[Gadriel has learned that his priorities here are to make sure everyone knows he's not going around barfing face melting acid on people's faces. Everyone is fine. JSYK.]
yes. Mine. [It is a very long story that would probably involve another shaking nausea fit from the Archmagos. Let's just....speed past that and go ahead and assume the worst.]
You have my word, Sergeant. As Gond and Gaerdal are my witnesses. [Not that he's particularly religious, but when you know these gods definitely exist, swearing by them means something.]
This is starting to sound like a terrible inconvenience to you. What faction are you in again? We can decide on a convenient location for you to, mm, leave deposits, and I'll leave jars there for you as well.
I don't think you should feel shame about something your body does...well, maybe not naturally from birth, I assume it was one of your augmentations, but still.
[But Barcus isn't cut out to be the cool school counselor, he's more like the awkward physics teacher.]
There are a lot of rocky areas between here and Berry Burrow. I'll build us a small cave and send you coordinates. In the meantime, do you want to stop by my place? As I said before I doubt you'll fit inside easily but you can see my cat and get some jars.
That's understandable. [And lends credence to Barcus' theory that the faction leaders, in dampening his natural abilities, fucked up his ability to interface with his suit and control his augmentations. Whoops.]
Nearly any toxic substance has alternative uses. I may not be able to find every one that's possible, but I promise you I can come up with something.
Come to my cottage, there's plenty of space to sit and talk in the yard where the trees and hedges will afford us some privacy.
Oh exciting! Good to know. [He'll definitely keep this venom well out of reach of his cat.]
Barcus is in a peaceful neighborhood on the edge of Grey Ward, and he does have neighbors--all in charming little cottages with orchards and gardens lying fallow under the snow--but no one is out and about in the chilly weather. Gadriel will be able to spot the gnome as he draws near, bundled up in a knit coat and a fluffy green hat, with fingerless knit gloves on his hands.
He's sitting on a bench on his porch, and while the porch is stone and probably able to hold the soldier's weight, the bench most definitely is not. But also, there's a small furry animal taking up two thirds of the space, anyway. Satchel's fur is white and ginger and charcoal-black, vibrant calico colors, and her eyes are very round and very green, giving her a spacy look.
Her tail gets a little poofy at the large man's approach, but she's not so intimidated she's about to flee.
The tracks Gadriel leaves will be a larger problem for the Archmagos, if he wants to hide his strange assignation with large Space Marines. It's safe to say there aren't many people here with feet that big. Gadriel tries to stay on areas scour-swept of snow by the wind, but that wasn't always possible, especially holding three liter-jars of corrosive venom.
"I have it here," first things first, Gadriel places the jars carefully on the ground and then backs a few feet away from them, as if he could distance himself from how they got there, before dropping down into a squat. Which is suprisingly comfortable when the armor is doing most of the work. Because he knows better than to try anyone's furniture, especially when he doesn't have money to pay for repairs.
"Is that your cat?" The Archmagos had said that one of her qualities was that she stared, and...she was definitely staring.
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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 06:26 pm (UTC)yes. Mine. [It is a very long story that would probably involve another shaking nausea fit from the Archmagos. Let's just....speed past that and go ahead and assume the worst.]
It has to be stored in glass
or ceramic.
Found out the hard way. [Gadriel doin a SCIENCE.]
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 06:32 pm (UTC)Most solvents have to have specialized storage. I have appropriate materials for that. Would you like me to send you a few ceramic urns?
[On the one hand, this is WILD. On the other hand, it's very interesting.]
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 06:48 pm (UTC)[He's already seen s enough of a danger and a freak around here.]
that would be helpful.
it is a
daily
process.
to extract.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 10:29 pm (UTC)This is starting to sound like a terrible inconvenience to you. What faction are you in again? We can decide on a convenient location for you to, mm, leave deposits, and I'll leave jars there for you as well.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 11:31 pm (UTC)[Gadriel has no idea who those are, but he does recognize a sworn pledge. ]
Sylph. [What? You don't see his airy sylph like qualities? ]
I can travel further than you can more easily. Do not inconvenience yourself too much.
just make it
hidden. [Gadriel's legs are way longer than Wroot's. Simple logistics.]
no subject
Date: 2025-01-10 01:48 pm (UTC)[But Barcus isn't cut out to be the cool school counselor, he's more like the awkward physics teacher.]
There are a lot of rocky areas between here and Berry Burrow. I'll build us a small cave and send you coordinates. In the meantime, do you want to stop by my place? As I said before I doubt you'll fit inside easily but you can see my cat and get some jars.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-10 03:05 pm (UTC)Just
Not being able to control it.
[ His temper has made him a walking ecological disaster]
I can meet you.
I will bring the
Samples
Maybe you can have some good
Out of this.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-12 04:23 pm (UTC)Nearly any toxic substance has alternative uses. I may not be able to find every one that's possible, but I promise you I can come up with something.
Come to my cottage, there's plenty of space to sit and talk in the yard where the trees and hedges will afford us some privacy.
should we switch to log format? also sorry phone tagging
Date: 2025-01-12 06:37 pm (UTC)that I know of. [So, be careful? Also maybe that should be a project to bump to the top of the list.
I will arrive soon. [Because guess who can text and walk at the same time? Our very smart death cult devotee.]
sorry for the delay, but yes!
Date: 2025-01-14 04:20 pm (UTC)Barcus is in a peaceful neighborhood on the edge of Grey Ward, and he does have neighbors--all in charming little cottages with orchards and gardens lying fallow under the snow--but no one is out and about in the chilly weather. Gadriel will be able to spot the gnome as he draws near, bundled up in a knit coat and a fluffy green hat, with fingerless knit gloves on his hands.
He's sitting on a bench on his porch, and while the porch is stone and probably able to hold the soldier's weight, the bench most definitely is not. But also, there's a small furry animal taking up two thirds of the space, anyway. Satchel's fur is white and ginger and charcoal-black, vibrant calico colors, and her eyes are very round and very green, giving her a spacy look.
Her tail gets a little poofy at the large man's approach, but she's not so intimidated she's about to flee.
NP
Date: 2025-01-15 04:08 pm (UTC)"I have it here," first things first, Gadriel places the jars carefully on the ground and then backs a few feet away from them, as if he could distance himself from how they got there, before dropping down into a squat. Which is suprisingly comfortable when the armor is doing most of the work. Because he knows better than to try anyone's furniture, especially when he doesn't have money to pay for repairs.
"Is that your cat?" The Archmagos had said that one of her qualities was that she stared, and...she was definitely staring.
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: