UNSC Intermission

[serenissima]

(Optional soundtrack.)

United Nations Space Command Forces returning from Gliese-876

Gloamingwood, United Nations colony, Zeta Leporis

Sunday, 4th March, 02531

The battered remnants of Task Forces Arnhem, Illustrious and Mirage were as surprised by the Covenant's sudden retreat into Slipspace as they had been by their arrival, leaving two capital ship squadrons - and Admiral Cuttingham - utterly obliterated and the others somewhat bruised, at very least. The losses on the two sides had been disproportionate, with the Covenant, tactically speaking, having given far more than they had recieved. The days in transit had not yet been ample time for reflection; the adrenaline and fear had drained away, only to be replaced by a feeling of numbness. The friends, comrades, and family whom had been lost had not yet sunken into the psyches of most, with some survivors expecting their buddies to peek around the door or return from the gymnasium at any time now. It was, of course, not to be. Thousands of UNSCDF personnel had perished in the brief, vicious conflict.



But humanity had been saved. And that was all that was important, at that moment.



It took those few days for the majority of the surviving human ships, heading into slipspace on their seperate courses and then independently, to avoid being tracked, making their careful way back to the nearest colony with any sort of facilities capable of repairing the battle-damaged warships. That colony was Gloamingwood, famed for its exports of precious stones and fine handicrafts, and with a population of around 450 million. A prosperous colony, certainly, and one tantalisingly close, in terms of growth, away from being permitted to elect their own planetary governor at the half-a-billion milestone. But it was not one likely to be something that was achieved within the next decade, barring a surprise baby boom, and this had angered many, especially with their obviously thriving economy and prosperity. New buildings were springing up in all of the cities, impressive, modern skyscrapers, factories churning out all kinds of goods, enormous spaceports constantly ferrying goods and materials from the ground to the waiting freighters and shipyards in orbit. In the words of some, their lack of planetary self-government was a travesty, at best, or a cause for revolution and independence at worst.



Barring a few minor incidents, however – certainly no fighting in the streets, or anything beyond the usual mostly peaceful protests in Gloamingwood’s largest public spaces – it was a quiet world, one not touched by the war with the Covenant or the quietly simmering and ongoing insurrection movement that had so been quietened by the revelation of an outside threat. It was sobering, therefore, for the shipyard workers to see the battle-scarred warships limping into their docks; the long, melted gashes of pulse laser hits and the smashed-in sections of impossibly resilient Titanium-A where plasma torpedoes had hit their mark.



The mood could certainly be described as sombre, even as the surviving ‘heroes of Lethe’ - as they had quickly been dubbed in the victorious newscasts filtering their way across human space - were slowly shuttled down to the planet. The officers, as expected, went down to the planet with all the pomp and circumstance that the befitted their station, in the luxurious but elegant Skua shuttles that existed for this very purpose. The enlisted personnel, on the other hand, as few of them as there were, still had to make do with the back of a Pelican, despite wearing their dress uniforms. This prompted an enormous amount of grumbling and irritated rubbing of patches of oil and grime which, unsurprisingly, began to appear as a result on cloth which had been spotless minutes before.



It was quite a bright evening in the city of New Delving, Gloamingwood's capital, with the atmospheric conditions that gave the world its name out in full force and causing the whole troposphere to light up in an impressive display of pinks, oranges and reds. It was quite beautiful, and the sight of the diurnal-flowering plants made it even more so, despite the squat, though richly-decorated, buildings, which seemed either wonderfully cheerful or gaudy, depending on your point of view. Already, loyalists were beginning to fill the streets, cheering and waving United Nations flags for the returning soldiers whose mission they would never know the true nature of. After the vicious combat in the days before, with all of the ground troops having seen their comrades die beside them and all of the naval personnel, guessing at just how many other friendly ships had been destroyed, feeling a little strange to be suddenly dropped into the middle of a celebration.



The ground cars worked their way through the reveller-filled streets, each vehicle full of returning soldiers from Lethe, and the fortunate naval personnel whom had been commended for their part in the battle.The word quickly spread about, like a spill of coffee on a long, polished desk, staining everything it touched - they were all being given medals, they were being taken to the CAA Governor's palace for as much in the way of alcohol and comely members of the opposite sex as they could have without dying, they were going to be offered a million credits each and a priveleged place in a new colony town. The truth was, comparatively, quite disappointing, but perhaps more appropriate.


The soldiers and naval personnel were ushered into a hall clad in locally-grown mahogany - apparently some kind of theatre, in its normal use, with a podium made out of the same wood and decorated with a banner bearing the proud symbol of the United Nations Space Command Defence Force. The bird of prey spread its wings, standing over the world - any world, though many years ago it had been over the wreath-and-earth emblem which humanity looked to as its ruling banner, for good or ill. Behind the podium stood an elderly Indian man, in vice-admiral's pearl-white dress uniform, emblazoned with enough gold braid to open a jewellery factory. His kindly, clean-shaven face was topped with wiry grey hair, pulled tightly back to remove some of the wrinkles from his forehead and better reveal his sparkling, lively brown eyes. On his left upper sleeve was the formalised Office of Naval Intelligence symbol, on the right the symbol of the Navy. This was Kavi Mahesh - a man chosen to be the liason officer between the Navy and the Office of Naval Intelligence, apparently precisely because his firm but pleasant voice, nonthreatening appearance and gentle laughter were all but impossible to distrust or hate.


As the honoured individuals - those men and women who had participated in the ground-side operation, and certain naval personnel - finally all filed in and sat down, the wooden rows of stall chairs quite hard but almost therapeutic in being so, the Vice Admiral spoke, his words filling the room as if he stood personally next to each and every one of them, not as if he addressed a gathering of hundreds. His image filled the screen behind him, making the small old man seem like a ten-metre-tall colossus with a tiny miniature version of himself in imitation on the stage.


"The true importance, and the true reasons, of and for what you brave men and women did on February the 28th will not be publically revealed for many years. Perhaps not in your lifetimes, and certainly not in mine. The stakes were as high as you were told. As much was at risk as you were led to believe. Failure would have had the consequences that every citizen dreads, and in your success, you have earned the everlasting gratitude of each and every one of them in the galaxy. You will see your names, your faces, all thrown across space, touted as heroes. And you must never let yourselves believe that you are anything but just that. Never allow yourselves to act in any manner unbefitting your conduct, in any way unfitting with what you have all achieved."


Mahesh took a sip from his goblet of water, the sound of the perfect ice cubes clinking against the glass sides clear.


"But we are not here to celebrate your victory, nor to praise your actions further. There will be time for that later, and I can assure you that you will all be heartily sick of praise even before you leave Gloamingwood. The United Nations needs heroes. You are some of those heroes. But we are gathered here to remember those heroes who cannot be with us here today."


His voice measured, the admiral began to speak of some of those who had not lived to tell the tale and reap the rewards. A whole family, brothers and sisters, five of them, whom had all enlisted together at the start of the war, and served together as technicians aboard the UNSCS Dieppe. They had all fallen when an energy projector blast had raked the destroyer, fore and aft, atomising it in the long torrent of focused energy. A Marine on the ground whom had volunteered to stay behind and not leave with the Pelicans when the evacuation began, remaining at his post on the defensive perimeter with his marksman's rifle to ensure that the others could escape. Word had come through from Chesapeake, his homeworld that his wife had given birth to twins on the first of March, the day after his brave death. Admiral George Cuttingham, whose calm coordination, even to the very last, of the completely obliterated 31st and 103rd Squadrons had allowed the mission to succeed and most of the rest of the fleet to escape. Their blood had paid for the escape of their comrades and the survival of their species. Cuttingham's husband was to be posthumously given his United Nations Medal of Supreme Valour, as were the families of the other dead. So many of the highest awards had not been given out for a single action since the darkest days of Operation TREBUCHET.


