In point of fact, Barcus doesn't much care what his neighbors think in the long run. He'd just rather they didn't run screaming while he's having a quiet think outside on his porch. He smiles pleasantly at Gadriel, and for a moment he considers standing, but thinks better of it. Satchel will be calmer if he's calmer, and so he just nods warmly and runs his fingers over the cat's back.
"Thank you. I'll carry them in later. Yes, this is my cat. Her name is Satchel." He scratches behind her ears, and after a moment she seems to settle a little, yawning and stretching out her front paws.
"Satch, this is Sergeant Gadriel. You need to not walk under his feet like you do mine because he's wearing armor and no one will be happy if you get your toes stepped on."
"Domestic animals sometimes lack situational awareness," he adds.
Well, a large armored weirdo with three liters of venom would probably inspire some running and screaming, so Gadriel tries to keep a low profile. Also because of the venom thing. It's humiliating.
Well the Archmagos addressed the cat like a fellow person. That must be how it is done. "Satchel. I will not harm you." Everyone needs to be reassured of this, he thinks. "Are those claws?" He leans forward as she stretches her paws out. Look, Gadriel has priorities.
"Many mortals lack the same." Trust him, he's seen enough unaugmented humans run around blindly.
Satchel makes a small rrrp? noise as she stretches, and sits up. Oh look, a face! A big face. What does this face smell like? She sniffs the air curiously.
Barcus seems sanguine about this. "Yes, cats are small predators. They have claws on all their feet and a pretty significant bite for their size. They eat rodents and birds, mostly. Well, I feed Satchel, but she'll hunt for sport when she's outdoors."
"Of course, they're also small enough they can be prey to larger animals, too, so that makes for an interesting mindset."
He laughs at the Sergeant's comment. "Can't argue with that, either. Now I'm curious though, are you not mortal, yourself?"
She will have...some kind of reaction to the well-known Astartes smell. Hopefully not too bad because Gadriel is intrigued. "She does not look optimized to be a predator." Listen, get Archmagos Cawl on this because he could engineer cats into perfect killing machines. Would she like to see in infrared?
But Gadriel understands prey drive. Sometimes, you just gotta go out there and kill something.
"We can be killed. Obviously." Ahem, Let's not mention that mingle thing again. "But outside of violence, we do not die. The oldest I know is Bjorn the Fell-Handed. He is ten thousand years old." Oh boy do not ask for further details about this guy unless you have your fainting chair ready, Barcus. "There was a Black Templar who was over two thousand years when he got struck down in battle."
The big face smells weird af. She's not sure she likes that scent, but after some ear swivels she deigns to remain in place, just looking at him curiously.
"Well that depends on the ecological niche," Barcus tells him, and scratches gently behind the cat's ears. "She's optimized to kill small animals in quantities slightly greater than she could ever possibly eat."
His brows crease a little, concern written on his face. "That's a very long time. Gnomes can live hundreds of years, but not thousands."
Of course, this also implies that the war Gadriel has been fighting has been going on for at least ten thousand years. That can't be a good sign. "How old are you, then?"
"If she has excess kills..." No, Gadriel, shut up and stop being weird. Never mind. You didn't hear that.
But he does recognize a fellow predator. Interesting how people kept them as pets, but viewed him as dangerous. They were just the same, only he had less body hair.
"If you count the time I was in suspended animation, about ten thousand years." Give or take. They were pulled out of cold storage whenever the Greyshields were needed, before he was selected into the Ultramarines. "I have been fighting with the Ultramarines for about a century."
Stones help him, did the Sergeant just ask for any dead mice his cat isn't using? Barcus glances at him briefly, then turns his attention back to Satchel because the last thing the poor man needs is for the gnome's noisy facial expression to embarrass him. He boops the cat gently on the nose, then says, "Actually, speaking of excess, I do have some soup for you. I promised before, when I was looking at your armor, I just hadn't gotten around to it then."
