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RP: 4th Fleet (NSN) [Off-Duty 1.0] Choosing Poisons

Lisa looked at the marine before her. He sit one stool away from her after he picked up the can he failed to throw into the bin. Then Holmes interfered. Lisa watched the situation and drank some of her beer. When corporal left she looked at Bastilen again.

"So you were at Kennewes." She stated simply. "Good to know, we got experienced soldier with us." She then added. Better not ask him too much question, he seemed like loner. Lisa decided it was better to keep distance for now, let him warm up to her.

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_____

"Well I have no idea if there is another Alexandra Mayhew running about somewhere, but I doubt it. She most like won't have orange skin anyway." Alex said and laughed a little. It was nice chatting with Laura, being with clone like herself. It made stuff a little easier and if Laura have not gotten over the fact that she was cloned yet, then Alex might help her.

Alex then looked at Sawyer expecting his answer. He was slim and that should made him mroe susceptile to alcohol, but maybe he had practice. Whoe knew, maybe he had funny metabolism that lets him drink a bottle of whiskey and still be able to party on. That said after all the drinking back on Acadiia Alex could hold her liquor pretty well too.
 
"That's a good question, maybe we should try to find out, this is my third drink so far I believe so let's see how far we can take this" Sawyer said with a broad grin.
 
Stan entered the bar, blinking as he took in the appearance of everyone present and suppressed the almost instinctive grimace as he noticed whom he presumed was a Yamataian - though he had no clue what one was doing here, and he assumed that there must have been a good reason why the others were fairly chummy with him. He could always ask about the man later. He vaguely recognised one of the Marines - had they met before? - but no-one else.

Most of the Marines seemed to be in the middle of their own conversations, and Stan didn't want to butt in. The atmosphere seemed reasonably friendly, and the newly minted Marine basked in it as he made his way over to the bartender (he knew his priorities, after all). "I'd like a vodka, please."
 
The male civilian bartender gave a scowl at the demanding way that Chad had ordered. So in retaliation, he served a drink spiked with a bit of pure alcohol meant to cause a terrific burning sensation in Chad's throat. And possibly knock him out early before the party had begun.

Another bartender happily poured a glass of vodka for Stan.

--------------------------

"Hey, I'm not completely gone yet! Only two drinks!" Bernhard spoke up a little louder than necessary, "I'm cutting Romero off until she sobers up." "Noo!" Laura protested comically, "I want moooore!"
 
"Allow me to introduce you to Chief Leon Santiago, my CO," she said with a wave of her hand. Phaedra returned to her spot at the bar and turned towards Leon.

"Mid-Corporal Motoyama commanded the squad of UOC personnel that we encountered on Tange," gesturing towards the Jiyuuian.

"He and his men fought gallantly," said Phaedra.
 
The word "Kennewes" brought Ran out of his stupor. It represented a seemingly more simpler time when the enemy was known as intimately as a brother, and not just some tentacled freak lurking in space. Knocking over several shotglasses, Ran took the opportunity to reach over the bar counter and grab a random glass of whiskey.

Dropping a decent monetary amount to cover the bottle on the table, Ran picked up a barstool, and with it and whiskey bottle in hand, sauntered over to where Bastilen was sitting.

"You were at Kennewes, huh." Ran dropped the barstool on the ground and immediately grabbed a glass from some poor random Marine, drank the alcohol in it without regards to his now lower rank, sat down and poured the whiskey in the glass.

"Lot of good people came out of that fight." Ran pushed the glass towards Bastilen. Perhaps the relative loneliness got to him, perhaps deep down inside he did harbor some fondness for anyone grizzled enough to remember Kennewes. It was obvious, however, that he was fairly oblivious to Bastilen's preference for being left alone.

"Just ask fuckin' Morris, if he's in here" Ran looked around. "Had another one, too. Medic who went by the name of Kokuten." At this point, Ran had already made himself comfortable by lighting up a cigarette and filling the air with smoke. "Was a little bit shaky during the fighting, but made it out." His gaze shifted from the table to Bastilen. "And I know fighting like that hardens everyone."
 
"Thanks" Chad said as he took the glass of clear liquor from the bar tender. He seemed oddly ticked of at something as he handed it to chat but Chad didn't inquire not did he care about the bartender's personal issue.

"To the Imperium", Chad mock toasted as he christened the first drink of the evening. The burn that ran from mouth to stomach however, was more intense than normal. And Chad, being the expert on narcotics that he was, new immeadeatly that the drink was spiked. How neighborly he thought, but he woul allow it for the love of getting fucked.