For the living, the rewards were less forthcoming. None of the higher awards had gone out to anyone still living, though everyone present - even certain people - was to be awarded a new decoration for their participation as 'heroes of Lethe'. The lack of mention of certain units all but confirmed the scuttlebutt regarding certain demotions and disciplinary actions for some individuals who had either made costly, stupid mistakes or simply not conducted themselves in a manner befitting military personnel. They were fewer, much fewer in number, than the heroes, and they knew that unlike the others, their names would be avoided from mention as much as possible. Even as they sat in the hall, they felt as if all eyes were upon them, exposing their shame. Nobody was looking, however.


The long list of deified, dead people finally drew to a close, and the vice admiral finished his water. He gazed significantly at his audience, seeming to look into the eyes of each one individually.


"In honour of your victory, and to commemorate with pride the fallen, the governor of Gloamingwood has arranged for a party to take place for you in the extensive gardens of the Emerald Hotel, by Lake Garnet. The weather this evening is very balmy, and the light will last all night in this season. Informal walk-in dinner, a buffet, and full refreshments are provided, being provided and paid for by donation from the loyal, and grateful, citizens of New Delving. You will be given the cards to your rooms as you arrive, of course, appropriate to your rank. After that, you will find that your pay credits have been advanced to you, and you will have leave of absence, for the most part, until Friday the ninth. You'll recieve your new orders before then."


The old man's eyes sparkled. "There is no sense in being a hero and saving your species if you can't enjoy it. Remember and celebrate the lives of the dead in this wake, but remember also to celebrate that you - and the rest of humanity - are alive. Dismissed."


The Admiral saluted, primly, and stood, holding his position, until all of the personnel had left. Sighing slightly, and massaging his aching arm once they had all gone, he turned and looked at the tall, slender woman who stood silently, waiting, behind the curtain, arms crossed tightly enough, the tension lines visible on her taut hands, that it seemed almost that she worried that she would burst like an overstuffed luggage locker if she did not.


"If you talked like that to me, Kavi," she purred, her Gallic voice sibilant in the slightly chill, conditioned air, "Then you might even be able to persuade me to take you out for dinner."


"I am only so eloquent in the line of duty, Madame Director. And when I have hours to prepare my speech and save it to my neural interface." Mahesh replied, chuckling slightly but inclining his head to her momentarily as a gesture of deference.


"Now all we have to do is make sure that we never need 'heroes' like this again, admiral." the woman responded, coldly turning away and gesturing for him to come along with a petulant flicker of her index finger. "The sheer imbécillité foutu that made this necessary will be fatal if it happens a second time."


"You are right as ever, Madame." Mahesh responded, his own manner turning to business. He held the door open for the soft-footstepped woman, stepped through himself, and instinctively made sure that it made no sound as it shut.

---

The procession of groundcars once again set off, delivering their guests to the Emerald Hotel with as much pomp and circumstance as if each one of them was royalty from the days of old. Their dress unforms were brushed and rapidly cleaned even as they still wore them, drinks, snacks, keycards being handed to them or placed in their pockets unasked for. Once they passed through the decorated trellis, brightly lit up with lights, they found themselves in a wide open space, with flowers and elegantly carved hedgerows set around the edges. In the distance, perhaps half a mile away, towards the lake, more bushes and floral gardens were prevalent, leading down a small slope towards the tranquil shores. From a cordoned-off area, behind the immense marquees which held the bars, the buffets, and the many circular dining tables that seemed to have been brought out onto the grass from the restauraunts inside, a pyrotechnics crew were busily setting up for a display of fireworks.


The darkness of night around the heroic guests mottled with the characteristic glows of pink, orange, and red, casting a kind of pastel twilight over them. It was light enough to see, but not so light that the roaring celebratory bonfire at the centre of the lawn - apparently unplanned and unprepared for, judging from the surly looks of the uniformed gardeners - was unnecessary, or that the warmth it provided was unpleasant even in the balmy evening. The smooth, polished sandstone edifice of the hotel was ever-present, brightly lit from its hundreds of windows that seemed to have been cut straight out of the rock. The live band, amplified subtly, played their jaunty party tunes with great enthusiasm, seeming to intimately enjoy every note. And across the lake, scintillating in the gauzy, distant mist, were the lights of New Delving, itself illuminated like an animation by the bright flashes of distant fireworks, and the sweeping beams of floodlights that visibly, like great, luminous fingers, crossed the sky.

---

((OOC note: All human characters who were involved in Mission 2, or could concievably have been present (i.e soldiers on ships in RRTF-I other than Illustrious), are able to attend this social RP event, with the obvious exception of SPARTANs and the dead. If you can find a way for your later-accepted character to have been present without adding an additional ship or taking part in the battle, for example as a crewmember on one of the ships present and not destroyed, feel free. The two player characters who were demoted - you know who you are - should PM me and we'll arrange some RP about that as well, if you like, though they are present at the party too and can participate. This is a social roleplaying opportunity which will go on until people are finished with it, and will run concurrently with Mission 3 when it is released, rather than Mission 3 beginning after this is completed. I'm hoping that everyone takes this chance to show their characters outside of just simple battles and wars, and get some character development and contemplation in.))


((Also, if anyone was wondering, this is 2865 words!))

[Soulstep]

Sergeant Andrew Deiran Indigo Squad

After the rather awkward greeting he and the other survivors of Lethe recieved, Andrew gladly collapsed into his room, complementary water and mints neatly laid out in the corner. Thoughtful.

Almost immediately, he fell back to thinking of his lost squadmates... and lifelong friends.

Ben, sniped by an Elite on the crater rim as they covered Red Wing and Silias.

Adam, his neck broken by a vicious swipe by a Hunter as Indigo and Red Wing flanked the Covenant forces.

Tom, cruelly killed by the same Hunter that killed his twin moments before, his body vapourised where he stood.

He was surprised he hadn't gone insane from seeing them all die. And, bitterly, he sometimes wished he had, or had joined the long list of the dead.

The doors to the room parted and Sarah walked in, her facial expressions similar to Andrew's own. It was hitting her hard too.

They had been promoted after the battle, Andrew moving up to Sergeant, and Sarah his Corporal. They were to meet their new squad later today.

"How you holding up?" Andrew asked her, brushing his long fringe out of his eye. He was surprised the UNSC hadn't told him to cut it; maybe it had something to do with it helping his aim. Somehow, his accuracy went up an average of 85% from what he did without it, maybe it just helped him focus.

"Alright, I guess... Just can't believe they're all gone."

"Me neither... But this happens. We've seen other friends die, comes with being in the Corps... But I know what you mean. All three in a few hours..." Andrew's voice drifted off, as he mournfully stared down.

Sarah remained silent for a while. "Maybe... We should head down to the bar. They wouldn't want us depressed like this."

"Well... Ben might have, but you're right," Andrew forced himself to smile, and stood from the bed, plucking one of the mints off the plate and popping it into his mouth.

The two Marines walked out of the room, and began the descent back downstairs, towards the telltale sounds of drunken laughter and steelpans.

[Dutch]

To say that last few weeks had been unpleasant would have been an understatement.

Three weeks of almost solid bedtime, twiddling his thumbs and listening and watching the actions of his comrades of Lethe’s surface and praying that the ship he was being treated on wouldn’t get atomized by some Covenant warship.

There was barely even any nurses, no hot ones anyway! Yes, Fisher had been strapped to the bed bored to tears while waiting for his thigh to heal. It hadn’t hit the bone, thank god, but it had wreaked havoc on his muscles.

