UNSC Night Of Lunar Reckoning (IC Shipside) REBOOT!

[Fantrum]

Captain Heartstrings sipped gingerly at her piping hot mug of coffee, she was on her third cup, but the magical fluid was what was keeping her going at this point. She had never been given command of a new warship, let alone one of this size, and all the paper work and pomp that came with the command was starting to wear her down around the edges. That, coupled with that dumbass Remeriez fucking up his records and only adding to her workload had really taken a toll on the aging captain. While her hair was still its natural black, but that would soon change, she could feel the grey already creeping into her hair, and she hated it. It was a wonder the stress of her position hadn't yet killed her, but Lyra was nearly certain that it would get around to that soon enough, that was, if the covenant didnt do it first. She sat down in her command chair with a sigh, letting the sounds and vibrations of the ship comfort her, as they had since she was just a little girl. There was something reassuring about hearing the air scrubbers working, and feeling the deep intimate rumble of the fusion core reverberating though the length of the Marathon. With her eyes closed, Lyra called out for a sitrep from her bridge crew, each one taking their turns in order of importance to inform the captain of where the ship stood. All greens across the board they reported, for some of them, this would be their first deployment, for others, it was just another day on the job. As it were, Anchor 7 had accepted and approved their request for departure and the magnetic clamps holding the massive warship in place broke free and retracted, leaving the ship to burn away from the station's cradle.

So Lyra took the moment to address the crew, as she pressed the button on her chair, the three tone call played throughout the ship, alerting the crew to the captain's announcement, "Now here this. This is the Captain speaking, we are departing Anchor Seven and leaving Reach orbit. Mission time is exactly 14 days from this mark."

Turning off the broadcast, Lyra sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh before bringing her mug back to her mouth and downing the whole brew. She could feel it in her gut, it was going to be a long cruise.

OOC

[Ancian]

Mark lounged in the squad room drinking a good cup of Iced Coffee. Not hot coffee, iced coffee. He had quite the awkward obsession with the drink. He was wearing fatigues, as unlike what many civilians believe ODSTs and marines did not always wear armor. He thought back to Paris, and all the creature comforts that could be enjoyed there. It has been awhile. The Eiffel Tower and other landmarks seemed to be in his daily life centuries ago. He chuckled slightly. It hadn't been that long of course. And reach hadn't been bad. Definitely better than being under fire and in action. He sipped his iced coffee again and thought about random things in his chair.

[Palonitr and Howland]

UNSC Night Of Lunar Reckoning,
Main Armoury

Sgt Jules Hadrian Carter, otherwise known as the El Diablo had recently boarded and went straight into the Armoury where he had a friend that had managed to stash some "non-standard issue" equipment which he had meant to last him for the whole of his attachment to the Night Of Lunar Reckoning. He then thought that the ship should have a shorter nickname.

He arrived at the Armoury and entered where the Arms Master nodded to him and gave him a smile asking what weapon he wished to reserve for himself.

Jules spoke, "I want a MA5B ICWS and a M45 Tactical Shotgun. Plus a side order of Mash Potatoes."

Upon hearing the passphrase, the Armsmaster wrote down his requests and then took out a particularly large box that made clanking noises. He smiled as he opened a box and took out a dusty bottle of brandy. Specifically a highly sought after brandy, a brandy from the now glassed planet, Jericho VII. Jules wiped the dust and it showed the words.

'Jerichonian Brandy, Special Reserve , Year 2525.'

He had gotten these during his time in the Jericho VII campaign, 61 bottles of the special stuff, which he had managed to smuggle on board the ship. He took one bottle and gave it to the armsmaster. He then took his box and went to his quarters, planning to admire his alcoholic beverages in peace.

[Violante]

Onboard the Lunar Reckoning.
Inside the medical bay, near the front of the entrance.

A knot formed in my gut as the ship began to have miniature quakes of sorts, this shit is maddening, the mere thought that at any second I'm going to be catapulted into space is... is frightening, a nervous tremble took hold of my body and its appendages, being thrusted into space is not normal, it's wrong in a way, though I suppose I have to serve humanity and all that, even if I only get to see the inner hull of the ship. How generic these walls will become to me in probably only a few days time, beginning to twiddle with my thumbs, I realised just how anxious I'm getting, for someone who wants to mess with dismembered body parts, I'm acting fairly cowardly, hell, for all I know the ship could have already left orbit, it can be difficult to tell in these massive flying state of the art coffins. Almost out of thin-fucking-air a voice boomed across the room, virtually setting me into full on panic mode, no, it's just the intercom system... it's just the loud intercom system. With my heart easing slightly, I listened to what's being said, everything seemed fine until the mention of a fourteen day voyage, dear lord, fourteen, possibly even more days of no one needing medical care, except for the boring headache, or the occasional bruise or cut, even then, would I be the one to treat them? Probably not.

I'm more like a damn assistant then anything, I don't have the career experience that others probably posses, I'm fresh and fairly unpractised, no one will want me to treat them, no. What's the point of me being here, when I'm practically useless? Unleashing an exaggerated sigh, I continued to gaze around my new surroundings, until picking an uncomfortable high impact polymer seat in the medical bay, this ship is my new home for some time to come, I hope I can get use to it.

[Aquesta]

Sean O'Donnell lay in his bed trying to read one of his fantasy books The lord of the thone but for some reason he coudn't concentrate. The intercom broke the silence and O'Donnell realised why he could not concentrate on his book. He was homesick,very much so,he had not been to Casbah for around a year and although he had kept in contact with his family through video cams and such;it was a poor substitute for the real thing and O'Donnell wished to walk the streets of Casbah again,prowl through the lush countryside of Tribute. After all with the covies around;Tribute as he know it may cease to exist in a matter of days if not hours. Sighing deeply he threw his book to the foot of his bed,finally giving up on it and lay there engrossed in his thoughts.

[Ubaria]

Marco lay face upwards in his bunk, almost deadly still holding up a holopad away from his face. Casting a blue glow down around him, the holopad had a picture of the Casbah skyline on it, a brilliant backdrop of wintry shades of blue and pink skies against the imposing black and silver skyscrapers. Black dots of civilian cruisers and ships were visible just above the large spires as they made their way into the busy SpacePort, ferrying cargo to and from all sides of the galaxy. The image was taken just before the outbreak of the Human Covenant war, before a whole generation became ripped from their homes to fight for survival, the very same war Marco was now fighting.

Marco fondly remembered the cold eve's of Casbah, the planet itself was a rather cold one, even though there was the glow of the orange sun that kissed the ground, sometimes the ground would be coated with a white powder, in reality it wasn't snow but volcanic pumice covered with a layer of frost, so eating the 'snow' was not advised. Even though, the beauty of the planet was overshadowed by the constant fighting between the UNSC and Insurrectionists, one battle of which claimed the life of his mother, he could still remember his fathers face before he told him. A long, gaunt and haunted look as he placed one hand on his shoulder and delivered the news through stutters and streams of tears. It wasn't clear which side actually fired the shot that killed his mother, the postmortem became inconclusive and eyewitness accounts stated conflicting stories.