He does look puzzled again when Gadriel answers his question, though. "...does that mean you're as old as this Bjorn fellow you mentioned, or are you measuring ten thousand years not in suspended animation for him?"
Either way it's wild af as far as he's concerned, but he's learning that a lot of what Gadriel says needs a little gentle prying-into in order to gain any understanding of it.
He did. Look. Gadriel has to count his macros, and that's probably a bunch of protein just...lying around. He realizes it is not the right thing to say based on the Archmagos's expression. "Was that unethical? I meant if they were already dead." Sure, that makes it totally better.
All this thinking about food, though. "I...could eat."
"Bjorn the Fell-Handed has been fighting for ten thousand years. He is exceptional. He is occasionally put in suspended animation, because, well, there are risks to keeping a dreadnought up too long."
"I am technically the same age, but have been fighting for much, much less."
"No, that was perfectly ethical, and quite practical. Just a little surprising. I suppose when you're a soldier in a war-torn universe you get your nourishment wherever you can. I would imagine a lot of people would be reluctant to eat a dead mouse, that's all." He looks thoughtful. "Although, arguably, if it's good enough for Satchel it ought to be good enough for the rest of us, isn't that right, dear?"
Mrrrpt. What the cat means by that is anyone's guess, but it's probably some kind of affirmative.
"For whatever it's worth, my kind make insects a significant portion of our diets, and a lot of other races find that a bit disgusting. But it's practical. In the Underdark, small livestock are easier to keep than goats or rothe, so eating grubs just makes sense. And they're nice if prepared properly."
He tilts his head to look at him skeptically. "...I'll ask what a dreadnought is in a few minutes. Hold that thought, I'll get us something to eat."
One last pat to Satchel's little head, and the gnome rises and goes inside, returning a moment later with a large-ish jar and a plate of some kind of baked goods. "The soup will take a little while to heat up, but here, try these. Mushroom and herb dumplings. And the jar is pickled herring."
He sets things on the edge of the porch, like he would for a stray, but that's not actually meant to be commentary on Gadriel, just convenience.
"A lot of people have never had any other options. We can take nourishment from just about anything." Actual meat? Not even close to a problem.
While he's gone, Gadriel offers a hand to Satchel, very cautiously. Predators should make friends with each other, if possible.
"You do not need to do...all of this." Seriously, a bucket of dead mice would have been fine.
One thing Space Marines are not known for is table manners, especially when they are hungry. At best, they're used to shoving food in their faces between training sessions. He stops about halfway through the dumplings. "It's very good." Okay, now back to stuffing his face.
It strikes Barcus as wise, if you're going to engineer a super soldier killing machine, to make certain they can get nourishment from anything. Based on the venom glands he's inclined to think their designers, while probably geniuses, were also a little overly enthusiastic. Being able to eat anything available is at least an asset to the soldier himself, rather than a spooky augmentation to frighten his enemies.
While he's absent, Satchel deigns to sniff at Gadriel's fingers, which smell fuckin' weird, but she decides he's okay anyway, and rubs her chin against his hand, purring. Enjoy that, sir, you have earned her majesty's approval.
Barcus just beams at the compliment. Gnomes aren't quite as assiduous as halflings about food being a sign of affection, but Barcus is domestically-oriented in odd, subtle ways. It's nice to be able to feed someone. "Good. You can have all of them, they're awfully easy to make, and I don't have to eat much, myself."
Astartes are a perfect example of a group project: everyone wanted their own little thing and somehow, SOMEHOW, it all mostly worked. Most of the time. The acid has many uses, including melting metal, but also does help with the ability to eat and digest anything, especially with his praeomnor.
He cautiously turns his hand over, letting Satchel decide where to rub her head against his hand, giving a cautious scritch behind one ear.
"I can pay you." Gadriel's still figuring out money but food doesn't come from nowhere like it did back on the Resilient, where you went to the refectory and there it was. "Or something."
But he's still hungry and there's the jar. "What's a herring?" He's not quite sure how to get them out of the jar. Just..pour it out? Reach in and grab one? Is there a utensil he should be using here?