He then turned to the marine that sat next to him, and with a gesture that signified he was both bored and curious. "Been in the 4th long?" He asked as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a pack of rich flavored greens, took one out for himself and offered another to the man next to him.
 
"Chief Santiago," Motoyama said as he shook Santiago's hand, "An honor." "Likewise," the senior but younger officer replied, "The Admiral tells me that your squad is entirely former-PKF. How many were with you on Tange?"

"Two," Motoyama replied, "Only two of my squad survived Tange with me. The others are survivors from other units. I lead one of the mongrel squads." Despite the obvious negative connotation to a "mongrel", or ad-hoc, unit, there was pride in Motoyama's voice. Pride and something else, if Santiago read it properly. But he was not sure of what that other something was.

"Well, I expect we shall come to see the prowess of your veterans shine soon. For now, let us speak about happier things. Like why scotch is better than vodka!"

---------------------------

"Man, you must be greener than those beans. What rock did you come out from? Everyone's new to the 4th Fleet, except for Sergeant Volkov and some of her Cavaliers. Hell, only a few months ago, the Fleet was commanded by a different Admiral! Sky Marshall took Wazu out, put Valken in and he brings us in. Whoever heard of a Fleet with 6 Marine squads? Admiral Wazu ran 4th Fleet with one! Don't they teach you this stuff at Basic, greenie?" Private Black replied with attitude. He had gotten the whole spiel about the sad reality of 4th Fleet Marines before transferring. Surely the newbies straight from Basic knew that too? Or were they being kept blissfully ignorant?

-----------------------------

Just as the party seemed to be going well, the eternal bane of the NSMC entered. "Aaw Hell! Marines started the party without us and by the looks of it, they're gonna leave us high and dry!" Sailors from the Navy. And by the looks of them, most had returned from a day of drinking on the town. A quick count by Bernhard showed... more than three times ten, which seemed to be as high as he could count at the moment. But then, he wasn't sure if he counted some of them more than twice.

"That ain't right, nossirree, that ain't right... not since we pulled your asses outta that shitty moon. Oi Keep, a round for us on the Marines' tab!" a large, seemingly sober ID-SOL called out. He and the large group of sailors started to make their way to the bar, angry looks from the assembled Marines firing high velocity rounds at them.
 
The entrance of a few Navy boys had caused Ran's grip on his bottle of whiskey to tense up. Naval personnel included a ton of person's whose job description didn't entail having to run at gunfire, and even worse, Caretakers were considered to be part of the Navy.

"Well, if it isn't the finest group of ass bandits that Nepleslia has to offer!" Ran turned around in his seat, taking a swig from the Whiskey bottle, ready to crack it over someone's head "Did you guys come here to get the taste of your dicks out of your mouths, or are you all here to consume enough alcohol to ensure the deaths of the millions of potential Navy babies swimming around in your stomachs?"

Ran exaggerated leaning over on his barstool to look at the bar counter, then looked back up at the Sailors. "Looks like there's not enough stools for you cool-ass dudes. Guess you gotta turn them upside down and sit on the legs. I'm sure that'll be more comfortable for you guys, anyway!"

To add insult to injury, Ran took his two pointer fingers and mashed the tips of them into each other repeatedly at the Sailors.
 
"Aww, let her drink Greer." Alex said to male medic. "Getting drunk is the reason we are here. Not use in spoiling the fun." She then sipped her whiskey again. It was only her second one, so she was not drunk yet. Not even tipsy. She needded to put more on the tab.

Sailors came in then. Alex frowned on their comment. Arrogant arseholes. Marines did their jobs and so did Navy guys. Being bastart about navy fyling marines in and out of the field just deserved beating. Alex was not violent being, but if they were going to start pushing she will surely start push back. And Chief Rank decided it was good to start pushing first. Good old Chief. Alex had to smile on his comment.

___
___

Lisa looked at sailors that jsut came inside. She used to be navy, but they kicked her out before she could even serve. Still she understood where navy stands and what they do. Especially flyboys and flygirls. But now she was marine and these dickheads were just asking to get their assess kicked.


That new mid-corporal Cavaliers got already started firing back. Lisa laughed out loud on his comment. That should get those bastards riled up. She wanted to say something, but she decided to stay quiet to not ruin things for mid-corporal Ran.
 
Just like a band playing a poorly done cover of a classic, nostalgic song and screwing it so far to hell that it sounded like a brick being shoved through your ears lengthwise, the squarking cries of the Navy men irritated the hell out of Henry. "Bloody glory boys," He mumbled indistinctly before taking a sip of brandy and turning around with a scowl on his face.