Marco closed down the image and returned the Holopad to his own locker, tucking it alongside a pair of his boots. Just as he did so a message pinged through the ships intercom

'Now here this. This is the Captain speaking, we are departing Anchor Seven and leaving Reach orbit. Mission time is exactly 14 days from this mark'

14 days laying doing nothing aboard the cramped ship. Marco hated the numbing boringness of being shipbound, knowing that out there somewhere a battle was raging on, men and women laying down their lives for the protection of those who couldn't fight. Every day the Covenant crept closer and closer to the inner colonies and soon Reach, Tribute and Earth would all be under siege. Marco sat upright on the edge of his bunk, running his hand over his burn marks whilst thinking about the coming days ahead.

[Fantrum]

Onboard the Lunar Reckoning.
Inside the medical bay, near the front of the entrance.

I knot formed in my gut as the ship began to have miniature quakes of sorts, this shit is maddening, the mere thought that at any second I'm going to be catapulted into space is... is frightening, a nervous tremble took hold of my body and its appendages, being thrusted into space is not normal, it's wrong in a way, though I suppose I have to serve humanity and all that, even if I only get to see the inner hull of the ship. How generic these walls will become to me in probably only a few days time, beginning to twiddle with my thumbs, I realised just how anxious I'm getting, for someone who wants to mess with dismembered body parts, I'm acting fairly cowardly, hell, for all I know the ship could have already left orbit, it can be difficult to tell in these massive flying state of the art coffins. Almost out of thin-fucking-air a voice boomed across the room, virtually setting me into full on panic mode, no, it's just the intercom system... it's just the loud intercom system. With my heart easing slightly, I listened to what's being said, everything seemed fine until the mention of a fourteen day voyage, dear lord, fourteen, possibly even more days of no one needing medical care, except for the boring headache, or the occasional bruise or cut, even then, would I be the one to treat them? Probably not.

I'm more like a damn assistant then anything, I don't have the career experience that others probably posses, I'm fresh and fairly unpractised, no one will want me to treat them, no. What's the point of me being here, when I'm practically useless? Unleashing an exaggerated sigh, I continued to gaze around my new surroundings, until picking an uncomfortable high impact polymer seat in the medical bay, this ship is my new home for some time to come, I hope I can get use to it.

Lt. Commander Remeriez wasn't feeling the best, ever since he pressed delete instead of save on the personnel records late in the night after a long day, he had a constant sense of falling. It was the fact that a blunder like that could cause him to lose everything he'd worked for in his career that set his stomach in his throat. He could only hope desperately that the war effort couldn't spare someone with his experience for his grave error. So he walked into medical with rings under his eyes and exhaustion clearly showing on his face, having not slept in a considerable amount of days. He carried his datapad like a man weighed down by a heavy burden, his commission rode on what was inside the datapad, so of course he wanted to upload the new records into the main computer before something horrible happened to him or the pad. He had nearly made it into his office when he noticed a young medical person sitting down near the entrance, she looked damn young, and partly lost judging by the stary gaze she was casting about the room. Remeriez made the hard call and tossed his touch pad onto his desk, opting to get to know his medical staff.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and walked up to the small girl, extending his hand, "Hello, Im Remeriez, your new boss."

[Union of Independant Republics]

UNSC Night of Lunar Reckoning
The Mess Hall
Tai sat alone at the very edge of the mess hall next to the window.He stared out at the stars and at reach...the might of the UNSC's war effort against the Covenant.He looked at his meal...steak..mashed potatos and water to wash it down.He ate a few bites before he felt the ship move and the intercom speak. It was the Captain informing them of their departure and that it was going to be two weeks before they reached their objective. Tai couldnt help but think......why did the Covenant Ruthlessly attack humanity......when harvest was attacked the few survivors who managed to escape said that the aliens had arrived peacfully.....but then attacked for no reason......if only humanity could figure out the Covenant's Reasoning....besides the Religous retoric that was shown on every halo-pad,T.V and public brodcasting network. Tai had learned a few things in Sibera.One of those things was to figure out your opponants reasoning...and use that against him. Tai's body was covered in tribal tattoo's all of which symbolized the warrior gods and Sacrifices Tai had endured.He was suprised that he was accepted into the CMA but by then the insurrection was being waged across humanity's outer worlds. Tai ate his meal and threw his dishes onto the automatic Cleaner.He sat back down and pulled a small book out. The Cover Read-The art of war-Sun Tzu and prepared for the long wait ahead.

[Violante]

Lt. Commander Remeriez wasn't feeling the best, ever since he pressed delete instead of save on the personnel records late in the night after a long day, he had a constant sense of falling. It was the fact that a blunder like that could cause him to lose everything he'd worked for in his career that set his stomach in his throat. He could only hope desperately that the war effort couldn't spare someone with his experience for his grave error. So he walked into medical with rings under his eyes and exhaustion clearly showing on his face, having not slept in a considerable amount of days. He carried his datapad like a man weighed down by a heavy burden, his commission rode on what was inside the datapad, so of course he wanted to upload the new records into the main computer before something horrible happened to him or the pad. He had nearly made it into his office when he noticed a young medical person sitting down near the entrance, she looked damn young, and partly lost judging by the stary gaze she was casting about the room. Remeriez made the hard call and tossed his touch pad onto his desk, opting to get to know his medical staff.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and walked up to the small girl, extending his hand, "Hello, Im Remeriez, your new boss."

My eyes drifted around the room, inspecting even the most miniscule detail, it's the best I could do to try and forget about the explosive force building in my stomach region, called anxiety. The quivering I just experienced has only now began to fade, I hate ships. Why did I choose a naval career? damnit. I could have had a nice comfy position as some planetary guard or something, but no, I'm here now. Before I could continue to whine about my life choices, a hand reached out and conquered half of my peripheral vision, before being followed by a seemingly disembodied voice.

With an inquisitive glare I looked past the hand, towards the individual it's attached to, all it took is only the slightest glance at the insignia on his uniform for me to skyrocket from my seat. I started to jaggedly raise my hand for a salute, that is before I noticed where his hand is, pausing, I stared slightly gape mouthed at him, unsure whether to salute him, or shake his hand, with some vague deliberation, I corrected my error and swiftly brought my hand down, and gave him an unintentional firm handshake.

"I... Uh... I... well I am uh... err, I mean I... I'm pleased to meet you sir!" I felt my breathing pick up, as a part of me wanted to jump out of the airlock. Why the hell did I raise my voice? My face contorted into a look of despair and regret. Am I making a big deal out of this? Probably.

