#corey-067

The talks had gone to hell. The Spartan and Infinity’s Captain had been running through buildings to get to their landing zone. Corey was one of the fastest of the Spartan-IIs, and there was no way that Lasky would be able to keep up this punishing pace, fit as he was. The Spartan wasn’t breaking even a sweat when the captain began panting. 

“Forgive this, sir.” Corey simply scooped Lasky up and picked up the pace. Lasky tried to protest, but in the end, he simply found what purchase he could on Corey’s armor and held on for dear life. 

“You’re going the wrong way, Commander.” Lasky ground out, staring up at his mirrored visor. “This is our attackers’ landing site.”

There was only one problem here — that being that neither of them could cook. Like. At all. Despite their combined and considerable talents when it came to saving the galaxy, somehow they were both disasters when it came to meal prep. During his bachelor years, Theron’s idea of a homecooked meal consisted of pouring hot water over instant noodles. And Grey, well… Lana had yet to lift her ban of the Jedi from the kitchens on base after the fruitcake incident.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t the state that Noble Team’s commanding officer was supposed to be in. He was meant to be their rock, steadfast and unmoving. No matter what happened, he was supposed to be something they could all rely on.

Seeing him like this, raw and vulnerable and broken…

“Commander?” Artemis couldn’t bring herself to call him by name. Not with the tentative dance between them. Not with his emotional turmoil. She hoped to snap him out of it, to help him focus. He had a job to do: he had to bring them all back together, to lead them, to defend Reach. Their fight wasn’t over; far from it, in fact.

Carter sniffed, staring down at a half-empty bottle of whiskey between his feet. He rubbed at his nose, and stared at her. His eyes were red, rimmed with tears. It was so wrong. “If you don’t hug me, right now, I think I might fall apart.” His mouth twitched, and his voice wavered. He sounded shockingly young, far from his twenty-seven biological years; further still from his chronological age of thirty-two. He was no more than a scared boy, wanting comfort and solace.

His tormented expression crushed her, had her wanting to reach out to him. But his words had her taking a step back in surprise. She lingered in the doorway, unable to move.

You’re not supposed to fall apart. Damn it, Carter. You don’t get that privilege; you said so yourself not even a week ago! What is wrong with you?

She couldn’t accuse him…. not really. The words in her mind were meaningless, venting anger and frustration and confusion. This wasn’t… what she was equipped to deal with. Not this. Anything but this.

Her lips parted, and she made to speak, but only the smallest sound came out. “I—” I can’t do this, it shouldn’t be me, it should be Kat, but she’s gone, and that’s why he’s like this, and fuck, this isn’t what I was cut out for, this isn’t what I agreed to…

“Please, Artemis.”

Just a single plea, barely more than a whisper.

It broke her heart.

Artemis crossed the room, going to him, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him into her embrace. He trembled against her, hiding his face against her shoulder, hiding away from the rest of the world. All she could do was hold him, silent, silent, unwavering, as he sobbed into the material of her shirt.

9. Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

For the most part, Korin doesn’t remember his dreams. He’s had a couple of nightmares after particularly traumatic instances (like his mum dying, or the entire Ziost debacle), and had a few other ones he remembered that were just weird (one involving two gizka, an ion cannon that should have been attached to a capital ship and not a landspeeder, a creepy Voss tomb that for some reason had been built for a Hutt, and a Pureblood Sith moonlighting as a dancer comes to mind. That was one that legit made him stare at the ceiling when he woke up and go “What the fuck?”). But for the most part, once he’s out, it’s black until he wakes back up.

26. How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble?

11. A memory that may or may not have happened

@greyias​​ @commanderlurker​​ and @corey-067​​ all wanted to know about this, so here goes!

21 ATC, the Gravestone

“Vassanna?”

That familiar voice, with its cultured Imperial accent, dragged her closer to consciousness. Lana stood next to her bed and Sanna turned to her friend to– oh, ow. Stars, it even hurt to breathe. A sharp prick in her neck sent a cool wave through her, blessedly chasing away most of the pain and she sighed in relief.

“Hush.” Lana's reassuring voice filtered into her mind. “Should feel better now. Can you open your eyes?” Her hand, surprisingly warm and soft, pressed to Sanna’s brow, checking for fever despite the medical readouts.

“Do I have to?” she muttered.

A soft chuckle. “I can't say that I blame you.”

