UNSC: Downtime

[Llau]

1st Lieutenant AJ Bishop 7th Marine//First Battalion// Alpha Company// Third Platoon UNSCS Tassafaronga Mess Hall TAG(s): John

He glanced down at the food on his tray, smirked, and chuckled a little. "Yeah, I guess I did get better food," He ate a fry and shook his head. "No, my platoon wasn't down there. We were on the ship, held as reserve during the battle." A pause as he ate another fry and washed it down with his soda before continuing. "I'm sure we would have been sent down, if the fight didn't become FUBAR down there. From the reports I've seen..." He trailed off. "Shit, man...I had a few friends from OCS who were in the Second Battalion's companies down in the city, who were wiped out."  He slowly shook his head, staring down at his food as he ate with a slight angry expression over his face. "Fuck this war...fuck." He breathed in a deep breath and let out an aspirated sigh. "I just can't help but think we could've done something differently down there inside the city. You know? Maybe plant a shit ton of explosives all over the city, lured the Covies inside, and blow the assholes up. I'm pretty sure some of our forces would probably be killed during the blast, but the majority of them would have been able to escape. We'd lose the city, too, sure, but so would the Covenant...and whatever they wanted with it."

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Tassafaronga, Mess Deck

LCpl Jock McPherson
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion
Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha

A few minutes of chatter went on, mainly regarding how they did absolutely nothing whilst the other ground units got wasted. It could be a bullshit life in the Corps, but they'd grown to accept it; to laugh through it. Humour had gotten Jock through some heavy situations. It was better to try and find something lighthearted in the bad news, rather than sitting around and crying about it. That didn't get anyone anywhere. Smiling through the worst toughened a person. Marines needed thick skin.

"So providing we don't get blown to bits by the rest of the Covies, where'd you reckon we're next?"

"Question's several thousand klicks north of my paygrade, man." shrugged Warren, responding to Jock's question. The Scot grinned and gave that weird side nod that meant 'fair enough'. Before he could say anything else, however, a tourist in cammies asked for a team photo. Oh. Combat Photographer. Guy was a Marine.

"'Sup, peeps. Don't suppose you'd mind smiling for a picture?"

Jock ran some potential sarcastic remarks through his head before answering. What did he go for first? Being called a chick-shaped marshmallow? The awful middle school lingo? The overly eager, incredibly headbuttable expression on the chap's face? He ran the possibilities over and decided on a less harsh response; the guy was only doing his job, after all.

"Sure mate. Didn't get chance to do my makeup or stuff my bra, but let's go all natural," Jock winked, looking towards the lens. "On cheese, aye?"

He ran a hand over his bald head, making sure it gleamed with the pride of the Highlands. Fucking thyroid. 

[dryskim]

Lance Corporal Richard 'Double Dick' Bellend

7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion

Tornado 2-4 Alpha

Smile for the camera, Devildog

Bellend, grinning at the photographer's request to snap a few shots of their ugly mugs, undid the clasp on his belt and began to weasel with his pants. "I assume we're doing a pin-up piece for the girls back home? Maybe a couple of artistic nudes?" he chuckled, "I'm just fuckin' with ya, 'course we gotta keep things classy," he instead fixed his pants and belt, and transitioned to his best bedroom eyes, "Please," he purred in his best immitation of a 'sultry' voice, "Photograph me like one of your French girls..."

[JJM8C4J]

Lance Corporal James Stone
1/7 Marines
Tornado 2-4 Alpha

Stone, like the rest of his cohorts, looked up at the Combat Photographer that had approached their table and requested a picture. The machine gunner lifted an eight ounce can of Rip-It to his lips as the rest of 2-4 Alpha made their wisecracks; enjoying the taste of the energy drink as it washed over the buds of his tongue. Emptying the can with a few deep swallows, the Lance Corporal set the now useless chunk of aluminum on the table and shifted in his seat to face the photographer.

