[SA] Fort Franklin
- Thread starter Karl Jak
- Start date
Face to Face
???
???
Having quenched the rebellious spirits of the denizens of Central City with soda-laden euphemisms, Pepsiman had made his way further into ‘the old lands’.
“This isn’t on the map,” he muttered as he looked up at the bizarre structure of steel and science. “Hello!” He shouted.
A few moments later, a window popped open high up on the building, and a young man poked his head out the window. “Oh, hi! Pepsiman!”
The mascot shot a thumbs up to the familiar face. “Dr. Swift! I did not know you had set up shop is such… fascinating environs.”
The young doctor blushed before responding. “Yea, the backlogged mail stopped coming, so I figured it just made sense to sit down and wait to hear. You know what happened to Mustang.”
“Surrendered.”
Dr. Swift scowled. “But he was such a nice guy.”
“Yes, he was clearly corrupted and unfit for command, which has now fallen to Princess Azula! She’s very swell.”
The chemist nodded his head. “Okay, well I’ll wait to hear from her, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“If that nice fella Roy is gone than that makes me ‘Commander Doctor Swift’, so you tell Commander Azula that she seems like a real nice lady, but if she wants us to be friends than she has to show up to talk in-person and not send her totally awesome and also swell-guy sidekick. Okay?”
Pepsiman probably should have been offended when the young doctor vanished without providing a response, but there was just something so polite about everything he had said. The mascot couldn’t help but feel little animus toward the perpetually toiling chemist.
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Things were not going… exceptionally well.
Mustang had left her an army, and a territory, in shambles. Soldiers defecting, spies infiltrating, and alliances hanging on by a thread. At the center of all of that mismanagement was one lone figure, a paragon of science, who’d been doomed to wander the countryside almost aimlessly for the past two and a half weeks. To be honest, Azula hadn’t been surprised when she’d heard he set up his own fortress and just… stopped, because that had essentially been what she’d done, too.
As she trekked up the steps to Dr. Swift’s chambers, she reflected on just how similar they were. Two misused officers, not thrown into the assignments where they belonged — Azula sent to be a glorified construction foreman rather than into the heat of battle, and Dr. Swift floating around as Mustang’s messenger rather than engaging in the true scientific pursuits he desired.
Azula understood this man. He had to listen to her.
“Doctor,” she nodded as she stepped into his chambers. He sat behind a desk across the room, and spun around in his spinny-rolly-chair not unlike some sort of campy villain.
“Princess-Commander,” he said dramatically, “I’ve been expecting you.”
He gestured, idly, to the Pepsi cyborg sitting on the window seat just a ways away. Pepsiman waved a hand at the fire princess, then gestured to her seat, which already contained a glass of Baja Blast in the cup holder. Dr. Swift seemed to be swirling his own glass of Code Red just ahead of her.
“I was informed that you wanted to speak with me personally,” she let her gaze fall back on Dr. Swift, “about renewing your allegiance to the Miniskirt Armada. As I’m sure you’ve heard, it’s under my command now — Mustang capitulated to golden boy after he defected, which eventually left no other options for rule except me.”
Dr. Swift leaned forward and folded his hands on the table pensively. “Yes,” he replied, “that all makes sense.”
“But I’m afraid I cannot renew my allegiance.”
Azula bristled. “…excuse me?”
“The things I’ve seen, Azula,” he explained, “I watched our castle get destroyed from afar, able to do nothing. I watched as Mustang walked on the Vault and left me twiddling my thumbs in the middle of territory we already had under our control. But most of all, I was denied the opportunity to take my place as the premiere expert that I am, do what I love most. I was denied the opportunity to do—”
“Science?” Azula interrupted.
“Please don’t interrupt, it’s rude,” Dr. Swift pointed a finger, “but… yes. Science.”
“Well, Dr. Swift—”
“—Commander Dr. Swift.”
“—Commander Dr. Swift,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “You’ll be thrilled to hear that the job I’m offering you? It’s free from the mismanagement of ex-Commander Mustang. It’s cozy, in our new Fortress, Fortress Briggs, and it involves science.”
Swift perked up.
“No more walking,” Azula explained, “you just sit in Fortress Briggs and are worshipped as the science expert you are, getting to work to improve our army in ways that are in line with your particular set of skills, lead our medics in becoming better at helping people, and my favorite part…”
Swift raised an eyebrow as Azula’s tone shifted. “…is that right now, as we speak, one of my messengers has been sent into the unmade Carnaval to try and bring back a live specimen. Should he succeed, you will be in charge of that project, on the forefront of this game’s—and the Crossroads’—scientific research, delving into what makes the Unmade tick and how we can defeat them.”
There was silence in the room for a moment until Pepsiman spoke. “That’s neat! Very tasty.”
Azula chuckled. “And did I mention, Commander Doctor, that it comes with a promotion and fancy new, unique title?”
Commander Doctor Swift leaned back in his chair, expression inscrutable.
“So what’s it going to be?” she asked with a smirk. “May I say welcome to the fold, Research General Doctor Swift?”
Mustang had left her an army, and a territory, in shambles. Soldiers defecting, spies infiltrating, and alliances hanging on by a thread. At the center of all of that mismanagement was one lone figure, a paragon of science, who’d been doomed to wander the countryside almost aimlessly for the past two and a half weeks. To be honest, Azula hadn’t been surprised when she’d heard he set up his own fortress and just… stopped, because that had essentially been what she’d done, too.
As she trekked up the steps to Dr. Swift’s chambers, she reflected on just how similar they were. Two misused officers, not thrown into the assignments where they belonged — Azula sent to be a glorified construction foreman rather than into the heat of battle, and Dr. Swift floating around as Mustang’s messenger rather than engaging in the true scientific pursuits he desired.
Azula understood this man. He had to listen to her.
“Doctor,” she nodded as she stepped into his chambers. He sat behind a desk across the room, and spun around in his spinny-rolly-chair not unlike some sort of campy villain.
“Princess-Commander,” he said dramatically, “I’ve been expecting you.”
He gestured, idly, to the Pepsi cyborg sitting on the window seat just a ways away. Pepsiman waved a hand at the fire princess, then gestured to her seat, which already contained a glass of Baja Blast in the cup holder. Dr. Swift seemed to be swirling his own glass of Code Red just ahead of her.
“I was informed that you wanted to speak with me personally,” she let her gaze fall back on Dr. Swift, “about renewing your allegiance to the Miniskirt Armada. As I’m sure you’ve heard, it’s under my command now — Mustang capitulated to golden boy after he defected, which eventually left no other options for rule except me.”
Dr. Swift leaned forward and folded his hands on the table pensively. “Yes,” he replied, “that all makes sense.”
“But I’m afraid I cannot renew my allegiance.”
Azula bristled. “…excuse me?”
“The things I’ve seen, Azula,” he explained, “I watched our castle get destroyed from afar, able to do nothing. I watched as Mustang walked on the Vault and left me twiddling my thumbs in the middle of territory we already had under our control. But most of all, I was denied the opportunity to take my place as the premiere expert that I am, do what I love most. I was denied the opportunity to do—”
“Science?” Azula interrupted.
“Please don’t interrupt, it’s rude,” Dr. Swift pointed a finger, “but… yes. Science.”
“Well, Dr. Swift—”
“—Commander Dr. Swift.”
“—Commander Dr. Swift,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “You’ll be thrilled to hear that the job I’m offering you? It’s free from the mismanagement of ex-Commander Mustang. It’s cozy, in our new Fortress, Fortress Briggs, and it involves science.”
Swift perked up.
“No more walking,” Azula explained, “you just sit in Fortress Briggs and are worshipped as the science expert you are, getting to work to improve our army in ways that are in line with your particular set of skills, lead our medics in becoming better at helping people, and my favorite part…”
Swift raised an eyebrow as Azula’s tone shifted. “…is that right now, as we speak, one of my messengers has been sent into the unmade Carnaval to try and bring back a live specimen. Should he succeed, you will be in charge of that project, on the forefront of this game’s—and the Crossroads’—scientific research, delving into what makes the Unmade tick and how we can defeat them.”
There was silence in the room for a moment until Pepsiman spoke. “That’s neat! Very tasty.”
Azula chuckled. “And did I mention, Commander Doctor, that it comes with a promotion and fancy new, unique title?”
Commander Doctor Swift leaned back in his chair, expression inscrutable.
“So what’s it going to be?” she asked with a smirk. “May I say welcome to the fold, Research General Doctor Swift?”
Dr. Swift nodded.
"A counterproposal." He replied. "I will release," he slid a piece of paper with impeccable handwriting across the table to Azula. "These soldiers to your immediate control. The rest will travel with me to Central City to access the situation there and then onward to your home base. My remaining soldiers will answer only to me, and I will be Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift of the Armada. My troops and I will set up our labs in your Fortress, which should free up some more of your forces."
Azula's forehead creased slightly but she continued to listen.
"They will remain under my directions, and we will gladly keep your structure safe and defended in the event of a battle. And if you 'win', you can gladly have whatever trinket or prize everyone here seems so intent to die for. I don't intend to die for a shiny bauble. Just know that I'm not going to be part of scheming or backstabbing or anything that everyone here seems so ... attracted to."
"Why should I trust you and your ... squad, in my house?"
"Why shouldn't you trust me?" Dr. Swift said with a warm, boyish smile before extending a hand. "Final terms. Do we have a deal? Otherwise, I'd like for you to safely but quickly excuse yourself from range of my science guns."
"A counterproposal." He replied. "I will release," he slid a piece of paper with impeccable handwriting across the table to Azula. "These soldiers to your immediate control. The rest will travel with me to Central City to access the situation there and then onward to your home base. My remaining soldiers will answer only to me, and I will be Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift of the Armada. My troops and I will set up our labs in your Fortress, which should free up some more of your forces."
Azula's forehead creased slightly but she continued to listen.
"They will remain under my directions, and we will gladly keep your structure safe and defended in the event of a battle. And if you 'win', you can gladly have whatever trinket or prize everyone here seems so intent to die for. I don't intend to die for a shiny bauble. Just know that I'm not going to be part of scheming or backstabbing or anything that everyone here seems so ... attracted to."
"Why should I trust you and your ... squad, in my house?"
"Why shouldn't you trust me?" Dr. Swift said with a warm, boyish smile before extending a hand. "Final terms. Do we have a deal? Otherwise, I'd like for you to safely but quickly excuse yourself from range of my science guns."
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Azula blinked. Before her sat two roads — one with her pride on it, and one with any chance of winning this godforsaken game.
She sucked in a deep breath, lifting her Baja Blast to her lips and sipping it down quickly before rising to her feet.
“I’m sure it will be a pleasure working alongside you,” she gritted her teeth, “…Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift.”
God, would these men ever be content to just let her lead?
She sucked in a deep breath, lifting her Baja Blast to her lips and sipping it down quickly before rising to her feet.
“I’m sure it will be a pleasure working alongside you,” she gritted her teeth, “…Co-Commander Research Doctor Swift.”
God, would these men ever be content to just let her lead?