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Samus Aran

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Guess Who's Coming to Dinner [Aug. 6th, 2014|10:50 pm]
Samus Aran
*The flight out of Obichen had been long, hours long; Samus may have had passenger seats installed, but neither she nor her diplomatic associate could do anything about the traffic.*

*To pass the time, Samus told the more detailed version of the story of her first kill, a slightly embarrassing admission of a hunt-gone-wrong. Engaging a single space pirate, she'd managed to get close enough to take it out quietly, but was still accustomed in sparring to pulling her punches just a little bit. This she did, and though what was meant to be a killing strike did punch through a seam in her target's exoskeleton, it didn't quite reach the right vital organ beneath. It also got stuck. What followed was a frantic scramble that was equal parts Ridley Scott and Jackie Chan, as she tried to keep the pirate's ion scythe from reaching her, and it managed to catch her arm-cannon in some OSHA-noncompliant machinery. In the end, after contortions and desperation, she managed to pin it against the machine her arm was stuck in and headbutt its skull into chunky salsa. When desperation wore off and awareness and adrenaline-shock caught up to her, as she said, she repainted the
inside of her helmet, too. It isn't a tale she tells often.*

*Once they reach clear space, beyond the reach of Obichen's scanners and out of sight of any other ships, Samus dives into the magnetosphere of a gas giant and engages her ship's PINpoint. In Samus' home Facet, her ship collapses into a speck, while in Telrim's home Facet, a dozen light-seconds above Earth's orbital plane, a sudden mote of light explodes into a Hunter-class gunship. In the pilot's couch, Samus' gaze flicks over readouts, hoping against hope that in the twenty minutes (local time) since she stepped through a portal from the flagship's engineering section to a cave on the Yeerk homeworld, nothing has caught fire. Crossing mental fingers, she loads the Andalite signal protocols her suit recorded during her first invasion and uses them to hail the fleet.*


Hunter Aran to the Andalite fleet, I am on approach and requesting docking protocols. Sending transponder key, please note that my weapons are powered down and I am navigating by passive scans only. Please acknowledge.
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We Have the Technology... [Apr. 20th, 2014|03:24 am]
Samus Aran
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((First off, I'm very sorry about the wait on this. "A few days" turned into a few months. Between computer problems and a crazy fluctuating work schedule... excuses, apologies.

As far as the time-skip goes, how does about a day sound? It gives Telrim and Issek time to familiarize themselves with their pseudohumans, Natasha a chance to rest, and Samus time to tune up her suit and fix her personal PINpoint, gives the build team you'll be meeting in this post time to make some progress on their Kandrona emitter, but stays inside the 50-hour window that Telrim gave Samus last time. If that seems agreeable, text is below. If not, let me know, we can adjust.))

*Obichen is many things--a hub of commerce, a cultural melting-pot, the seat of non-military Federation authority in the region. An industrial power, it isn't, but that isn't to say it has no industrial capacity whatsoever. The station's industrial sector hums with activity--although significantly less pedestrian traffic. Where throngs of people fill the corridors of other areas the foot traffic here is sparse, mostly taking the form of teams guiding huge crates on beeping grav-trucks. Doors are few and far between, most paired with ports large enough to receive those crates.*

*One door, distinguished only by a string of numbers, is the destination of one concierge, two yeerk-hosts and their passengers, and one Chozo warrior. The interior smells of ozone, hot metal, and new car. A cluster of crates demarks an impromptu entryway, their open tops piled with wads of cling wrap and pieces of molded packing foam. Beyond the crates looms a tangled hulk of machinery; here and there its bulk is dotted with stickers warning of radiation, high voltage, coherent beam emissions, and the risks of voiding warranties.*

*Standing at a control podium beside the bulk of the machinery, a green-skinned person prods controls and studies readouts, the back of his head a tight cluster of furled leaves. His low, mellow voice rises and falls as he holds an animated conversation with a pair of splay-toed boots protruding from beneath the machine.*


[I think that's done it, cohesion is looking good, pressure is back up. Finish bolting it down and we should be ready for the next test.]