Okay, but group projects are an absolute nightmare, too. Take it from someone who has of late made a career out of leading an artisan's guild.
"No, no, you're a guest! You don't have to pay me for food. I suppose if it became a regular thing I might need you to contribute for ingredients, but I'd rather just have you help me out with quests here and there, if you want to reciprocate. I'm very good at what I do, but fighting is not high up on my list of skills, particularly melee fighting."
"Oh, let me get you a fork, hold on." The question of what a herring is remains unanswered for a minute, as the gnome slips indoors and returns, with a fork, a spoon, a dishtowel, and a large (for a gnome) bowl of hot soup. Once again he sets everything down on the porch for the Sergeant.
"They're fish," he explains, and pulls the lid from the jar for him. The smell of the brine is sharp, not entirely unpleasant if you like that sort of thing. "You keep them in brine so they don't spoil. They're very salty, just to warn you. And there are some herbs and roots in there, as well, to add to the flavor. The soup is just mushrooms in chicken broth, with a little cream and sherry."
Gadriel would offer to reciprocate with food, but...uh. He doesn't know how to cook and Imperium food is probably not going to be popular around here.
Still, brotherhood required reciprocity. He could not just take and take, and the Archmagos had taken a look at his armor, now was working on finding a use for his venom, and now feeding him. "I already owe you for all the help you have given me. I am already in your debt. I would be honored to take any task you need done."
The salt of the brine was sharp, but he was used to hydration being highly salinated. It tastes like rehydration fluids, and something else, slightly astringent. He wasn't used to chewing things that tasted like rehydration fluid, but it was another new experience. He is debating offering the cat a portion--is he wrong or does she look interested?
For whatever it's worth, Barcus is enjoying the prospect of the many, many things he will learn from studying both the armor and the venom. Seems like a fair repayment for his assistance to him. Collaboration is his defining principle these days, though, and he's quietly collecting allies with every other move he makes.
"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to do things for me, but a lot of the quests that appear on the board are more dangerous than they look. I've already learned it pays to take someone stronger along. I'm decent with a slingshot and I can move rocks about, but I'm aware of my limitations." Sometimes he ignores said limitation, but he's aware of them.
Satchel is definitely interested, to the point where she's hopped off the bench and wandered closer, tail waving gently as she sniffs the air. "Satchel, be polite," Barcus says. "You get plenty of food from me."
"...do you like wine, Sergeant? Or is that sot of drink even available in your world?" He hasn't been very organized about this, else he'd have offered him a drink from the beginning. "Yes, I do most of my own cooking. I wouldn't say I'm all that skilled at it, just good enough for myself, but if you like it as well, I'll take that as a compliment."
"I would be honored to assist you, Archmagos. Within my abilities." So, no sorcery stuff. He's kind of...not a fan of that.
And Barcus chides Satchel, but Gadriel has a plan: keep the Archmagos occupied, and slip a bit of the fish to the smaller predator. Not that he doesn't like the fish, himself, but brothers share.
That was an opening he could use for his cunning plan. "We have wine. Or, our Chapter does, back on Macragge. It is not served to us, but only guests of rank. It is a luxury and a waste for those of us whose duty is combat." Here Satchel, would you like some fish? He offers a small piece in his palm.
Gadriel's clever plan is quite effective. Barcus sniffs with mild irritation at the idea that he's not important enough to merit a glass of wine. These things happen in wartime, he supposes; rationing can get far more extreme than that. But still, rude! "Well, mine is for my friends, and you rank high enough there. Here."
He rises again and bustles inside. Perfect opportunity to spoil the cat some more, and Satchel seems to realize it. You have a friend now, Sergeant. She places both front paws on that offered hand as if she could hope to pin it down while she accepts her treat. And purrs.
The Archmagos worries too much about Gadriel as a guest. He could literally feed Gadriel rocks and it would be more than he's used to. Lower the bar, Barcus!
