Sigmund was just about to play into the conversation further by asking how he’ll distinguish the Rubedo bottle from the others if all of them are completely covered in seals, but Makhus interrupted him with an offhanded gesture at the Tablet. “Does the sickness show up as a trait?” he asked.

“Ah, I… Have not checked those,” he confessed, raising the Tablet and skimming his attributes again. “I should do that.”

The fingers of his left hand hovered above the projection as he tried to discern how to get to his traits. He couldn’t remember how - he knew how to, but the memory just wouldn’t come to the forefront no matter how much he muttered into his beard and furrowed his brow. Makhus watched and waited, and with an almost palpable effort to not sound condescending, advised to “Swipe to the right, like on the old model back at recruitment.”

Sigmund couldn’t help but laugh at himself as he did as Makhus suggested. “Must still be a bit foggy up in the ol’ noggin,” chuckled the bald soldier through his beard as he waited for the Tablet’s projection to flicker to the next readout. 

TRAITS

Lesser Swordsmanship

Lesser Gunmanship

 Lesser Fog Intolerance 

Greater Rubedo Tolerance

Greater Ignis Tolerance

Metabolic Rubedo (Stress-triggered - Unique)

Victory Echoes (Unique)

For a while, he stood there reading the list over and over. “Hrm… It makes sense, up ‘till the last two,” he thought aloud, turning the Tablet so that Makhus could see. The swordsman briefly averted his gaze, but looked once he realized it was intentional rather than just a slip-up. He skimmed the list, furrowed his brow, rubbed the stubble of his chin, then remarked “Fucked up how chuggin’ the essence of fire can turn ya flame-retardant. I’m pretty sure the second to last one is yer sickness.”

A few minutes after the last of the three soldiers left to use the Tablet, Zelsys remembered something. She reached for the bolt handle of her gun, giving it a solid turn and a backward yank. The empty shell jumped out of the chamber and she caught it, expecting it to be cold - strangely, even this long after being fired, the brass was still almost painfully hot. The rather loud mechanical noise caught Zefaris’s attention, and her eye twinkled like a binary star at the sight of the shell. 

Zelsys didn’t know what the symbol on the back of the shell said, but that didn’t mean the blonde had to know that. “C’mon, you’re good with a gun. What does the symbol on the base of this shell mean?” she asked, tossing the shell over. The rune was a little deformed from the impact of the striker, but she thought it should be perfectly legible. The markswoman eagerly caught it, turning it over in her fingers and examining it inside and out. 

“Low-yield,” remarked Zefaris, chuckling at the fact. “If this is low-yield, wouldn’t high-yield just rip your arm off from the recoil?”

“Of course not. I’d just be able to propel myself a couple dozen meters,” Zelsys responded, only half-jokingly. She hadn’t checked the runes on the other shells, and thus didn’t actually know whether she had any shells other than “low-yield”. The conversation was somewhat interrupted by the feeling of cold marble on her shoulder and the sight of Sigmund’s bushy face when she turned to look. 

“All done?” she asked, taking the Tablet from him. The only answer she got was an affirmative grunt while he walked over to the nearest free log to take a seat on. When she lowered her gaze toward the Tablet she caught Zefaris’s eye affixed squarely on her stomach, only for the twin-pupiled eye to jump to the fire a half-second later.

SCANNING

UPDATING RECORD

UPDATE SUCCESSFUL

A warm thrum shot up her arm when the so-called record update took place. The readout changed to show her traits rather than attributes, as Sigmund hadn’t switched it back to that readout after checking his own traits.

TRAITS

Survivor’s Instinct

Fog-breathing

Lesser Great-cleaver Expertise

Lesser Gunmanship (Arm-cannon Spec.)

Osmotic Essentia Absorption

Metabolic Alkahest

Beast Butchering Arts (Unique)

Paying the readout no particular mind, she swiped to the left twice to get to the Fog Storage. “Hey, look at this,” she waved at Zefaris, placing the Tablet on her lap and activating the PUT INTO STORAGE function. Even she was entertained by the small Fog vortex forming, as mundane a thing as it was. 

The blonde sluggishly raised her eye from the fire-pit. She had been becoming progressively more noticeably sleepy, and now that Zelsys thought about it, she was somewhat sleepy as well. Nevertheless, there were still a few things to be done before she was willing to sleep. She dropped the casing into the vortex, waiting for it to dissipate before she pressed BROWSE STORAGE. The tablet distinguished between the loaded shells, but it did so by labeling them as “Type-1 Loaded shell” or “Type-2 Loaded Shell”. 

She recovered a Type-1 Loaded shell, and sure enough, it had the rune for “low-yield” on its base. A turn of the bolt handle, a backwards yank, and the bolt popped open, to which Zefaris’s sluggish demeanor perked up somewhat as she visibly began to pay more attention when Zelsys did absolutely anything involving the “Arm-cannon”, as the Tablet referred to it.

Clack. Clack. The bolt shut, Zelsys rose to her feet and stretched, letting out an involuntary moan of “Mnnngh…” as she did. “Think I’ll call it a night,” she said, rolling her shoulders to shake off the last remnants of stiffness from sitting motionless. 

“Same here, probably,” muttered Sigmund, his eyes half-closed. Zefaris only gave an indistinct affirmative groan as she leaned forward, slowly standing up and dusting herself off.

Just about ready to sleep, Zelsys walked to the transport and slipped into the lower right bunk. She took off her boots, the cleaver’s holster, and the arm-cannon alongside its arm harness, placing all three against the wall. Short as the bunk was for her height, it was plenty wide, unlike the passage between it and the other bunk.