Finally once it got a little better and was allowed to use a wheelchair, then crutches, and finally he was allowed to hobble around on his own for a bit. Still, it had absolutely sucked. Being barely capable of walking around for a solid three weeks and then some more time get readjusted to walking around, plus rebuilding lost muscle and all that.

And if all of that was not enough, he’d been the laughing stock of the entire ship! While normally getting skewered by an energy sword and living to talk about it was usually a great tale to tell, he hadn’t been hit in battle. No, he had tripped and accidently set the blasted thing off! How humiliating!

Finally, after a lot of exercising, he was back in tip-top fighting shape. Plus he had an incredible looking scar which could definitely account for some good bar stories, provided the story was altered a tad.

After the remnants of the UNSC task forces had managed to stagger off into SlipSpace after the bizarre Covenant retreat, Fisher and most of the other troops took a cryogenic frozen nap until they managed to reach their destination of Gloamingwood.
Afterwards they flown down to the ground in pelicans and being assembled before Vice Admiral Mahesh and listened to a somber speech in remembrance of all those who had bravely and valiantly given their lives in the ultimate sacrifice for the UNSC.

Fisher remembered Private First Class Shepherd, the ODST who even after being skewered by a sword saved Fishers life by emptying his magnum into the monstrous alien. So many names flooded through him, his old squad. Tharp, Thompson, Sollid, Mitchells, McCawell. All dead, all killed by that blasted Elite! Fishers face crunched up in anger and his fist clutched shut as he remember their terrified screams of agony that no amount of training could have prepared them for.

The speech ended on a lighter tone which Fisher very much agreed with. The dead are to be honored, but the no point in being a hero if you couldn’t enjoy it. A smile cracked across Fishers face and he silently agreed with the Vice Admiral.

Fisher eyes shone as the man listed off the benefits the ‘heroes of Lethe’ would be receiving. Buffets, drinks, his own bloody room! Now as Fisher was enjoying the benefits of the planet, he found himself staring at the amber line of liquor pour down from above and into his glass. This strangely fascinating stuff, a local drink called fire ale sure lived up to the saying the locals had for it. “Tastes like cider, burns like fire!” And that it did. One of the most delicious concoctions Fisher had ever tasted, it was like nice and spicy apple cider running along his tongue, but quickly turned to blazing fire as it scorched fiery trail down his mouth.

Now as the glass finally filled up and Fisher grabbed at it eagerly, he turned to the stunning local girl on the bar stool next to him and with the slyness of a snake and in a very charming, very dashing tone of voice, asked her.

“Now where was I?” Then before she could respond, “Oh yeah, my scar right?” As it was an informal celebration, Fisher had swapped his dress pants for some khaki shorts, though he’d kept the jacket, albeit worn looser and his wedge. All in all, added to his natural good looks, he was having an easy time picking up girls, especially as he was a ‘hero.’

“Well, here’s the scar.” Fisher said smoothly and he pulled up his shorts a bit to reveal the reminder of his accident with the sword. Now, you wanna know how this rock-solid helljumper got it?” She stared at him eagerly, blue eyes burning into him for his epic story. She was all his. Fisher had improvised his scar story a bit and now he put it into action.

“Well, we’re attacking this huge Covenant ship right, several kilometers long! We charged into where they had their gravity lift so we could get up there, and we get into this huge honkin’ big battle with these Covenant!

“Now I’m down there blowing away the Covenant by myself when this huge Elite comes at me! Nine feet tall and with this huge energy sword! But I’m cool; I hold my ground and open up on that big ugly, shoot him up real good. But he ain’t going down easily so I tell him. Hey, you want to do this the hard way then? So he’s charging at me, roaring an all and I’m all outta bullets! So I take out my knife so we can settle it man to squid-head. So he stabs at me right, and I grab his arm and use it to pull myself onto his back! I’m ‘bout t give him a good shanking when he freaks out and panic, swings that huge sword of his around and throws me off, slicing my leg open in the progress.

“I’m cool though, it hurts but nothing I couldn’t handle. So I land behind him and while he’s looking around for me, I charge him. He turns around to slash me apart, but I jumped over his blade, land on his neck, and stab him just like that. So that is how I got my scar. Fisher took a long pull from his fire ale, winced at the burn and turned to the girl who was staring at him like he was a god. Everything was going perfectly, until…

“Fisher, you were the guy who tripped and slashed your own leg open! These people have been good to us, don’t feed ‘em those lies!” A series of guffaws and laughs ran out from all over the bar directed at him. The girl gave him a pitiful, amused look before slipping delicately off the stool and heading over to some other guy.

Fisher shook a fist at the speaker, downed the rest of his ale, then went off to the buffet in search of some perogies.

[Bippwatt]

As he wove his way past the massive number of cheering and partying people, Nikolai at last found his room. He fumbled with the key card and managed to get it into the slot.

As he stumbled into the room, he found himself looking right at a very irate Idina Fallks, his spotter.

"Uh, hey.", he muttered.

"What took you so long?"

"Don't blame me! It's a freaking people masher down there!"

Idina responds with a simple grumble. As she sits down, Nikolai also takes a seat. The moment he does, he begins to remember the terror of the ground battle he had experienced. He had faced Covenant before, but never like this.

He had seen entire platoons just wiped out by a pair of Hunters. Or a squad that had to be identified by dental records or DNA sampling.

It was a face of the war he hadn't really ever seen. Which was disturbing, given that he had been in two other major engagements with the Covenant.

Then there was his own, entirely too close, encounter with a pair of Elites. He hadn't moved to a new location fast enough and they were upon him before he could even get up. Which was really was saved him, ironically. As they closed on him, Idina had slipped around behind the Elites and pulled out her shotgun. Before the Elites even knew which way to turn, she had already unloaded three shells into one Elites head, spraying the brain matter of said Elite all over Nikolai.

The other Elite turned on Idina and stalked toward her with his sword. She backpedaled and tried to bring the shotgun to bear on the other Elite, but it just reached up and swept the gun out of her hands.

But in the split-jaw's single-mindedness, he had forgotten to watch all of his targets. So, Nikolai had gotten up and drew his combat knife. Then he jumped at the alien as it raised it's sword. He stabbed down at the base of it's neck with all the strength he could summon and sunk the knife straight down, killing the Elite instantly.

Coming back to the present, he looked at Idina. She was on one of the two beds in the room, looking out at nothing. He went up to her and touched her shoulder.

She turned and looked at him and smiled.
"Thanks. Bad road to be going down tonight."

"Yeah. I wouldn't suggest it." Niko smiled back. "Come on, let's go get a drink. Maybe we'll see some familiar faces."

"Good idea."

They left the room, grabbing a small stack of credit chits. Just because they were all heroes didn't mean they couldn't, or wouldn't, pay their way.

[nex]

Steve 'Crash' Colsten had become somewhat sombre after the Vice Admiral's address. No one he had known closely had died. He'd long since made a habit of not getting close to anyone. But that still didn't change the feelings stirring - all those memories of men killed before his eyes. And all for the good of an empire that wouldn't know of their sacrifice. Sometimes he hated his job. It was thoughts like those, that still lingered on from the time spent in the underground workshops of the insurrectionists. They had filled his head with so many things, but it was times like this that they came back to him. It was times like this that they made sense.

Not even his commission to 2nd Lieutenant could shake the feeling. He hadn't asked for it. It had come as something of a surprise to him. He hadn't wanted any of the glory. He didn't deserve any of it. Most of the time, he had just been keeping his head down and doing what needed to be done. Braver men than him had played a wider role.

