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[spaceracist]

[Well, this has been a hell of a day...couple of days? Emile's not entirely sure, since his mission clock isn't synching with anything. He's completely out of his element here, especially after the little white fuzzy bastards put him in some kind of stasis a couple times. The idea of those things controlling everything here--which they clearly do--isn't comforting in the least to him. He's also not entirely sure what to make of this little snake...thing that he supposedly "made" from those weird pieces.

At least there was something to fight here, and a few battles with Nightmares had done a lot to calm him down. So now he was poking around with the communicator, and wonder of wonders there do in fact seem to be other people here. Might as well see what kind of afterlife he's landed in.

The video clicks on to show armor that might be familiar to anyone who's been paying attention to the Freelancers, but there's a very distinctive skull pattern carved into the domes gold surface of his smooth EVA helmet.]

This is Noble-Four requesting contact from any UNSC-friendly forces in the area. This don't make any goddamn sense.

--And are those little white bastards shitting me or is it really called "munny"?

Comments

[raisethemoon]

[She laughs a little.]

Goodness, no. 'Tis for the Dream Eaters, to change the colors of their coats. Young Namine will paint them here for a small fee, but I prefer to do it myself.

[And her drink comes out - black as well - along with a small can of paint.] It doth help to distinguish them in battle, should many of us fight alongside each other.

[spaceracist]

[Emile looks down at Spikes the Hebby Repp, seemingly startled, and then back at Luna.]

You can change their colors?

[Now that he might have to do.]

What do you think, Spikes? You want to match me some time?

[He bounces up excitedly.]

[raisethemoon]

'Twould be a fine color on him. 'Tis much easier when they art cooperative, anyhow.

[spaceracist]

[Emile gives Spikes an Eyeball through his helmet, which is returned with an inquisitive twist of the head and a squak.]

Ain't sure about that yet, but he does seem to follow direction in battle. What color you lookin' for?

[raisethemoon]

'Tis only black. I intend to paint my owl to resemble a species from my homeland, but I hath enough white paint already. [There was an incident with the black. Don't ask.]

[spaceracist]

[Don't worry, he wouldn't know where to begin.]

Huh. Yeah, I'll check that out once I come up with a good design. [Spikes, hope you like Emile's idea of decoration.

His coffee arrives soon, though, and Emile settles back into his chair though he doesn't take off his helmet just yet.]

You get a drink already?

[raisethemoon]

I did.

[And here's her coffee. Black...LIKE HER NIGHT.] 'Tis my favorite modern beverage! Much better than the caffeinated substance in those cans.

[spaceracist]

Canned coffee? Shit's nasty. [Not that he has many tastebuds left, or that the particular nastiness of canned coffee stops him from drinking it if there's nothing else available. Still, he agrees even if he doesn't actually realize she's talking about soda.]

Sometimes coffee's all we got between us and a long campaign. Been around for ages, though--it modern to Equestria?

[raisethemoon]

[It might as well be canned coffee for all Luna knows. She squints critically down at her mug, thinking about the question.]

Not by thy standards. It came about...I do not know, perhaps a few centuries past? [She has no idea, she just knows she'd never had any before her banishment.] My sister would know, she is more attentive to such matters.

[spaceracist]

[Emile nods and finally takes off his helmet so he can drink some of his own beverage. The face underneath is scarred from many battles, but that's probably to be expected from someone who talks in the way he does. He seems to be a little on edge without his helmet on, but he leaves it very close by in case he needs to snatch it and fight some Nightmares.

He takes a long drink and sets the cup down with a contented sigh. This coffee is actually pretty good.]

Now that's the stuff.

[raisethemoon]

[Luna, for her part, is quite unmoved by the sight. She's known many soldiers in her days, and Equestria was not always the peaceful nation it is now.]

Yes, their coffee is quite good. As is their tea, I hear, but I hath never cared for it overmuch. 'Tis good, they are the only shop in the area to serve either.

[spaceracist]

[That's a good thing, as far as Emile is concerned. As if it weren't obvious by the skull-helmet, Emile liked to be intimidating to the enemy--but he's making an effort to be civil, which is easier when the other person doesn't display fear.

On the other hand, while the idea of a coffeeshop isn't new to him, the chance to actually use one is. There's not a lot of time to sit and shoot the breeze while drinking hot beverages to a Spartan.]

Good. And these guys--[he reaches down to give his Spirit a pat on the head]--they really don't need to drink or eat, except for the treat things?

[raisethemoon]

Neigh, though some will do their best to convince thee otherwise. Do not feed them real sugar. [Sip] Or coffee.

[spaceracist]

[Emile looks at Spikes consideringly. Spikes squaks. Emile nods.]

Think I see your point.

[Though he wonders how a pony can drink coffee.]

[raisethemoon]

[Ponies do whatever the hay they want.]

There are a goodly number of species, and we discover more every day. However, I hath not yet seen one without a certain...tendency towards hyperactivity. Their battle strategies do differ, though! [Ooooh, she likes talking strategy.]

[spaceracist]

Energy ain't bad in a battle, but control's more important. Harnessin' that kind of energy in battle's great--long as he don't trash the house at night, too.

[It is, after all, not his house that he's staying at. Rarity is nice like that.]

[raisethemoon]

I do not own a Pricklemane myself...though every cat I hath ever kept did tend towards such antics.

[spaceracist]

You hear that? No coffee.

[Spikes deflates visibly and complains in Spirit-speak.]

Fine. [Emile tosses him a little Confetti Candy and Spikes brightens back up as he munches it.]

Just the price to pay for having them, I guess.

[raisethemoon]

[She smiles at the display.]

They are good companions. Frequently my only ones - as ruler of the night, I keep a rather different schedule from most of my subjects.

[spaceracist]

Well, hell. I don't sleep too much myself. [Spartans are required to function on two hours of sleep every forty-eight, although Emile does honor Carter's standing order to sleep at least two hours out of twenty-four when they're not in imminent.]

So if you want some more company, look me up.

[raisethemoon]

That is kind of you! I shall certainly do so.

[spaceracist]

Any time.

[Part of it might be Emile's hunger for someone in authority to take orders from, even if Luna is a pony. But still, he's pretty sure Jorge would be proud of how good he's being with the civilians here.]

[raisethemoon]

[Maybe one of these days she'll tell him about the wars she's fought in. In ancient Equestria, there was little place for purely civilian leaders.]

[spaceracist]

[It would probably be a good thing, really. Maybe after he's a little more settled--for now this is as much convincing himself that this is really happening as much as anything else. Coffee with a pony?

But it seems to be working, so. He'll continue talking with Luna for as long as he can.]