”You’re not wasting any of my time, I reassure you.” No matter how many times she reassures him — she cannot help but chuckle to his words.
”At this time of night? I have nothing better to do.”
“Go to bed?” He suggests coyly, but he has run out of excuses. He lets his hands drop neutrally to his sides. “….Remind me what we were talking about?" Ah, he still had that one left.
”You think?” Gaelia nearly parts her mouth in the chuckle.
”Said subjects hardly bore me, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.” Kindly said to him with a mild rumble of her own. Her posture relaxed now, hands laced together at her front. Flashing a brief smile with a quick shift of mandibles spreading back. A reassuring expression. Certainly, she is enjoying the small talk with Victus.
“Perhaps I’ll simply file it away in a report for you to peruse at your leisure. I would so hate to waste your time with my own modest findings.” He spreads his hands as if apologetically, even going so far as to utter self-effacing chuckle. He likes baiting her.
”Really.” Her laughter was soft, and faint in comparison to his rumbles. Whilst she had a content expression on her face, so to speak. Curiously enough, she decides to take a gentle bite to his posture.
”And what results did you get?”
“It’s tedious. It would bore you.” He rumbles, drawing it out. He likes the rhythm of their repartee – he’d hate to end it prematurely.
”Were you, now.” Unable to hide the soft smile that kept growing and growing. Folds her arms over her chest. Casual, but still - polite.
“Yes. You’ll be pleased to know that my investigation yielded conclusive results.” He echoes her posture, expression flat but for the jerk of his mandibles – suppressed laughter.
I’ll admit it. When I drink, I drink hard. Used to last until my COs were slumped under the table when I was stationed in Palaven before the Relay 314 Incident. It’s more a guilty pleasure than an addiction — it never interferes with duty, and stocking a ship with alcohol would have been unthinkable before I spent time aboard the SSV Normandy.
17: What is your greatest virtue?
That’s difficult to say. I have skills. I could tell you what I’m good at, and what I’m not so good at. To think of a virtue? I’d almost rather not answer that. I suppose it is my overwhelming resolve. When I start something, you can be damn sure I’ll see it to the end, one way or another. My obstinacy is my strength and my weakness, but my tendency for the unorthodox typically finds me a path to go around it. Ancient human literature uses a fine phrase. A turian phrase. “Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.”
She was calm with the sea before a raging storm, adrenaline slowly beginning to pick up out of excitement. Eyes grinning past mandible crevices with glee to know he was ready all the well. Gaelia returns to the space she set up, picking up the leaning vibrostaff that she placed amongst the wall while changed. It was already unfolded, taking grasp of the staff. An experimental twirl of the equipment to measure out the weight, slowly walking with it.
Eyes to him, nodding. “Agreed. Although probably helpful to those using war-hammers, or even the lash ropes for electricity or biotics. … The ones Ceberus Dragoons carry. I’ve stolen a pair off one, but never had thought to use them. They might come in handy one day.” She leaves the conversation in the air, although more to herself. Smiling calmly, nodding to his words. “I haven’t had a good fight for awhile. This will certainly be fun. Rusty, but fun.”
She taps the staff on the floor a few times with every step she took, circling the space around each other, she focuses briefly to remind herself to play fair. No biotics, only brute muscles and the given weapon within her palms. Although she was not prepared for the vicious sting of the staff to her side, not giving breathing room to make her lean away. Mandibles flare out heavy as she cringes - holding her ground without a moved muscle. He takes her right, she immediately takes his exposed left. Twisting her body with the jab of the staff to turn in favor - snapping the length of the vibrostaff to his ribs and hip. Her leg outward to latch against his calf, making sure he is unable to have any breathing room in return. Smirking all the while towards Victus.
He met her grin, strafing around her with both caution and confidence. “Rusty? Well, there’s no fun in a rout. I’m sure you’re better than you give yourself credit for." He might have said more, but after his sweeping attack, Adrien failed to parry the lunge at his now-exposed left flank. It strung when it connected, but he was more caught off-guard by the nimble leg latched around his calf. He nearly stumbled, somewhat into her, but he caught himself.
Vibrostaff horizontal, held evenly in both hands, he forced it down between them and shoved forward at her chest, aiming to push her on a retreat. She’d either go down with him or she’d unhook her leg. –Which, if she didn’t soon, Adrien was sure to be smacked to the floor. ”–Seems like you’re doing okay so far.“ He grunted.
[MSG; Adrien Victus]: Since it seems like there is enough time of the day cycle, currently - I'll come up on to the Embassies. Give me about one hour? Maybe a little less than that.
[MSG; Adrien Victus]: I'm looking forward to it as well, Adrien. I appreciate this just as much.
Leaving her message as is to the Primarch, she gives a simple smile to herself. Looking out the window for a long notice, she decides to get up and brush her palms off.
