Greetings to all my fans and faithful readers! I know I said that the "BLADE Chronicles" (as I've come to call them) were done--but this isn't a new story. :D As before, here's a collection of assorted ideas and random outtakes that never made it into the story for whatever reason (OOC, non-canon, just plain silly, etc). If it's not you're cup of tea, feel free to wander elsewhere and let the rest of us read. Flames will be used to roast hot dogs, and accusations of Mary-Sue will be completely disregarded. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Halo.
Chapter 1: Stilettos
"Are you sure we have to go to this blasted party?" Laura groused, grabbing various sets of undergarments from around the room and cramming them into an open duffel bag—for a soldier, she was amazingly sloppy and disorganized.
"First off, this isn't exactly a party—it's a diplomatic gathering," John reminded her.
"We have to dress up and mingle—it's a party," she fired back, throwing a wadded-up pair of socks at him, which he easily dodged. "Which means I have to actually look half-way decent for once."
"Shouldn't be too hard," Fred joined in, grinning. "Just wear a dress uniform and let your hair down a bit."
Laura sent him an ugly look as she pulled a dusty, rarely-used crate out from under her bunk. They were supposed to head up to the Cairo and mingle during a small reception being thrown by the UNSC brass: it was commemorating the signing of the new treaty between the Sangheili and the UNSC, and the brass wanted the surviving SPARTAN-IIs present. Probably for a press release, she thought darkly.
"I'll tell you one thing, I am not going unarmed to this party," she spat as she threw open the crate and sneezed from the resulting dust cloud: a black wool uniform with a pair of embroidered silver knives on the right breast lay within. Removing the uniform and placing it into the open duffel bag along with some toiletries, Laura moved to a nearby dresser and began rummaging through the top drawer, pausing long enough to toss her brush in the bag.
"They'll never let you get away with it, you know that," Kelly pointed out.
"Oh, we'll see. Ah-HA!" Laura shouted in triumph as she pulled a wrapped leather bundle from the drawer, a grin on her face. Slamming the drawer shut, she carefully placed the package in the bag, where it made a soft clinking noise.
"What…?" John began. Laura simply smiled, tucking a small knife into the folds of black cloth.
"Insurance. You really expect me to just waltz in unarmed for a bunch of inept diplomats? One assassin could easily take out the entire bunch." Zipping the duffel bag shut, she stood up and added it to the small pile near the door.
"Just hope you don't get caught," Fred muttered.
"I won't if you don't tell, but since you don't know what else I have, we're set," Laura smiled.
--------
"Laugh and you die," Laura muttered as she fastened the collar of her dress uniform. The black wool was noticeably devoid of medals, unlike the Spartans' uniforms, but the embroidered silver knives flashed and gleamed. She added a small pin to the collar for decoration: an eagle in flight.
"Not too bad—though your hair's longer than regulation," John grinned. Laura rolled her eyes and pecked him lightly on the cheek, to the amusement of the other Spartans—she knew that doing anything remotely romantic to him in public embarrassed him no end, which made for the perfect payback.
"You could do with a little less color, you know—I don't think bright red is regulation uniform," she snickered as she watched John's face flush. Long strides carried her to the window, which held enough of a reflection for her to work with her hair. Laura ran a brush through the waist-length brown waves until she was satisfied that it was as tangle-free as it was going to get, then began twisting the hair near her ears. Practiced fingers wove a pair of brown braids around the edges of her head, which eventually joined together in one long braid behind her head. The rest of it hung freely, but the overall effect was one of practicality and elegance.
"Nice," Kelly whistled in appreciation, while Fred grinned. "You'll have a hard time keeping the guys off you."
"Shows what you know," Laura shot back. Now for the fun part, she thought in amusement. The small knife she'd slipped in her bag had been confiscated during a weapons search (as she'd expected), but they'd missed a few things—like the leather bundle she was currently untying. One flick of her wrist caused the leather to unroll, and she smiled at the surprised looks on her friends' faces.
"Hairpins?" Kelly cried. Nearby, Fred and Linda stared openmouthed, and even John looked shocked.
"If you say so," Laura smiled as she looked through the inventory. She knew they weren't hairpins—the blades were too long and thick for that—but she'd let them speculate for now. They were all in pairs: elaborately worked butterflies, flowers, Celtic designs, even a pair designed with hair combs on the end. It was this last pair that Laura pulled from the leather ties and slid carefully into the braids in her hair. Good, they slide in easily, let's hope they come out as easily. She took special care that the ends of the "combs" weren't caught in the dark braids, or in any of the hair around her scalp.
