Post by thomas on Feb 4, 2010 18:56:50 GMT -5
It was not without some foreboding that Perry Wong walked the halls of New Amsterdam, looking for Private First Class Thorvald Siggurdson. Perhaps it was the Zeonic fleet massed only kilometers from the base walls. Perhaps it was the rumors about Siggurdson's instability. Perhaps it was the horror stories of what Siggurdson's mobile suit was capable of--how it had fought the Red Comet to a standstill and forced the Zeon ace to draw back. Perhaps it was the burrito he had for breakfast.
Regardless, it was with trepidation that he found Siggurdson in the communal barrack bathrooms, and this trepidation was not assuaged by Siggurdson's appearance: he was stripped to his waist, dressed only in a plaid tartan, his tattoos of Vikings and divine chariots quite visible across his back. He was applying something to his face in the mirror and singing softly to himself:
"O, you'll take the high road and I'll take the low
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye--
For me and my true love with nae meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."
"Siggurdson? Thorvald Siggurdson?" Perry ventured.
"'llo, lad. You're the new boy they've assigned me, so ye are?"
Perry nodded. As he approached Siggurdson, he saw that the older man was applying blue paint to his face. His long, blonde hair hung down his shoulders and his beard--also blonde--had been tied up into two long braids. His Federation issued pistol was stuck into the back of the kilt--he wore no holster and the only other thing that signified that he was a Federation soldier rather than some sort of anachronistic Jacobite were the dog tags around his neck.
Several moments of silence passed. Siggurdson finished applying the paint, put it away, and turned to face Perry. Though he was neither particularly large or well built, he presented a frightening visage to the young soldier before him--his hair, his dress, and the blue on his face, with white designs painted over it, made him look like some sort of wild highlander.
"That's not regulation uniform, is it?" Perry ventured.
"Y'know, lad, when Scotland joined with Britain, the English made special provisions for us--that our fighting men were to keep our kilts, our swords, our highland fiefs and tribes--so long as we were thaur warrior caste. I imagine the Federation would na' care so much, so long as I shed my blood fer them."
"I guess that makes sense."
"Yer' nervous, lad."
Perry shrugged. "We're about to go into battle... Who wouldn't be?"
"'course," he said, pensively. "O'course."
"So... I'll meet you in the hangar?"
"Yeah. We'll do that. I see ye there, lad."
Perry left, unsure as to whether he felt better or worse about his new partner.
Siggurdson glanced in the mirror--the face that stared back at him was the same face that had marched into Northern England in 1745 under Bonnie Prince Charlie's banner, the same face that had led raids from long boats, the same face that had stood alongside William Wallace. An immense sense of history had descended on him--as he'd stopped drinking, the world became clearer, more distinct--and finally, he could see a place for himself in the world.
"Marion, lass," he whispered and he was sure she could hear him. "This is what I was born to do--I'm sure of it--so I hope I can keep up with ye. Don't hold back on my account, though, lassy... I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid in the slightest, lass. I may look a heap horrifying ri' now--I was asking that Chinese boy were he afraid o' me but I think he misunderstood--but I know you're more of a devil on the field than anything I e'er seen. So long as you're wi' me, lass, I ain't afraid. I'll be yer sword and shield."
With this, he knelt and prayed. He crossed himself, careful not to smudge the warpaint. He left the lavatory and marched to the hangar, drawing stares along the way. As he had predicted, however, no officer dared tell him to change into regulation dress.
In the hangar, a technician met him to inform him that the Blue Destiny was refueled and ready to go. A cold arctic wind blew through the open hangar door, brushing aside Thorvald's kilt and revealing what lay underneath. The technician blushed, and Thorvald left her, his bare ass winking at her from under the tartan. Perry watched Siggurdson's approach and couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.
Regardless, it was with trepidation that he found Siggurdson in the communal barrack bathrooms, and this trepidation was not assuaged by Siggurdson's appearance: he was stripped to his waist, dressed only in a plaid tartan, his tattoos of Vikings and divine chariots quite visible across his back. He was applying something to his face in the mirror and singing softly to himself:
"O, you'll take the high road and I'll take the low
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye--
For me and my true love with nae meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond."
"Siggurdson? Thorvald Siggurdson?" Perry ventured.
"'llo, lad. You're the new boy they've assigned me, so ye are?"
Perry nodded. As he approached Siggurdson, he saw that the older man was applying blue paint to his face. His long, blonde hair hung down his shoulders and his beard--also blonde--had been tied up into two long braids. His Federation issued pistol was stuck into the back of the kilt--he wore no holster and the only other thing that signified that he was a Federation soldier rather than some sort of anachronistic Jacobite were the dog tags around his neck.
Several moments of silence passed. Siggurdson finished applying the paint, put it away, and turned to face Perry. Though he was neither particularly large or well built, he presented a frightening visage to the young soldier before him--his hair, his dress, and the blue on his face, with white designs painted over it, made him look like some sort of wild highlander.
"That's not regulation uniform, is it?" Perry ventured.
"Y'know, lad, when Scotland joined with Britain, the English made special provisions for us--that our fighting men were to keep our kilts, our swords, our highland fiefs and tribes--so long as we were thaur warrior caste. I imagine the Federation would na' care so much, so long as I shed my blood fer them."
"I guess that makes sense."
"Yer' nervous, lad."
Perry shrugged. "We're about to go into battle... Who wouldn't be?"
"'course," he said, pensively. "O'course."
"So... I'll meet you in the hangar?"
"Yeah. We'll do that. I see ye there, lad."
Perry left, unsure as to whether he felt better or worse about his new partner.
Siggurdson glanced in the mirror--the face that stared back at him was the same face that had marched into Northern England in 1745 under Bonnie Prince Charlie's banner, the same face that had led raids from long boats, the same face that had stood alongside William Wallace. An immense sense of history had descended on him--as he'd stopped drinking, the world became clearer, more distinct--and finally, he could see a place for himself in the world.
"Marion, lass," he whispered and he was sure she could hear him. "This is what I was born to do--I'm sure of it--so I hope I can keep up with ye. Don't hold back on my account, though, lassy... I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid in the slightest, lass. I may look a heap horrifying ri' now--I was asking that Chinese boy were he afraid o' me but I think he misunderstood--but I know you're more of a devil on the field than anything I e'er seen. So long as you're wi' me, lass, I ain't afraid. I'll be yer sword and shield."
With this, he knelt and prayed. He crossed himself, careful not to smudge the warpaint. He left the lavatory and marched to the hangar, drawing stares along the way. As he had predicted, however, no officer dared tell him to change into regulation dress.
In the hangar, a technician met him to inform him that the Blue Destiny was refueled and ready to go. A cold arctic wind blew through the open hangar door, brushing aside Thorvald's kilt and revealing what lay underneath. The technician blushed, and Thorvald left her, his bare ass winking at her from under the tartan. Perry watched Siggurdson's approach and couldn't help but wonder what he'd gotten himself into.