Post by Llau on Oct 14, 2015 21:53:16 GMT -6
((Decided on this being just a social thread, but still can be a mission thread too, if you want, Kill. Also, started it off in a restaurant and a bar, and then I thought our characters can meet somewhere else, like a bakery and bistro, since it's different. So, there, we can have them meet instead at a bar. Had to keep the start of it though, because it was fun to write. You can probably have your guy and his family at that bakery and bistrol or just him though. 
))
Lieutenant Michelangelo N. Moretti
ONI Section III Field Operator - “Ombra”
May, 2540, 7:20pm
New Alexandria, Reach
I really don't want to be here...but okay...
Tag: MrKill
It was warmish and sunny throughout the day, and Moretti's reconnaissance and intelligence military unit, consisting of Agent Midora, Agent Fields, and Agent Ramirez, had invited him to hang out at the Endhouse Restaurant and Pub for dinner and some drinks after to celebrate his promotion to Full Lieutenant. Here he was, the thirty-one year old man, who wasn't a social butterfly, goes to meet them at the place anyway, despite not really wanting to go. They wanted to before they would leave for seperate assignments giving out by the Section Three head tomorrow morning. That's one thing he liked, not having to team up with them all the time, and doing solo operations; though, he was starting to get used to them, and liking them a lot. Dare he say, he considers the three family, even after a few months of being in the unit? It might come to that, but not yet. Soon, perhaps.
One thing he didn't care about, was Endhouse, as it was more popular with the UNSC marines, and not too much with ONI personnel. Although, Ramirez kept telling him that the food and alcohol tasted better and fresher than the one ONI agents frequented more often, and really wanted him to at least meet them there and try it out.
He remembered her exact words she spoke to him during a video call.
“Quit being a big baby, Mike. Who cares if Endhouse is popular with the marines, and how some of them don't like us 'Spooks'...you're going to meet us there and we're going to have fun celebrating your promotion. Understand? Don't make me hurt you.”
The worse thing was, she could hurt him, and the Spanish woman can be quite scary to him when she's mad. She was the team's medic, and knew what was vital to human survival. She also knew how to fight and defend herself, and so she was no pushover, or a dismal in distress. He really didn't want to make her mad, but more importantly, he didn't want to disappoint his unit and be a party-pooper if he declined. So, he agreed to go...rather reluctantly, of course.
Now, there he sat in one of the rounded tables in the restaurant area, wearing his fatigues, with his uniform jacket resting on the back of his chair, since he just came from The Olympic Tower, where he attended the promotion ceremony with a few other agents who were also being promoted to their next rank. He was drinking his second glass of cold wine, while he finished his tender prime rib dinner he didn't have to pay for. Sage and the others put their money together and were going to pay for the meal and the drinks, but he said if they needed help, he'd be glad to help pay as well. He wasn't much of a beer drinker, or any of the hard liquor, but he wouldn't pass up a bottle of good-tasting sweet wine when his team insisted on getting him the most expensive wine bottle the establishment had in storage. Thankfully, the most expensive one was a $150 bottle. Any more than that, than he would have declined and had water or a glass of beer instead.
Midora patted him on the arm to get his attention. He looked over at the younger man curiously, and said, “Yeah?”
Midora took a sip of his beer, and asked, “What was the most expensive wine you've ever had anyway?”
Moretti tilted his head a little, thinking about it. “It was Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru, from France,” he told him, “A glass was $13,118, while the bottle was priced at $50,000.” He smirked at Midora's expression.
“Holy shit, man!” Midora exclaimed, sitting back as he shook his head. “I'll just stick with beer, thank you very much.”
The Italian chuckled in amusement. “Hey, if they had that here, then I would have been happy to pay for it so you three can taste it. It was pretty good.”
“Yeah,” grimaced Midora, “You can have your wine, rich boy Lieutenant. I'll stick with my beer.”
“No problem, asshole Petty Officer,” Moretti slowly grinned, the two were clearly just joking around. He took a bite of the last piece of his prime rib before washing it down with the glass of wine.
“Boys...” Ramirez rolled her eyes after talking with Fields, who rolled her eyes as well.
