o1 ✍ sharpe's introduction ✍ voice + video

[sharpe]

voice;

Money in cards and saying me rifle’s been changed.

[ Except that’s not actually how he says it, it’s more like: munneh in cards and sayin’ me rifle’s been changed. Sheffield, Yorkshire haunts the streets of Exsilium now, thanks to one Richard Sharpe. ]

The only cards I know of are those given by weasely merchants looking ta fleece more money out of you. But you ain’t asking for money, are you? Yer asking me to fight with me blood and sweat, and you ain’t even decent enough to give me a half-ration of rum, or even a proper King’s shilling.

[ Thud. The sound of rifle on stone ground. There’s a soft shuffling sound and tapping of fingers on the screen of the tablet. The video switches on. ]

video;

Me name’s Richard Sharpe. [ Blond hair, green eyes, a scar on his upper left cheek. His lips are twisted into a scowl, and at the edge of the screen, you can see the edge of his Rifleman’s jacket. Have a picture.

If you met him during the masquerade, he's a lot cleaner now. Face-wise anyway. You can actually see what he looks like underneath the layers of dirt, and his hair isn't just a layer of dust anymore. ]

If yer name's Patrick Harper, I suggest you get yer arse over here before I shoot it off you.

Comments

[encourage]

Sounds like a too familiar story.

( Said with a bit of a wry smile. Sakura's sitting down at her desk, a strangely nostalgic feeling. It does set everything at a bit of an odd angle. )

Sorry they've taken that end away from you.

( For now, at least. It has to be disappointing. )

[sharpe]

[ Shrugs. ]

There's no end ta fighting. The only change's in the battlefield.

[ Whether it is in India, or in Spain and France, or even in Yorkshire, against greedy merchants and without the justifying force of the Army, being called a 'rebel' when all you're trying to do is to find something to eat and feed your kids.

God, Sharpe is damn glad to be out of Yorkshire, no matter where he ends up. ]

[encourage]

You may be right, sir.

( She smiles, looking off screen. What'd be contemplative looks off into the distance in person translates to distract-ability on camera. )

All things told, I've been on worse battlefields. This one's kind enough to let us off leash as long as we don't mind being stranded on an exile's island.

( Light glints off a band at her neck, too thick to be any standard jewelry -- perhaps it was a different style. All this time, and she still wears that collar. )

[sharpe]

[ His eyes are drawn to the collar immediately. He's seen the like, aye, but not ever on someone whose skin is as light as hers. ]

I didn't know there's slavers here. [ He tips his own head back, taps the collar. ]

[encourage]

( It takes Sakura a moment to realize he's talking about her collar. Her hand comes up, brushing against where the 10C had once been engraved. She forgets what the worn down numbers now read.

Her lips curl up into a lopsided smile that dies miles short of her eyes. )

Neither did I. ( Her hand pulls back, one finger tapping the collar itself. ) This old thing's a souvenir.

( She supposes the UE, as construed by the Initiative and the network, is a nation of slavers -- mental enslavement was tantamount the sorts of slavery found riddled through human history. )

[sharpe]

[ Her words would have been a little bit more convincing if she doesn't remind him of the broken spirits masquerading as men that he's seen as slaves, back in India. Back on the lands that the ships stop by, before Spain, before Napoleon.

So he only cocks his head slightly to the side. ]

Why don't you take it off?

[encourage]

It's rigged to explode when it's cut into. Or it was, at one time. I don't have a reason to believe the charge isn't still active.

( Or more to a point, no reason to really try to cut it off and learn the hard way. She's so used to the weight of it around her neck, it barely registers except when someone else is commenting on its presence. )

[sharpe]

[ Blinks. ]

The hell's a charge?

[ He doesn't think you can keep a battalion in that collar. And he can think of something rigged to explode- but the amount of gunpowder in something so small and thin, and so spread out- can't be much. Especially if there's need to put scrap metal and such. There's no use to explosions if there's nothing sharp or heavy to propel into flesh.

(There's a part of him that's horrified at the horrors men do to each other, but Sharpe has lived near twenty years in battlefields and watched men torn apart by cannons and muskets and rifles and swords and every possible weapon. He's taken part in it too. There's nothing that surprises him anymore.) ]

[encourage]

( She should know better than to assume by now. Sakura blinks, then smiles, tucking her chin in as she bows her head in a sort of apology. )

Sorry, I shouldn't assume you understand what I'm saying. A charge is something related to electricity. Are you familiar with electricity?

[sharpe]

[ Blinks, and he smiles wryly. ]

I've heard of the word once, in London. But I don't know its meaning.

[encourage]

( If only she were aware they were in a London of a vastly different century. Sakura would be amused. )

Electricity is a little like bottled lighting. All that energy and power harnessed into a specific purpose, controlled by machines men have made. With this -- ( she taps her neck ) -- there's enough contained energy that if it's taken off incorrectly, it explodes. The only problem is I'm not sure there is a way to correctly take it off that happens before I'm dead.