Well shit, my first encounter with a CO has probably already degraded into a heap of fuck. Why'd he have to come out of nowhere? I wasn't prepared to speak with an officer out of the damn blue, I could feel my teeth gritting, as I almost refused to make eye contact with him after that poor opening. My hand still clutching to his, I hate when I don't have time to compose myself.

[Fantrum]

Lt. Commander Remeriez wasn't feeling the best, ever since he pressed delete instead of save on the personnel records late in the night after a long day, he had a constant sense of falling. It was the fact that a blunder like that could cause him to lose everything he'd worked for in his career that set his stomach in his throat. He could only hope desperately that the war effort couldn't spare someone with his experience for his grave error. So he walked into medical with rings under his eyes and exhaustion clearly showing on his face, having not slept in a considerable amount of days. He carried his datapad like a man weighed down by a heavy burden, his commission rode on what was inside the datapad, so of course he wanted to upload the new records into the main computer before something horrible happened to him or the pad. He had nearly made it into his office when he noticed a young medical person sitting down near the entrance, she looked damn young, and partly lost judging by the stary gaze she was casting about the room. Remeriez made the hard call and tossed his touch pad onto his desk, opting to get to know his medical staff.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and walked up to the small girl, extending his hand, "Hello, Im Remeriez, your new boss."

My eyes drifted around the room, inspecting even the most miniscule detail, it's the best I could do to try and forget about the explosive force building in my stomach region, called anxiety. The quivering I just experienced has only now began to fade, I hate ships. Why did I choose a naval career? damnit. I could have had a nice comfy position as some planetary guard or something, but no, I'm here now. Before I could continue to whine about my life choices, a hand reached out and conquered half of my peripheral vision, before being followed by a seemingly disembodied voice.

With an inquisitive glare I looked past the hand, towards the individual it's attached to, all it took is only the slightest glance at the insignia on his uniform for me to skyrocket from my seat. I started to jaggedly raise my hand for a salute, that is before I noticed where his hand is, pausing, I stared slightly gape mouthed at him, unsure whether to salute him, or shake his hand, with some vague deliberation, I corrected my error and swiftly brought my hand down, and gave him an unintentional firm handshake.

"I... Uh... I... well I am uh... err, I mean I... I'm pleased to meet you sir!" I felt my breathing pick up, as a part of me wanted to jump out of the airlock. Why the hell did I raise my voice? My face contorted into a look of despair and regret. Am I making a big deal out of this? Probably.

Well shit, my first encounter with a CO has probably already degraded into a heap of fuck. Why'd he have to come out of nowhere? I wasn't prepared to speak with an officer out of the damn blue, I could feel my teeth gritting, as I almost refused to make eye contact with him after that poor opening. My hand still clutching to his, I hate when I don't have time to compose myself.

Taken a bit off guard by the young woman's behavior, the doctor looked hard at her, reevaluating the girl. He released her hand and cleared his throat to get her to look at him before continuing, "Not much experiance on warships huh? He tired to set her at ease by sounding less like an officer and more like a friend, "One thing you have to learn is that we here in the medical branch of the UNSC earn our ranks more as an honorary title than than an actual sign of command." He was making small talk, but also trying to give the younger officer some very important tips on how life in the medical corps went. "I don't expect you to salute me, but that's just me, other officers will get rather cross if you get into that kind of bad habit." He smiled at her, an easy going expression that had defined him during his time in medical school as a friendly, hard worker that enjoyed a vast expanse of friends and contacts.

[Prusslandia]

Simon encrypted his files once more, ensuring his computer privacy. When you worked in ONI, especially in Section III, you got paranoid. Reading over his new orders one last time, he turned his computer off. Turning of his lamp, he popped a mint into his mouth, exhaling a gust of fresh, minty air. Putting his black, lambskin gloves on, he left his office. As his shoe heels lightly clicked from contact with the floor, he arrived at his destination, the bridge.

Walking towards the captain, he stared at her with his sharp, storm grey eyes, and spoke. " Captain, may I have a moment ? " They all knew him as Agent Michaels, and they would, hopefully, never see through his assigned alias.

[Felkesjud]

Night of Lunar Reckoning
Medical Bay,
PFC Friedhelm Winter

Friedhelm arrived at the section of the ship designated as the medical bay of the ship, where he was ordered to go, so to refill the required paperwork. Apparently, some idiot named Rameriez had deleted all--or only some, it wasn't exactly clear--of the personnel roster. Really, he had already registered this same form when he entered the marines, something he never wanted to do in the first place, and again during either starship posting. Now he had to fill out the file a fourth time? Seriously, it was if he had joined the UNMC just to record on a piece of paper how tall he was, how much he weighed, and whether he was on any prescription. But, with fourteen days until they arrived at the ship's destination--fourteen days until anything of any note would happen--he figured he may as well get the procedure out of the way.

Stepping into the room marked as the check-up office on the ship's navigational map, he found two people garbed in medical uniforms, already standing there: one very nervous-looking young woman, and an older bloke that was schooling her as if she were still in primary school. He couldn't exactly blame her, though. Whatever it was she was apparently anxious about, he felt the exact same way about battle. Even against an enemy like the Covenant--'the Supreme Assholes,' as he called them--humans weren't much better, even to their own. And while his comrades would scold him for his 'cowardice,' then charge into the fray as if they were immune to plasma and thinking they would be the next household-name war hero, he would hold back and hope he wasn't going to get shot by the searing plasma projectiles.

Friedhelm approached the two. "Hey," he called out to them. "I heard someone erased the records and that I was to come fill out my file again," he stated, his voice fairly calm. Looking at the anxious woman, he wondered how she got the contraband eyeliner past the regulation officers. 'Well, with the war going as it is, it's no wonder they allow people like us in the military,' he thought to himself. The more aged latino man, however, seemed like he was the only one of the three in the office that probably belonged on the ship. 'It would be ironic if he turned out to be the screw-up.'

Giving a quick salute with almost no soul in it, he asked them "so, who's it going to be?" He was regarding, of course, to his standard check-up to fill out the personnel roster.

Night of Lunar Reckoning
Mess Hall,
2nd Lt. Windhelm Winter

Wilhelm, unlike his younger sibling, had already finished his repeat medical overview. It had been very unprofessional of the CMO to fall victim to such a huge mistake, and his future career was likely jeopardized (or at least marked with a black stain), as a result. But, even so, it didn't prevent the junior officer from being courteous to the much more senior medical officer during the physical and mental evaluation. Now, however, he would proceed to the starship's cafeteria, where he would become oriented with his new subordinates. Those few who survived from his previous unit, he would know and recognize. These were men and women he was absolutely sure he could rely on--save for his brother, Friedhelm. The others seemed to be capable soldiers, and that was what mattered most in a war like this. But, he wouldn't be able to judge their characters or personality-types until he met them, face-to-face.