Gaelia will be certain to make sure she looks proper for a walk on the Presidium than what he used to seeing her. Rather than being militaristic in a uniform or armor to his presence, she gets in casuals. Pristine and clean, looking formal for an occasion out onto the Presidium. Cowl, a buttoned up shirt and vest to decorate with, and simple colored pants and matching boots, she felt confident with herself. It’s been awhile since she’s ever felt like it.
Grabbing her bag, the turian walks out of her home after giving a pat to Wraith’s head a good-bye, heading up to the Embassies to the Primarch’s office. Buzzing in from the door to be let into his section, with his permission.
[Msg; Gael] I’m glad to hear it. See you soon.
-A
///
He let her in almost immediately, having prepared himself for her timely arrival. Adrien brushed his hand against her shoulder as he let her in, both dressed in semi-formal civvies for the occasion. “Take a seat? We can head back out in a few minutes." He turns his back to her and busies himself with something in his desk.
Adrien looks too pleased with himself as he returns to her side – a small, tinsel-wrapped box in his hand. "Don’t get your hopes up–” He warned delightedly. “It’s not much. I got the idea after investigating your fridge while you changed for sparring the other day." Salted caramels and wafers – it seemed an unusual thing to find in her fridge. He had to figure it was a treat that she loved.
Bold orange eyes stare at him with question as he dumps his bag down to the cold floor of her apartment. Once a squeak of the toy is hugged to let out the high-pitched noise, Wraith comes trampling as if he is late to go somewhere. Bouncing heavy in his steps, even sitting up on his hind legs to beg for the toy. It made her smile, standing there as she waits for him to give it over. Wraith immediately taking the toy when allowed in a gentle manner of no snapping, giving it several loud, short squeaks, and going to go lay down on the couch before them, wagging relentlessly.
”Few things, hm?” She asks quietly with the smile — then disrupted by the toss of the bow staff. Instincts within she did catch it without a problem, although looking down at it as if she never seen something like such before her. A training weapon, mainly for sparring by what seemed blunt edges of both sides to prevent excessive injury. Eyes darted back up to see his outfit, rather entertained that he no longer seemed to be the professional Primarch everyone sees him as.
His question of her being worried, that was a challenge that she couldn’t refuse — no matter what it seemed they might do. Gaelia rumbles out a chuckle deep within the cavity of her chest, placing the bow staff to the side for now. What would happen is that she decides to move the furniture well out of the way of the (fairly large-sized living room and thankfully high-enough ceiling to practice twirling with the staff) to make space for both the turians. Any trinkets or valuables that had worry of shattering were clearly moved to the kitchen table in the meantime. Both couches were moved to the desginated corners, the coffee table pushed up against the wall near the cabinet-shelf stand that held the vid comm. The rug will stay, seeing it was not much of a problem. If one fell wrong, it might lessen the injury. As well as give comfort to bare feet if he so pleased to go that far.
”I’ve… used the staff a few times in my training days. Not so much now, as punching bags and other various techniques that became more popular over the years.” She states in a pleasant tone, smiling shyly over to him.
Without a word, only a finger in the air to pause his words, Gaelia left to go upstairs. Mainly, to get out of the casual clothes into something more comfortable and form-fitting to train. The good thing is that she is not picky on clothing. After several minutes, she walks down in fitting fabric more similar to his. In a comfortable dark grey hoodie with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and form-fitted black pants that hugged her curves and hips. Usually she wears such attire under her armor, flexible and lets her breathe without making her armor sit baggy on her form. A grin from her to Adrien - grabbing the staff, not so much going to bother to tape up her palms and knuckles.
”I’d love to join you.”
He busies himself in her brief absence, scritching the varren pup under his chin and idly admiring her apartment. When she descends down the stairs, grinning in challenge, his heart swells. It was good to see her so confident, so at ease in her own body and with him. Victus smiles at her martial attire, both for the bout that was to come and for the way that it hugged her body, revealing a capable and toned physique. He does not at all leer – he simply takes in the details without comment, appreciative of the company.
His blood sings in anticipation of the oncoming match. Just as before, he removes he shoes with care and sets them facing the door, neatly aligned as he steps over them and circles towards the center of the space they cleared.
“I can’t ever see myself using a vibrostaff in live fire exercises or hot zones – hell, hand-to-hand would be a last resort in any situation. Still–” He unfolds the staff and gives it an experimental twirl, “–I enjoy the flow of combat, the focus on your opponent." He braces his feet apart, weight balanced, breaths calm and evenly spaced. Unlike meditation, he lived and breathed for moments like this – he is in his element, and all the more comfortable for it.