He had considered just slipping away to his room. Relaxed on his soft sheets with a hard drink. No one would look for him. Instead, he'd thrown his dufflebag on the bed, pausing only to extradite his dress coat. He'd long since replaced that leather trench coat that he'd worn back on Arcadia. God, that seemed so long ago to him now. He was a different person back then. Complete and utter freedom. How life changes. Instead, he'd managed to acquire one of the black, knee length woolen coats. Something that other younger members of the infamous Office of Naval Intelligence appeared to favour. His leather jack remained back in his quarters, and would unlikely see daylight for a while.

His permanent quarters back aboard ship, were becoming increasingly decorated with trinkets. On one wall, a square plate of armour from a Covenant Battle cruiser hung precariously. Beneath it on a display stand was his latest acquisition - The powered down hilt of a Energy sword. His Carbine had been checked in to the armoury, in lieu of the M7 he'd withdrawn before the mission at Lethe. The look on the poor technician's face was something he would forever look back on with a smile.

Slipping his coat on, and straightening some of the other details of his Dress uniform, he examined himself in the mirror, accompanied by his cheeky half smile. He quickly checked that his discreet hip flask was brimming with that sickly amber liquid that he had become so reliant upon, before he made his way back down to the lobby, and through to the ball room.

[smoke]

Kane and Bear left their room; they’d been made to share while Dead meat and Callahan had the room opposite. Wiley got a room with a view as she was sharing with one of the other female marines on the third floor. Kane knocked on for Dead meat and the kid and once they left they headed down to the lobby to draw some pocket money. Kane hadn’t really paid much attention to the Admirals speech, his mind wondering to the fate of the men who he’d failed to save on the carrier at the mention of the dead.

Once they had drawn their money Kane and Dead meat handed 20 credits to Bear, who looked to the kid, Callahan looked confused as Wiley patted him on the back in way of greeting as she waved off her roommate. She too drew out some credits and handed some to Bear.

“What’s that for?” Callahan stammered handing Bear his share.

“The Corp kid, we look after our own, with some squads it’s traditional to give some of yer first pay after a mission to help out those who either can’t work after or for the families who lost someone.” He paused for a moment as each of them gave up some sort of prayer to the dead or injured.

“Mi old Sarge taught me to do it, usually it’s the CO’s job but I can’t let you young un’s cock it up can I?” he chuckled at that.

“sides the rest of us discussed it on the drive over here, ya know while you were sleepin’ and we agreed that we’ll carry it on, but if ya don’t feel the same here it’s yours you earned it i won’t take make ya do it.” He offered Callahan his credits back while the other watched to see what would happen. But without a second thought or glance at the others he pushed Bears hand back.

Dead meat wrapped his arm over Callahan’ shoulders

“we’ll make a marine out of you yet kid, come on your round eh?”

Kane, Wiley and Bear stood partly gasp at Dead meats’ sudden sociability as he led Higgins through to the gardens. Kane, Wiley and Bear shot sideways glances between each other and their two team mates as they strode to the back patio, Kane gave two short whistles while tipping his hand in a drinking action. The other two tried to stifle burst of laughter and followed en toe.

[gravemind2]

Alejandro had thoroughly listened through the speech, and was amazed by how many people had died. He didn't know because of what had happened. When he was on that horrible planet, his PFC Lauren had gotten her leg hurt in the same place it had recently healed after being broken. She had to be hospitalized and without her they were unable to advance through the Covenant ship, and ended up retreating. Her leg had recently gotten a full recovery from great care, and she was now like anyone else.

Alejandro has decided to toss his luggage onto his bed, and quickly head down to the bar for a drink. He was sleeping in a separate bed but in the same room as Calvin, while Lauren got a room all to herself, and Luke and Bryant also shared a room. Alejandro thought this would be good for Calvin could teach him some things to get better, but being a quiet guy, Calvin hadn't said anything yet.

He grabbed a small glass of champagne and after a few shots started to get drunk and announced a toast.

"To all those dead souls let them not die in vain on that stupid, horrible planet! Three cheers for the future!" He yelled before falling off the stool he had been standing on. He heard most laugh while other drunks yelled out some cheers. It felt good to relax again.

[tellos]

Sergeant Marcus Vintear Leader of Squad Avalon Alpha
Location: Quarters on Gloamingwood

He sits down as they enter; each squad member takes their bunks and tries to relax. Vintear had been given a message upon arrival; it was a new assignment to a ship that would arrive after repairs. The UNSCS Scylla it would be acting as their home when not on special missions. The pad gave info on the destroyer, its crew and public service record along with current CO. “We got transferred guys. Finally going to have our own ship.” He said less than enthusiastically. The others smiled and nodded. They were happy but the last operation was still on their minds, though they lost nobody on their squad they had to keep quiet about broken dagger. The operation was classified.

Still people had been lost and seemed like every battle was getting more frantic. They were tired and the war was seemingly endless. Perhaps it was not the war that bugged them it was that in Operation Broken Blade they saw the fate of their species possibly in danger, Nikki had a look Marcus had never seen before. She was gripping her Star of David like it was a comfort blanket, she looked to him and he couldn’t tell her to ignore how she felt.

They all had this look even Marcus, it was the sense that they still didn’t know if they had truly succeeded. None of them knew if indeed the covenant hadn’t gotten anything off that ship. Smith then broke the silence they all had held, “Sergeant, Would you consider it cowardice for me to pray to god we succeeded?”

“No, In fact pray for us all. If there is a god I think we need his and any help that we can get.” Marcus understood you couldn’t get rid of fear but you could control how it affected you. As she nodded he looked around “nobody who feels like praying or finding strength in some higher power is a coward, right now they may be strategy major for all we know. We may do our duty but we know this war is not going to be an easy fight.” His words seemed to calm them some.


It took a while before they managed to get past the feelings and even then it simply was the major fear of not having gotten everything. All of them knew they could not simply let that worry consume them. “Say Seth you ever figure if you are going to try to get your M90 qualifications? Carrying that M7 always is not the best idea.” He aid jokingly.

“Yeah but I’ll do that next week I have to wait for the paperwork anyways, you going to as well Sergeant?” He asked with a grin.

“I did a year ago; I just normally got a rifle so I pack enough of a punch. Get with Nikki for practice beforehand she still out shoots me with it. Or hell James you already qualified why don’t you practice with private first class Roathen? Not like you got things to do.”

Tarleton smiled. “Fine so long as gets up on time no late practice ok? What do you have to do Oresmen? You could join us.”

She shook her head. “No thanks me and Lance Corporal Zeltich are going to do some rifle practice.”

“Well sergeant guess mean you and I can do that long over due qualification for the M19 SSM.” Smith spoke up.


“Gah! Fine guess we all got out practice partners huh. “He said pretending to be disappointed.

[SuperCommando]

Devon Hayes, Breaker Squadron

Gloamingwood, United Nations colony, Zeta Leporis

Emerald Hotel

“It’s so beautiful…”

Breaker Squadron’s CO, Devon Hayes, looked at his copilot and rubbed his dark stubble in thought. Her words did not match the expression on her face or the sigh in her voice.

He and Naomi walked among the lovely floral gardens leading to the lake behind the hotel. Devon had never been interested in such things as plants and flowers, but even he had to admit the gardens were quite stunning. And along with the cool air drifting up from the shore, the glorious colors of the sunset, and of course the carefree notes of the jaunty party tunes in the background, there was plenty of reason to feel peaceful and content here.

“Something wrong, Naomi?” he asked gently.

“No sir, of course not,” she replied, forcing a smile at him and then glancing away. “I… was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later, thank you.” Naomi replied. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go have a look at the shore. It’s a bit crowded here.” Devon could tell by the quiet tone of her voice that she wanted to be left alone.

“Okay,” he said with an understanding nod.

As Naomi walked through the gardens towards the lake, Devon caught sight of Ray, the engineering officer onboard his Longsword, approaching.

