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

Leon charged, throwing a punch at his attacker's gut followed by a right hook.

"Come on, you squids! I'll show you how real men fight!" he yelled. Leon was pleased to see things going so well. Marines and Navy having fun together. Things like this showed how ... close the two services were. Like Leon's fist on his Navy counterpart's chin.

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As Lisa approached the Green Squadron pilots, she could hear them. "Ray Franks, Green Three, best roommate and bass guitar this side of Kennewes!" one pilot, a woman, toasted as she raised her glass. Her compatriots raised their own glasses and echoed, "Franky!"

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"That was an order?" Bernhard asked Laura. "Dunno. More!" Laura exclaimed again as Bernhard sighed.

Then he saw a bartender start fighting with a Marine who had pulled out a bottle of whiskey. That was theft. Bernhard pulled out his Zen 45 sidearm, cocked it and pointed it at Chad. "Give back that bottle, Private, and I won't report you for theft. That's an order!" he commanded.

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As Samuel tried to leave, he was hit on the back of the head by a sailor wielding a broken wooden chair leg.

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However, for all of John's successes, the moment he encountered an one of the many ID-SOLs in the group, he found he was out of his depth. The ID-SOL threw a single punch that connected with John's chin and sent him flying towards a table. He crashed into it, toppling the table, chairs and glassware atop. It was surprising that a genetic super-soldier, who could lift from 250 to 500 kilos, had not snapped John's neck and killed him.

The only logical conclusion would be that the ID-SOLs were pulling their punches.

Wulfe barely noticed the fight for the first few moments it had broken out until it had spread out through the whole bar towards him and the few other marines who weren’t exchanging pleasantries with the sailors. It was then that one of the marines had –for a lack of a better term in his vocabulary- landed on his beer. That did it for him.

He got up without a word, grabbed his wooden stool and looked towards the mass of flesh and wood that now had become the bar fight. Since he had no hope to fight one of the ID-SOLs head on, Wulfe looked for one of the most ‘tired’ sailors, finally picking one of them who had been kind enough to hit another marine on the back of the head. He didn’t regret doing that for the fraction of second that he stopped to think a second time about what he was about to do, partly because he was helping the other marines out, but also because the sailor in question had also hit a marine on the back, and he felt that it was a pleasure to return the deed in kind.

In a matter of seconds, the P3C dashed from where he had been and jumped towards the ID-SOL, bringing the top part of the wooden stool with all his force on the sailor’s back, making an unpleasant ‘crack’ sound as the stool and possibly a few ribs were broken at the impact. Then, with only a semi-intact leg of a wooden stool, Wulfe proceeded to systematically hit the ID-SOL on the head.

"Well shit, this is gonna be a problem for me" Sawyer muttered as he got up off his chair and propped himself up on his crutch. Grabbing a nearby stool he hurled it into the swirling melee aiming for one of the navy guys since he very well couldn't get into himself without risking the integrity of his new prosthetic.

"Bottle of green stuff!" yelled Bastilen as he turned around, slapping a few DA on the table for hopping onto it and grabbing a bottle right of the shelf. The wily little tech expert spun around, with ingrained look of disgust on his face as he flipped the bottle over in his hands, wielding it like a club. He stepped off the edge of the table, nearly tripping over one of the stools before yanking his lighter out of his pocket. He looked to one of the ID-SOLs picking on Karrelik, the small fry from HQ.

Hatred poured down the contours of Bastilen's scarred face as he approached the ID-SOL from behind. He flicked on his light and broke a bottle down on the goliath's back, sending pure alcohol rolling down his shoulders and back. Though, as soon as the bottle broke, and the glass fell, Bastilen put his lighter to the pure alcohol stain, pressing the open flame against it.

Chad had ducked and dodged his way down the bar counter trying to out pace the bartender. His alleged stealing seemed to real put the old git off, and Chad was in no mood for an open fight. It seems luck could never smile on Chad in a Nepleslian bar, and he decided to stick to what he could enjoy from the confines of his bunk.

He saw the flick out of the corner of his eye as he dodged a jab from the barman. Zen .45 by the general looks of it, and wielded by a man of staggering brawn. Having grown up near Silver City, Chad knew what an ex banger looked like, and this guy screamed it, right down to the way he drew. Chad placed the bottle on the counter, and slid over the bar to avoid the tender's next blow.

"Theft?" he started as he then came to a stop a few feet from the barrel of the Zen piece, "I thought booze was on the house today, man." He kept his eyes open for any stray punches via perifrial vision.

Henry took one last gulp and emptied his glass of brandy before putting it down with a loud clack as the tensions reached boiling point, "Pardon me," He said politely as he stood up and slid the glass towards the counter, into the Barman's reach.

