[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OgxqNWoGmY]State of Affairs[/url]
(Will add a header soon)[/center]

[color=#d60000]”What the-?!”[/color] Was all the boy could think before being thrashed off of his mattress, exposed to the open air with his boxers as his only defense.  Sure, he has had some pretty rough awakenings in the past, usually caused by his fellow guardmates, yet this surely took the cake.  Varren would have rather landed facefirst into such a delicacy, yet was instead met by the cold metallic tiled flooring.  Of all people, he was rarely allowed to get a wink of sleep.  Upon the Free Wind, he was one of the few who fell victim to this no shuteye policy.  As such, rest was a rare commodity, one which he always loved to ascertain.  It took a few moments for the boy to realize that the ship was making an emergency landing.  Summers could hold her liquor like a queen, which meant this haphazard descent wasn’t on her terms.  [color=#d60000]”Alright, first… Crash landing guide!  Where’s my tablet?!”[/color] As soon as he managed to get a decent footing, his personal device suddenly flew at him.  Varren’s eyes instinctively homed in on the airborne object and caught it in the palm of his hand with grace.  After a few hurried pecks at the screen, the precautionary guide conjured up by his group leader popped up.  [color=#d60000]”Alright, step one… Tie everything down with your nonexistent rope.  Step two, get all the boozes for me.  Step three, pray to your go- What kind of guide is this, Dabrowski?!”[/color] The ship shuttered again and forced the gunner off balance.  

Varren was flung around like a ragdoll for a while longer before the ship finally came to a stern halt.  He had seen the world in an entirely different perspective, an upside down one at that, given the fact that his back was against his bed, and his shoulders were propped up on the floor.  The tired boy let out a groan and managed to get himself dressed.  Generally unconventional and bland apparel was his style.  It was most definitely more low profile than the armour Weston was always draped in.  A dark grey hoodie, jeans, and small backpack of concordant coloring. 

Varren ran a sluggish hand through his hair and turned himself to face his armament desk.  It was the only thing in his room which he was scrupulous about.  It was its own realm of organized sanctity, in comparison to the disorderly room surrounding it.  He opened each drawer with ease and set upon the flat surface his Tecpatl and a couple of loaded magazines.  The boy hooked two onto his belt then shoved the rest into his backpack.  Yinyues hid the belt under his hoodie, and lastly, slipped his feet into his magnetic boots.  He firmly fastened the metal-coated straps into placed, and with a nod of affirmation, set off towards his beckoning.  Chances are, the rest of his fellow cargo guards were still writhing in bed.  At their Free Wind’s previous stop, they had some sort of cuisine which churned their stomachs into a turmoil of dietary disfunction.  Luckily Varren was quite the picky eater and evaded such a painful fate. 

 Whilst jogging through the monotonous halls of the ship he quickly checked the magazines he had packed.  Most of them were less-than lethal rubber rounds, yet if a certain governmental party was involved, there wouldn’t even be a hint of doubt before switching into dangerous chamberings.  But at the moment, Varren had no idea of who inhabited this island, what was on it, or where it was.  As the guard made his way to the deck he could already hear his captain’s… [i]colorful[/i] vocabulary, accompanied by a solely-performed symphony of clanking and kicking of machinery.  [i][color=#d60000]”About time this happened… Wondered how long we would get before that thing finally called it quits.”[/color][/i] WIthout even seeing the perpetrator of their crash landing, Yinyues already knew the generator had failed.  He could recall countless occasions where he was forced to perform hull repairs and other forms of maintenance, forced upon him by his lazy guardmates.  The boy had been lost in his thoughts yet again, Weston’s bellowing tugged him out of the daze and dragged him to the top deck.  The guard picked up his pace and broke into a sprint, his silenced SMG and other gears bouncing inside of his bag as he sped his way to his higher ups.  The youngster finally arrived at the location and gave a stoic salute, something he had mastered back in basic training.  

[color=#d60000]”Sir!  Ma’am!  Good morn-”[/color] He was cut off mid-sentence as he gazed out to the landscape they were submerged in.  A horizon of green topping, and at its center lied a small, secluded town.  [color=#d60000]”So it is inhabited…”[/color] He mumbled with hope.  There was a chance that somebody out there could repair their ship and get them back on schedule.  Of course Summer was still allowing her anger to ensue upon the ship she loved and loathed at the same time.  Weston remained the voice of reason and was quick to reassure her.  At times like these, Varren simply remained quiet and awaited his orders, which were soon issued by the first mate.  Shortly after, the man threw himself off the ship and landed perfectly.  The boy grinned and nodded to his captain, then followed suit.  His boots began to eminate a light hum and glowed an incandescent blue at their heels.  The guard lugged himself feetfirst over the railing and planted his feet on the hull, which he quickly sprinted down and hopped off of in a flawless fashion.  [color=#d60000]”Copy that, let’s split off when we get closer to town.  We can cover more ground that way.”[/color] And with that, the two ventured into the depths of the forest, towards the town.