( Again. )

[sharpe]

[ Loooong pause. He has a thoughtful look on his face. ]

I've seen elves, imps and even demons in this place, but humans bottling lightning still have ta be the oddest. [ Beat. He looks at her for a long moment. ]

There must be people good at that kind of thing. Engineers, the like.

[encourage]

Engineers, alchemists. It's easier to find people to trust with my legs than my neck.

( There's a twitch of her lips. It's asking a lot, that faith in someone else to hold her life in balance.

No matter how often she's died, it never gets easier to swallow. )

[sharpe]

[ Christ, what the hell- ]

Yer legs?

[ And Sharpe understands that. The only doctor he'd let lay hands on him is one Patrick Harper, and he's not here. ]

[encourage]

Ah.

( She hesitates, wondering if it's worth "showing" when the camera will inevitably have an odd angle without her giving enough distance that she'd have to shout to be heard. )

How familiar are you with prosthetic limbs?

[sharpe]

[ He blinks. ]

I've seen plenty of wooden legs and feet. [ Though he's pretty sure that's not what she means. ] Not many, fer men tend ta die when the surgeon takes a saw ta their limbs.

[encourage]

That's closer to how it is where I'm... from, originally. The places I've been in the meantime are a little different. Ah, here.

( She begins to encrypt this broadcast to Sharpe; )

( And in the process, firmly sets the tablet down on the ground, a whirl of background behind her as she steps back and is a blur of movement herself. Judging distances, Sakura perches up on the side of a dumpster. Her legs, metal and smooth, catch the grey light in perpetual abundance.

She's not sure how well this translates over video, but she holds her position for now. )

( encrypted )

[sharpe]

[ Sharpe is less taken aback by the metal legs than the ease she uses them. She can run- men he knows with peg legs can barely limp quickly, much less do any of that sort of running. His breath stutters in his throat, just slightly, and he leans forward, looking at her. ]

Christ, [ softly, reverently. ] How do they work?

( encrypted )

[encourage]

With any luck? Usually very well.

( She thinks she heard him right, jumping back down and bending at the knees like she's absorbing the impact of landing in the usual way. )

Unless you're familiar with engineering, I'm not sure how much of the "how" behind them I can explain that's going to make sense.

( She speaks loudly, making sure her voice carries until she's back up in front of the camera. Once crouched down, she picks it back up without so much as an announcement of intent. )

They can handle water better than some I've had before. It's a nice upgrade.

( Unexpected and improbable, but nice. )

( encrypted )

[sharpe]

[ There's engineers he knows who will be utterly fascinated by how the legs work, and he sees that they don't hamper her at all, even in this constant rain. Engineers instead of surgeons, because the doctors Sharpe knows are more willing to take off legs than to give them to the poor sods crippled by cannon and shot.

He gives a soft whistle. He's seen strange weapons in that room that he's been brought to when they've dragged him here, but nothing surprises or impresses him more than those legs this girl carries. ]

There's men I know who'd kill for even one of such things. [ Quietly, and he gives her a small smile. Then he sobers at- that she needs those metal legs is something else entirely. ]

Who took yer legs? [ Beat. ] If you don't mind me asking, ma'am.

[ She's young, probably still a lass. Sharpe has only seen legs lost in warzones, and what's a young girl doing in a war? ]

( encrypted )

[encourage]

There are mechanics enough who'd take pride in being able to handle the extra business.

( She shrugs, eyes not on the screen. Sakura has a tendency to focus on her surroundings more than the person she speaks with on her tablet. With his question, she glances back to the camera.

Who? She wonders if she really minds. It's another name, one that comes back with a jarring clarity that had been lacking while she survived in the Port. )

Madara.

( A clean, careful pronunciation of that name. )

But his is a name I can hope remains meaningless to this world. His kind of hate, and the power he craves, has no place in any world but our own.

( Or his own, as it were. Hard to think that the Madara she'd met in the Port was the only real iteration she knew, not just a clone with the same megalomaniac dreams.

Back "home" he would inevitably lose to Naruto and Konoha. The will of fire he helped spark would incinerate him and his dark delusions, leaving the world better for the cleansing of that fire. Idly, she wonders how much of the world will burn before it can heal once again.

Pointless thoughts in this place. Forever pointless for her. )

Ah, but why talk about me? Especially with such unhappy tales. I'm embarrassed, thinking I'm taking up this much of your time with burdens that aren't yours to bear!

( It's her polite way of assuming responsibility for the conversation while simultaneously shutting down that avenue of thought. )

( encrypted )

[sharpe]

[ Madara. A single name, a single man. Sharpe's eyes narrow. He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it was not that a person has taken her legs. He's expected war. Gunshots. Swords. Battles. But to hear of one man, of his hatred and his power... At lease old Boney was only power hungry and far away from them instead of the sort of monster who would go after a girl's legs.

God save Ireland, Patrick Harper will say. Madara. Sharpe holds the name in his tight and locks it up tight. If he hears it again, he might just shoot the man from afar and damned be the consequences.

He shrugs slightly. ]

I asked. Blame me curiosity, if you must. [ He gives her another lopsided smile. He lets silence lull for a moment, leaning backwards. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, nearly inaudible. ]

'Madara'. That's a name I'll remember, aye.