”–Combat like this? You’re forced to watch them carefully. The twitch of their muscles, the dart of their eyes. It can reveal everything in less than a second.“ Adrien slowly closes the distance between them, staff held with familiar grace by his side. When she seems ready, he uses his momentum to feint and snap a foot forward against the floor and to the left, staff biting like lightning towards her right flank. The moment seemed eternal, his auditory nerves primed for the thunk of a parried contact or the soft thump against turian hide.
To be quite honest, I think of myself as rather approachable and lenient regarding roleplays. Here are some guidelines, which can and will be updated as I see fit. Additionally, I would recommend that you read this page for a brief introduction to the mun.
№1 I have the right to refuse to roleplay. I don’t need a reason. I don’t need to offer a reason. Usually, it’s because I’m bogged down with threads, or I want to focus on the ones I have. Please understand and be respectful, and I will be respectful in return.
№2 Similarly, I reserve the right to unfollow at any time. Same rules apply — I don’t need to have or give a reason. Typically, this will occur when we haven’t interacted ever or in a long time, and/or there are too many ooc posts on my dash and I want to keep things clean. It’s truly nothing personal against you.
№3 I sometimes do drop threads. I drop more often that I like. So of course, you can, too. Sometimes roleplays or character interaction moves beyond that particular thread. Sometimes inspiration just doesn’t come to me. 95% of the time, however, I’ve just saved it to drafts or I happened to miss it. You can always step forward to communicate with me. If it’s been a few days and I haven’t replied, it’s perfectly fine to casually let me know.
№4 On that note — communicate! I LOVE to talk ooc. It’s fun to get to know my partner and I think the roleplays turn out better when we discuss things outside of the thread. Is it getting stale? Do you have a new idea? Do you want to drop it? Are you uncomfortable with something I wrote? Please let me know.
№5 Not a law, but a recommendation. Feel free to ask for my skype if we’re mutuals. I always reserve the right to decline, regardless of the circumstances.
№6 I will not roleplay with personals, and generally prefer that all roleplay blogs have a dossier or an “about” equivalent.
Theme made by me. Do not steal.
For the moment, the automatic assumption is that all roleplays take place at any point after the Tuchanka: Bomb mission. This can change if otherwise specified. Alternatively, interactions may take place on the Citadel, the Normandy’s war room, various embassies, etc.
Public Access Terminal. View file: Primarch Adrien Victus
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Primarch Adrien Victus
[ Galactic standard years: 61 ]
[ Weight: not on record ]
[ Height: 203 cm ]
[ Gender: male ]
Wife: Calpurnia Victus [deceased]
Son: Tarquin Victus [deceased]
_»Personal history:
Segment under recalibration
Born 2125 on the planet Palaven. Neither records nor facial tattooing indicate that Victus was birthed in any Cipritine hospitals or clinics. [Redacted] Although on file, personal history has been removed from public record upon the Primarch’s request, citing his preference for privacy. Applications to view these files must be submitted to the Ministry of Home Affairs and undergo an approval process, as per section 12.41.83.
_»Medical profile:
Enjoying an extended, quality-enhanced lifespan similar to the 150-year average expected by the human species, Victus’ sixty-one years does not hold him back from engaging in active conflict. A diligent and seasoned veteran, he submits himself to a sustained and rigorous routine to maintain his carefully conditioned physical fitness and battle-readiness.
The Global Assessment of Functioning considers psychological, social, and occupational functioning on a hypothetical continuum of mental health illness. Primarch Victus’ mental health profile on this scale scores low relative to healthy individuals. Testing found indications of high levels of stress, anxiety, and depression present and modifying behavioral patterns. [Redacted]
_»Military hallmarks:
The name Victus has upheld a decorated military legacy since the Unification War. Adrien has continued that tradition, from the early away missions that earned him his first stripes in the legionnaire to his blisteringly successful strategies that led to a field promotion from colonel to brigadier general during the Relay 314 Incident. The general’s savvy, perceptiveness and brutal precision allowed him to excel in his military career. His meteoric rise through the meritocracy has been further propelled by sheer determination and resounding fortitude. If the art of war were a symphony, he would be its composer.
Victus’ practiced ability to command manifests in his passion and skill for tactical manipulation. It has been argued, mainly from turian high command, that the general’s unorthodox methods are reckless and impulsive, when really they are carefully calculated and have provided innovative strategies. Though the ethics behind his adroit mind have been put into question, no one can deny the effectiveness of his decisions on the battlefield.
In both training exercises and trial-by-fire on the mortar-scarred battlefield, Victus led his command to thwart hostiles with exacting skill and canny foresight. One of Victus’ most recent and notable victories exemplifies his martial intellect. During a brief war waged on Taetrus in 2185, Victus permitted a salarian spy ring to throw their outfits against turian separatists that the general was sent to eliminate, holding his men back until the skirmishers had decimated each others’ forces. This tactic earned him some criticism for the risky and ethically unsound strategy. However, Victus argued that he conserved more of his men and resources with this method and steadfastly maintained that he regretted none of his choices.