Sure, the Marines and Navy had their roles, but the Navy was always perceived as the less dangerous role. When a Marine would be faced with life or limb decisions, a Navyman would be faced with doughnuts with glaze or chocolate - or perhaps coffee with sugar or without. Those would be the riskiest decisions made by their respective groups.

If the Navy wanted to get their feet wet, they'd sit at the kid's end of the proverbial combat pool whilst a Marine would dive right in and stay there. It it was very likely that Sugar wasn't going to be what did in these glory boys if the 'fun' got started. He chuckled when Ran insulted their sexual preferences (alleged or otherwise) along with the other marines.

"I'm the smallest man in the squad, and I'm considered tougher than you lot!" Henry had drunk a few glasses of Brandy at this point, so his judgement had deserted him - but his 'Arse Kicking Leg' or sense of rivalry had not.
 
Having the attention turn off of him was good, for once. It didn't help when the grizzled Ran Rui made a stop by him. That was one of the three faces you knew if one was a Marine from that age. At least, if you were from the First Fleet. Chief Ran Rui had commanded a squad to secure an important overground area. They had been nearly overrun, but held out long enough for support to help clean up the mess. What had mattered, was that they had taken the position, and that they hadn't lost a single man. Rico Sanroma and Stromm Dekomir were two other household faces in the 1st Fleet, their actions that day being well known for effectively ending the war.

There was a certain comfort in knowing he was amongst veterans, that this wasn't some green battalion. Yet he could really place the names and faces of people like Morris and Chiaki.

Still, why did Chief Rui have the marks of a Mid-Corporal on his shoulders?

That ain't right, nossirree, that ain't right... not since we pulled your asses outta that shitty moon. Oi Keep, a round for us on the Marines' tab!" a large, seemingly sober ID-SOL called out. He and the large group of sailors started to make their way to the bar, angry looks from the assembled Marines firing high velocity rounds at them.
Click to expand...

The other Marines began taking shots at the entering Navy men. Bastilen himself? He was crushing his empty can of SLAM, turning it into an aluminum dowel with a hand imprint.

"That's weird," Bastilen turned, looking at the ID-SOL's over his shoulder, "I didn't know you got awards for just doing your job. Must be pretty hard for Central Corps to make deck-hands feel important these days."

The normally quiet Marine turned, and then stopped, as if having forgotten something.

"Oh," he turned back, holding up a hand at them in apology, feigning a nice expression, "I'm sorry, it's not deck-hand. It's deck-associate. My bad."
 
"Thanks," said Stan as he grabbed his drink and took a small gulp. Ah... that hit the spot. He didn't guzzle as much of it as possible, preferring to take a measured approach to his alcohol intake. The Marine continued to nurse his drink, a task abruptly interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of a gaggle of Navy personnel. Slowly, his eyes wandered over each of the sailors, and - oh. Oh man. There was one of Them. An ID-SOL, and not a hybrid like he was. Despite himself (and the man's attitude), Stan could not help but find he was focusing on the ID-SOL.

Eventually, and with what felt like a supreme effort, Stan finally forced himself to stare hard into his drink, as though the alcoholic beverage had something supremely fascinating in it. In the back of his mind, however, he was acutely aware of Their presence. It was intensely foolish of him to be so awestruck, he had to admit it, but old habits - especially those formed over the entirety of his life - died hard. And this one wouldn't go quietly.
 
Behind this group of sailors, another smaller group entered less conspicuously and found themselves a corner in the bar. There were about eight of them until one tore themselves away from the group and headed towards one of the bartenders for drinks. All of them were dressed in flight jackets with a distinct green shoulder patch.

"Oi, Green Bean. The Marines owe you! Your fighters saved their ass!" one of the Navy sailors yelled at the man heading towards the bar. He ignored them and bought eight beers which he skillfully carried back in both hands. As he made his way back, he replied quietly, "Green Squadron takes drinks from no one before we remember the dead."

--------------------------------
At the same time

"Yeah, but when she goes over three, she starts wanting to jump in bed with everyone she sees. I'm trying to save the poor fool who agrees to do that from himself," Bernhard said to Alexandra. "I like her! She knows how to treat a clone! More drinks!" Laura exclaimed happily, almost childishly.

He found himself torn between needing to keep Laura from getting drunk and watching out for the overly aggressive sailors. Then he saw Chief Santiago approach them.

