Log:Stress Test

Stress Test

OOC Date: October 11 2019
Location: Rori
Participants: Percy, Nova Korell, Ambrosia Greystorm, The Resistance

Army Training Field - Beacon Outpost, Rori

A short distance into the wilderness along an unpaved path winding between the stunted trees of the Rori marshes, one finds the primitive obstacle courses used by the Resistance Army to torment and/or improve the skills of their troopers. Climbing ropes, vaulting logs, crawl wires, and all manner of obstructions mark the muddy landscape. Central in the clearing is a small modular series of walls which can be arranged into varying configurations to stage training for storming a structure, boarding a ship, or defending an outpost.

Past a sign reading *Live munitions beyond this point* is the firing range, with targets starting at 5 meters for pistols, and reaching nearly a kilometer and a half into the wilderness for the long range rifles. Some targets are rigid, others sway slightly on short ropes hung from trees for an added challenge.

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

Two days ago, there was a 'scene' on the landing field. Brief, but volatile. A younger version of the brigadier general was in the neighborhood to drop commissary goods (via Greystorm Shipping Co). Some minutes later, daughter was toe to toe with mother, tempting fate, treading dangerous ground by instigating an argument she ought to have been wise enough to let dead an' gone.

A single strike from the matriarchal palm put an end to the noise, but not the heat. Ambrosia abandoned her daughter to her angst and her emotions, turned her back on those bearing witness, and took youthful, pretty boy Dalso to the training mats for a solid lesson in unarmed combat. She's basically lived here since.

Tired muscles flex beneath the sweaty sheen of a bowed shoulders as Ambrosia drops the combat staff and bends over, over, over to stretch her way out of a cramp. Wisps of silver and gold are plastered to her cheeks and neck - what bits have escaped the hastily braided bun. When toes are touched and hands wrapped around them, she replants fingers on the ground and walks her left foot back into a lengthy lunge. Squinty eyes crane a slooow look back at the sky as her neck and back arch to put reconstructed spine to the test. Joints creak, cartilage crackles, and a shaky sigh of relief blows a cool stream up her own nose.

Old? Retirement? Who's that kid kidding, anyhow. A tiny, mirthless smirk tugs at the more emotive half of her mouth whilst the other remains locked in an impassive frown.

[Percy]

"Excellent, General." Percy notes from afar, standing a good four to five meters away from the impressive veteran. With a datapad in hand, the Doctor scribbles down notes related to his observations.

The physical examinations that members of Black Squadron are put through are brutally hard. They are specifically designed to be that way, mostly due to the high-stress scenarios that they are often put through. In order to be deemed fit, you had to be in really good physical and mental shape. "I think that's pretty much it, General. You've displayed really good physical and mental condition. Heck, you're almost off the charts." What would she have been like in her prime? Literally OFF the charts!

"There's one final test I need to run you through. It's essentially to monitor your heart while it goes up and up. Think of it as a stress test. Want to come over to this machine for me?" Percy gestures to what looks to be a regular looking treadmill. Some wires are hanging off of the computer part of it.

"So I heard you gave Officer Dalso a good 'lesson' in close quarters combat the other day." Oh dear. "...You feel the need to vent off some steam?"

[Nova Korell]

Just stepping onto the field herself, Nova pauses to do a few stretches to limber up. She might be spending most of her time in maintenance these days, but she's kept up her PT to compensate. She's even stepped it up a bit: An extra lap run here, more pushups and squat-jumps there, and the like. It's a long moment before she notices the General and the doctor not too far away, the latter with his machine, the former with her sheen of sweat. She studies the two for several seconds, then moves over their way, waving overhead.

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

Come again? Ambrosia wrinkles an incredulous brow around at her little observational shadow while her feet trade up position and that other half gets its time. To the short count of ten, anyway. A soundless nod voices her agreement to comply with this 'stress' test and she pushes up slowly into an upright position better suited for crossing that distance!

"You got kids, doc?" It's a weighted question, one that's clearly got a freight train's worth of story behind it and more to tell. Instead of bellying up to a booze dispender though, the aging soldier is stepping up onto an exercise machine and extending her arms, wrists up and and fingers splayed like she's done this before. The left one, of course, won't be offering up any biometric data, but old habits die hard. A quick glance over her left shoulder ID's the waving body on approach and her chin jerks upward in form of nod.

[Percy]

With Nova approaching, Percy turns to narrow his silvery-blue eyed gaze in her direction. For a moment he sort of just looks at her, before he lifts a hand to wave in response. "Office Korell, correct?" He asks tentatively, unsure if he got the name right. They had yet to meet formally, after all! At least best to his knowledge.

"No kids." Percy replies simply to the General's question, working to hook Ambrosia up to the electrical hookup. It's nothing too intrusive - just some cords stuck to her skin. There's certainly nothing there that will stop her from performing. "So I'm sure you've done this before, General. Essentially we start you off walking at a brisk pace. Every two minutes the pace will increase as will the inclination of this treadmill. The end goal is to get your heart rate up to one-ninety or so. Once there we can make sure it's doing everything it's supposed to. And that's it! All done after that. Simple, huh? I'm assuming you don't mind if we have others watch?" A glance goes back to Nova.