While Jock checked his head for hair and Bellend reenacted his favorite scenes from the Titanic, James slid his left arm over Jock's left shoulder and wrapped it diagonally across his fellow Marine's chest in the stereotypical 'this is my girlfriend' pose all over the pages of teenager's social media accounts. He smirked in Bellend's direction, before commenting himself, "Ignore Dick, he hasn't gotten laid since Susie Rottencrotch offered herself up for a buck fifty at his senior homecoming game."

With his little snark out of the way, Stone leaned closer to the back of Jock's head to throw a little homoerotica into the mix of things. "My big Scottish bull here makes sure I never have that problem... don't'cha, Highlander?" James whispered into his comrade's ear, imitating flicking his tongue across the man's earlobe while looking directly at the photographer, turning the hand of the arm that was wrapped around the Scotsman into a brazen middle finger.

[MrKill]

// Col. John Killinger //
// 7th MEB, 7th Marines //

// Condition //
Alive
Healthy

// Location //
UNSCS Tassafaronga
In orbit over Sanctuary

John had only been resting for five minutes, but he had already dozed off. A gentle snore indicated the field officer was visiting the realm between reality and fantasy, but hadn't quite made the journey to the land of happiness and horrors. He had worked hard, as did all the Marines in the Seventh Marines. Though they were only ground side for four days and some change most of the Marines had stayed up to the plus side of forty eight hours.

Smack!

John's eyes struggled to open as the vibration of something striking him woke him up.

Smack.... Smack, smack, smack.

The Colonel's hands instinctively went to protect his face.

Smack.

John caught the tail of Axle, which continued to pull and push as the canines excitement could not be contained. He looked towards the source and saw his daughter standing at the door frame, a Marine peeking in behind her. He locked eyes with the Colonel and nearly sprinted away, his boots clanking at a rapid pace as the male made a wonderful tactical retreat.

It took a few seconds to realize why he was peeking. Yep, John thought to himself. Marines will be Marines.

John pushed himself up and stretched out his legs and back as Axle darted off to jump and lick Jennifer to death. If his breath didn't, his love would finish the job, John was almost certain of it. The canine had a foul breath ever since biting into a grunt back on Refuge, which thankfully saved Kyle's life when he was in the river.

"You wanted to talk to me?" John asked, tiresome laced in his tone. "Let's walk down to the mess hall, I have this unrivaled craving for bacon and Moa burgers." He added in a suggestive tone, approaching his daughter. He wanted to give her a hug, but respected her status as a Marine as well. He smirked and resisted the urge to hug her and thank the heavens that she made it back.

[Kart]

Pvt. Evo Aguellez
UNSCS Tassafaronga, Mess Hall
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion | H&S Company, Combat Photographer

Perfect.

Sometimes, a little ridiculousness was all you needed. He'd already been told off several times for being unprofessional in his conduct as a photographer--back in training, that is. They'd been insistent that combat photographers were professional and unintrusive. But out here, where stuff was actually happening? No marine appreciated being posed and prodded into a stiff "candid" photo. Nah, sometimes you just need to goof around--and take pictures of it.

But right here, the subject was perfect--three marines, all with sincere smiles, joking around, giving off a real sense of life. And giving the middle finger. Ah, whatever, Evo thought. They'll crop it out. Not my job.

"Har har, jarheads. Keep your clothes on for a sec and say cheese."

He snapped the picture--middle finger included.

[Astro]

████ Hours, December ██, 2547 (Military Calendar) /
UNSC Tassafaronga, Mess Deck

LCpl Jock McPherson
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion
Tornado 2-4, Fireteam Alpha

This was getting scarily man-on-man. As soon as the picture was taken, with Jock's face in a state of both confusion and hilarity, the Scotsman pushed Stone's arm off of him. He ducked under it and almost stood up in horror, as if the mattress munching Marine's hand had the plague.

"Geddof you fuckin' charl- fuckin' nancy," the Lance Corporal said, shaking his head. "Fuckin' [REDACTED]."

He stretched his neck as massaged it a little as a voice came into his ear. It was the Captain giving the entire company orders. Mid way through, Jock switched off his COM. There was too much going down in the hangars. If they showed up they'd do nothing but add to the crowd of eager Privates looking to kiss ass whilst helping people with their bags. Fuck that. Jock decided drumming on the table was a much more effective use of his time.