“What’s up with Lieutenant Asuka?” he asked, having only seen her strictly professional down-to-business side before.

Devon shrugged. “Just let her be. She’ll come around when she feels like it. Hey, have you seen Craig around here at all?”

“He’s over by the bonfire with Lieutenants Martin and Grey, sir,” the young man replied.

Devon let out a good-natured chuckle and gave Ray a pat on the back. “Kid, relax. This is a party! Let’s go talk with the guys, loosen up, have a little fun while we can.”

Together they moved through the mass of dress uniforms to where the group of Breaker Squadron pilots and crew had gathered, standing around with drinks in their hands and laughing. Craig Lowe, the navigation officer of Breaker One, motioned to Ray as soon as he saw him.

“Croiky, that’s good stuff!” he declared, downing the last of the bubbly liquid from his glass. “Be a pal, get a bloke some more, would ya?”

“Well, uh…” Ray was about to protest.

“Oh, me too, please,” said Devon. “And some of those little shrimp things, if you could? Thanks kid.”

“But…”

Before he could say anything, Devon and Craig were both already engrossed in some joke Flight Lieutenant Guy Martin was telling, laughing with the guys and expecting Ray to be on his way. So Ray made his way into the grand hotel building to the assorted bars and buffet tables to find his friends some drinks.

It was a great deal more crowded in here then outside, with people packed almost to the elbow in some high-traffic areas, in spite of the large space the hotel provided. Ray marveled at just how many people must have been involved in the operation on Lethe – those that survived to be here, that is. Presently, he found a small platter on which he placed several drinks and some shrimp for his Squadron Leader, and then began the delicate operation of making it back to the group. Moving slowly and with great care so as to balance everything and avoid the crowds, he carefully weaved his way back. The task, as it turns out, became a bit more than he bargained for as he suddenly found himself squeezing past a particular group of rowdy Marines. (OOC: That’s you, Gravemind!) One of them, having previously been shouting and standing up on a bar stool, fell off with all the grace one can expect from a drunken soldier.

While not directly in the way, Ray still had to abruptly back off so as not to be hit by the man as he dropped. The evasive action was successful, and there was a great thud behind him from the near miss. But Ray had to stumble a bit to regain balance of the platter that he almost tipped over in the process, and as a result he ran smack into someone else. Ray watched helplessly as the drinks on the platter crashed into the stranger’s chest, splattering his nice dress uniform with wine and shrimps before smashing to the floor.

For a moment, all Ray could do is look down at the spilt beverage and broken glasses on the floor. Then he looked up. The man standing in front of him was a good half-head taller than himself – evidently a Marine by the look of his physique. But this was no ordinary Marine… a look of horror grew on Ray’s face as he saw the decorations on the man’s soaked uniform that identified him as CPL J. Fisher, ODST. He stared like a frightened rabbit at the helljumper, paralyzed with fear.

[gravemind2]

Alejandro had some trouble standing up, even with the help of his private Luke, and the bar stool. Once he was up, Luke went off and grabbed a drunken private Bryant and brought them both upstairs.

"Hey corp, I was taught in school to be a good role model. But you don't seem to be doing that good!" He exclaimed with a chuckle as he dropped them next to the railing. He then brushed off his hands like Alejandro and Bryant were covered in soot and continued. "Well anyway, the real reason I brought you two up here is because when you fell Corp, you almost landed on some waiter dude. I watched him to see if he was okay, and saw he had spilled his drinks and broke his glasses on a man. Now it look like there is going to be a fight, and I can't have you two drunks get in the way."

Alejandro started to get up and grabbed Luke's arm as he vaguely saw him head down the stairs. "Hey," he started before belching air thy contained the smell of beer. "I've experienced a lot of bar fights back home in Scotland. And about all the people I fought were drunk. Heck half of the people I knew are usually drunk!" He yells this racist joke while still under the spell of the drinks he had. (OOC: I do not mean to be racist, I just think that a heavily drunk person like Alejandro would say that, sorry if I offend anyone) He then got up and started running down the stairs. Once down he ran followed by Luke surveying the area for a fight.

[Dutch]

Fisher had managed to dodge his way around several myriads of drunken troopers. Geez, this early on in the evening and already tanked! What was the point in that? After this, he'd alighted at the seemingly endless buffet table, on of many.

After this, he obtained a plate, more of a platter actually, and amassed a great pile of food, mainly a mountain of beautiful perogies absolutely drenched in some very unhealthy butter and with onion rings scattered everywhere. This heaping pile of steaming vittles balanced in his hand, he took a deep breathe and began the perilous task of making his way to a seat.

With a prayer he entered the writhing sea of people, hoping to sail away from the hurricanes of drunks and whirlpools of hot girls. Dainty sailing on through, he was experiencing a high level of success. His objective of an empty bar stool was close, a mere two meters away, when he hit a hidden reef.

A group of rowdy marines had been spotted dead ahead. As Fisher prepared to take evasive action, one of them who had one too many up a refreshing beverages on a bar stool fell off, as expected, with all of the grace and dignity of a dead whale. As Fisher suddenly took evasive action to dodge the suddenly backing up people, he swerved around then, rotated his head to make sure his six was clear, and then turned back around when he collided.

Another man, noticeably shorter than himself, had accidently crashed right into him, presumably trying to avoid the drunken marine also. However worse than the crash itself was the result. The man was carrying a platter laden with drinks and shrimp. Physics worked its magic and the entire content of that platter cascaded forth and covered Fisher's dress uniform.

As shrimp and refreshing beverages splattered all over his dress coat and quickly reaching his undershirt, instinct took over as Fisher automatically lifted his own platter high into the air to save it from the overthrow of spirits.

Now as Fisher looked at his soaked uniform, a single phrase suddenly exploded from his lips.

"Ah crap!" Then as he turned his head up to see the quailing man before him, he half yelled. "What the hell?" Then he realized that he was in a bar, full of people. What else was to be expected? With a groan, he leaned over and rested his platter on the bar counter and he stripped off his drenched dress coat. Then turning to the clearly nervous man he grinned and shoved his hand into his shorts pocket. Pulling out a handful of roughly thirty five credits, he placed them in the mans hand with a reassuring grin. "Aw what the hell, it's a bar. Here, but yerself another round or so." Then he told the bartender to make sure no one ate his food, delivered a threat to a few eyeballing it, he dashed for the elevator to get to his room for a change

[hollowsaber]

Private Jake Furrow Fireteam Alpha; Nova Squad Emerald Hotel

From the corner of the bar, Furrow stayed silent, leaning back on the cushioned booth side to keep his wounded body supported. He cringed a little bit at the pain but kept it generally to himself. He had stayed back near the door during the ‘ceremony’, and had been brought down last, as a cripple in the way would be more of a nuisance then anything else. Plus from how beat up he was, walking regularly was still to difficult and Jake always kept his crutch with him. For now, he kept it leaning against the wall next to him. He wouldn’t need to move anywhere. A glass and pitcher of water would hold him for a few hours, or until the party was over at least. Or maybe until someone came down and dragged him back into his room where he should be.