[Let's hope this one goes better. That deadline's closing in, and I wouldn't mind an early finish bonus. My old 'pad caught that worm that's been going around.]

[You know, you wouldn't have that problem with a Pinequat.]

[A Pinequat? Feh. Spare me your NUSPI box, cultist. I want a toy I can play with, not something that needs six licenses and a security clearance to change the battery.]

[It's a superior brand, it's more secure. That's worth referring to an expert once in a while, I think.]

[You have two doctorates; I've been working hardware since I could toddle. How much more "expert" does someone need to get? Besides, their security isn't secure against them. What I build has the backdoors I put in, and no more. Speaking of, did you hear the door?]
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...All Alone in the Night... [Oct. 6th, 2013|05:54 pm]
Samus Aran
[Tags|, , , , ]
[Current Location |Obichen Outpost]
[Current Mood |Optimistic, maybe?]
[Current Music |The music of the spheres. And TIE Fighter engines.]

*A gleaming golden speck in the vast night of a system with few planets, Samus' ship glides through silent space, its destination visible ahead as a tiny point of light which, for all their speed, has grown in only the tiniest increments. From a pinpoint it grew to a scintillating pearl, and from there to a globe at the heart of a shining spider-web of tiny lights. Only when those lights, themselves, resolved into ships the size of office buildings, trundling toward or away from the station ahead, was its sheer scale truly apparent. Not large enough to be an artificial moon or planet, it is still roughly the volume of New York state, in all three dimensions.*

*Within Samus' ship, the air carries the faint, chemical tang of decontamination spray and new rubber. Cradled in the pilot's seat, Samus guides it deftly through the thickening traffic and the outlying spans of the station itself. Her destination is an enclosed docking bay which grinds open upon their approach, a white metal maw opening to engulf them in a small, spotless chamber.*


Welcome to Obichen Outpost, on the turnwise fringe of the Galactic Federation. I've got friends here; you couldn't be in better hands.

*So saying, she disembarks; the shower space doubles as an elevator down and out of the ship, rising again for Telrim and Issek in their turns.*

((We should set up a posting order, so no two of us drag the plot ahead without the third. May I propose Telrim, Aurora, Samus, rinse and repeat?))
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Drabble Meme [Jun. 2nd, 2010|01:50 pm]
Samus Aran
Pick one (or two). I'll do my best to write Samus in a situation as befits your demands. Just remember--I get to ask you for as many as you request of me.
As seen on lord_it_over and vicioussweetie.

1. Playful!
2. Murderous!
3. Flailing!
4. Incarcerated!
5. Deviant!
6. Ill!
7. Intoxicated!
8. Wildly Inappropriate!
9. Eloquent!
10. Cooking!
11. Over-protective!
12. Wanker!
13. Silly!
14. Romantic!
15. Silent-Treatment!
16. Bedtime!
17. Jealous!
18. Inquisitive!
19. Confused!
20. Sexy!
21. Angry!
22. Dorky!
23. Working!
24. Needs-a-Hug!
25. Choose-your-own!
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(no subject) [Apr. 11th, 2010|02:43 pm]
Samus Aran
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*Samus stood, arms folded as she stared through the containment field at their prisoner. She had to fight not to smile. He believed he had nearly escaped, believed he had called in reinforcements using one of the Pirates' encryptions. Instead, the plan had worked, and he had given them much of the information they wanted without ever realizing he had given it. And she'd gotten to board the ship he stole and beat him senseless again, which was a bonus.*

*Now, she waited for a meeting to begin. The intel gleaned from Precious' big adventure had been deemed too sensitive for even the best encryptions to transmit, and as a result the Fleet's top officers and experts were being called together in person to discuss the options for their next move. Until the call came that it was time to begin, she would spend her time here, watching Precious, and letting Precious watch her; her patient, implacable stare was food for thought.*
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Once More Into the Breach [Mar. 30th, 2010|07:05 pm]
Samus Aran
*When next Ali checks such things in Samus' era, she has a call waiting, with a "Fleet Command" tag blinking bright.*
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That Old Familiar Itch [Mar. 9th, 2010|03:42 pm]
Samus Aran
[Tags|, , ]