The rest of the time while the group finished eating ended up being pretty good, and Moretti was starting to relax the more he drank the wine. So, he was beginning not to care where he was, as he was actually enjoying himself with his unit at the busy restaurant and pub. The group eventually paid for the meal, and then moved over to the pub side of the building to drink more at the bar, and peered pressure Moretti into drinking shots of whiskey, bourbon, tequila, and vodka. Moretti was getting really drunk, but to be fair, all of them were, and were becoming a little louder during the ten minutes they were there, but not obnoxiously loud to bother anyone since the music and the sports on the television screens all over the bar were louder since it was game night. The Lieutenant was one of those happy drunks, until something goes wrong, and he would probably snap.
Of course, someone at the pub would start something with them about being too loud in their books. Two off-duty marines were talking at the bar, while they watched the game, but kept looking over at Moretti and the other three in annoyance.
“Uuuugh! Would you fucking Spooks chill the fuck out?” The marine demanded, a Corporal by the name of Danial Strong. “No one wants to hear about your bullshit. Take your celebration somewhere else.”
Moretti and the rest of his unit quieted down, looking at him like he was an idiot when the rest of the place was even louder than them. It was Moretti though who responded as he smiled angrily at Strong.
“Oh, I'm sorry you're such a butt hurt baby when it comes to different noises in a very busy, noisy place like this,” he said, “Maybe you should get your mommy to change your diaper and go to bed, you know, where it's quiet.”
“The hell you just say to me, Spook?!” Strong quickly stood from his stool, fists clenched at his sides, as he stared down Moretti.
Moretti took a sip of his bourbon, indifferent by his typical, drunken reaction. He laid the glass down, and without looking for a moment. “I'll put it in layman's terms for you to understand,” he replied, “Go fuck yourself, and mind your own business.”
“What?!” By now, people were starting to look toward the bar as the situation unfolded.
“Oh,” The Lieutenant scoffed, taking another sip. “You're one of those special kinds of stupid, aren't you? Wow...they let anyone into the military these days, it seems.”
“All right, that's it,” Strong walked up to him. “You want to go, punk? You and me. Now. I'll show everyone what a piece of shit a Spook can be.”
The owner of the Endhouse, sighed, much to his dismay when he walked out after one of the waitresses got him to tell him about the fight that was about to happen. “I'd rather you two drunk assholes go outside and fight out there or break it up now.”
Moretti glanced over at the Corporal, letting out a drunken, amused giggle of disbelief. He sat there for a few moments before slowly getting up off of the bar stool, and stood still for a moment or two as a wave of dizziness from the alcohol passed through him.
“For fuck sakes, Mike...” Ramirez whispered as she rested a hand on his shoulder blade, “Just ignore him. He's not worth your time, and you're drunk.” Now, she was regretting coming here and getting Moretti drunk. “Shit, let's just leave. Screw that guy.”
Giving Strong a smug, drunken grin, Moretti shrugged his shoulders. “Let's go then...”
“No. Mike.” Ramirez started to grab his hand in hers, but he turned around to glare at her.
“Let go of me.”
“Mike!” Midora shouted, standing up to help defend his team mate when Strong was about to sucker punch the Lieutenant.
Moretti turned, but was caught by surprise when the marine's fist slammed into his cheek instead of the back of his head with a right hook. The field operator gasped, seeing a flash of bright white light as the punch caused him to fall into Midora who was able to catch him in time before he could fall to the floor.
“Estúpido imbécil!” Ramirez sneered at Strong, who pushed her back into the bar. She gasped, “Hey!”
Seeing this as he was regaining his balance, Moretti went right for the marine, just as Strong's friend and fellow marine went around to help break up the fight before it could get worse. Too late. Moretti was on him like a wolf taking down his prey, no matter how drunk he was. He speared him to the floor, and started throwing constant punches at the man's face, as Strong tried to protect his head from the blows. Midora and Fields grabbed Moretti and practically had to pry him off of him, as Ramirez apologized to the owner and bar tender while she paid for the drinks. Afterward, she grabbed Moretti's uniform jacket, and then met the rest of the group outside, where they took the Lietenant away so he could cool off.
Nose bleeding, Moretti started ranting in Italian, and then when he tried to go back in to continue fighting with Strong, the three stopped him. Ramirez made him sit down at a bench so she could help stop the nosebleed with some tissues she took out of her purse after handing the jacket off to Fields.