[Nova Korell]

"Flight Officer Nova Korell, Starfighter Corps," the blonde replies, stopping and saluting with droidlike precision that's at odds with her workout shorts, tanktop, and hoodie. She manages to include the General in the salute as well. "And if I'm not mistaken, you're the doctor... My apologies, sir, but I can't recall your name. But there's no mistaking who's with you," she adds, with a faint smile for Ambrosia. "Good to see you again, General."

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

"Simple, yeah." While Percy's wrapping up the hookups, the general slips a few fingers of her left hand into pocket and rattles a lil reunion with some pill vial tucked into there. Precautionary measures, maybe, but something soon after is crunching between teeth. There's a reason 'Major' Greystorm never made a full return to the field of blood and gore, after all. "Let's see how this broken ticker's hangin on. I reckon she's got some fight in her, yet." A little wink goes Nova's way. "Care to place a wager, Sergeant?" Probably it's an intentional slipup of rank, as she addresses her former jackboot.

[Percy]

"Good to meet you, Officer Korell." The Doctor smiles a welcoming smile to the pilot. "Percy. Percival. Doctor. Whichever you want to use, really."

Percy heaves a sigh and rubs his forehead. "I swear, everything appears to be a wager for the members of Black Squadron. Something 'by the book' would be a nice reprieve." The Doctor purses his lips as he engages the treadmill. The first step is nothing too serious: just a brief walk to get the heart rate going. "I take it by your earlier question that you have kids, General?" Percy queries, already drawing his attention back down to the datapad that feeds him information.

[Nova Korell]

"Doctor Percival... good to meet you, too," Nova replies, offering a hand to the man. If he takes it, he'll discover a collection of rifle and hand weapon calluses, as well as a strong but measured grip; she's no bully. "Thanks for being on the team. We can always use a good practitioner of medicine, and friends of the cause are always welcome." Her attention returns to Ambrosia. "A wager, General? Concerning your heart?" she asks, smiling faintly as she's addressed by the rank she's held in two armies now. "Or something else?"

[Percy]

"Good to be here. And yes, from my understanding? Black Squadron was in dire need of someone that can utilise medicine. To help out Aryn Cole. It's been a whirlwind journey so far, that much is sure. I'm just doing a physical on our good friend the General here. That reminds me, I'll have to look up when you're next due, huh? It might be soon." The Doctor smiles a little evilly at Nova. What did he have in store? BWAHAHAHA

As time passes, the treadmill starts to quicken and gain in inclination. Soon the General will find herself nearly sprinting at full pace up a sharp slope! Naturally, her heart rate skyrockets to cope with the physical demands of the body.

"...hm." Percy murmurs, looking at the data that is fed through to his datapad. Once Ambrosia hits her maximum amount and sustains it, the Doctor turns the machine off. It slowly winds itself back down to a level field. "Excellent, General. I'll need some time to examine the data more thoroughly, but I didn't see anything you need to be concerned about. You should have access to a final report by sundown."

Tipping his head down in respect, Percy lifts a hand to wave at the duo. "I need to head back to the medical station. Be safe, everyone!" With this, he makes his leave of the area.

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

"A wager, for matters of the heart." Percy's little show of exasperration draws a small, satisfied smile from the woman who, for almost 40 years, has been a thorn in the side of Medical personnel. She's still got it. In more ways than one, hopefully. Her feet fall in sync with the lazy circulation of tread, arms hanging loosely at sides. To and fro like a metronome.

"I kept the footage from that day, on Sullust. Vid feeds, from demo girl's breastplate - captured a good bit of the juicy stuff. Corporal Ashkuri's screams as he went up in flames, the heat of the blaze, the shouts, the silhouette of that scrawny, supreme sonfbitch...and later? Sesti, her hand in the hole that used t'be a breast, manually doing the work of an organ what got a bit crispy while my boy tried to breathe life back into the bloody, blue lips of his corpse mother." Ambrosia's upper lip curls just a tad and she turns to spit /away/ from the machine. "Just as a reminder. So. Every day this rebuilt frame keeps functioning, I consider it another bird flipped to the Order, who thought an orbital bombardment would be enough to snuff out a mother's fire."

BRING IT, machine. Bring it. She reaches up to tuck a few tickling strands from cheek to behind ear. "There are few things in life at which I excel, Doc. Killing people," she tics off one item on index finger, "probably best skillset, I'd say. But, while I made a terrible wife, I feel I can back the claim of being a damn good mother." And....cue the beginning of a long wind. "Jax, of course, was the bastard result of a drunken game of poker one night. Kort was a fool enough to stick around maybe, so we legitimized him with a unification of names. "Can't imagine how, but he wore me down, and Aora came into existance. Few years later, can't remember what...Jax just celebrated his 27th, so that makes her..."

"She's uh...well, she'll be..." the pause becomes more pregnant, more strained by the second, until Ambrosia can no longer look the little blinking light of treadmill tracker in its flashy eye. She looks to the clouds, instead as her walk picks up the pace into a brisk, even jog. "I can't remember." An admission of weakness, spoken softly with a touch of fear. Doubt. Haunted by the ghost of forgetfulness that plagues the aging, Or the broken.

