RP: NSS Acadia [Mission 2]: Brotherhood and Sisterly Love

Hopping into line for some chow, Kingston found himself beside a rather familiar female figure... "It's Phaedra, isn't it?" he asked with an inquisitive expression. Once she turned to acknowledge him, Viktor offered his free hand to shake. "Haven't had time for proper introductions I don't think, but we've worked together- rather loosely- aboard the Acadia. Viktor Kingston."

Phaedra turned to acknowledge the voice that spoke behind her. She placed the two trays under one arm and accepted his handshake.

"Yes, I met you rather briefly at Roger Wilco. But Anselm happened to be seizing on the ground at the time..." she said with a slight smirk.

"Anyways, P3C Phaedra Volkov at your service. Nice to meet you Viktor," she said, finishing the handshake. She returned the two trays onto the food line shelf and then said;

"You're an armor pilot, correct? You were in squad Epsilon with the Master Chief?"

He nodded, choosing not to respond to the first comment as Kingston lacked an appropriate response. "I am and I was. I do believe I saw you aboard the ship briefly, although I don't imagine I was recognizable in my armor. Then again, not many of us make use of the VOID." He gestured vaguely toward the two trays. "Hungry? Or are you the assistance?"

The operation was efficient in what it did, just go in, remove what was damaging, repair what was damaged, add to what couldn't be repaired, patch it up with some Droksin and Niskord, give it a day or two, then it's all apples. All of this done in about half an hour - then then Hicks was seeing to getting his jaw replaced.

Henry's body was carted over to his bunk, and he was left down in his quarters to recover. About half an hour passed, and Henry roused from his drug-induced sleep. He had bandages on his right leg, and a note left by his bunkside table. He put on his reading glasses.

"Henry. The operation was a success. I recommend you take it easy for a week or so to let the drugs do their thing. A crutch has been left with you for your courtesy."

Henry looked over and noticed the crutch, shrugged, then continued reading.

"We made a joke about your leg being an 'Arse Kicking Leg', since the replacement muscles were significantly stronger than what was there. Make of this what you will. Still, I don't want you to test this theory until you've rested. Regards, Doc."

He let the note fall out of his hands and laid down in his bed, leaning over to turn the bedside light on, and pulled out one of his favourite books and put it next to him. He then reached for his notepad and a pen, and begun drafting some rough sketches for a rifle of some sort.

He wanted the mechanism to be durable in bad conditions, manually powered and easy to clean. He figured out that a lever action would be suitable for this task.
Next he had to think of a bullet calibre, which would allow him to do the rest of the calculations. He figured out that a large-bore pistol, such as a .454 calibre around would suffice. This would also allow for a .45 to be loaded if it required - albeit with modification.

Either way, he begun making drafts and sketches of this weapon, occasionally burning through a cup of coffee with a dash of brandy to keep him busy.

"One is for Amelia, the other is for myself. She was wounded during the boarding action, so I was going to bring her something to eat," said Phaedra. She brought up the trays so that food could be placed on them, but Phaedra wasn't sure if the substance that was recieved even qualified as "food."

"Well, it was nice meeting you again, Viktor," said Phaedra, before grabbing the trays and heading for the exit. She walked around the corner towards her room and the door slid open.

"Amelia, I've got some food for you," said Phaedra as she entered.
"You probably haven't eaten in a while; you'll feel better if you do."

Phaedra walked in just as the button to Amelia's pants snapped into place. Her pair with the bloodied and torn leg was off to the side, almost discarded it looked like. Noticably many of her possessions were packed away and the cases were out by the side of her mattress. She no longer wore her uniform at all.

She took a long look at Phaedra before responding, "You didn't have to do that. If I am truly in need of nutrition, I can obtain some on my own." There was a pause, "But the gesture is not unappreciated." Saying thank you was awkward for her still, and it showed.

Food was slapped on the trays then off she went. "And you as well," was Kingston's response. Then he retired to one of the many benched tables and ate at a leisurely pace, awaiting the rest of his squad and the MC's announcement.

Ran wasted no time in crossing over and getting out of his armor. The entire operation left him more drained than usual, more or less a product of his dislike of having to operate on spaceships. Producing and lighting a cigarette, the Chief strolled down to the armory and handed in his A2 and ammunition.

Once Ran heard the Master Chiefs announcement, he headed towards his quarters and started to take off his body armor, ignoring the fact that there were some pellets still lodged in the armor. Taking advantage of the hour that he had, the Chief had gone into the shower with a small bottle of whiskey, and left his room with another bottle and wearing a clean uniform, hoping some jackass wouldn't come into his quarters and take his uniform for whatever horrible purpose.

Not in any real mood to talk, the Chief just took his place in line and got a few cups of coffee and a rather durable muffin. After chastising and being chastised in return by the chefs, Ran just sat down at a random table, poured whiskey into his cups of coffee and waited for the announcement.