"Come, what say we get you gentlemen settled?" he asked. Obviously the sailors did not see his Chief pins otherwise they would not have punched him and shoved him towards the bar. All of a sudden, things got quiet. Santiago was caught by Corporals Holmes and Motoyama who helped him up. The young Chief shook himself. With a predatory grin, he said loudly, "Marines, I think its time we showed these sailors to the door before they start a fight."

As Sergeant Rochester's men made to herd the sailors, the inevitable happened. A fight broke out as fists started flying between sailors who didn't want to leave and Marines who wanted to repay the sailors' attitude in kind.

Bernhard noted how quickly the bartenders started locking away the drinks and putting away the glassware. "More!" Laura Romero cried happily, making Bernhard a little envious of the blissfully simple world she seemed to inhabit.
 
Phaedra was just about to head over to the simmering conflict when Leon stood up from his place at the bar and strode over to the Navy personnel. Still, Phaedra was on her feet, ready to move at a moment's notice should things take a turn for the worse.

And turn for the worse they did when the lead sailor punched Santiago in the face. Phaedra's eyes widened in shock, and then her brown furrowed and locked eyes on the sailor that punched the Chief.

"Marines, I think its time we showed these sailors to the door before they start a fight," said Leon.

The bar then exploded into motion as sailors and Marines began fighting it out. Phaedra tilted her head, her neck making a sickening popping noise. She flexed her cybernetic left hand and made a fist.

"Cavaliers! We fight!" shouted Phaedra before rushing into the melee to aid Leon. Phaedra threw a punch at the nearest sailor's gut with her left fist. She then would attempt to grab the back of his neck with her right hand and shove his face into her raised knee. After she attacked, Phaedra would back away slightly into a defensive stance, hoping to draw some of the attackers away from Leon.
 
Lisa was not really brawler. Not that she was afraid to throw a fist, it was just not her thing. Not to mention that it ended up with her pretty face in bad way. It was the reason why she hanged back. She picked up her beer and left the bar, moving closer to ther war.

"I am lover not fighter," she muttered as she moved by the wall trying to get around the fight to greet the pilots from Green Squadron. She was ready to use her beer-glass as defensince mean though, should one of the sailors get too close.

_____
_____

"You two hold back so there is actually someone to take care of the injured," Alex told Laura and Bernie, but she herself went straight up. "Tally ho!" She shouted, picking up one of the chairs and going straight at nearest sailor attempting to break it over his head.
 
As soon as Chad saw the pilots he knew the party was over. Fists were flying and Chad was not one to blindly jump into a fight with a bunch of people wielding cybernetic enhancements, and he promised himself he would stay out of any fights with ID-SOLs. He was just a lovable down to nepleslia stoner who didn't want any cybernetic parts of his own.

So naturally, he jumped the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf, and took cover behind the counter. He spent enough time in fights and really wasn't any good at them till the powder started burning and caps were being busted. He sat and waited for that...
 
Stan was quickly shaken out of his reverie by the bar brawl that suddenly broke out. Quickly deciding that trying to talk down the Navy guys down was an exercise in futility (not least because the fists were already swinging), he quietly got up, dusted himself off, and hovered near the back of the group and adopted a defensive posture, waiting to intervene only if his comrades got into serious trouble.

He didn't wish to be known as that one guy who made his first impression on somebody's skull rather than with words.
 
Things had just taken a turn for the worse - the sailors and the marines were duking it out around Samuel, with people getting kicked over tables and chairs being split and pool cues being busted, fun barfight stuff like that. Sarge was trying to rally the squad, but Samuel wanted no part in any of it. Like he kept telling himself, he was a lover, not a fighter.

With a quick motion and a wince, he downed the rest of his drink, then slid the glass back across the bar and did his best to make himself look less like a marine as he walked to the door. He used to do stuff like that all the time back in good old Funky City, just slump his shoulders, keep his head down, and fade into the crowd. If it'd worked on the other kids back home, it'd work on a bunch of drunken bridge-dwellers.
 
Karrelik didn't think. All this time he'd been waiting for a chance to do something to vent his adrenaline, and now he'd found something perfect.

He let the hormone loose and time practically slowed down. Throwing himself out of his seat, he loosed a punch at the nearest blue uniform and sent a man twice his size sprawling. He was pushed back and forth by the mass of bodies, but hell if he'd let that stop him. He dragged another blue shirt down to his level and headbutted the bastard, knocking him to the floor. Then he was picked up, and lifted off the floor.

This was why he hated being short.
 
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