Spotting one of the new members of his platoon in the corner, an intimidatingly large man, Windhelm checked his holo-pad for but a moment and then immediately made his way over to their table and made his presence known with a crisp, yet relaxed, salute. After all, formality was important. But, it wasn't everything. "I'm your new CO, Second Lieutenant Windhelm Winter" he stated clearly. "You are Private First Class Tai Kaliso, yes?" He questioned the man. "Before we reach our destination, I wanted to get to know the new faces under my command. I look forward to serving as your platoon leader." Sitting down, Wilhelm asked the man whether he knew where any of the others were, as he didn't seem to notice any of them in the mess hall at the moment.

[Violante]

"...Forgive me sir, I've just never been one for ships, you know? I've maybe only spent a few weeks on another vessel, I get somewhat nauseous during takeoff... and landings... and dockings, and-, you know I'm just not cut out for the naval life. My voice shook a little, my previous blunder left me flat out embarrassed, another thing that sucks about naval life is making a bad introduction, because unlike the battlefield, there's a decent chance that I'm going to be stuck with an individual that might not like me for a very long time. "Excuse me sir, I'm sorry to have acted a tad bit sporadic... I just wasn't expecting to come face to face with an officer so early on." I was legitimately hoping to be called in by the officer, not randomly meet him like this, at least then I could have came up with possible responses to his probably idiotic questions.

In a way I hope my newly founded composure, will leave my commander feeling decent about me under his leadership, rather than thinking of me incompetent, and dreading that at some point I'm going to force a murder-suicide pact on him, though I hear first impressions are tough to change.

"And I'll keep that in mind sir, hopefully they're as kind as you." Putting on a facade of a smile, I tried to butter him up with flattery. If I'm going to be stuck with this man, I'll try to be a fairly average kiss ass, at least to my abilities as a mediocre Anchor Clanker.

Being a kiss ass sounds all fine and dandy, though the thought of keeping up a charade like this for an extended period of time sounds almost painful in a way, Hell I'll probably drop it within four days at best. But if it gives me a better reputation, why not? The overwhelming anxious feeling I had earlier has sort of dissipated, though it's clearly still visible in my expressions, even with the fake smile, I need to plot out my strategy to not become hated by my fellow seamen. My attention swiftly turned from my CO to whoever decided to interrupt our conversation, some oorah grunt by the looks of him, his question left me a tad baffled as to what he meant though, this time around I decided to keep my mouth plastered shut, I have no desire to fuck up a basic human feature such as speech again.

[Union of Independant Republics]

Night of Lunar Reckoning
Mess Hall,
2nd Lt. Windhelm Winter
Spotting one of the new members of his platoon in the corner, an intimidatingly large man, Windhelm checked his holo-pad for but a moment and then immediately made his way over to their table and made his presence known with a crisp, yet relaxed, salute. After all, formality was important. But, it wasn't everything. "I'm your new CO, Second Lieutenant Windhelm Winter" he stated clearly. "You are Private First Class Tai Kaliso, yes?" He questioned the man. "Before we reach our destination, I wanted to get to know the new faces under my command. I look forward to serving as your platoon leader." Sitting down, Wilhelm asked the man whether he knew where any of the others were, as he didn't seem to notice any of them in the mess hall at the moment.

Tai Noticed Windhelm and quickly returned a salute. "Yes Sir.....im Tai.....its a pleasure to meet you sir". Tai Offered some room for the 2nd Lt to sit. "I dont know anyone....i just got transfered sir....have you checked private quarters yet....." Tai put his book away and looked out the window. Half of his face was covered in tattoo's and his arms were basiclly the same.

[Dernland]

Connor stood on guard outside of the bridge of the Hilbert. The P.A system crackled and a female voice echoed through the ship. "All hands, we are engaging the Covenant ships." The ship seemed to rumble beneath Connor's boots. Several long minutes passed as Connor held his post. He had no idea what was going on in the battle, and he doubted he could understand anyway. Without warning Connor was thrown against the bulkhead. A terrible screeching sound echoed throughout the ship, as if great fingernails were scraping along the Hilbert's hull.

Connor groggily rose to his feet, stumbling forward. The blast-door to the bridge bulged outward into the corridor. The seam of the door was agar, letting Connor see a glimpse of the hell that was now the bridge. Lieutenant Keyes! He thought frantically. After carefully wedging the butt of his rifle into the seam, he began to pry the door open. After a few seconds of adrenaline fueled prying the door opened enough for Connor to enter. The bridge was chaos, and not the normal kind. Several fires raged and pieces of the ship littered the room. Miranda was strapped into the Captain's chair, apparently unconscious. Before Connor could move an explosion went off next to him showering him in shrapnel and fire...

Connor jerked awake with a yell. "Just a memory, only a memory." He said to himself. He slung himself down off of the cot, and stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. He remembered that he was on-board the Night of Lunar Reckoning, not the Hilbert.

[Fantrum]

Simon encrypted his files once more, ensuring his computer privacy. When you worked in ONI, especially in Section III, you got paranoid. Reading over his new orders one last time, he turned his computer off. Turning of his lamp, he popped a mint into his mouth, exhaling a gust of fresh, minty air. Putting his black, lambskin gloves on, he left his office. As his shoe heels lightly clicked from contact with the floor, he arrived at his destination, the bridge.

Walking towards the captain, he stared at her with his sharp, storm grey eyes, and spoke. " Captain, may I have a moment ? " They all knew him as Agent Michaels, and they would, hopefully, never see through his assigned alias.

Cpt Heartstrings
NoLR Bridge
Lyra was nurturing her fifth cup of Joe when the friendly neighborhood ONI spook walked onto her bridge. Her hands were full with the cup and a report on burst pipes when he addressed her, so she made a show of sipping on her brew before setting both items down on the arms of her chair and standing up to face the man.

"Certainly Mr. Micheals." She walked up to him and sized him up, he was a fair bit taller than she was, but a woman of her age and rank didnt really give a rats ass about size (Cough). His stature was typical ONI, brisk, clean, and no nonsense. In a way, she liked that, straight to the point, and in many others, it made her think of him and his spook friends as less human and more machine. She called back over her shoulder, "Smith, keep things together while Im gone, XO, you have the bridge." She headed toward the back of the room , placing her hand on the spook's shoulder and shepherding him into her ready room and turning on him as soon as the door was shut. "This ship is less than two days old Mr. Micheals, and a good chunk of my crew isnt even aboard yet, we pick up our personnel when we get back to Reach." The Captain was attempting not to yell, but she already knew what he was about to ask, past experience with ONI had gained her that ability, "And now you're about to ask me to do something either incredibly stupid that ONI cant handle alone, or something suicidal that ONI doesn't want to handle alone." She was careful to keep her arms crossed as a sign that she was merely venting, "Now spit it out Mr. Micheals, what is it that you need the Luna to do?" She finished with a sigh of resignation.