She didn't hear the end of Lana's statement, glancing casually around the medical area for signs of Theron and finding only bitter disappointment. Had he truly been here and on Asylum? Or had it only been a fever-dream, a hallucination to drive her to safety? Closing her eyes, Vassanna reached out through the Force, checking the entire ship for signs of that warmth, that bright and sturdy presence that was Theron Shan. When she found nothing, she thought back to the calloused fingers tracing her brows, running through her hair, his lips on her forehead, and sweet words whispered in her ear.

Had Vitiate been right all along?

She could ask Lana; in fact, she should ask her. Hesitating, she wondered how she'd react to learning that Theron– Oh stars, she couldn't imagine hearing a confirmation that he was– that he was gone.

No. No, she couldn't bear it, not now, not after everyone else.

Shaking her head, Vassanna forced herself to focus on the present; she could deal with the past later. Slowly, gingerly, she sat up with Lana’s assistance.

“Easy, now. Your body's been through quite an ordeal. We weren't sure you'd ever wake up.”

Panic gripped her like a vice and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. No, it couldn’t possibly have been that long. “Don't tell me it's been another five years.”

“No, no,” Lana said with a smile. “Two days, give or take.”

Two days. That wasn’t too terrible. Vassanna stretched carefully, testing her range of motion. Enough of resting – it was time to buckle down and focus.

*passes the coffee* You can do this!

It was beautiful when the light caught it, sparkles dazzling the air as the bauble turned slowly. Corey-067 always found a way to plant a small tree and being stationed on Infinity allowed him access to the Atrium. The Spartan didn’t celebrate Christmas, but many did, and to them, the tree appeared festive. For him, it was a symbol of new life, growth, and remembrance. Many who saw the sphere commented on its beauty, but few recognized it for what it was.

The glass was smooth beneath his bare fingers, cold to the touch, entirely at odds with its creation. Corey knelt down, murmuring a well-practiced list of names, thankfully with fewer new additions this year. 

The Spartans were scrubbed clean, at attention, parade-ready, despite the fact that they weren't attending one. Evidence had been erased, to ensure that nothing they'd done was left behind. 

Corey-067 had become adept at creating traps, sneaking into places that he wasn't supposed to be. Between himself and Linda, they'd hacked through the electronics of the Tango company barracks security system, allowing their compatriots inside. This wasn't revenge, they told themselves, but the Spartans wouldn't leave the situation alone, a situation that'd seen James - one of their brothers - in medbay for a week. 

Sneaking into the barracks, the group of them attached tripwires to paint powder canisters, ensuring that they were hidden among the neatly stowed possessions of the company. The Spartans were aware that Tango had an inspection the next day, and they intended to take full advantage of that situation to cause some chaos. Once the wires were connected, Corey and Linda bypassed the fire sprinkler system controls, putting the system into maintenance mode, with a delayed test set for 05:35 local, around five minutes after the marines would've been getting out of bed. 

Programming the computer to self-erase the data, they slipped back out, ensuring that all traces of their presence were scrubbed, no prints or DNA were on the containers as far as they knew, and the requisition order was authorized by Tango Company's CO, according to the paperwork. 

A roar of collective anger exploded from their barracks as the marines tripped the powder cans. Still, even that didn't compare to the sprinklers setting off barely two minutes later, just long enough for the paint to thicken, and slowly ooze across the previously polished surface. Whatever their pre-inspection plans had been, they were certainly null and void now.

There was a note of something approaching pride in Mendez's voice as he berated the Spartans before him. He had to maintain decorum, maintain authority over the teenagers before him, but he was proud. 

"Tango is fuming, and they'll likely take it out of your hides in the next exercise!" He roared, seeing the smirks die on several of the Spartans' faces.

"They'll try... Sir." Mendez's glare was enough to suppress the wave of sniggers that Sam's words elicited. 

"Which one of you is responsible for this?" He knew that the Spartans wouldn't rat one another out, but he was hardly surprised when Corey stepped forward. 

"Accidents happen, sir. Those paint canisters must've just slipped." He stood smartly to attention as Mendez glared down at him, his words echoing Tango Company's excuses over the injuries to one of their brethren, having caught him alone with no witnesses. 

"You baited them for revenge?" Corey's blue eyes met the Chief's as his gaze hardened. 

"No, sir. If this had been revenge..." He tailed off. "Well, you know better than anyone what we're capable of; you taught us most of it. A revenge attack would leave a number of them on one-way trips to the hospital, sir. You taught us to be better than that, so we ruined their day, rather than actually harming them." 

"Tango knows you did it, Spartan, and they told the General as much. I've had him bawling me out for the last three hours, before he commended the special forces level of evidence you left that could prove it was you."

"You taught us well, Chief," Jorge spoke from the rear line.