"Trust me, these are for more than just decoration," she assured them as she began rolling up the bundle. "Besides, they were a gift from my father." As an afterthought, she stopped and removed two with a Celtic wreath adorning the ends and slid them into her uniform sleeves, arranging the ends carefully: unless you knew what they were you could easily mistake them for cuff links.
"Knives?" Fred asked.
"Maybe, maybe not," she smiled, considering one with a butterfly adornment for her braid. Nah, that'd be too much, it'd give me away, she decided, rolling the leather back up and stowing it away. "Showtime."
--------
Laura frowned from the corner where she'd stationed herself, feeling uneasy about the whole scenario. There were simply too many potential targets, and as many potential assassins, contained in the room. Disaster waiting to happen, she mused, that and the fact that security here's too lax.
"You are not enjoying yourself," a Sangheili diplomat approached. Knowing the warrior tendencies of this race, she found it amusing that they even had diplomats.
"I am…unused to diplomacy," she answered in his own tongue, choosing her words carefully. "Diplomacy and politics are sickening to me, I much prefer direct action and plain speech."
The diplomat rumbled and clicked his mandibles in what Laura recognized as the Sangheili equivalent of a chuckle. "Well said, human. You are not what I expected."
"And what did you expect of me, honor?" she asked, adding the honorific out of respect.
"Arrogance, mostly, and suspicion," he replied. "Your race seems to have forgotten that the war is long over."
"We as a race almost died, and we had not asked for a fight. But the Prophets you followed deemed us a threat, simply because of a Forerunner artifact that knew the truth." Laura had learned the real reason behind the start of the war from one of the other diplomats earlier: the Prophets had learned from a Forerunner artificial intelligence that humanity was heir to their legacy.
"We were blinded, and we regret our foolishness," the Sangheili began, but Laura stopped him.
"I know, and I understand all too well," she interrupted. "Unfortunately, not everyone is as understanding. It will take time, but they will learn."
A commotion on the other side of the room startled them both, and Laura's head snapped up in full alert. A group of twelve humans had broken into the room, brandishing weapons and holding the entire room at gunpoint. "Rebels," she muttered softly in the Sangheili tongue, and the ones nearby growled threateningly.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" one of the admirals shouted.
"We heard about this farce of a negotiation," the lead attacker sneered, "and decided to intervene. Imperial Earth never negotiates, they simply take and take, everything from rights to worlds."
Laura scowled and began moving slowly, trying hard not to draw attention; no easy feat when you considered she was about seven feet tall, but somehow she managed it. Sliding her "hairpins" out of her braids, she waited for her moment to strike.
"We have never simply taken anything," the admiral pointed out. "As for rights, we have never denied any freedoms or rights to a UNSC citizen without need."
"Liar!" The leader yelled, pointing his rifle at the admiral; Laura decided she'd waited long enough. Darting forward, she flicked her wrists, sending the two hairpins straight for their throats. Protect first, subdue later, was the only thing going through her mind as she watched them sink home, buried at least five inches in their throats. Quicker than the eye could see, her "cuff links" went flying into two more throats before she ran headlong and tackled a fifth; in the corners of her eyes she saw numerous people and Sangheili doing the same.
"Sit down, dirtbag," she growled as she laid a right cross to the rebel's face. He went out like a light, and she sat on him just to make sure he didn't get up. Around her the remaining seven attackers were being hauled and held by humans and Sangheili alike, and she grinned.
"Yay, our races are finally doing something constructive together," Laura deadpanned.
"Ever the smartass?" Kelly snickered.
"You know it," she replied. Once she was sure the rebel under her butt wasn't going to get up anytime soon, Laura stood up and retrieved the four projectiles she'd thrown, grimacing as the blood dripped off the ends. "These'll need a lot of cleaning, but it'll be worth it."
"What are those?" another admiral asked. "And how did you get them in here past the weapons checks?"
"For one, the security detail you have sucks," Laura replied—she'd decided to dispense with protocol and politics. "As evidenced by the fact that twelve armed rebels managed to make it in here. For another, these look so much like hairpins that your people were easily fooled."
"But what are they?" Kelly pressed. Laura grinned, trying hard not to laugh.
"Stilettos. Renaissance nobles, mostly Italians, kept these daggers and concealed poisons on their person just in case. They were the weapon of choice for the nobility." Laura chuckled, and added with a smile, "They also make really good decorations in a pinch."