OOC One away

[Fantrum]

Night of Lunar Reckoning
Medical Bay,
PFC Friedhelm Winter

Friedhelm arrived at the section of the ship designated as the medical bay of the ship, where he was ordered to go, so to refill the required paperwork. Apparently, some idiot named Rameriez had deleted all--or only some, it wasn't exactly clear--of the personnel roster. Really, he had already registered this same form when he entered the marines, something he never wanted to do in the first place, and again during either starship posting. Now he had to fill out the file a fourth time? Seriously, it was if he had joined the UNMC just to record on a piece of paper how tall he was, how much he weighed, and whether he was on any prescription. But, with fourteen days until they arrived at the ship's destination--fourteen days until anything of any note would happen--he figured he may as well get the procedure out of the way.

Stepping into the room marked as the check-up office on the ship's navigational map, he found two people garbed in medical uniforms, already standing there: one very nervous-looking young woman, and an older bloke that was schooling her as if she were still in primary school. He couldn't exactly blame her, though. Whatever it was she was apparently anxious about, he felt the exact same way about battle. Even against an enemy like the Covenant--'the Supreme Assholes,' as he called them--humans weren't much better, even to their own. And while his comrades would scold him for his 'cowardice,' then charge into the fray as if they were immune to plasma and thinking they would be the next household-name war hero, he would hold back and hope he wasn't going to get shot by the searing plasma projectiles.

Friedhelm approached the two. "Hey," he called out to them. "I heard someone erased the records and that I was to come fill out my file again," he stated, his voice fairly calm. Looking at the anxious woman, he wondered how she got the contraband eyeliner past the regulation officers. 'Well, with the war going as it is, it's no wonder they allow people like us in the military,' he thought to himself. The more aged latino man, however, seemed like he was the only one of the three in the office that probably belonged on the ship. 'It would be ironic if he turned out to be the screw-up.'

Giving a quick salute with almost no soul in it, he asked them "so, who's it going to be?" He was regarding, of course, to his standard check-up to fill out the personnel roster.

"...Forgive me sir, I've just never been one for ships, you know? I've maybe only spent a few weeks on another vessel, I get somewhat nauseous during takeoff... and landings... and dockings, and-, you know I'm just not cut out for the naval life. My voice shook a little, my previous blunder left me flat out embarrassed, another thing that sucks about naval life is making a bad introduction, because unlike the battlefield, there's a decent chance that I'm going to be stuck with an individual that might not like me for a very long time. "Excuse me sir, I'm sorry to have acted a tad bit sporadic... I just wasn't expecting to come face to face with an officer so early on." I was legitimately hoping to be called in by the officer, not randomly meet him like this, at least then I could have came up with possible responses to his probably idiotic questions.

In a way I hope my newly founded composure, will leave my commander feeling decent about me under his leadership, rather than thinking of me incompetent, and dreading that at some point I'm going to force a murder-suicide pact on him, though I hear first impressions are tough to change.

"And I'll keep that in mind sir, hopefully they're as kind as you." Putting on a facade of a smile, I tried to butter him up with flattery. If I'm going to be stuck with this man, I'll try to be a fairly average kiss ass, at least to my abilities as a mediocre Anchor Clanker.

Being a kiss ass sounds all fine and dandy, though the thought of keeping up a charade like this for an extended period of time sounds almost painful in a way, Hell I'll probably drop it within four days at best. But if it gives me a better reputation, why not? The overwhelming anxious feeling I had earlier has sort of dissipated, though it's clearly still visible in my expressions, even with the fake smile, I need to plot out my strategy to not become hated by my fellow seamen. My attention swiftly turned from my CO to whoever decided to interrupt our conversation, some oorah grunt by the looks of him, his question left me a tad baffled as to what he meant though, this time around I decided to keep my mouth plastered shut, I have no desire to fuck up a basic human feature such as speech again.

Something ticked in the back of the Lt. Commander's mind when she responded to him, she seemed well meaning enough, but she just felt... fake. He didnt let it bother him though, one didnt get to his position without dealing with all the bullshit associated with it. 'Let her think what she wants, as long as she gets the job done, who cares.' He thought to himself. Further conversation was on his tongue when the ground pounder raised his voice and interrupted him. 'Excellent, something to get the girl doing work.' The thought crossed his mind as he returned the salute and looked the kid up and down, then immediately judged him as an asshole. Remerize didnt let his judgment show on his face, despite his utter exhaustion, it was a skill that had developed into a reflex by this point. He gestured to, damn what was her name? Köster! He remembered her file now, still very wet behind the ears, but eager, it seemed, to please. He waved his hand to her and addressed the PFC in a much more officer-like tone than he had used with Köster, "The Petty Officer here will be able to take care of your check up and file your new forms." He gave the girl a glance that could have meant anything and excused himself to his office, closing the door and staring the long, arduous task of re-entering the personnel roster, again.

OOC: Two away

[Ancian]

Mark got up. His iced coffee done and threw the cup away. The other ODSTS were off being social. He honestly didn't feel like it right then. He went to his quarters and turned on the water for a nice hot shower. His body had many scars and signs of old wounds on it. As he got in he sighed and leaned back letting the water wash over him . He thought about what him and the squad had been through. Hell for sure. The covies were tough. And the insurgents brutal. And they had fought both. And even though the war wasn't going so well. It had plenty of time to change. He washed what little hair he had and got back out. As he drying off the thought stuck him that what if something had happened to his grandparents. He hadn't heard from them or his mom for a very long time. He couldn't stand the thought they were dead and no one told him. He hadn't heard from his mom either. He grimaced. Here was a tough old ODST sergeant worrying about things like that. But it still worried him. He got back out and started to read a very old classic that had survived the times. Harry Potter. He'd read it too many times to count but it didn't matter. He got on a chair and stated reading. Ready to report somewhere if needed.

[Violante]

Night of Lunar Reckoning
Medical Bay,
PFC Friedhelm Winter

Friedhelm arrived at the section of the ship designated as the medical bay of the ship, where he was ordered to go, so to refill the required paperwork. Apparently, some idiot named Rameriez had deleted all--or only some, it wasn't exactly clear--of the personnel roster. Really, he had already registered this same form when he entered the marines, something he never wanted to do in the first place, and again during either starship posting. Now he had to fill out the file a fourth time? Seriously, it was if he had joined the UNMC just to record on a piece of paper how tall he was, how much he weighed, and whether he was on any prescription. But, with fourteen days until they arrived at the ship's destination--fourteen days until anything of any note would happen--he figured he may as well get the procedure out of the way.

Stepping into the room marked as the check-up office on the ship's navigational map, he found two people garbed in medical uniforms, already standing there: one very nervous-looking young woman, and an older bloke that was schooling her as if she were still in primary school. He couldn't exactly blame her, though. Whatever it was she was apparently anxious about, he felt the exact same way about battle. Even against an enemy like the Covenant--'the Supreme Assholes,' as he called them--humans weren't much better, even to their own. And while his comrades would scold him for his 'cowardice,' then charge into the fray as if they were immune to plasma and thinking they would be the next household-name war hero, he would hold back and hope he wasn't going to get shot by the searing plasma projectiles.