But he won't say anything because he's entranced by Satchel, staying as still as possible so she could enjoy the treat. He had never seen anything like it before. He could see what were definitely predator teeth, but tiny. So small and yet so confident. He could crush her without a thought but she knew, somehow, that she was in charge.
"Do you want more? Or something else?" Because he can go murder some local wildlife for her.
Absolutely not, it's the principle of the thing! The bar is already lowered, though, on account of he really doesn't think the man will fit in his living room. Not in full armor, anyway.
While the gnome is inside, Satchel makes herself comfortable, finishing up the fish and kneading little biscuits on the heel of Gadriel's hand. She's a confident cat, innately friendly and...perhaps not all that intelligent. Once she's finished with the fish, and licking whatever remnants remain off his glove (he won't be able to feel the sandpaper tongue but maybe he can tell there's a raspy texture there from the sound), she licks her lips and makes a murbling sound at him. Good snack, thanks, bro!
Barcus comes out with a mug of wine just in time for this exchange and gives his cat a reproachful look while laughing very softly so as not to startle either of them. She's so tiny against the soldier's hand, and it's a little terrifying, but...Gadriel certainly wouldn't harm her on purpose, and he has enough perspective to realize how delicate she must be in comparison not only to him, but even to Barcus.
"She thinks everyone who visits is here for her benefit," he says. "I should have known she'd convince you to coddle her. It's all right for her to have a little fish, just ask me before you give her anything else. Some things people eat aren't healthy for cats."
He offers him the wine with an oddly fond smile. You're cute, you big weirdo.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-01-16 02:55 pm (UTC)"Thank you. I'll carry them in later. Yes, this is my cat. Her name is Satchel." He scratches behind her ears, and after a moment she seems to settle a little, yawning and stretching out her front paws.
"Satch, this is Sergeant Gadriel. You need to not walk under his feet like you do mine because he's wearing armor and no one will be happy if you get your toes stepped on."
"Domestic animals sometimes lack situational awareness," he adds.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-17 01:42 am (UTC)Well the Archmagos addressed the cat like a fellow person. That must be how it is done. "Satchel. I will not harm you." Everyone needs to be reassured of this, he thinks. "Are those claws?" He leans forward as she stretches her paws out. Look, Gadriel has priorities.
"Many mortals lack the same." Trust him, he's seen enough unaugmented humans run around blindly.
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Date: 2025-01-17 01:58 pm (UTC)Barcus seems sanguine about this. "Yes, cats are small predators. They have claws on all their feet and a pretty significant bite for their size. They eat rodents and birds, mostly. Well, I feed Satchel, but she'll hunt for sport when she's outdoors."
"Of course, they're also small enough they can be prey to larger animals, too, so that makes for an interesting mindset."
He laughs at the Sergeant's comment. "Can't argue with that, either. Now I'm curious though, are you not mortal, yourself?"
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Date: 2025-01-17 03:42 pm (UTC)But Gadriel understands prey drive. Sometimes, you just gotta go out there and kill something.
"We can be killed. Obviously." Ahem, Let's not mention that mingle thing again. "But outside of violence, we do not die. The oldest I know is Bjorn the Fell-Handed. He is ten thousand years old." Oh boy do not ask for further details about this guy unless you have your fainting chair ready, Barcus. "There was a Black Templar who was over two thousand years when he got struck down in battle."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-17 06:37 pm (UTC)"Well that depends on the ecological niche," Barcus tells him, and scratches gently behind the cat's ears. "She's optimized to kill small animals in quantities slightly greater than she could ever possibly eat."
His brows crease a little, concern written on his face. "That's a very long time. Gnomes can live hundreds of years, but not thousands."
Of course, this also implies that the war Gadriel has been fighting has been going on for at least ten thousand years. That can't be a good sign. "How old are you, then?"
no subject
Date: 2025-01-17 08:58 pm (UTC)But he does recognize a fellow predator. Interesting how people kept them as pets, but viewed him as dangerous. They were just the same, only he had less body hair.