Indeed, the general sees little shame in being an opportunist in regards to warfare. Flank the enemy unseen; let them weary themselves and exhaust their resources; then, move in for the kill — swift, effective, and crushingly brutal. Vae victis. His modus operandi may cause many to question the general’s methods and how he thinks, but the general’s sole focus is loyalty and honor to his soldiers and his people.
In 2186, Victus served on Menae in an organized effort to hold back the Reaper forces. It was during this conflict that his predecessor, Primarch Fedorian, was killed when his shuttle was shot down by the enemy. According to his impressive rank in the meritocracy and the Hierarchy’s stringent succession protocol, Adrien Victus was to inherit the mantle of Primarch of Palaven. Like the ideal of the quintessential turian he had both managed to defy and epitomize, he quelled his regret and hesitation, stepping forward to assume his new role. Yet, Victus vowed he would fight to his dying breath to stop the Reapers.
{ Victory…at any cost.}
_»Personality profile:
In his youth, Victus was a more open, impulsive turian. The instigator of conflicts more often than not, he earned little favor with his elders until he learned to marshal himself and others with a cool mind and far-seeing prudence. His fire may have been tempered, but even curbed flames maintain their wildness — and can bite and scar and sear just as hot. Indeed, the fire still simmers in his belly. He is slow to anger, but he rages as bitingly as Palaven’s scorched summers when provoked.
General Victus is older than the average soldier, having reached a position in life that draws from both experience and a steadfast, unwavering demeanor. He is resolved in his actions and rarely acts as he did in his tempestuous and unbridled youth — which varied from idiotic dares to downright recklessness. Victus is someone who comes across as stern and abrupt in his commands, but with a sense of care and underlining compassion as well which has sparked admiration in the soldiers he treats as equals.
War is in his blood, and his soldiers are more than just anonymous weapons; they are his brother-in-arms. Victus’ allegiances are such that he would gladly fight and die standing beside you, a trait for which he has gained recognition and garnered adoration and loyalty from those he fought alongside. To lose a man under his watch is a personal loss that is not shown, but felt, and kept with him throughout his life. Ask the general to list the servicemen and women that have given their lives for the Hierarchy under his command, and he will answer is precise and unswerving detail. A soldier to the marrow, his very being calls for him to be unyielding in his decisions and to accept the loss which war brings without remorse — the greatest of honors for his people is to be remembered, and Victus makes sure to remember them all. His dead, his many dead, are never forgotten.
“The strategist in me admires their brutality. The turian in me knows I’m watching the destruction of fifteen thousand years of civilization. My civilization.”
Primarch Victus is a somber and silent individual when alone. He is an entity who spends his days putting forth all his time and energy into others, only to then find himself at a loss of what to do when it is just him; restless and agitated if he can not find something to occupy his thoughts with. Such things are maddening in a sense, the ever-present silence drowning him, only to be overwhelmed with past transgressions and memories he does not care to recollect. This troublesome rumination was a non-issue when he was still a soldier, when there was no time for sitting, no time for recollecting or waiting or bureaucracy and answering diplomatic transmissions for hours on end.
Victus is utterly obdurate, which time has proven to be both his strength and his weakness. The suddenness of being thrust into a position that the turian general thought would never come during his lifetime had abruptly shattered his world, and placed the battle-forged leader into an entirely different environment from what he was used to — one that he must adapt to and shape to suit his purposes — like any other war-ravaged zone.
_»Current status:
Following the death of Primarch Fedorian and Victus’ subsequent appointment in his stead, he has remained Primarch of Palaven. He has no remaining family left in this fractured galaxy, and continues to throw himself into ensuring the rebuilding of his homeworld and upholding relations with the Hierarchy’s allies [while keeping careful watch on its enemies].
Yet, even though it was not something he personally ever wished to be tasked with, Adrien dutifully accepted the position and made sure to serve diligently in his new rank for the good of his race. He lives by the unspoken code he always has: emotions and desires are trivial vis-a-vis the needs of the many, which far outweigh the needs of himself or his loved ones.
Victus has been forced to employ many methods appropriate for his new position, mowing down diplomats with both mind games and his stubborn resolve, offering peace where previously there had been hostility, and utilizing tactics that he has found to be invaluable within his new position — unusual methods and skills now implemented and used to gain tactical advantage over politicians.
However, a void has begun to open within the battle-hardened warrior. While his schedule is always busy following the Reaper War, the old general has been left with little to fight for. For an individual bred and raised on war, on action, there is now far too much time where he is left with just himself and his thoughts. However, Victus refuses to let this interfere with his responsibilities; his duty and loyalty belong to his people ‘til the day he dies… Victus prays that the Spirits will grant that it is at least with a rifle grasped in his talons rather than in an office.
_»Session Inactivity Notice. Time expired. Logging out …