But, as a stubborn Trooper, Jake liked watching the others enjoy themselves. The party was subtle enough, and it brought a slight smirk to his face, when he wasn’t cringing in pain that is. He hard prepared accordingly, and wore his dress-uniform as he was told. Though, he was allowed to hid his right-arm that was in a sling under his jacket for once. Thankfully, no one else bugged him about it. Yet, the looks from others made him think that they really wanted to. Jake couldn’t help but look away whenever he saw their stares. It just didn’t feel right to him… Plus, he walked around alone much of the time now…

Once everyone was called off the ship, Jake, Gordan, Luther, Richard, and another group of soldiers stayed behind to keep the Covenant back. After the first few waves of enraged aliens, Luther and Richard were gone, along with the other squad… Jake and Gordan decided to leave, but Gordan engaged another Elite that was right behind them… Jake reached the last Pelican, but at the loss of his squad. Now Jake was alone, except for his Platoon. Jake had been separated from them for a while and hadn’t seen a single one of them ever since he got off Lethe. Now he wished that he hadn’t stayed back. The feeling of giving others time was the only reason he stayed, and that feeling was slowly turning into regret…

With a sip of his water, Jake groaned as he felt the cold liquid slither through his throat, slightly stinging his lungs as it passed. His body ached badly, but that never stopped him. Even now, when his body was on the verge of falling apart again, Jake still would rather sit in the back corner of the room and watch the others enjoy themselves then stay in some stupid infirmary. It would be good for him to get some air. The last two weeks had been full of medication and therapy anyways. No way in hell was he staying there…

[Jakob]

Lieutenant Jakob Zaborowski

Jakob quickly grabbed Aborn's shoulders, tearing him away from the Marine who had picked a fight with him. Gordan had ran in and stopped the fight from truly escalating. A Marine had started shouting about the ODST snobs and how they did none of the work, a drunken Aborn had thrown a sucker punch and the two quickly got into a brawl. Jakob dragged him backwards as he shouted curses and threw a glass of wine at him. The glass shattered on a pillar, a weary green Marine being forced to duck as it shattered, shards and alcohol being flung in all directions.

Jakob dragged him out of the secluded area and into the back of the party, he grabbed a glass of water on the way in and splashed it on his face.
"Damn it Aborn, your not exactly making me look any better."
He shook him a bit then let go as he dazed off, the effects of the Marines attack settling in.

Jakob stood up and noticed the Private sitting there,
"Enjoying the party I see."

[hollowsaber]

Private Jake Furrow Fireteam Alpha; Nova Squad Emerald Hotel

Jake chuckled slightly at seeing his Sergeant join the fighting. The party was slowly becoming sour, but the bar was open to anyone and everyone. Give soldiers who just got back from a horrific battle a lot of money and an open bar, there’s obviously going to be some problems. Either way, Jake got a kick out of it all. He shuffled himself slightly in his seat, moving his leg slightly after a cramp began to settle in. His damned body was getting annoying to use now more then ever. Jake had the feeling that he wanted to just get it over with, but with a glance down to his right arm’s wrist, the thought of his family brought back the fire in his heart. It always did, and Jake was glad for that. Without that tattoo, he would most certainly be dead…

As he was glancing down, a glass from his table was snatched up and the sound of splashing water made Jake look up. In front of him, his Lieutenant and Sergeant were standing right there. His Sergeant looked wasted, and his LT was obviously angry. Right when he noticed who they were, Jake tried to move his right arm to salute, but a sharp pain made him stop. Instead, Jake pulled up his left, giving his COs a very bad salute. The feeling made him cringe, but instinct had kicked in and told him to do it anyways. Though, pains in his legs kept him from standing as well. As the LT sat, Jake relaxed his hand and took another gently sip of water, wincing at the hurtful sensation again.

“Enjoying the party I see?” The Lieutenant’s voice was one of the best things he had heard all day. The other things he had heard either made him feel weak, like a child, or just plain useless… Just as he thought that, the memory of his squad dying before his eyes returned and Jake diverted his eyes to the floor.

“Y-yes sir…” Jake muttered, almost saying it to himself as he looked down at his wounded body. If only he had better aim… If only he was stronger… If only he had thrown them all down the lift first… If only he had attacked that Elite instead of Gordan… If only he had stayed behind…

[Jakob]

Lieutenant Jakob Zaborowski

"Kid stop freaking out about everyt..." Jakob remembered the mission report, he was the only survivor of his fire team. A lot of good men had died there, and Jakob knew it most of all. Whenever he thought about it a time long ago rushed back to him. A tank exploding, a Pelican crashing, men dying. A lucky ass Admiral who was saved by Sergeant Zaborowski. He flashed back to the present as his Sergeant slumped over, hitting a table and sending a glass spiraling to the ground. Most likely the sixth he broke today.

He turned to the Private again, shaking off the flood of emotions the flash back brought to him. He leaned back and tried talking to him sarcastically. "Sorry, but hey, at least one of your Privates didn't get you a demotion, or pay slash, or prison time. Higher ups still discussing that."
Jakob's smile quickly faded as he looked at the Private, The dumb ass saved lives, and took my job Thought Jakob.

[hollowsaber]

Private Jake Furrow Fireteam Alpha; Nova Squad Emerald Hotel

Jake looked at his feet, blinking quickly and very roughly to hold back his tears. He had killed a lot of men because of his actions and trying to keep everyone else alive. Was it even worth it? Hundreds for 7? Was it a good trade off? Jake could never tell. All he could think about was wanting those men back… Jake wanted to go back in time and throw all of them into the gravity-lift and fend off all the Covenant himself. Maybe then he would feel as if he did something right… Maybe then he would feel his life was worth it… Jake growled lowly and clenched his left fist on the table and stared into his half-empty glass.

Suddenly, his Sergeant collapsed to the floor and another glass shattered. Jake simply stared at the man and looked his Sergeant up and down. He was a good man, but was dumb enough to get wicked drunk… Things like that made him wonder. As his Lieutenant leaned over to address him, Jake turned to look the man in the face, blinking a few times as a slight rush of pain flowed through him.


"Sorry, but hey, at least one of your Privates didn't get you a demotion, or pay slash, or prison time. Higher ups still discussing that."


“Sorry sir… Sorry for everything up there…” Jake spoke quietly, coughing slightly as his throat clenched then winced as he did so.
“Go enjoy the party sir…” Jake moved carefully, getting to his feet then grabbed his Sergeant by the arm and pulled him up onto his feet. With a careful nudge, Jake let the man fall onto the booth right next to his own so he wouldn’t be in the way for anyone passing by.
“I’ll watch over the Sergeant.” Jake pressed his hand against the wall that separated the booths then the table to keep himself steady as he limped back into his seat.

[Jakob]

Lieutenant Jakob Zaborowski

Jakob sighed and patted Jake on the back. He looked at him and said,
"You did good out there. Better then me at least, here, buy yourself something nice."
Jakob tossed the money to the Private and walked away to a crowd of rowdy Marines, they seemed to be picking fights and yelling at passerby.
He walked up to a Corporal.
"Everything alright over here?"

[Dutch]

Fisher had just been hurrying over to the elevator to head back up to his room and peel off his wet dress coat when a voice ran out from besides him.

"Everything alright over there?" Fisher turned around to see a lieutenant with a rather, actually a completely tanked sergeant next to him. Fisher half snapped to attention, he recognized his new commander, and holy crap, his new sergeant. Before him were Lieutenant Zaborowski, a man who's name had been joked about by Fisher behind the mans back, and Sergeant Aborn, a man who was close to disorderly conduct judging by the amount of alcohol coursing through his system and practically leaking out of his eyes.

"Yes sir, everything ok, well, ok for a bar party I guess. Some tanked up marine fell and kinda knocked this guy carrying drinks and shrimp into me so I gotta go change my uniform, now if you'll excuse me sir." He squirmed through some more people, reached the elevator and stepped inside. A moment later he was on his way up.

[nex]

As Crash made his way through the packed ballroom to the bar, he could feel the stares of soldiers, drawn by the stark difference in his dress uniform. Perhaps he should have left the coat behind. Then only those who got close enough to see the insignia would stare. He could see a few mutter behind their hands. Let them. He didn't care.

He made his way past a few already drunken soldiers - he carefully skirted around two, who looked ready to start a fight, before he reached the bar. The area around the bar was less crowded, thankfully. He motioned to the bartender for some whiskey - A double. He waited briefly for the drink, then clutched in his hand and turned to face the room.