Henry might not have looked the part thanks to his small frame in comparison to other Nepleslians, or indeed, ID-SOL, but he knew the basics of an unarmed fight - the first rule was not to be completely unarmed. He'd also gotten more than a few ideas from watching pirated kung-fu movies.

Seeing that Chief Santiago had gone all in on this fight and was fighting the Navy, it was only prudent for Henry to assist the chief. He calmly strode over to a pool table and took a cue off of the wall and gave it a few shakes to weigh it up before resting it on his right shoulder. He also picked up the white cue ball on the table and buffed it on his jacket.

Suddenly, a bottle sailed in his direction and hit the wall beside him. A Navy Boy saw Henry by himself in a bar brawl - Easy pickings it seemed since he was the runt of the bunch and away from the others, right?

Not quite. Cue ball in the left hand, cue in the right. Henry had spent his time getting equipped, and the Navy Boy was only getting closer. Henry was ready to parry and avoid the initial, probably unchecked swings from the Navy Boy.

Stan watched for a few moments as both parties laid into each other, wincing internally as he saw one of his fellows get sent flying by a blow from an ID-SOL. Deciding that it was probably a good time to assist the unfortunate Marine, Stan made his way over and tried to help up John, keeping an eye on his surroundings in case one of the Navy guys tried something underhanded.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked. Stan was hesitant to fight an ID-SOL for a multitude of reasons, but he believed that the same wouldn't be true for them. With that thought in mind, he was willing to fight John's assailant if that became necessary.

"Like Hell! Drinks are on the Chief's tab, not free! That does not mean free-flow or that it's all property of Chief Santiago. Especially if that bartender wants the bottle back! It is the property of the bar! Hand it to the tender!" Bernhard commanded sternly. Nepleslia was not always going to be a nation of thieves and hoodlums. It's society had to reform somewhere, even if it meant at gunpoint.

"Oooh, Bernie taking charge! You should try that in bed!" Laura giggled happily. It was clear that she was wasted and only looking for a sleeping partner now. Bernhard shook his head but kept his eyes and pistol trained on Chad.

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As if annoyed by a fly, the Navy ID-SOL whom Wulfe had decided to engage simply hoisted the Marine and threw him across the room. They were Ideal Soldiers for a reason - they had both the brain and the brawn to judge their capabilities and that of their opponents.

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A pair of Navy sailors ducked the awkwardly thrown chair and turned on Sawyer. One, a woman, grinned sadistically, "Wounded in action? That's your handicap in the fight!" Her partner, a regular Nepleslian with a cybernetic eye said, "Don't toss out what you don't want tossed at you!" as he chucked a wooden chair at Sawyer.

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Alexandra did well, knocking out the unwary sailor with her first strike and then blocking a punch from a second sailor.

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As one of the smallest Marines, Henry's size masked his level of skill. He thrust the cue to keep the Navy man away. Without anything longer than a broken chair leg, the two opponents circled. The sailor trying to find a way to get within Henry's reach and the Marine doing his best to keep the sailor away.

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The Marines from other squads were meeting with similar results. Some victories, some losses, each side trading blows. Knocked out Marines and Sailors were being hauled out of the fight by courageous bar staff. It was, overall, a fairly normal barfight between the Marines and Navy. Except until Leon Santiago go punched in the face and sent sprawling into a group of Marines. Then it became personal for him.

Just as he stood back up, his eyes were caught by a sudden light and smell of burning cloth.

All the fighting stopped as the belligerents and spectators watched a Navy ID-SOL's back get immolated by Bastilen's move. To his credit, the ID-SOL did not scream but roared in pain. Corporal Holmes, Private Watson and two Navy sailors moved quickly, pulling off their jackets and wrestling the ID-SOL to the ground. Once on the floor, they smothered the flames with their jackets with some effort. It was difficult, however, to gauge how badly burnt the man was since he was wildly trying break free.

"Medic!" Holmes yelled urgently. Hopefully some of the medics were still sober and conscious...

"Is he talking to us?" Laura asked absentmindedly.

Karrelik picked himself up from the table he'd broken with his own back. He shivered visibly, his hands were twitching and he had a slightly drug-hazed look about him. He'd never heard of overdosing on hormones before, but he figured he'd just done it since he felt no pain at all. Chances were – he checked his nose – his broken nose would hurt like all hell later. He turned to Stan and quickly blurted "Fine, what the hell happened?" but didn't wait for an answer. He was too jumpy.

