Prime City, Prime Memorial Pub
Kokuten had hardly believed the news when he received it. Considering the amount of hell that he had been through with his fellow Alliance Marines, he thought most if not all of them were invincible. Chiaki even considered himself more durable than the average man, what with the punishment he endured simply acting as a Security Trooper on the Cirrus Station. Yet, that all just made sting all the more. When he got the message, he had to take some time to set out his feelings on the matter.
It wasn't every day that you lost a brother.
Marines died every day in the pursuit of securing Nepleslia from the hellish galaxy that surrounded it. Domineering imperialist super-beings to the east, crazed tentacled aliens to the south, winged scourges to the west, and mysterious, races in the north. Everywhere beckoned the death of a Marine, and it was something they welcomed. Marines were fearless for this reason, but at the same time, they coped by sharing their true fears amongst their brothers and sisters. The bond between two soldiers in Nepleslia was mental, a co-depedence that kept morale high in the most dire of situations.
That's why Ran's death hurt, when Kokuten read it on his datapad. He had been sitting on his bunk after his shift when he was checking the news, and it just... popped up.
After that, Kokuten sent out a notice to all of his fellow Alliance Marines. He didn't want Ran getting away without one final celebration. Every person who received and invite was asked to come to the Prime Memorial Pub, outside the Memorial area where most found and unfound marines were 'buried'. He didn't want to wait outside or near a gravestone, in fact, he had already drank a bit just keep the jitters off his hands.
The pub itself was of a grand quality, there were boths for eating, and long counter to lean against just for drink. Only quality beverages were served here, and military got the first drink free, and the rest of them at three-quarters the price. Kokuten thought that would've been a nice touch to add in, in case some people were too bound down. He himself sat on a wooden stool, unbound from the floor, as most of the place was. The entire building was inlaid with wood, and surrounded with blast-proof concrete. Decorations of war-honors, famous battles, generals, and even the symbol of Nepleslia's greatest ship, The Alliance, sat laid on the wall.
Under it was the Acadia, followed by other greatly known ships to the pub's military buff owner. A lot of pictures, memories, and other decoration simply made this place felt like somewhere to revel in past achievements. Yet, despite the whole, warm atmosphere of the place, which fought the bitter, wrapping fingers of the cold, Kokuten felt it was all somber.
Kokuten himself had showed up in a formal civilian attired, black-green turtleneck nestled under a large, black over coat. He had his dark slacks curled around the stool he was on, dark wing-tips locking heels onto the foot-spokes. His brown, driving gloves gripped a cold glass of Kennewesian Shine, and he sighed silently, blinking his metal eyes.
He hoped he wouldn't be the only one there.
Kokuten had hardly believed the news when he received it. Considering the amount of hell that he had been through with his fellow Alliance Marines, he thought most if not all of them were invincible. Chiaki even considered himself more durable than the average man, what with the punishment he endured simply acting as a Security Trooper on the Cirrus Station. Yet, that all just made sting all the more. When he got the message, he had to take some time to set out his feelings on the matter.
It wasn't every day that you lost a brother.
Marines died every day in the pursuit of securing Nepleslia from the hellish galaxy that surrounded it. Domineering imperialist super-beings to the east, crazed tentacled aliens to the south, winged scourges to the west, and mysterious, races in the north. Everywhere beckoned the death of a Marine, and it was something they welcomed. Marines were fearless for this reason, but at the same time, they coped by sharing their true fears amongst their brothers and sisters. The bond between two soldiers in Nepleslia was mental, a co-depedence that kept morale high in the most dire of situations.
That's why Ran's death hurt, when Kokuten read it on his datapad. He had been sitting on his bunk after his shift when he was checking the news, and it just... popped up.
After that, Kokuten sent out a notice to all of his fellow Alliance Marines. He didn't want Ran getting away without one final celebration. Every person who received and invite was asked to come to the Prime Memorial Pub, outside the Memorial area where most found and unfound marines were 'buried'. He didn't want to wait outside or near a gravestone, in fact, he had already drank a bit just keep the jitters off his hands.
The pub itself was of a grand quality, there were boths for eating, and long counter to lean against just for drink. Only quality beverages were served here, and military got the first drink free, and the rest of them at three-quarters the price. Kokuten thought that would've been a nice touch to add in, in case some people were too bound down. He himself sat on a wooden stool, unbound from the floor, as most of the place was. The entire building was inlaid with wood, and surrounded with blast-proof concrete. Decorations of war-honors, famous battles, generals, and even the symbol of Nepleslia's greatest ship, The Alliance, sat laid on the wall.
Under it was the Acadia, followed by other greatly known ships to the pub's military buff owner. A lot of pictures, memories, and other decoration simply made this place felt like somewhere to revel in past achievements. Yet, despite the whole, warm atmosphere of the place, which fought the bitter, wrapping fingers of the cold, Kokuten felt it was all somber.
Kokuten himself had showed up in a formal civilian attired, black-green turtleneck nestled under a large, black over coat. He had his dark slacks curled around the stool he was on, dark wing-tips locking heels onto the foot-spokes. His brown, driving gloves gripped a cold glass of Kennewesian Shine, and he sighed silently, blinking his metal eyes.
He hoped he wouldn't be the only one there.