Talbain left the medical tents set up in the bay. He'd just be in the way if he stayed. The rush of combat operations was fading fast, being replaced by the tired feeling that going all out was bound to leave. He didn't even notice the odd glances he kept getting from the navy personnel until he was in the corridor linking the ships. Shrugging it off the ID-SOL continued on to his bunk to take a seat for a few minutes before deciding what to do next. It wasn't until he had sat for a moment that he figured out why he was getting all the looks. Morris had gotten a good bit of blood on his uniform and Talbain couldn't help but get a laugh at how uncomfortable those navy men had looked. After a moment of self debate he decided that a few more minutes of sitting on his bunk was comfortable enough to put off a shower and clean clothes. Then to check on his squad-mate.

A rather short, and extremely surly-looking Senior Chief had announced his arrival in a series of shouts that berated nearby military personnel for infractions ranging from facial hair to improper wearing of uniforms while on-duty. His success in not receiving any retaliatory gestures would be attributed to the speed in which he aggressively pushed through the crowd. Just in case his message did not receive all military personnel, the Senior Chief took out his datapad, accessed the ship-wide PA system, and screamed.

"ATTENTION ON DECK."

Which had caused plates to be knocked over, drinks spilled and military personnel who weren't busy with repairs or medical situations to snap to attention.

As if following in the wake of chaos the Senior Chief had left as a pathway through the crowded cafeteria, Captain Peters had sauntered up to the Senior Chief, who presented the Data Pad to the Captain in order for him to address the ship.

"As many of you are well aware of, hostilities have broken out between our military and the Mishhu."

The Captain didn't even wait for this information to sink in.

"While I'm confident that you're all waiting to tear off some tentacles right away, this is not possible. Our combat forces are currently recovering from the last mission, so we're going to have to wait until the higher-ups turn us loose. That being said, we're being sent to Funky City for some R&R until the higher-ups figure out what to do. In short, we're going to lick our wounds while command gets their foot off their dicks."

The Captain cleared his throat a bit, and took a sip of coffee from a cup that the Senior Chief handed him.

"I don't need to tell you what a great job you've done, because I know that you'll all do an even better job in the future. Unless there are any questions, you're all dismissed."

"Orders understood..." Henry said to himself as he made the finishing touches to his Rifle draft sketches, "Will have to work with a hammer rather than a firing pin... needs a sturdy system which will stand grime... 454 is an excellent magnum calibre..." were among the musings he did as he made further notes.

He cut the designs and notes out of his notepad and put them in a plastic sleeve. He leaned over his bunk and grabbed the crutch and put his legs over carefully. He put the crutch under his right shoulder shoulder and lifted himself out with it.

"Ngh..." He grunted a little as he got the crutch at a comfortable height. As he did this, he noticed Talbain come in.
"Ah, Talbain, good to see you again," He nodded as he adjusted his weight, "Thanks for earlier, I don't think I'd have been able to get out there myself. The doctors have urged me to take a rest, since my leg is injured, but I have some other activities in mind during my break."

Walking down the hall after a shower and a change to a clean uniform Talbain stopped to see how Henry was doing.

"Ah, Talbain, good to see you again," He nodded as he adjusted his weight, "Thanks for earlier, I don't think I'd have been able to get out there myself. The doctors have urged me to take a rest, since my leg is injured, but I have some other activities in mind during my break."

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The ID-SOL was a bit shocked by how quickly his squad mate seemed to be bouncing back. "No problem. Though I didn't expect you to be back on your feet already. Judging by the blood on my uniform I figured you would be out still." Talbain stopped for a second wondering if he'd just said something he shouldn't have before continuing "You doing something interesting with your break? Oh yeah, We've got another shore leave while brass figures out where to send us."

Harrison was still looking at his FIRE1. It had served him well, especially during this mission. The ex-merc was thoroughly impressed with his own performance with the PAL removed, and the differently-balanced PA's completely altered energy distribution. As he made the last few connections between the PAL and the FIRE1's external hardpoints, he grinned, realizing his usefulness as a soldier again.

Then shore leave came in, and he was immediately down off his armor. A short "woohoo!" escaped his mouth, although it was really more sarcastic than anything else- he had wanted to get back into soldiering, and he was kind of sad that he wouldn't be straight away. But he would get over it, or he would at least be too drunk while on leave to think about his problems.

Anselm watched glumly from a gantry as they carted his and Lilly's armor back into the Acadia's hangar- in pieces.

"That's what I get for getting attached," he mumbled, watching everyone below act pleased that the mission was over "and another shore leave to..." a grimace crossed the Albino's features at the thought of going on shore leave again so soon "there's nothing to do on shore leave."

Viktor couldn't help but think he liked the Senior Chief. He felt some kinship with the man as he too was irritated at the idea of more shore leave. They had just been ashore! The abrasive behavior was easily overlooked by Private Kingston who realized it was simply the gruff man's method of venting his frustration at his superiors. Not a problem.

"To Funky City, then."