"Was cold as hell, night she was born. Figured it was fitting weather for one ice queen t'be giving brith to another. She had the lightest eyes....like frost." The increasing incline and speed are met with (+61 success of run roll) effortlessly lengthened strides and whooshes of breath from one biological lung.

"And then there's the matter of Wedge - our youngest. And first to die, in this war. To the tune of my beratement over coms for him to sit down, shut up, MAN up, look sharp because it's gonna be /fine/..." A wag of her head sideways and 'eh' noise from throat suggests it was indeed NOT fine. Because dead. "We saw the cannon fire. Felt the concussion of the explosion. Within sight out one of the viewports. And then the screaming stopped. All of the communication line stopped. Their little light on our grid vanished," her fingers snap sharply, "just like that. One second I'm berating him for succumbing to the most base of human instincts and the next..." she purses her lips together and shrugs. "He's gone. Piece of debris, lost in a void with all the rest."

"When I think of that - only that - feels like maybe I AM a terrible mother. I was never soft. But I kept them safe, long as I could. And with Jax, with his 'gift', that was no easy task. Especially now. So. When I stand accused of being terrible - by my own daughter - I just remind myself that sometimes the best thing a mother can do for her children, for her family, is to stay away. Like a....Dugar dugar does, for her calf. Sometimes that's how you protect."

AND DONE. Whether it was the incline, the pace, or the continuous flow of words that's probably more sentences she's spoken in a week, Greystorm's looking a bit winded. Her saunter pace is a little more wobbly as the treads slow and Dr gathers up his data in hand. A light cough turns into something more productive before she spits for a second time. Something vaguely resembling a salute catches Percy's turn of back as she straddles the settling tread and shakes out one leg, then the other. Has steam been vented? Maybe. Maybe.

[Nova Korell]

Nova's eyes widen at the description of the night the sky fell on Amber and her family. "Wow. And I thought I was tough," she murmurs. She is, but she's never survived an /orbital bombardment/!

And it doesn't stop there. Nova witnessed the slow deaths of ther comrades back where she came from, and several here as well, but never the death of her child. She takes a deep breath, thinking about that. "I don't think you're a bad mother, General. I think you're a mother in bad times, just trying to do the best she can for those closest to her, her own flesh and blood. There are bound to be mistakes made in times like these. But no one is perfect."

The machine slowly grinds to a halt, and Nova steps closer, offering her hands to Amber, to assist her down from the treader if she needs it. Or wants it. "I think we both know who won that wager, General. But I'll have to pay you back at the barracks."

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

"Heh," A coarse, single syllable chuckle gruffs from Amber's chest. She waves off Nova's offer for help with a passive lift of palm and dismounts with a sideways step. "Mistakes?" An eye turns to the younger woman sternly. "I don't regret a damn thing that I've done. Or haven't. Only that some flesh and blood fails to see it in the same light."

She's gonna be such a great grandmother, guys. Totally warm and loving.

"I /do/ regret...not setting terms of the wager." Smaller strides take her back to the abandoned combat staff on ground, which she creaks down to retrieve and return to rack. "Save your credits, Officer. Next time we get out of this swamp, I'll take a drink. Air here just...taints." A nose wrinkle of displeasure and she tosses the staff back to rack.

[Nova Korell]

Nova lowers her hands, shrugging. "Eye of the beholder, General. Nobody's in your head but you," she replies simply. "There's where the problem really lies."

She nods to Amber's instructions to save her credits. "It's just as well. No pockets on these shorts," she says, running her thumbs around the inside of the waistband of her shorts, then pulling it out to either side several inches and then forward. No pocket on the sides, and nothing beneath except pink athletic briefs. "Next trip into town, I owe you something strong and cold, and that's a promise."

A thought occurs to her, and she falls silent for several moments. "General... about your son? Your family? I'm glad you know them. Even if you don't always get along, at least you have family."

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

"Mm," an indecisive grunt answers Nova's voiced thoughts. "Beginning to think I didn't know 'em as well as I thought, these past years. But that's fair." Ambrosia pulls her jacket off the weapons rack and stuffs one arm into it after the other. A sharp zzzzzt of zipper seals that lean, unyielding form back out of sight, where it belongs. "Stars know I've kept more secrets from them than they'll ever learn in a lifetime. Benefit of being a ghost, after all." Looks like Greystorm's ready to clear out and go find herself a means of rehydration, but a few steps along she stops and points a finger back at Nova.

"Family is a liability, in our line of work. Have half a care more'n I did, at your age." Grim lines frame her cautionary frown. "Lest you get saddled with a brood of your own." Ugh. Parenthood. The graying trooper resumes her long walk across the soggy field, toward the barracks.

[Nova Korell]

Nova nods quietly. "Maybe it is. But I don't think I have to worry about that. Maker knows no one here's that interested in me," she replies. "Clear skies, General. If you need me, I'll be here for at least an hour more."

[Ambrosia Greystorm]

One thumb rises up into the air overhead, signaling that the brig gen's heard her offer without neccesitating a stop.