He squirmed around, acting like a child.
“Quit squirming around, Mike,” she muttered. Squeezing his nose shut between her fingers. He pouted, slumping his shoulders slightly as he sat there, leaned over slightly, in defeat.
“Keep your head down, and hold your nostrils together with the tissues. If you need more...just ask.”
Midora stood behind the bench with Fields, looking at him in concern, while Ramirez sat beside him with a sigh. “Sorry, Mike,” she said, “Sorry, guys. Maybe we should have went somewhere else.”
“Ehhh...” Midora shrugged, “Everything was going great until that punkass Corportal started something with us because we're ONI. I had a great time regardless.”
“Same here,” Fields piped up with a smile, patting them lightly on their shoulders. “The food was good. The drinks were good. The celebration was good. That's all that matters to me.”
Moretti grunted in agreement.
While adding, “Congrats on your promotion, Mike. You deserve it. I'm happy to serve under you.” She rested the uniform jacket over the back of the bench, between Moretti and Ramirez. “Unfortunately, I have to go and get ready for tomorrow.”
“Likewise,” Midora said, patting him on the back. “Congrats again, man. See you two whenever.” He waved as he started to walk away with Fields as they headed back to base.
“Thanks...” Moretti murmured, still holding the tissues against his nose with one hand while he waved back.
Ramirez waved too. “See you two later,” she called out to them, “Be careful!”
“You too!” Fields replied, waving again before she continued walking along with Midora.
Moretti and Ramirez sat quietly, as she watched the vehicles drive by, and people walk around as it became busier in this part of the city. He leaned back with a grunt, frowning as he stared at nothing in particular. She patted him on the shoulder.
“You okay now?”
“No,” he muttered, “I still want to go back in there and finish him off. Stupid asshole. I hate that.”
“So do I,” she frowned, “We're all on the same team here. We shouldn't be treating each other like shit just because we're of different divisions.”
“Well, apparently, we aren't on the same team...” he sighed in annoyance.
A few minutes passed, and he removed the tissues. “It's done bleeding,” He said, throwing the used tissues into the garbage can on his side of the bench.
“Let me see,” She checked on his nose as he turned to look at her. “Hmm...your eye might become a black eye over night, but if you put an ice pack on this side of your face, it'll keep the swelling down.”
When she rested her hand on his shoulder, she noticed that he was tensing up a little. It was subtle, like he was trying to act like everything was normal, but it wasn't the first time she noticed. “You okay though? Mike?”
“I'm fine,” He raised an eyebrow. “Really.” A pause as she kept staring at him. “What?”
“Oh,” she explained, “It's just that I noticed how you tense up all the time when me or one of the others touch you.”
“Oh...that,” Moretti slowly looked back toward the street.
“Yeah, that,” She studied him for a few moments. “You don't like to be touched?”
He was quiet for a bit, and then slowly nodded. “You're right, I don't...”
“Hm,” She then asked, “Social anxiety?”
He shrugged. “Probably...why?”
“Just wondered,” she smiled a little in understanding.
“Okay...”
The two slipped back into silence for another few minutes, but really, just enjoying the cool evening air. He then said, “You know, you could go. You don't have to stay here with me.”
Ramirez laughed at that. “Are you kidding me? If I leave you, you're going to go right back into Endhouse, and find that guy and his friend and fight them again. I can't have you do that.”
“And why not?” Moretti pouted.
“Because, idiot, you'll probably get into trouble with Wagner for fighting,” She playfully punched him in the arm. “I won't have you get reprimanded for fighting, especially after just being promoted to Lieutenant. Corey and Marlene would say the same thing. He's not worth it.”
Moretti let out an aspirated sigh, rolling his head and his eyes. “Fiiiiine...” he then added, “I still don't feel like going back to base yet. I want to find somewhere where I can clean my face up and just sit for a while first.”
“Sounds like a plan,” She nodded. “Want to get some coffee or tea? We can head to that bakery and bistrol place. Tom and JoAnn's Bakery and Bistrol. It's at a walking distance. Have you been there before?" Moretti shook his head. "Anyway, it would be good to just sit, relax, and talk if you want to talk that is.”
