Stop.❞ Neytiri tells the other curtly, quick and to the point. What she's really saying is; please don't look at me.

She cannot understand the other's silent staring — she cannot read the other well either and perhaps that is what irritates her, that she cannot immediately tell intentions. Seyta dips her head and leans into her side, providing a distraction that she appreciates greatly, earning the ikran a scratch under the chin.

❝What do you need?❞

Advice given when in the proximity of these winged beasts is to keep your distance. Experience with Pandoran wildlife likewise tells her to do more than that. Still, curiosity hinges on the recom’s intermittent gawking; how these fearsome creatures can simply become a Na’vi rider’s compliant "pet" is fascinating. Sully’s mate presents another curiosity; her visage is familiar from SecOps’ enemy notices and her history with the RDA’s past is known.

     Neytiri’s abrupt order jolts Brianne from her wayward thoughts (which should be focused on counting supplies). Pointed ears droop as she cringes; yellow eyes blink breaking their blank stare at her datapad before returning to the warrior.

     “My apologies, I did not mean to impart discomfort.” A careful reply quickly forms; hands fold the datapad to her chest. “Your ikran,” her accented voice explains, ears lifting from their dejection. “I have not seen many before.” She knows the Reef people rely on the sea’s creatures for transport; eyes beheld a skimwing’s equally daunting size too many times near her boat, but an ikran... “They appear much larger when on the ground.”

𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛… ( the happy life brianne and santiago deserve. ft. their mischievous twin son, monte, who is an artist just like his namesake. miguel is just out of frame giggling at papa’s new mustache. ) ~ sweetly captured by @badtrigger 🥰 ~

—  Arctic Monkeys (via approvers)

             ❛     Say  that  you’re  able  to  access  a  particular  account  on  my  behalf   …     How  much  would  that  cost  me  ?     ❜

With attention fully withdrawn from her inset desk monitor and fingers retreated to a fold of her hands, the answer to the request — if there is anything else she can help the director with — catches Brianne slightly off-guard. Shapely brows lift a modicum and her pin-straight posture retreats a smidge to the back of her chair; the director’s always astute eyes are questioned. The cost of access is an interesting phrasing; she doesn’t want to assume.

     “Depending on the account, a request would need to be filed first,” her voice drawls, composure maintaining an air of aloofness, “If it is within my sector, clearance would not necessarily be a problem.” As far as obtaining an official sanction at least. She gently prods after. “You are in need of specific financial information, director?”

— Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

　　　Offering no words of compassion for her loss, Mays moves off to the side to let Landry recoup her personal space, her lungs oxygen. He surveys the damage within the transport's cabin. Both SecOps soldiers in the front seat are dead, Struecker hanging at the waist by his seatbelt and April cold against his door. That, to him, is a bigger tragedy than the lab assistant's death, and if this situation wasn't so dire then maybe he'd consider body retrieval. As it stands, they are out of transport and a hundred kilometers from any RDA outpost (and quite frankly, he doesn't give enough of a shit about SciOps personnel to warrant the effort on their part.) The most Mac can do for these two men is pull their dogtags and hope the viperwolves don't find them.

　　　Weber's whiny complaint cuts through Mays' concentration. It heats his knuckles and brings his molars together. Why couldn't it have been him who was killed? He turns to throw him a dark look.

　　　"The fuck do you think we are, Superman and Boy Thunder? That was an angry herd of titanothere." An unstoppable force if there ever was one. Brianne's heavy breathing and comment draw his attention.

　　　"Don't take that mask off. Deep breaths. Can you stand?" His huge palm goes to her bicep in preparation to help her out of the toppled cabin. Some fresh air and distance from these dead bodies should help the nausea. Above them, a voice interjects.

　　　"Rig's totaled," Mansk pokes his head down into the open door. His lips press into a thin line when he sees the dead lab assistant, the two dead soldiers in the front seats. At least their most valuable asset wasn't killed, miraculously. He reaches in to offer a hand to the Director.

　　　"Did you find your gun?" Mac looks at Mansk. 　　　"Yep. Ammo belt is missing, though." No use lugging that heavy thing around if they can't find it.

“You’re expensive enough.” Weber hotly mutters back, hot air expelling with it out his scrunched nose to hit the fog-free perspex shield of his mask. The nerve of this guy; a jerk reaction on par with his perpetually bumbling annoyance of others who do not serve his needs. But slowly it is set to unfurl from the lines creasing his brow as he processes the named culprit of the entirety of the freak incident.

     Brianne overhears it too amid the sinking realization that she lost two more of her people to Pandoran's volatile wildlife, even if Josh is nowhere in sight. With vision blurred in defeat, she can only unverifiably nod to the recom’s question about standing. His orders are accepted, the mask stays on, her shallow breaths deepen, but they are as shaky as her untested legs. Any balance she finds is unsurprisingly reliant on Mays' bracing, but slowly she finds her footing in the topsy-turvy space. The voice above gains a deflated stare; the other recom — alive, but he looks different somehow. What was his name? Either of their names, she suddenly can’t recall, but his large blue hand when offered is firmly grasped nonetheless. 

     Weber too stands. His hands with blood-stained fingertips from the small knick to the side of his head, brush down the front of his khakis as if they need a straightening. Head seems to work on a swivel, beady eyes scoping back and forth agitated. A herd of titanothere. A herd of titanothere... Realizing the potential damage those beasts could wield cycles through his one-track mind. The sanctity of his lab and therefore his experiments gets hinged to the forefront. This thought's urgency has him enclosing where the director is being lifted out; large recom blocking his space be damned. “Hurry up! I need out!”