He limped back to where he was before that ID-SOL had picked him up and his buddy had tossed him like a ragdoll. All he really saw was everyone staring at the smouldering, roaring pile of coats in the centre of a ring made of Bastilen and a bunch of other faceless mooks, including the one who had thrown that punch. That punch.

He walked over to Bastilen, who was wearing a mask of hatred over his previously impassive face. "Thanks, I guess. Though that was a bit much, even if those guys broke my nose."

Outwardly, the P4C didn't seem to derive any pleasure from what he did, but didn't seem awful remorseful, either. He watched the ID-SOL struggle with his jacket, spinning the broken end of the Green bottle in his hand.

He walked over to Bastilen, who was wearing a mask of hatred over his previously impassive face. "Thanks, I guess. Though that was a bit much, even if those guys broke my nose."

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"A bit much?" snarled Bastilen at John, tossing him a bellicose, blue glance. The stare turned venomous as he glared into the man's eyes. "I don't play nice." The man leaned in a little more, a disgusted scowl curling on his face. "And neither should you."

With that, he turned, and walked back to the bar, his nasty, serious expression shadowing over the table as he scooped up his cup of alcohol. He emptied his other hand of the broken bottle, letting it sit on the bar counter.

Alex managed to bloc a punch that came suddenly from second sailor. Luckily it was not ID-SOL. She punched him back and then gave him extra kick to get some time. She looked around seeing that brawl, but she mainly noticed Bernie who was not very far, who actually took out his gun and the burnt Sailor.

"Bernie you stupid wanker!" She shouted at him. "Put that bloody gun away. Have you lost your mind? Go be medic rather!"

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Lisa listened to the pilots. She knew what they were doing. THey were remembering lost pilots. It is unlike for pilots to be ressurected, seing as the cerebral chip is ussualy destroyed in explostion. In a certain way, pilots had more dangerous job then marines. Lisa kept away, waiting till the Green Squadron finishes paying their respects.

Kokuten said:

"A bit much?" snarled Bastilen at John, tossing him a bellicose, blue glance. The stare turned venomous as he glared into the man's eyes. "I don't play nice." The man leaned in a little more, a disgusted scowl curling on his face. "And neither should you."

Click to expand...

Well, that's just beautiful.

John made the careful, considered decision not to stir the shit. Instead, he simply limped back to his booth, a little smile on his face, the pain from the nose returning – or was it arriving? - as the adrenaline wore off.

Well, this will be an unpleasant day unless I can get some kind of painkiller fast, he reminded himself. He considered popping it back into place, but only immediate danger made that worth the pain in the first place. The fight was over, or he was considerably less perceptive than he thought.

Stan felt relieved that - despite the hit John had taken - he was fine, and made no move to stop him as he moved away. Despite the call for a medic, it seemed like the fight wasn't about to abate, and so the ID-SOL/Nespleslian hybrid remained on guard. In a brawl like this, opportunists - and opportunities, for that matter - were everywhere. Not the most comforting thought, but you couldn't be romantic about things when tempers were flaring and fists were flying (or in some cases, he noted wryly, sending people flying).

Chad smirked at the Zen .45, and then turned his gaze to his fellow P3C. He had been in plenty of bar fights, and spent nights in the brig, however he didn't feel like getting thrown into either on his first night in a new platoon. Kindness and compliance were the best ways out, and he was a firm believer in both when it came to saving his comfort.

He smiled a big smile as he saw both drunken women adress the man at the other end of the gun. He also decided one of them seemed vaguely familiar, Acadia or boot camp, he wasn't quite sure. He also found out his comrades name. "Listen, Bernie, my man, no need to be quite so rash holmes. I'm merely trying to enjoy a drink without getting decked in the face." He then turned around, picked up the bottle gently with both hands and graciously handed the bottle over to him. He even threw a few credits on the counter as a tip.

"Now, dude, does that make up for my brashness?", he stuck out his hand as he turned back around to Bernie. "Chad Skwigleff, nice ta meet ya."

Bernhard glowered at Chad, caught between his professional duty to see to the injured sailor and his personal hatred of Nepleslian corruption. "Return the damned bottle!" he ordered, putting his pistol back on safe and holstering it. "Next time you call me 'Bernie,' I'll put a bullet through your skull!" he added loudly.

As if on cue, the bartender snatched the bottle out of Chad's hands. "Like hell the drinks are free. Drinks are Chief Santiago's tab. And we don't sell bottles," the man said angrily.

Bernhard stomped over to the burnt ID-SOL, barely able to contain his rage. Where it came from, he was not sure but he was certain that the alcohol had a role in it. But Bernhard ignored Laura's distant teases of him being an angry drunk.