"So er, now what?" he asked, leaning back on the fixed stool. He cracked the knuckles on both his hands and yawned, mouth wide. Doing nothing in the field had really taken it out of him.  

[rookie425]

HA Vivian Nyro
7th Marines, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon
UNSC Tassafaronga

Nyro wasn't of any greater use aboard the Tassa's infirmary, not like she was on the ground. The real damage, or reversal of it, had been done by the time she arrived. Mostly, she acted as an extra set of hands, one that was appreciated by the onboard techs. After a while, the overall atmosphere of the medlab had become balanced...peaceful even; an appropriate and well established environment for recovery. After a few thanks, she made sure nothing else was needed of her, washed her hands, then excused herself from the lab.



A ten minute walk cleared Vivian's head of everything from the fighting on the surface to the remaining sounds of pain that echoed from the medlab as she made her way for the elevator. Being aboard another ship felt like too familiar of a venture after tagging along with the ODSTs to the civilian freighter. She longed for a base on the ground, even if it couldn't get up and fly away from an invading Covenant fleet. Claustrophobia might prove to be an acquired fear for her if she dwelled any further on her dive into the ship's maintenance corridors.

Entering the mess hall, Nyro singled out one of the last trays by the line, rolling the sleeves of her BDUs down before picking it up, collecting an assortment of greens, rice and a little bit of chicken on the side. She glanced around the room, looking for a familiar face. Mav was nowhere in sight, neither was anyone from his squad. She did spot Jock though, along with Bellend and Stone. All of them were posing, rather lewdly, for a combat photographer, a man she hadn't seen before. The Corpsman hadn't gotten to know them by much more than name, but she had been around them enough to get on their level of humor--accepting it anyway.

Without any other options, Vivian sighed with a smile and maneuvered her way for their table, wary of the photographer. Everyone had a job to do, and his was to catch a moment, so there was no need to be camera shy. She flashed the Marine a smile before looking to the guys. "This seat taken?"

[Kart]

Pvt. Evo Aguellez
UNSCS Tassafaronga, Mess Hall
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion | H&S Company, Combat Photographer

He returned the smile, for whatever comfort it was worth.

Evo knew what an antsy subject looked like, and this corpsman looked like it. While he knew it would have been good to get a picture with the marines including her (gee whiz, media, look at how gender-integrated the UNSC is!) he didn't feel right about taking a shot with someone that was less...exhibitionist...than the marines he'd just caught on camera.

Plus, he already had one picture. Mission accomplished, job well done, good work, son, nobody could have done a better job.

Instead of sitting down, though, he stayed standing, choosing instead to lean against a nearby stool. For lack of anything better to do, he decided to answer the bald marine's question.

"Well, I suppose I could introduce myself, like I was actually supposed to. Private Evo Aguellez."

[Cabel]

[UNSCS Tassafaronga: Alpha Company, 1st Battalion, Seventh Marine Regiment: One of the Hanger Bays: Captain Mark Seamus “Spade“ Sorelson: December 2547]

“I promised a young Corporal I‘d check on her after I‘d finished up here. She‘d taken a bit of shrapnel over the eye, and one of the Corpsmen took her to the Sickbay,” Mark said having heard Malcolm‘s words on how Charlie Company would be with them the next time. Spade removed his helmet briefly using the palm of his right hand to rub his eyes. They‘d been on the surface of Sanctuary for the span of four days, but very few of them especially in Alpha Company had been able to grab any rack time. It hadn‘t been that he‘d been that exhausted, but with the lull and security provided by the Tassafargona’s hull it had meant if he’d wanted to he could have grabbed personal time on a cot without having to worry about what a previous squad had done in the foxhole he’d taken. “They‘re all good kids. Each and every single one of ‘em. A cold one…I’ll take you up on that offer and maybe some hot chow to go along with it,” he said, sliding the helmet back on.