He stood, straightening his posture making himself taller than those around him. He gave an antique bell on the end of the bar a sharp ring, before he raised his drink high, above his head. He watched as the loud roar of the room died down to just a few whispers, as in turn people looked and waited.

"To those who didn't make it back". He called out solemely across the now strangely quiet room, before necking his drink back. As the bitter amber liquid worked his way down his throat, he turned back to the bar to order another.

[smoke]

Kane sat at the bar, he was steadily making his way along the pumps behind the bar and save for one or two they were weaker than back home, that was a bitter thought to swallow as he remembered his home worlds fate. He snapped himself back to the party; Bear and Callahan were joking with a bunch of ODSTs over drinks, Wiley had disappeared outside to the bonfire he wagered and Dead meat who had bought the first round to the teams surprise had then wandered off to the buffet tent with a young female technician under his arm. Kane marvelled at the difference in the teams’ character off duty, he hadn’t spent much time with them outside of battle drills, cryo-sleep and the mission to Lethe.

Someone further down the bar had made a toast and raised his glass before finishing its contents.

“and to baby-sitting officer” smirked Bear in mock salute

“you got a problem with me? Eh old man?” Kane said getting to his feet and unbuttoning his dress coat. He hadn’t shouted or anything but his voice carried over the din of the party several party guest turned to see what was going on. Bear was making his way doing the same and they both lay their coats over a bar stool.

Bear came chest to chest with Kane almost dwarfing him with his bulk and Kane noticed that they now stood in a area several steps wide as people tried to get out of the way of the ensuing fight.

“Do you want to settle this like children throwing insults across the room or like men?” Bear bristled at the offhand insult.

“Like men” he growled rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Good” Kane nodded and turned to the barman

“Two pints of each.” Kane said running his hand along several of the pumps before turning back to his private.

“You know this one I take it private? First to finish with the cleanest shirt wins. Loser pays!” he said flatly. Bear smiled tasting victory over his younger CO. After the pints had been poured, lined up and settled Kane and Bear faced off in their duel.

“One...Two...Three!” Kane announced and they took to their first pints downing them in one before placing glass down and starting on the next. Bear gained an early lead but Kane caught up around the 5th pint, he downed each one in one draft taking slightly longer than his opponent but not spilling a drop. Bear gave a mighty belch as Kane downed the final pint seconds before his foe; this was met by rapturous applause from the on lookers.

“yerrr... all... rrright in my... bbook... sirrr” Bear slurred. Kane motioned to Callahan to lead the drunken Bear to his room giving him Bears’ access card.

“Beats a bust up eh mate?” Kane smiled to the barman as he finished some of the condensed foam in the bottom of one of the glassed before paying the barman for the drinks.

“I’ll have and orange juice after that lot please and where’s the loo?” he picked up his coat and made his way briskly through the crowd in the direction the barman had pointed while being patted on the back from the onlookers.

[inhert]

In the crowd of soldiers in their dress uniforms Paula Santa-Maria wearing a black backless gown stuck up like a high class sore thumb. She led the six men of SOG-A through the crowd, her beau Rob’s hand firmly in hers. The six members of SOG-A blended better into the crowd in their dress uniforms Paula, but she enjoyed the attention hew gown drew as she cut through the crowd. Her destination like all those first coming to the ball room as the bar.

“What are you going to get me? Rob.” Her question only got a shrug from Rob as he though about what he was going to drink for the evening. “Then it’s settled.” She wriggled her hand from Rob’s, “Shampian!” On the bar before them seven full Champaign flutes appeared in front of them. Each was picked up by the seven members of Red Wing as the group stepped away from the bar.

Paula was the first of the group to notice Crash’s voice toasting the lost. When the silence ended and the revelry picked up again she made her way to the now Second Lieutenant like a heat seeking missile. Making her way to Crash she found that he was to preoccupied with ordering a whiskey to notice her behind him. Reaching out to tap him on the shoulder she stopped and pulled her hand into a fist and gave Crash a swift tap on his shoulder.

“What’s the world coming to?” Her voice filled with feigned disapproval, “Since when do good men get the commendations they deserve.”

“I’m sure it’s a simple mistake and the brass will have him back his correct rank by weeks end.” Murph joined Puala as him and the other Red Wing members approached Crash. “But truly, congratulations.” Murph was the first of Red Wing to offer a salute and hand shake to the new Second Lieutenant.

“Babe, I …There’s something on the lake that you’d like.” Yellow addressed his girlfriend when the greetings where finished.

“I’m sure it’s not the fireworks, but okay.” Paula waved her finger at Crash and the five men of Red Wing, “Dunt go to far gentlemen.” With that Paula turned and work her way through the crowd to leave the ballroom. Before following her Yellow produced a small black felt box from his pocket and smiled at his comrades.

“Whelp. That can’t end well.” Jester was the first to comment after the couple left the bar.

Murph chuckled before correcting the conversation’s course, “So Crash how does it feel to be Second Lieutenant Colsten now?”

[Bippwatt]

Nikolai snorted, almost spewing his 30 year old whiskey across the room as he heard the comment from someone a little farther down the bar . Idina, not having heard it, gave him a look that quite plainly said; "You're crazy."

"Sorry, just heard something funny." His cheeks heated a bit as she affixed him with her nasty, penetrating stare.

"Well, no duh. We're in a room with hundreds of Navy and Marines. Mostly the Marines that need mentioning here, though. 'course you
re gonna hear something funny." It was her turn to snort as she walked away from the bar, with two drinks in hand. Nikolai shook his head. Wait. Two drinks? He quickly turned around and looked for her. He caught a glimpse of her slightly long brown hair and her typical gait. Who was that? Was that a Navy officer?

"Oh, boy! That guy is soooo screwed. Possible in all senses of the word." He walks away, looking for someone to share a drink or two with.

[Jakob]

Lieutenant Jakob Zaborowski

Jakob sighed and walked down to the bar, quickly ordering a beer and some water for Aborn. He thought about everything he lost because of the Private and grew angry, smacking a glass off the bar and onto the floor. The barkeep nearly protested but remembered he was a hero. Some Marines turned there heads and sighed turning back to there conversations. Jakob looked at his wasted Sergeant and handed him the hotel key. Motioning at the hotel, the Sergeant snatched the key and stumbled up. The military had drilled these things into him and he knew when to tell when his Lieutenant was giving a order.

Jakob looked at a man who seemed to be wandering around and motioned at him with his finger.
"Come over! Have a drink with me son!" He yelled over at him.

[Bippwatt]

Nikolai hears the unmistakable voice of an officer. He executes a perfect about face and quickly locates the source of the voice.

"Sir, I would think someone of your standing would have already found a drinking buddy." Nikolai plants his trademark shit-eating grin in his face and turns to the barkeep. "I'll buy the Lieutenant's next drink." He looks back and smiles. "My treat, sir."

Then he orders a good old fashion White Russian for himself. "To our future victories. May they be less painful than our last."

[Jakob]

Lieutenant Jakob Zaborowski

Jakob raised his half filled glass, the alcoholic beverage swishing in the glass.
"Amen!" He yelled, downing it in one chug. He put the drink back down on the table and ordered some more. The barkeep looking at the Lieutenant with increase weary that the man was getting violent. Jakob turned to the nab next to him and noticed his rank.
"Now how does a suck up like you get such a lowly rank?"

[Bippwatt]

Nikolai sighs. It always came to the low rank.

"Snipers don't tend to be noted for their bravery, since they tend to hide in shadows, killing silently. Lance Corporal, in my opinion, is a pretty high rank for a sniper. But maybe others feel differently!" Nikolai sighed again. It always came to the damn low rank!