He stooped to inspect the injured man's back. The ID-SOL was still being pinned to the ground by Holmes and the others. "So, are you gonna watch me for pointers, Mayhew? Or lend a hand?" he shot back at Alexandra.

Marines and sailors lingered around, spectators now to the unfolding events.
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Laura meanwhile tottered on the brink of drunkenness and complete inebriation. Five drinks, as best as she could count. And with Bernie preoccupied, that meant more drinks! But then the bartender who had snatched the bottle away from Chad cut her off. "You've all had enough. Anymore and this whole place will be on fire," the bartender told her with a scowl.

So she turned her attention to the only thing left that was interesting. "So... whose squad are you in, Mr. Coward?" she asked Chad curiously.

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One of the Green Squadron pilots noticed Lisa hovering and watching them. He excused himself from the group and walked over to her. As he drew closer, Lisa could see there was suspicion on his face. "Something the matter, Marine?" he asked. The tone was not the most polite but it was not rude either.

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Leon Santiago, a little addled by the fight, looked for Sergeant Volkov. "An auspicious start to our relationship, wouldn't you say, Sergeant?" he commented to her when he found her.

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Corporal Motoyama and two Navy sailors, one of whom the ID-SOL who had thrown Wulfe, drew up beside into stools beside Stan. "Oh, that was good fun," the ID-SOL said to the grinning nods of his female companion. "So, what is it about barfights, sailors, and Marines? Is it a tradition? We didn't really have time to develop any traditions of the sort in the Peacekeepers," Motoyama asked them.

Alexandra quickly moved to Bernard before sticking a finger into his face.

"Watch your mouth kid," She said to him. "I am not in mood for your bickering. We got burned person here. I also wonder what was on your mind that you draw gun on other marine, are you a bloody idiot?" She asked him. She did not really know that Chad took a bottle, but even if she did, drawing gun just for that was just dumb.

She moved quickly to hurt Id-Sol. "Let me get to him I am a medic," she told others who put out the fire. "Don't move sailor," she then told the Id-Sol as she started inspecting the wound, she waved at Bernhard to join her.

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Lisa tried not to listen to the pilots, but she just could not help herself. It was amazing to see real pilots. They were what she wanted to be, but could not be. Someone to look up to. And the companionshipt they apparently held was amazing too. She was not surprised when one of the pilots walked to her to confront her.

"Oh I am sorry," she said at first politely, looking into man's eyes. "I was waiting till you are finished paying your respects. I owe you drinks you know, I wanted to thank you. You guys really helped us out on the last mission. I am from the Cavaliers, thanks to your airstrike we got to the facility. I had a short radio chat with you guys then, I owe you drinks. It is really the slightest thing I can do." She explained.

"An auspicious start to our relationship, wouldn't you say, Sergeant?" he commented.

"Indeed," said Phaedra, leaning on the bar again and ignoring the several unconscious navy personnel at her feet. She poured Leon a glass of vodka from the nearby bottle.

"Stealing Fleet booze? I think that's worth a gun to get the bastard to stop," Bernhard shot angrily. "We need to cool the burns and then transport to advanced facilities. Or at least, that's what I would do. You have seniority. Hey you," he pointed to a sailor who seemed more sober than others, "Call the medical ward and tell them we have a serious burn victim."

He looked around to see what could be used to cool burns. Not... much. Maybe transporting the man now was a better idea than treatment here.

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The pilot grinned despite his somber appearance, "Then join us. You want to thank us, you don't buy the drinks - you remember the dead. Drew Harris, Green Ten. You are?" He led Lisa to the booth where the pilots downed a shot in honor of "Ramon Laurence, Green Nine," to which the group echoed, "Rams!"

Alex was checking Id-Sols burns. Luckily the fire was put up fast, be he will still have nasty scars. Though as he was Id-Sol he should be able to hang on until medical help arrives.

"Don't move sailor, you will be fine," she said to Id-Sol, while she tried his hear rate with two fingers. She will find who did this and kick his ass later. Not it was time to be medic.

"You got that right Bernie," she said to other medic helping her. "We need to get him to medical ward, it should be sage to move him. Get clean towel and keep it under cool water for a while. Not ice water, just cool. That should cool it some. I will call the ward and get them here with gurney." She said and took out her datajockey to carry the deed out.

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Lisa did not paid attention to what was happening near the bar. Not that she would be cold, but there were people worrying about that already and she would be just in the way. Also it would be rude to leave the pilots now. At least the brawling ended finally.

She sat with the pilots, giving them all nod of greeting. "To Ramon," she said with others to honor the pilot that died in action. It was not often that pilots cerebral chip was recovered. Fighter ussualy exploded if taken much damage, not the think about fact that pilot could be hit by something able to penetrate fighters armour.