"If you count the time I was in suspended animation, about ten thousand years." Give or take. They were pulled out of cold storage whenever the Greyshields were needed, before he was selected into the Ultramarines. "I have been fighting with the Ultramarines for about a century."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-19 05:12 am (UTC)He does look puzzled again when Gadriel answers his question, though. "...does that mean you're as old as this Bjorn fellow you mentioned, or are you measuring ten thousand years not in suspended animation for him?"
Either way it's wild af as far as he's concerned, but he's learning that a lot of what Gadriel says needs a little gentle prying-into in order to gain any understanding of it.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-19 04:06 pm (UTC)He realizes it is not the right thing to say based on the Archmagos's expression. "Was that unethical? I meant if they were already dead." Sure, that makes it totally better.
All this thinking about food, though. "I...could eat."
"Bjorn the Fell-Handed has been fighting for ten thousand years. He is exceptional. He is occasionally put in suspended animation, because, well, there are risks to keeping a dreadnought up too long."
"I am technically the same age, but have been fighting for much, much less."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-19 05:05 pm (UTC)Mrrrpt. What the cat means by that is anyone's guess, but it's probably some kind of affirmative.
"For whatever it's worth, my kind make insects a significant portion of our diets, and a lot of other races find that a bit disgusting. But it's practical. In the Underdark, small livestock are easier to keep than goats or rothe, so eating grubs just makes sense. And they're nice if prepared properly."
He tilts his head to look at him skeptically. "...I'll ask what a dreadnought is in a few minutes. Hold that thought, I'll get us something to eat."
One last pat to Satchel's little head, and the gnome rises and goes inside, returning a moment later with a large-ish jar and a plate of some kind of baked goods. "The soup will take a little while to heat up, but here, try these. Mushroom and herb dumplings. And the jar is pickled herring."
He sets things on the edge of the porch, like he would for a stray, but that's not actually meant to be commentary on Gadriel, just convenience.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-19 05:29 pm (UTC)While he's gone, Gadriel offers a hand to Satchel, very cautiously. Predators should make friends with each other, if possible.
"You do not need to do...all of this." Seriously, a bucket of dead mice would have been fine.
One thing Space Marines are not known for is table manners, especially when they are hungry. At best, they're used to shoving food in their faces between training sessions. He stops about halfway through the dumplings. "It's very good." Okay, now back to stuffing his face.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-21 01:14 am (UTC)While he's absent, Satchel deigns to sniff at Gadriel's fingers, which smell fuckin' weird, but she decides he's okay anyway, and rubs her chin against his hand, purring. Enjoy that, sir, you have earned her majesty's approval.
Barcus just beams at the compliment. Gnomes aren't quite as assiduous as halflings about food being a sign of affection, but Barcus is domestically-oriented in odd, subtle ways. It's nice to be able to feed someone. "Good. You can have all of them, they're awfully easy to make, and I don't have to eat much, myself."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-21 11:34 pm (UTC)He cautiously turns his hand over, letting Satchel decide where to rub her head against his hand, giving a cautious scritch behind one ear.
"I can pay you." Gadriel's still figuring out money but food doesn't come from nowhere like it did back on the Resilient, where you went to the refectory and there it was. "Or something."
But he's still hungry and there's the jar. "What's a herring?" He's not quite sure how to get them out of the jar. Just..pour it out? Reach in and grab one? Is there a utensil he should be using here?
no subject
Date: 2025-01-24 01:45 pm (UTC)"No, no, you're a guest! You don't have to pay me for food. I suppose if it became a regular thing I might need you to contribute for ingredients, but I'd rather just have you help me out with quests here and there, if you want to reciprocate. I'm very good at what I do, but fighting is not high up on my list of skills, particularly melee fighting."
"Oh, let me get you a fork, hold on." The question of what a herring is remains unanswered for a minute, as the gnome slips indoors and returns, with a fork, a spoon, a dishtowel, and a large (for a gnome) bowl of hot soup. Once again he sets everything down on the porch for the Sergeant.