He shrugged, slowly standing up. “Fine by me, Sage,” He nodded and picked up his jacket from the bench to put it on. He waited for her to stand, and the duo walked side-by-side down the street to head off to the more peaceful area of the city, away from all the bars, and toward where all the family places were located.
))Lieutenant Michelangelo N. Moretti
ONI Section III Field Operator - “Ombra”
May, 2540, 7:20pm
New Alexandria, Reach
I really don't want to be here...but okay...
Tag: MrKill
It was warmish and sunny throughout the day, and Moretti's reconnaissance and intelligence military unit, consisting of Agent Midora, Agent Fields, and Agent Ramirez, had invited him to hang out at the Endhouse Restaurant and Pub for dinner and some drinks after to celebrate his promotion to Full Lieutenant. Here he was, the thirty-one year old man, who wasn't a social butterfly, goes to meet them at the place anyway, despite not really wanting to go. They wanted to before they would leave for seperate assignments giving out by the Section Three head tomorrow morning. That's one thing he liked, not having to team up with them all the time, and doing solo operations; though, he was starting to get used to them, and liking them a lot. Dare he say, he considers the three family, even after a few months of being in the unit? It might come to that, but not yet. Soon, perhaps.
One thing he didn't care about, was Endhouse, as it was more popular with the UNSC marines, and not too much with ONI personnel. Although, Ramirez kept telling him that the food and alcohol tasted better and fresher than the one ONI agents frequented more often, and really wanted him to at least meet them there and try it out.
He remembered her exact words she spoke to him during a video call.
“Quit being a big baby, Mike. Who cares if Endhouse is popular with the marines, and how some of them don't like us 'Spooks'...you're going to meet us there and we're going to have fun celebrating your promotion. Understand? Don't make me hurt you.”
The worse thing was, she could hurt him, and the Spanish woman can be quite scary to him when she's mad. She was the team's medic, and knew what was vital to human survival. She also knew how to fight and defend herself, and so she was no pushover, or a dismal in distress. He really didn't want to make her mad, but more importantly, he didn't want to disappoint his unit and be a party-pooper if he declined. So, he agreed to go...rather reluctantly, of course.
Now, there he sat in one of the rounded tables in the restaurant area, wearing his fatigues, with his uniform jacket resting on the back of his chair, since he just came from The Olympic Tower, where he attended the promotion ceremony with a few other agents who were also being promoted to their next rank. He was drinking his second glass of cold wine, while he finished his tender prime rib dinner he didn't have to pay for. Sage and the others put their money together and were going to pay for the meal and the drinks, but he said if they needed help, he'd be glad to help pay as well. He wasn't much of a beer drinker, or any of the hard liquor, but he wouldn't pass up a bottle of good-tasting sweet wine when his team insisted on getting him the most expensive wine bottle the establishment had in storage. Thankfully, the most expensive one was a $150 bottle. Any more than that, than he would have declined and had water or a glass of beer instead.
Midora patted him on the arm to get his attention. He looked over at the younger man curiously, and said, “Yeah?”
Midora took a sip of his beer, and asked, “What was the most expensive wine you've ever had anyway?”
Moretti tilted his head a little, thinking about it. “It was Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru, from France,” he told him, “A glass was $13,118, while the bottle was priced at $50,000.” He smirked at Midora's expression.
“Holy shit, man!” Midora exclaimed, sitting back as he shook his head. “I'll just stick with beer, thank you very much.”
The Italian chuckled in amusement. “Hey, if they had that here, then I would have been happy to pay for it so you three can taste it. It was pretty good.”
“Yeah,” grimaced Midora, “You can have your wine, rich boy Lieutenant. I'll stick with my beer.”
“No problem, asshole Petty Officer,” Moretti slowly grinned, the two were clearly just joking around. He took a bite of the last piece of his prime rib before washing it down with the glass of wine.
“Boys...” Ramirez rolled her eyes after talking with Fields, who rolled her eyes as well.