He turned to the barkeep and ordered another White Russian. He had plans to be completely crocked by the night's end.

[Dutch]

Private First Class Riley Mackenzie of the UNSC Marine Corps lifted the mug brimming with beer high above him, clinking it in somewhat unison with the other three mugs. In a loud, gruff voice, Lance Corporal James called out.
“To us!”
“To us! The other three marines responded, toasting themselves for surviving the battle of Lethe, for living to drink and fight one more day. Heh, not much of heroes they were. After a fierce firefight with covenant, the other fireteams were all killed; they’d just hung back in the corridors, awaiting orders until the battle was over.
Orders never came, they never moved. Then the battle ended.
Now they were ‘heroes’ and drinking away in a bar. Oh well, none of them would complain. Bringing the topped mug to his lips, Mackenzie sucked away some of the foaming froth from the top, then tipped it up.
The cold beer gushed down his throat, saturating his mouth with the delicious tang of good beer. One thing was for sure, this place sure went all-out for the heroes. His Adams apple bobbing furiously as he drank, Mackenzie downed a quarter of his mud before slamming it down with a burp. Beer splashed over the side and got all over his wrist, good thing he wasn’t wearing any long sleeves.
Relaxed by the haze of slight drunkenness, Mackenzie slouched into his chair, which was actually a bar stool. Falling backwards, he hit the ground with a bang, sending a jolt of pain to his dead and breaking his stupor with a curse to the drunken laughter of his friends. Puling himself back up to his seat, Mackenzie grabbed for his beer once, twice, third time’s a charm, pulled it to his mouth and took another deep draught.
“Well boys, we’ve done good. We have all traversed the universe, seen many planets, and kicked alien ass all over the place! May we live long and kick more asses in the future. To an alien ass-kicking!”
“To an alien ass kicking!” Again, glasses clinked and beer was drunk.
By now Mackenzie was definitely getting tanked, while his coordination was still good, his senses were getting pretty blurred. Spotting a familiar face from the belly of the covenant carrier battle, he stumbled off his bar-stool towards Lieutenant Zaborowski, the man he’d stuck his rifle barrel into by accident in the heat of the moment. Saluting clumsily, words spilled out of his mouth.
“Evenin’ sir, how does life go huh? Pretty good huh? Need another drink?”

[hollowsaber]

Private Jake Furrow Fireteam Alpha; Nova Squad Emerald Hotel

As Jake slowly finished his pitcher, taking one large gulp to down the rest of his glass, the trip to the bar had come at last. The dreaded area where several fights had almost occurred, and through the place where fights had already been settled. Today was turning into more and more of just a time to fight your friend rather then mourn the loss of another. It also seemed as an excuse to drink, but Jake was to sane to drink. With that thought, he looked down at his body and thought; “No way in hell am I sane.” The man chuckled for a few seconds before stopping as his chest began to act up.

The pain this time around wasn’t to bad, giving the notion that Jake’s medicine was finally kicking in. The only bad part was that they should have 3 hours ago when he was in the pelican coming down. Either way, if it meant less pain, Jake was satisfied. As he stood, and almost fell over, the medication was aided by his adrenaline as it kicked in. He needed to get to the bar and back, without getting into a fight or he might have a problem. Yet, he already had a problem… He had one hand… and three things to carry; a crutch, a glass pitcher, and a glass cup…

“Shit…” Jake muttered to himself as he stood-up against the wall for support.
“If only… No, not again…” He sighed and carefully opened his ODST-Dress jacket.

Gently, he slipped the jacket back to expose his right forearm, but mostly just for his hand. Once that was done, Jake placed the glass cup inside the pitcher, settling it down on the bottom so it wouldn’t fall out. He took the pitcher up, and gently held the handle with his right hand, gripping it loosely as to not stir up his forearm’s muscles. Simply just holding it was painful, squeezing the handle would probably make him screech. That would not be good… Silence was what he liked, so holding the object lightly would be enough.

With his left arm free, Jake took his crutch up under it and leaned against it slightly for support as he began his trek. He was slightly secluded, as the party seemed to be more towards the center of the room, near the doors, and at the bar, so it was easy at first. Then slowly, he had to take longer routes then he normally would have by moving around groups of people. Jake noticed a few stares and looks, but he didn’t mind. A wounded soldier about to fall over was pretty funny to watch. Even so, Jake was able to make it to the end of the bar before the pain became to much to bare.

Jake rested his crutch up against the end of the bar and decided to sit down where he was rather then go all the way back. Plus it would be a lot less lonely up front. He was to use to being alone, and being out on the rocks with just his rifle was starting to get to him. Sighing in despair, Jake placed his pitched up on the table, pulling the cup from its interior, and quietly notified the bartender of his predicament. Smiling, the man refilled the pitcher and the glass, adding ice to the pitcher, before returning it where he had taking it.

“Good job out there trooper. Don’t want to know your story, but it looks like hell was good enough to let you go.” The bartender tapped Jake on the shoulder and smiled at his young face before walking away to help someone else.

“Hell? Let me go…? I wish I had stayed…” Jake muttered, taking a slight sip of his water before staring at the table and off into space.

[Bippwatt]

Idina looked at the bar, waiting for her "companion" to return. She saw Niko raise his glass and heard him, even from here.

"To our future victories. May they be less painful than our last."

Idina shook her head.
"Damn Covenant. If only toasts could kill them."

==========================================

Niko knocked back another drink, ordering something new. Something the local's called a Bomb Blast Gargle. It looked like a Black and Tan, but when Niko knocked the shot glass back, it was a bit more like an Irish Car Bomb. Only with Vodka somewhere in there.

He shook his head.
"Yahoo! Now...that my man,", he slurred, wobbling a bit. "That is a drink!" He orders another, stumbling as he turns. "That was a nice one. I'll take it again, if you please!"

When he gets his drink, he downs it and turns around and jumps up on a stool and shouts out to the room.

"Today, I will show those Covenant.....so-and-so's that they......that they..." He trails off and falls off the stool, only to be caught by Idina, who had materialized right there.

"Sorry, everyone! Somebody just had a little to much to drink. Return to your business." She helps him off to their room, by which point he had come around a bit.

"Oh, I think I'm going to regret that tomorrow." He groaned as Idina led him into the room.

"Ah, it's just a bit of alcohol. Sure, you'll have one hell of a hang-over tomorrow, but that's it."

"Bah! Not that. That whole speech that I tried to do. I'm going to regret it I think." Then he passed out again.

"Huh. Might have a point there." Idina turned away, moving to her own bed. Well, at least she had had a little fun!

[tellos]

Sgt. Marcus Vintear
Location: Marine barracks


As the team hung out they checked their mail messages, some got packages and others simply letters. Marcus got a message from home, his family had learned he had reenlisted recently and while they were not mad at him they in their letter stated their desire for him to come back and join the force. He’d never fancied himself a police officer, he was good at what he did out here.

Part of him also knew this war needed people to fight it and needed people with experience to help new people. This war was looking to be longer than any in human history it seemed, every fight the covenant never seemed any less in numbers. He understood his families worry and perhaps every their wish for him to join them in a profession they had grown to love but, he could not bring himself to accept that life.

As he tucks the message away looking to his squad he perhaps found another reason to stay, he had a second family right here, and they were counting him to get them through this war alive. Inside was also a photo, his little sister had graduated from the academy and now had joined their older brother David in the DPD. The picture was her graduating academy class, she looked different from the years since he last saw her.

He tucks the picture away too and lays back on his bunk, he’d signed a reenlistment for eight more years and hoped maybe he might make it to the top of the NCO ranks if he was lucky. While others wanted to become officers with commissions he just wanted to know he had made some kind of dent in the war effort.