Friedhelm approached the two. "Hey," he called out to them. "I heard someone erased the records and that I was to come fill out my file again," he stated, his voice fairly calm. Looking at the anxious woman, he wondered how she got the contraband eyeliner past the regulation officers. 'Well, with the war going as it is, it's no wonder they allow people like us in the military,' he thought to himself. The more aged latino man, however, seemed like he was the only one of the three in the office that probably belonged on the ship. 'It would be ironic if he turned out to be the screw-up.'

Giving a quick salute with almost no soul in it, he asked them "so, who's it going to be?" He was regarding, of course, to his standard check-up to fill out the personnel roster.

Before I had proper time to rebut my given order at examining a... jarhead, or even before I was fully aware of the situation in its entirety, that asshat of an officer left me alone with a (now) patient, fuck me, who knew being a kiss ass could end up this distressingly difficult? I just thought I'd compliment that ol’ skipper every now and then, and proceed get off to lounge around all day, or get to help out in surgery and other more enjoyable aspects of being a medic, but I guess that flew out the damn reinforced window. Letting out a long internal moan of pure dispassion, I had to prevent myself from giving the marine a glare as I looked him over.

Letting out a breath of air I didn't realise I was holding, I addressed him as much as it pained me. " Uh?... Alright, follow me I suppose." The tone in my voice purposely hinted at the dismay and boredom I felt internally, if I have to suffer, I'll bring this devildog down with me.

I may not be the most talented or experienced medical personnel on this ship, though something I knew how to do were checkups, infact that's all I was really useful for on my previously assigned vessel, even if it was only for a brief time. It's going to deflate me entirely though if this is the only thing I'm going to get to do while I'm on this tour. I just want something... bloodier, in the least homicidal way possible that is. However, an order is an order, all I have to do is get this guy inspected, and right all his information down.

(OOC: Sorry this one is a bit shorter, I don't have much to work with at this current moment.)

[Orvius]

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The spasm of the metal hand happened on a sort of rhythm, once every second, much like a clock. This twitch made Walter grimace, he could feel the crepitus of the metal against his tendons with each jerk of the motors. "Buggy piece of shit..." he mumbled softly to himself, clamping down on the prosthetic with his right grasp. His other, more fleshy mitt used to be a lot more steady as well. That was before the incident in New Alexandria, of course. Tucking it in his fatigue pockets would have to do for now, he'd be damned if he was going to let any of the crew know that the explosives specialist had twitchy hands. Lord knows that instills a great deal of confidence. One thing was for sure, he had to find a way to stop it from quivering like this.

As Walter made his way from his bunk, he tried to attract as little attention to himself as possible, making sure to walk casually. Perhaps too casual? Maybe he was trying too hard to look as though he had it under control and his stride had become a strut. Or possibly his nervousness was showing on his face. Whatever the reason, the crewmen he passed by on deck gave him an inquiring look. He tried to not think about it too much and make it to the med-bay quickly.

Walter came upon the open doorway and checked the sign above it, then peered into the room. To his alarm and dismay, there appeared to be two people near the entrance of the med-bay. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was an audience. Begrudgingly, he walked calmly into the room, trying desperately not to make a scene. On his way over to the two crewmembers, his foot slams into the base of the doorway, sounding a loud 'clank'. He didn't feel it, though he imagined that if he still had his right leg he would have broken at least a few toes. Proprioception wasn't great in his leg, and he didn't always know where it was in terms of the rest of his body exactly. Trying to diffuse the grating awkwardness of his grand entrance, he smiled and said aloud, "I didn't we were having a party in here already."

[Violante]

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The spasm of the metal hand happened on a sort of rhythm, once every second, much like a clock. This twitch made Walter grimace, he could feel the crepitus of the metal against his tendons with each jerk of the motors. "Buggy piece of shit..." he mumbled softly to himself, clamping down on the prosthetic with his right grasp. His other, more fleshy mitt used to be a lot more steady as well. That was before the incident in New Alexandria, of course. Tucking it in his fatigue pockets would have to do for now, he'd be damned if he was going to let any of the crew know that the explosives specialist had twitchy hands. Lord knows that instills a great deal of confidence. One thing was for sure, he had to find a way to stop it from quivering like this.

As Walter made his way from his bunk, he tried to attract as little attention to himself as possible, making sure to walk casually. Perhaps too casual? Maybe he was trying too hard to look as though he had it under control and his stride had become a strut. Or possibly his nervousness was showing on his face. Whatever the reason, the crewmen he passed by on deck gave him an inquiring look. He tried to not think about it too much and make it to the med-bay quickly.

Walter came upon the open doorway and checked the sign above it, then peered into the room. To his alarm and dismay, there appeared to be two people near the entrance of the med-bay. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was an audience. Begrudgingly, he walked calmly into the room, trying desperately not to make a scene. On his way over to the two crewmembers, his foot slams into the base of the doorway, sounding a loud 'clank'. He didn't feel it, though he imagined that if he still had his right leg he would have broken at least a few toes. Proprioception wasn't great in his leg, and he didn't always know where it was in terms of the rest of his body exactly. Trying to diffuse the grating awkwardness of his grand entrance, he smiled and said aloud, "I didn't we were having a party in here already."

Oh fuck me, not another one. My heart rate climbed as my intolerance for seemingly uninjured people began to fill the medical-bay, it's almost as though we're offering a free reach-around, with every prostate exam or something. Maybe this guy as internal bleeding, doubtful, but at least it's optimistic on my part. I could feel my eyes slightly widen at the prospect that this seemingly marine might be here for the same reason as his affiliate. Please tell me I'm not going to get backed up on inspections... please. I have a life to, this isn't fair.

My teeth gritted as I gave a pleading look."...Excuse me, can I help you?" Practically forcing myself not to swear, or try and choke this guy out was difficult at best. Especially trying to remain calm and collected.

With the medical-bay fairly void of other staff, at least to my knowledge, I feel doubtful that I could count on my commander, knowing my luck he's passed out in his office, expecting me to be his bellhop with anyone who enters into his domain. If I didn't hold others opinions of me in such high regard, I would have flopped to the ground and started throwing a temper tantrum by now, I absolutely loathe doing this type of tedious work. Nevertheless I might as well just sigh internally, and whine about it later, I wasn't going to help humanity in the fight, by crying about my problems. I'm beginning to feel nothing but spite for my new position.

(OOC: Again, I apologise for the shorter posts, there really isn't a lot I can come up with while I respond to other, who are currently AFK.)