[rookie425]

HA Vivian Nyro
7th Marines, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon
UNSC Tassafaronga

Vivian rested the food tray on her forearm, leaning slightly to balance the weight as she extended a hand to the Marine. "Vivian Nyro. Hospital Corpsman. I see you've already met the pinup boys. No room for any women in your calendar?"

[Kart]

Pvt. Evo Aguellez
UNSCS Tassafaronga, Mess Hall
7th Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion | H&S Company, Combat Photographer

Evo laughed as he shook Vivian's hand.

"Oh, sure, we're always looking for more pictures. It's just that I'm a lazy bum who's averse to working. If you don't mind being in a propaganda picture, though, I'll take you up on the offer."

He stepped back, holding his fingers in the shape of a rectangle, as if he was framing the corpsman. "Thing is, the information corps like "candid" shots. So just relax, enjoy yourself, and try not to blink when the flash hits."

[rookie425]

HA Vivian Nyro
7th Marines, 1st Battalion, Alpha Company, 2nd Platoon
UNSC Tassafaronga

Vivian couldn't try to look candid if she wanted to. Simple human interaction made her feel all to joyed, especially when meeting new people. Being photogenic was the only thing on the corpsman's mind right now. She humored the man best as she could, setting her tray on the edge of the table and keeping her eyes off him.

"Just do your best to get my good side."

Knowing the guys would probably wouldn't let her live it down, she committed to her pose; taking a relaxed, neutral stance, Nyro gently brushed a short strand of blonde hair behind her ear. At the last second, she shifted her hazel eyes toward the photographer, and the faintest smile formed at the edge of her lips. No hell with it, she thought. People needed to see more expression.

Before the Marine photographer could pull his camera into sight, Vivian jumped at the tickling sensation of her datapad buzzing to life inside her pocket. She looked down, reached for her pocket, and looked back at the photographer. "Will you excuse me?"

Without a reply, she backed away. No one ever contacted her by net. He wasn't even sure if anyone had her contact ID. It was little more than a simple message. "Hospitalman Apprentice Nyro, Vivian. Under article, yeah, yeah, yeah," she droned, speed reading the contents with some kind of anxiety. "Transfer request has been approved. Addendum: Outgoing Transport from the UNSC Tassafaronga is scheduled with departure of casualties for recovery. Should you be unable to make the scheduled flight, you will be expected to fulfill your roles in the 7th Marines until transport is again available."

With a breath, Nyro pocketed her datapad and returned to the table. "Sorry to cut this short, but something came up. It was nice meeting you." She gave a glance at the rest of the men at the table. Expecting to feel the impending sorrow of a goodbye, she was met with only relief. Maybe it was for the best.




Getting from the mess hall to the crew deck, then back to the hangar bay took the better half of an hour at Vivian's excited pace. Arriving at the hangar, she dropped her duffel and checked the watch under her wrist. She was early, but so was everyone else, so the departure could happen whenever. Her plated, olive drab boots clapped against the deck, joined by a soft, metallic rattle of her combined gear; green ceramic plates arrayed with mag pouches and slots. Her A/FAK was slung over one shoulder; a non-descript, urban pattern, poly-nylon ruckpack that was significantly lighter now that she had returned most of the 7th's more valuable materials to the infirmary.

 It was going to be an uncomfortable ride, but well worth it. One foot on the ramp of a Pelican's cabin, she heard Mav jogging toward her. "Hey, what gives? Where you going?" he said, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

She gave him a long look before glancing back to the tray. "Earth hopefully. But it'll probably be a few months in circulation before that happens."

"What? Why?"

"Why doesn't matter anymore, Mav. It's just the way things have to be."

The Private opened his mouth to speak again. Nothing came out. Vivian broke the uncomfortable silence, taking the MA5 in her hand and bringing it his hands. "I cleaned it up nice and new. Gul would probably want you to have it anyways." She inched it out toward Mav's hesitating hands. "Go ahead. I don't want to remember this place."

He took the weight from her, holding heavily in both hands. "I don't understand."

Vivian only shook her head. "You don't have to."

With that, she stepped aboard and found a seat at the very rear of the cabin. The ramp began to close, and with the fading slice of light on the other side, she faded away with a sorrowful smile.