The rest of the time while the group finished eating ended up being pretty good, and Moretti was starting to relax the more he drank the wine. So, he was beginning not to care where he was, as he was actually enjoying himself with his unit at the busy restaurant and pub. The group eventually paid for the meal, and then moved over to the pub side of the building to drink more at the bar, and peered pressure Moretti into drinking shots of whiskey, bourbon, tequila, and vodka. Moretti was getting really drunk, but to be fair, all of them were, and were becoming a little louder during the ten minutes they were there, but not obnoxiously loud to bother anyone since the music and the sports on the television screens all over the bar were louder since it was game night. The Lieutenant was one of those happy drunks, until something goes wrong, and he would probably snap.
Of course, someone at the pub would start something with them about being too loud in their books. Two off-duty marines were talking at the bar, while they watched the game, but kept looking over at Moretti and the other three in annoyance.
“Uuuugh! Would you fucking Spooks chill the fuck out?” The marine demanded, a Corporal by the name of Danial Strong. “No one wants to hear about your bullshit. Take your celebration somewhere else.”
Moretti and the rest of his unit quieted down, looking at him like he was an idiot when the rest of the place was even louder than them. It was Moretti though who responded as he smiled angrily at Strong.
“Oh, I'm sorry you're such a butt hurt baby when it comes to different noises in a very busy, noisy place like this,” he said, “Maybe you should get your mommy to change your diaper and go to bed, you know, where it's quiet.”
“The hell you just say to me, Spook?!” Strong quickly stood from his stool, fists clenched at his sides, as he stared down Moretti.
Moretti took a sip of his bourbon, indifferent by his typical, drunken reaction. He laid the glass down, and without looking for a moment. “I'll put it in layman's terms for you to understand,” he replied, “Go fuck yourself, and mind your own business.”
“What?!” By now, people were starting to look toward the bar as the situation unfolded.
“Oh,” The Lieutenant scoffed, taking another sip. “You're one of those special kinds of stupid, aren't you? Wow...they let anyone into the military these days, it seems.”
“All right, that's it,” Strong walked up to him. “You want to go, punk? You and me. Now. I'll show everyone what a piece of shit a Spook can be.”
The owner of the Endhouse, sighed, much to his dismay when he walked out after one of the waitresses got him to tell him about the fight that was about to happen. “I'd rather you two drunk assholes go outside and fight out there or break it up now.”
Moretti glanced over at the Corporal, letting out a drunken, amused giggle of disbelief. He sat there for a few moments before slowly getting up off of the bar stool, and stood still for a moment or two as a wave of dizziness from the alcohol passed through him.
“For fuck sakes, Mike...” Ramirez whispered as she rested a hand on his shoulder blade, “Just ignore him. He's not worth your time, and you're drunk.” Now, she was regretting coming here and getting Moretti drunk. “Shit, let's just leave. Screw that guy.”
Giving Strong a smug, drunken grin, Moretti shrugged his shoulders. “Let's go then...”
“No. Mike.” Ramirez started to grab his hand in hers, but he turned around to glare at her.
“Let go of me.”
“Mike!” Midora shouted, standing up to help defend his team mate when Strong was about to sucker punch the Lieutenant.
Moretti turned, but was caught by surprise when the marine's fist slammed into his cheek instead of the back of his head with a right hook. The field operator gasped, seeing a flash of bright white light as the punch caused him to fall into Midora who was able to catch him in time before he could fall to the floor.
“Estúpido imbécil!” Ramirez sneered at Strong, who pushed her back into the bar. She gasped, “Hey!”
Seeing this as he was regaining his balance, Moretti went right for the marine, just as Strong's friend and fellow marine went around to help break up the fight before it could get worse. Too late. Moretti was on him like a wolf taking down his prey, no matter how drunk he was. He speared him to the floor, and started throwing constant punches at the man's face, as Strong tried to protect his head from the blows. Midora and Fields grabbed Moretti and practically had to pry him off of him, as Ramirez apologized to the owner and bar tender while she paid for the drinks. Afterward, she grabbed Moretti's uniform jacket, and then met the rest of the group outside, where they took the Lietenant away so he could cool off.
Nose bleeding, Moretti started ranting in Italian, and then when he tried to go back in to continue fighting with Strong, the three stopped him. Ramirez made him sit down at a bench so she could help stop the nosebleed with some tissues she took out of her purse after handing the jacket off to Fields.
He squirmed around, acting like a child.
“Quit squirming around, Mike,” she muttered. Squeezing his nose shut between her fingers. He pouted, slumping his shoulders slightly as he sat there, leaned over slightly, in defeat.