[Felkesjud]

Night of Lunar Reckoning, Medical Bay
PFC Friedhelm Winter

After saluting the Lt. Colonel as he left, the young german man was now staring at this unlikely combination of a possible misanthropist medical aide who was probably voted 'most likely to hate their job' in college, a klutzy man-clock hybrid that sure knew how to make an entrance, and a soldier who would prefer to be as far from this war as possible. Friedhelm was starting to wonder what kind of ship the UNSC was running, here. It was like some kind of sick joke was being played, and they were paying the expense for the cruel humour. Friedhelm really wasn't sure what to say. Speaking softly, he simply said "I only came to get my files re-submitted, not for small talk. Sorry." Redirecting his attention to the medical NCO, he motioned that he was ready for the physical. It was gonna' suck--having to get his blood, urine, hearing, and seeing tested again, as well as the whole 'cough for me,' 'breath deeply,' 'do you feel this?' bullcrap. But, it was what was required for him to be a marine. And, society expected him to be a marine. Even mentioning the thought of not joining up seemed to be a taboo punishable by social excommunication. So, as much as he wanted to not be a soldier, either path seemed to result in almost certain death (metaphorically speaking, in terms of the latter).

"Hey, ma'am, I doubt you want to talk to me. And, personally, I don't really want to chat with you, either. So, can we make a promise to never ask each other about the weather? It's space: it sucks." Taking off his shirt, he looked back at the corporal that had come in and made one last comment to him. "Good luck with your hand," Friedhelm said, hearing the click of its clockwork spasms. "You'd probably be better off seeing a mechanic, if that's what you're here for." Then he went into the check-up room and waited for the SCPO to grab whatever tools she needed, or even to inspect the corporal if she operated on terms of 'rank gets first served.' All he wanted was for the terribly awkward ordeal to just be over so that he could go back to his bunk and read his book by Hesse. Fourteen days as the ship is tested in space. Fourteen days to become acquainted with his new squad mates as they learn about his history from any that survived his previous unit. Fourteen days for Freidhelm to become the new punching bag of the other soldiers. God wasn't nearly as popular as it used to be, or so he understood it. But, if it existed in any form, Friedhelm was praying for something to upset the current path.

Night of Lunar Reckoning, Mess Hall
2nd Lt. Windhelm Winter

Windhelm looked at this soldier intensely. While PFC Kaliso indeed looked intimidating, enough so to probably be given some exemptions, the young officer wondered how he managed to become enlisted with as many tattoos as he did. It was Lt. Winter's impression that body ink was supposed to remain in places that could be covered by a uniform--not on places like above the neckline, below the wrists, and that 'sleeve'-tattoos were no longer allowed past 1/4 maximum of the arm or leg length. But, then again, sometimes the laws were relaxed, especially during desperate times . . . like what the UNSC was faced with. Windhelm nodded to the marine grunt. "Yeah, I checked private quarters. Saw a couple grunts, like yourself, catching some sleep. Another was reading a book. Didn't feel like bothering any of them, just yet. No need to be more of a jerk than I'm required to as an officer. That's the job of drill sergeants." After having sat with the man-bear-person-thing for about a minute or two, though, Windhelm was starting to feel awkward. He sensed that Tai was very possibly feeling the same. So, excusing himself, he told the subordinate, "I'm going to go and try to find the sergeants of the platoon. It was nice meeting you, private." As soon as he was away, relief washed over him. Despite the fact the man was likely a much better soldier than his brother, Friedhelm, the lieutenant just couldn't help but see a resemblance in the way he was so quiet and that his face had been buried in a book before he showed up. In all honesty, Wilhelm was utterly ashamed of his milksop younger brother. The most infuriating thing was that he often had a mouth on him. So, it wasn't that he let others walk over him--in other words, he wasn't a complete coward--he just directed his energy on the wrong targets.

Ambling down the antiseptic, sterile hallways of the steel beast that was the UNSC cruiser Night of Lunar Reckoning, Lieutenant Windhelm came to find himself at the bunkhouse for the NCOs, such as Sgt. Jules Carter and the other squad leaders of Zeta Company's 1st Platoon. Stepping in, the first thing he noticed was that the man was drinking a liquid out of a glass originating from a bottle of what appeared to be hard liquor. "Marine, what is that in your hands?" Lt. Winter demanded of the sergeant. While he understood the need for a relaxant, they had just gotten underway, and the last thing he needed was an inebriated squad leader during company or platoon roll call, or even a simple meet-and-greet. "Nevermind, I don't care whatever it is that you're drinking, so long as you're clean and sober for a standard roll call. Understand? Because I'm going to be issuing one in just a little while and I need all my men, especially my seconds and thirds, to be on their A-game." Wilhelm strictly told Sgt. Carter. He wouldn't partake in the consumption of alcohol on-duty, unlike some. But, so long as a soldier under his command remained sound in mind and body, he didn't care what their preference was.

[Galdius]

First Lieutenant Charlotte Friedrich, Zeta Company, 2nd Platoon (ODST Detachment)
Onboard UNSC Night Of Lunar Reckoning

"Now here this. This is the Captain speaking, we are departing Anchor Seven and leaving Reach orbit. Mission time is exactly 14 days from this mark."

Various questions flowed through Charlotte skull as she sat idle within the confines of the ODSTs quarters, sitting at one of the various recreational tables, just thinking. That was her problem, Normally she had to much to think about things and no time at all to actually stop and think, now however, she was stuck on board a ship, with fourteen days to do nothing but think and it was all coming forth, flowing like a river as she started thinking about the past, her future, her family, her failures and her new unit. That was her main thought for now, the new platoon that she had been transferred to, which seemed to be composed of a rag tag mixture of FNG's, some of whom had seen limited combat within their previous marine units, if any at all and a few veterans like her. She had the unfortunate problem of being stuck at the helm of this group since her old company within the 2nd Shock Troops was rendered combat ineffective during the intense fighting on Arcadia. She had lost a lot of good men and women during that FUBAR conflict, all of whom shared a one of a kind bond with her. A bond only forged inside the fiery crucible that is hellish, genocidal covenant combat. A bond of blood, tears and empty shell casings. It made them like family, they all looked out for each other, did their absolute best to ensure that everyone made it back alive, even threw their own lives down for one another when the shit cards were delt. She trusted everyone of them with her life, respected all of them, treated them like family as did they with her, they had followed her without question into some of the loudest, most unpleasant of unpleasant fights, and no matter how terrible the odds they faced, as long as she had her merry band of brothers and sisters at her back, she felt no fear of what awaited at the end of it all.


