ᴊᴜᴅɢᴇ Cassandra Anderson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wronganswer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
barrayar2018-09-14 09:56 am
wronganswer) wrote in barrayar2018-09-14 09:56 am
(no subject)
"Sir-- stop."
It's terse, bitten off. They're not in a good situation. Cut off from the drop-ship and all the support that might come with it, comms jammed, hostiles trawling the corridors looking for them. Anderson isn't afraid, just professional, alert. Her weapon is in-hand and angled at the floor, but she isn't looking around the corner when she tells the Admiral to stop: her gaze is unfocused, straight ahead.
Damn it. There's no way around revealing this now. Sergeant Anderson has become a mask she's put on, somehow cleaving truer to her real self than Judge Anderson ever did, but a mask all the same, composed of irritatingly necessary deceptions and secrets. Nothing harmful, but things Anderson doesn't want to have to explain, doesn't want to be used for. She's had enough of being someone else's weapon in that particular way. She'll shoot anyone who deserves it and not lose any sleep over the fact, but imposing law and order on citizens who deserve better, using her mental powers to discriminate and persecute at someone else's say-so, removed from the streets she policed-- she left that far, far behind.
Using a gun is straightforward, easy. Anyone can do it. Maybe not well, but they can. Anderson's special, unique talents... These days, she uses them just for herself and her own curiosity. And apparently to save the skin of her admiral, who, despite herself, she's reluctantly come to like. It was instinctual to warn him of the minds she feels coming this way, out of her mouth before she quite realizes what it'll inevitably imply that she can detect people approaching without audio or visual cues.
As soon as she announces the warning, not a moment later, armed security forces troop by, and they hold their breath in the shadow of the alcove until they pass.
It's terse, bitten off. They're not in a good situation. Cut off from the drop-ship and all the support that might come with it, comms jammed, hostiles trawling the corridors looking for them. Anderson isn't afraid, just professional, alert. Her weapon is in-hand and angled at the floor, but she isn't looking around the corner when she tells the Admiral to stop: her gaze is unfocused, straight ahead.
Damn it. There's no way around revealing this now. Sergeant Anderson has become a mask she's put on, somehow cleaving truer to her real self than Judge Anderson ever did, but a mask all the same, composed of irritatingly necessary deceptions and secrets. Nothing harmful, but things Anderson doesn't want to have to explain, doesn't want to be used for. She's had enough of being someone else's weapon in that particular way. She'll shoot anyone who deserves it and not lose any sleep over the fact, but imposing law and order on citizens who deserve better, using her mental powers to discriminate and persecute at someone else's say-so, removed from the streets she policed-- she left that far, far behind.
Using a gun is straightforward, easy. Anyone can do it. Maybe not well, but they can. Anderson's special, unique talents... These days, she uses them just for herself and her own curiosity. And apparently to save the skin of her admiral, who, despite herself, she's reluctantly come to like. It was instinctual to warn him of the minds she feels coming this way, out of her mouth before she quite realizes what it'll inevitably imply that she can detect people approaching without audio or visual cues.
As soon as she announces the warning, not a moment later, armed security forces troop by, and they hold their breath in the shadow of the alcove until they pass.