[center][h2]Cassius Chaplain[/h2][/center] [hr] [b]”All pilots of the 1st International Volunteer Battalion, please report to the Operations Room. I repeat, all pilots of the 1st International Volunteer Battalion, please report to the Operations Room.”[/b] [hr] Cassius stirred slightly, though he remained slumped over in the pilot seat of his NC, sleeping off a late night and hangover, like most nights. He groggily reached out to hit a non-existent alarm clock, then rolled over slightly to go back to sleep. [color=lime][b]”Pilot Cassius, you have been summoned to meet in the Operations Room. Courtesy demands you get there less than thirty minutes late. Please get up.”[/b][/color] A female, robotic voice spoke out from inside the pilot compartment, finally rousing Cassius properly. [color=SteelBlue][b]”Yer voice is’z welcome as always, Oh-Cee. They say why they wan’me?”[/b][/color] [color=lime][b]”No, Pilot Cassius. This is the first time you have been summoned in the six months, three days, and four hours you have been here, however. You are currently: One minute and four seconds late.”[/b][/color] Cassius grumbled, before nodding to himself, and opening up Oh-Cee for him to exit. He stretched, and groaned in pain, both from his back creaking upon stretching, and from the throbbing pain in his head. He overdid it, as always, but he didn’t care. He looked back at Oh-Cee, who closed her compartment on her own, and he couldn’t help but smile at her. She looked better than she had in years, and run much better too. He wasn’t no slouch with a toolkit, but there’s only so much you can do without proper tools to use on an NC. A screwdriver won’t do squad to this monster, afterall. She had automatically noticed him looking her over, her red eye focusing in on him, before slowly fading as she deactivated her ocular systems. [color=SteelBlue][b]”Enjoyin’ yer chassis? Paintjob done well? If y’need anythin’, tell me. I’ll do it ‘fore I go drinkin’.”[/b][/color] He asked, genuinely concerned about the NC, since if she wasn’t at tip-top shape, that might impact them in combat, or even just speaking to each other. She got moody, or so he thought. [color=lime][b]”Yes, Pilot Cassius. I am performing at higher levels than I have at any point in the past two years. Though I’m not sure blue is the most tactical colour to choose in such an environment.”[/b][/color] Her optical turned back on, before looking towards whatever part of her chassis that she could see, since she couldn’t actually move any limbs without the input of Cassius. He smiled at this more, and nodded. [color=SteelBlue][b]”Eh, who cares. You’ll be th’blue blur they see ‘fore they blow up, it’ll be fine. Glad y’feel good, Oh-Cee. Let th’techies know if y’want somethin’ while I’m gone. That’s an order, yeah?”[/b][/color] He was being sarcastic, of course. It’s not like he could outrank a machine, but as he expected, she played along, like she always did. [color=lime][b]”Yes, Pilot Cassius [i]sir[/i]. You are currently three minutes and twel- thirteen seconds late. Best you get moving.”[/b][/color] She responded, as plainly as ever. Cassius knew better though, she was being friendly, as always. He nodded to her, before saluting her lazily, and turning to go back to his room to find a change of clothes. Oh-Cee stayed active for a while, looking around the hangar, focusing in on mechanics, other NCs, and whatever else caught her attention. Eventually, she turned her ocular systems off once more, and went back into hibernation, internally sighing at how late her Pilot was going to be. Cassius smelt like booze and smoke, more than usual too. He must’ve gone extra-hard last night, not that he could remember. He stumbled into his room rubbing his head, pain almost becoming unbearable for him, much to his surprise. His groans eventually stopped as he carefully placed an ice-pack against his head, then, while holding it in place, taped it to his head so he could have both of his arms free. The coldness was refreshing, and shook him of his groggy, tired mood. He gathered up his cleanest set of clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them on his arm, before grabbing a towel, and walking towards the showers. He needed to clean himself, he’d probably make half his squad retch if they met him as he was, and that’d be quite the bad impression, he thought. One shower later, Cassius stretched once again, this time his back didn’t hurt as much, neither did his head, which he was certainly thankful for. He dried himself off, then quickly got dressed in a standard blue shirt and his trademark black leather vest, as well as some cargo pants that seemed mostly cleaned. Least they smelt it, at least. He felt around his vest, and smiled as he felt what he was looking for; four canteens of booze, all different to each other, all coming from different parts of the world. He pulled out one, popped the lid and took a swig, making a face at the burning taste as the liquid went down his throat, before he put it back into the inner pocket of his vest, and continued on. After dropping off his dirty clothes in his room, he grabbed a cigar, lit it, plopped it in his mouth, and walked on towards the Operation Room. Time to meet his new team, and he was only… seventeen minutes late. Well, least it wasn’t more than thirty minutes. He entered silently, nodding to whoever looked his way, ice-pack still taped to his head, then puffed on his cigar once more, before falling in line behind the squad, easily able to look over their heads at the holo-table. He took in the information with a critical eye, making note of enemy positions, unit compositions, stuff like that. His normally placid face changed to one of anger at the mention of Osamu, then just as quickly, returned to being placid and uncaring. He looked around for the supposed gene-bred that the CO had mentioned, but failed to find them with a normal scan of his eye. Guess he had to find out the hard way, not that that bothered him. He couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle at the mention of using the bar as a place to socialise, but quickly silenced himself, and listened to a pair of younglings before he spoke up himself. One of them was uncomfortable in the country, probably a new arrival to help defend, and the other wanted [i]tea[/i]. That couldn’t stand, the bar was the only suitable place to socialise, afterall, and he’d have to convince them of that. [color=SteelBlue][b]”Well, th’bars a good place as any t’socialise, methinks. I’ll shout yaz if y’wanna come with. Don’t got a stomach fer tea or coffee, sadly, but grog is another matter all’t’gether.”[/b][/color] He smiled at the squad, took a puff of his cigar, pulled out one of his canteens and took a long and large swig, before swallowing, and blowing out the smoke he held in the entire time. [color=SteelBlue][b]”Name’s Caz, I basically live at th’bar. Pleasure t’meet yaz.”[/b][/color] He couldn’t help but grin in pride at his useless party trick.