That bond was now gone, perhaps down to her own mistakes that the company lost so many men or maybe it was the shitty situation that was Arcadia, but none of that mattered, because now, she was in command of unit that was yet to have such a bond and that didn't respect her like the the old unit did. It was understandable for her, with the FNG's no doubt used to having a glory hound for a CO, some rich kids turned officers who cared nothing more than about how many pieces of tin they could get pinned to their chest, the UNSC was full of them, and the veterans were likely unsure to trust some bumfuck twenty something LT with even the most basic of tasks, never mind leading them through into gaping jaws of death. And what both sides of the table had seen of her so far wasn't exactly inspiring for some either, as she had been what could be considered rather "harsh" during the garrison on reach, she wasn't like some of the other LT's, whom had been rather relaxed. She frequently did things like regular PT and training whenever possible, to ensure that they were the very best they could be, equipment checks to ensure no shortcuts were taken et cetera, et cetera the stuff that nobody else liked to do during the limited time they had before boarding a ship and flying off to god knows where. However, she did always tried her hardest to lead by example, whenever they did something, she was right along side them, usually up front. It still made her fairly unpopular among some of the troops, she knew wasn't going to universally liked, nobody ever is, but she hoped that they trusted her enough, as she certainly would trust them when the chips are down, most of them were good guys and gals.

Her attention was quickly grabbed by movement in the corner of her eyes, distracting her from her thoughts. It corporal Marco Petrovic, the platoons Heavy Weapons Specialist, whom was rightfully so, the guy was built like a brick shithouse. He sat at near the corner of his bunk looking rather preoccupied with his own thoughts, like her. He was a veteran like her and had experienced it, the combat which was a lot different from ground fighting in the marines, whom often had lines, places to fall back to. When your dropping in at terminal velocity from space, chances were, if you didn't crushed on impact due to many common failures that the steel coffins had, you'd likely right into the middle of the chaos, completely surrounded by the covenant who want nothing more that to use your skull as a pisspot, with little support, no backup and very few places to run if it all went pear-shaped. The ODST motto described the jobs description perfectly. Feet first into hell. That was exactly what it was. Taking a massive leap of faith into hell. At-least you were going in with good company. Most of the time.

Standing up from her the bench, she wandered over to the similarly aged corporal, crouching down next to him as she attempted to make eye contact, hoping to start up some sort of dialog with the corporal, whom she hadn't spoken to much, in order to distract her away from her own thoughts, considering the drab, sterile and quiet surroundings in the quarters wasn't helping much. "Marco." She addressed, her German accent noticeably present. She disdained officers who refereed to their men by purely rank and sir name during down time, it just felt so impersonal, she tried to be a personal relationship with most of her men, made sure she knew everyone by their given name. "fourteen days of sitting around eh?" her eyes quickly moved to the plasma burn marks that decorated his rather large frame, which that spoke volumes of what he faced. She had her own, a particularly ugly one on her back from plasma grenade explosion, along with a few smaller ones that ran up her exposed forearms, although they were nowhere near the scale of Marco's. "Everything's alright with you?" She asked. "I trust you've resubmitted all your personal forms after the pencil pushers fucked up?"

[Nivok Baves]

Victor sat in the ships' armoury, mindlessly disassembling then reassembling his rifle repeatedly while an old music track by some old composer played in the background like an elevator. The weapon itself was the M7S Caseless Submachine Gun, in his opinion a beautiful piece of equipment as it was much more robust and sleek than the MA5D assault rifle and was able to be used when missions required quietness. On the table lay his ODST helmet, the visor reflecting his grease-stained face, like most ODST helmets it was personalized. Victors' own helmet had a dark green trim with a Halifax bomber superimposed over Earth, the Halifax was down to his nickname which in itself was the town he came from on Mars, his armour was spread out upon the table leaving Victor wearing black combats and a black t-shirt with 'ODST' written on it.

After assembling the weapon multiple times, Victor set about polishing it to get maximum effectiveness from it should the situation ask for it. Getting off of his chair, he walked over to his locker and took out a small bag and went back to the table. Unzipping the bag he pulled out a small photograph showing him in his No.1 dress uniform standing in between his parents with the family's' house in the background. He smiled, recalling the memory, before setting the picture down and pulling out his polishing kit he set about polishing the weapon from the smallest part to the largest. He leaned back in his chair, polishing the kit as the music played on in the background.

[Orvius]

"Good luck with your hand," Friedhelm said.

Instinctively, Walter removed his hand from his pocket and hid it behind his back in reaction to Friedhelm's remark. Upon doing this, he understood there wasn't a point in hiding it anymore, as it was apparently more obvious than he had hoped. "Uh, yeah..." Walter muttered in reply as he slowly revealed the twitching metal contraption. "Good luck with... Whatever it is you're doing, buddy."

Oh fuck me, not another one. My heart rate climbed as my intolerance for seemingly uninjured people began to fill the medical-bay, it's almost as though we're offering a free reach-around, with every prostate exam or something. Maybe this guy as internal bleeding, doubtful, but at least it's optimistic on my part. I could feel my eyes slightly widen at the prospect that this seemingly marine might be here for the same reason as his affiliate. Please tell me I'm not going to get backed up on inspections... please. I have a life to, this isn't fair.

My teeth gritted as I gave a pleading look."...Excuse me, can I help you?" Practically forcing myself not to swear, or try and choke this guy out was difficult at best. Especially trying to remain calm and collected.

With the medical-bay fairly void of other staff, at least to my knowledge, I feel doubtful that I could count on my commander, knowing my luck he's passed out in his office, expecting me to be his bellhop with anyone who enters into his domain. If I didn't hold others opinions of me in such high regard, I would have flopped to the ground and started throwing a temper tantrum by now, I absolutely loathe doing this type of tedious work. Nevertheless I might as well just sigh internally, and whine about it later, I wasn't going to help humanity in the fight, by crying about my problems. I'm beginning to feel nothing but spite for my new position.

This young lady looked exceedingly distressed and agitated, to the point that it caught Walter off-guard. She looked as though she was about to burst and murder somebody with a scalpel. The longer she had to wait for an answer from Walter the likelihood of that happening was escalating, so he made sure to respond sooner rather than later. "Hey, Doc. Listen..." he said as he raised his squirming prosthetic to eye-level, "I just need some skeletal-muscle relaxants for the ol' tin-gripper here, then I'll be out of your hair pretty quickly." motioning this statement by running his right hand by his hair. "500 mgs of Lorzaxin usually should do the trick.", his eyes widened when he realized the implications of saying that, "Not that this happens very often, or... You know?".

Walter's gut began to sink with each word. He hated this, feeling so helpless, and the person he was asking for assistance from didn't exactly give the impression of the forgiving type. More than anything, he didn’t want to be perceived as weak, and especially not as a burden. Quickly thinking, he tried to deflect the image of incompetence he just portrayed. “Trust me, it doesn’t happen very often, and definitely not when I’m working with bombs… But, just to be safe, if you see me running you better do the same.” he gave the last comment a smirk, as half-hearted and fake as it was. Perhaps a good jest would display his show of confidence, he thought. "Anyway, the pills should be up in your med-cabinet somewhere. Just hand me three of those and it'll be like I was never here."