"They're fish," he explains, and pulls the lid from the jar for him. The smell of the brine is sharp, not entirely unpleasant if you like that sort of thing. "You keep them in brine so they don't spoil. They're very salty, just to warn you. And there are some herbs and roots in there, as well, to add to the flavor. The soup is just mushrooms in chicken broth, with a little cream and sherry."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-24 07:32 pm (UTC)Still, brotherhood required reciprocity. He could not just take and take, and the Archmagos had taken a look at his armor, now was working on finding a use for his venom, and now feeding him. "I already owe you for all the help you have given me. I am already in your debt. I would be honored to take any task you need done."
The salt of the brine was sharp, but he was used to hydration being highly salinated. It tastes like rehydration fluids, and something else, slightly astringent. He wasn't used to chewing things that tasted like rehydration fluid, but it was another new experience. He is debating offering the cat a portion--is he wrong or does she look interested?
"You make all of this yourself, Archmagos?"
no subject
Date: 2025-01-26 01:06 am (UTC)"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to do things for me, but a lot of the quests that appear on the board are more dangerous than they look. I've already learned it pays to take someone stronger along. I'm decent with a slingshot and I can move rocks about, but I'm aware of my limitations." Sometimes he ignores said limitation, but he's aware of them.
Satchel is definitely interested, to the point where she's hopped off the bench and wandered closer, tail waving gently as she sniffs the air. "Satchel, be polite," Barcus says. "You get plenty of food from me."
"...do you like wine, Sergeant? Or is that sot of drink even available in your world?" He hasn't been very organized about this, else he'd have offered him a drink from the beginning. "Yes, I do most of my own cooking. I wouldn't say I'm all that skilled at it, just good enough for myself, but if you like it as well, I'll take that as a compliment."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-26 02:02 am (UTC)And Barcus chides Satchel, but Gadriel has a plan: keep the Archmagos occupied, and slip a bit of the fish to the smaller predator. Not that he doesn't like the fish, himself, but brothers share.
That was an opening he could use for his cunning plan. "We have wine. Or, our Chapter does, back on Macragge. It is not served to us, but only guests of rank. It is a luxury and a waste for those of us whose duty is combat." Here Satchel, would you like some fish? He offers a small piece in his palm.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-04 01:50 pm (UTC)He rises again and bustles inside. Perfect opportunity to spoil the cat some more, and Satchel seems to realize it. You have a friend now, Sergeant. She places both front paws on that offered hand as if she could hope to pin it down while she accepts her treat. And purrs.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 02:59 am (UTC)But he won't say anything because he's entranced by Satchel, staying as still as possible so she could enjoy the treat. He had never seen anything like it before. He could see what were definitely predator teeth, but tiny. So small and yet so confident. He could crush her without a thought but she knew, somehow, that she was in charge.
"Do you want more? Or something else?" Because he can go murder some local wildlife for her.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-06 01:14 pm (UTC)While the gnome is inside, Satchel makes herself comfortable, finishing up the fish and kneading little biscuits on the heel of Gadriel's hand. She's a confident cat, innately friendly and...perhaps not all that intelligent. Once she's finished with the fish, and licking whatever remnants remain off his glove (he won't be able to feel the sandpaper tongue but maybe he can tell there's a raspy texture there from the sound), she licks her lips and makes a murbling sound at him. Good snack, thanks, bro!
Barcus comes out with a mug of wine just in time for this exchange and gives his cat a reproachful look while laughing very softly so as not to startle either of them. She's so tiny against the soldier's hand, and it's a little terrifying, but...Gadriel certainly wouldn't harm her on purpose, and he has enough perspective to realize how delicate she must be in comparison not only to him, but even to Barcus.
"She thinks everyone who visits is here for her benefit," he says. "I should have known she'd convince you to coddle her. It's all right for her to have a little fish, just ask me before you give her anything else. Some things people eat aren't healthy for cats."
He offers him the wine with an oddly fond smile. You're cute, you big weirdo.