*Samus stretched, gradually rousing out of her meditative trance. The fragrant grasses around her were as pleasant as the day she'd arrived, but today they provided an inexplicable note of dissatisfaction. Her meditation hadn't been quite as satisfying today, either. Some internal pressure had kept her from the deeper trance she sought.*

*Rising, she made her way back into the villa, looking around. It was the same place it had been yesterday, the same place it had been this morning when she went out. Nothing had moved, nothing had changed. Something was wrong.*

*She was quick to seize on that feeling, her pulse quickening, her eyes darting around the room. Her hand went to the nape of her neck, to the collapsible shock baton there, hidden by her hair. But there were no threats to find, her instincts told her, even as the feeling of wrongness persisted. She willed herself to relax, though even as she did her lips bent into a small, dissatisfied frown. Craving a second opinion, she sought Ali.*


Does something seem... off... to you, today?
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(no subject) [Mar. 7th, 2010|02:33 pm]
Samus Aran
[Tags|, , ]

*The transformation was miraculous, to one who had seen it a wind-blasted desert just a couple years before; the Agon Plains were verdant once again, and Samus had been spending much of her time lately simply walking among the waist-high grasses and the sweet-scented wind, letting the horrors of the last mission fade. The Luminoth had given her the use of a villa built on a low hill, overlooking a broad valley and meandering river. Here and there, standing stones dotted the valley, their faces carved with lines and circles that glowed in the dusk. When the mood took her, she made her way to the Great Temple to meditate, or to speak with some of the Luminoth.*

*Ali had been a blessing in so many ways; a companion when she needed company, a lover when she needed intimacy, but not clinging when she needed space--and it had been interesting (though not useful) to learn that the Luminoth didn't actually eat, instead absorbing energy directly from their temples and edifices, which meant they had no food to share with their guests. Without Ali's culinary skill, they'd have either lived on ration bars or whatever questionably edible animals Samus could hunt.*

*On her latest meditation on the hillside, it had struck Samus once again how glad she was to have Ali, and on her way back to the villa, resolved to tell her so.*


Love?
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Coda [Mar. 3rd, 2010|09:27 pm]
Samus Aran
[Tags|, , ]

*It was over. Phaaze was destroyed, her dark twin was dead (okay, she'd said that before), and if the little med-scanner in her new ship could be believed, the contamination in her body was gone. Certainly, she didn't feel any of the malaise that had accompanied her infestation, nor did she hear the discordant music that had followed her since somewhere on the pirate world. Even the veins of corruption that had marred her face and taunted her from her reflection were gone, as though they had never been.*

*That wasn't to say she was unscarred. She had given the Olympus a flyby and a quick message to let them know she was alive, before fleeing to SkyTown with her thoughts. It was there, in the faintly caustic winds, that she started to let the events of the past week roll over her, started the slow drip of emotion she would allow herself.*

*Even as she sought to relax, though, her gaze fell on SkyTown (named, she wondered, with her people's amusement at understatement, or the Federation's lack of creativity? Or had the natives named the place? Had any natives survived?). Teetering on the brink of decrepitude, the place tugged at her: she needed to see it made whole. She owed it to the people there, for all she couldn't do.*

*It's in this state that any messages--or visitors--will find her. Sitting on the edge of a platform in SkyTown, looking out at the horizon and in at the mess.*
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Elation or Madness? [Mar. 3rd, 2010|12:44 pm]
Samus Aran
[Tags|, ]

*The sound that heralded Samus' message was a laugh, high and a trifle manic, as her ship climbed into orbit.*

Put on your best armor! Strap on your best weapons! Get your phazon--hell, swim in a lake of the stuff! I'll still kill you!

*She laughed again, before remembering she had turned the comm on. Clearing her throat, her tone dropped closer to normal and she focused on the part of the console that would be picking up her image.*

A-hm. Gandrayda's dead, no surprise. She turned like Rundas and Ghor. The seed has been eliminated, and I've got a stolen mining laser. The day's going fairly well, really. How's it look on your end?
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