“Keep your head down, and hold your nostrils together with the tissues. If you need more...just ask.”
Midora stood behind the bench with Fields, looking at him in concern, while Ramirez sat beside him with a sigh. “Sorry, Mike,” she said, “Sorry, guys. Maybe we should have went somewhere else.”
“Ehhh...” Midora shrugged, “Everything was going great until that punkass Corportal started something with us because we're ONI. I had a great time regardless.”
“Same here,” Fields piped up with a smile, patting them lightly on their shoulders. “The food was good. The drinks were good. The celebration was good. That's all that matters to me.”
Moretti grunted in agreement.
While adding, “Congrats on your promotion, Mike. You deserve it. I'm happy to serve under you.” She rested the uniform jacket over the back of the bench, between Moretti and Ramirez. “Unfortunately, I have to go and get ready for tomorrow.”
“Likewise,” Midora said, patting him on the back. “Congrats again, man. See you two whenever.” He waved as he started to walk away with Fields as they headed back to base.
“Thanks...” Moretti murmured, still holding the tissues against his nose with one hand while he waved back.
Ramirez waved too. “See you two later,” she called out to them, “Be careful!”
“You too!” Fields replied, waving again before she continued walking along with Midora.
Moretti and Ramirez sat quietly, as she watched the vehicles drive by, and people walk around as it became busier in this part of the city. He leaned back with a grunt, frowning as he stared at nothing in particular. She patted him on the shoulder.
“You okay now?”
“No,” he muttered, “I still want to go back in there and finish him off. Stupid asshole. I hate that.”
“So do I,” she frowned, “We're all on the same team here. We shouldn't be treating each other like shit just because we're of different divisions.”
“Well, apparently, we aren't on the same team...” he sighed in annoyance.
A few minutes passed, and he removed the tissues. “It's done bleeding,” He said, throwing the used tissues into the garbage can on his side of the bench.
“Let me see,” She checked on his nose as he turned to look at her. “Hmm...your eye might become a black eye over night, but if you put an ice pack on this side of your face, it'll keep the swelling down.”
When she rested her hand on his shoulder, she noticed that he was tensing up a little. It was subtle, like he was trying to act like everything was normal, but it wasn't the first time she noticed. “You okay though? Mike?”
“I'm fine,” He raised an eyebrow. “Really.” A pause as she kept staring at him. “What?”
“Oh,” she explained, “It's just that I noticed how you tense up all the time when me or one of the others touch you.”
“Oh...that,” Moretti slowly looked back toward the street.
“Yeah, that,” She studied him for a few moments. “You don't like to be touched?”
He was quiet for a bit, and then slowly nodded. “You're right, I don't...”
“Hm,” She then asked, “Social anxiety?”
He shrugged. “Probably...why?”
“Just wondered,” she smiled a little in understanding.
“Okay...”
The two slipped back into silence for another few minutes, but really, just enjoying the cool evening air. He then said, “You know, you could go. You don't have to stay here with me.”
Ramirez laughed at that. “Are you kidding me? If I leave you, you're going to go right back into Endhouse, and find that guy and his friend and fight them again. I can't have you do that.”
“And why not?” Moretti pouted.
“Because, idiot, you'll probably get into trouble with Wagner for fighting,” She playfully punched him in the arm. “I won't have you get reprimanded for fighting, especially after just being promoted to Lieutenant. Corey and Marlene would say the same thing. He's not worth it.”
Moretti let out an aspirated sigh, rolling his head and his eyes. “Fiiiiine...” he then added, “I still don't feel like going back to base yet. I want to find somewhere where I can clean my face up and just sit for a while first.”
“Sounds like a plan,” She nodded. “Want to get some coffee or tea? We can head to that bakery and bistrol place. Tom and JoAnn's Bakery and Bistrol. It's at a walking distance. Have you been there before?" Moretti shook his head. "Anyway, it would be good to just sit, relax, and talk if you want to talk that is.”
He shrugged, slowly standing up. “Fine by me, Sage,” He nodded and picked up his jacket from the bench to put it on. He waited for her to stand, and the duo walked side-by-side down the street to head off to the more peaceful area of the city, away from all the bars, and toward where all the family places were located.
