[center][h1][color=f7941d][b]ISAAC BLACK[/b][/color][/h1][/center]

He didn't need Rikes to see this one coming.

The dynamic of the Isaac Store was basically this: Either one of them was good at [i]getting[/i] the business, but one of them had to organize and determine the value of things while the other took that knowledge provided and made the decisions on what to DO with these things.  This was all practice for when they got out of this war and eventually decided to corner the livestock and crop market by working together.  Another reason they called it the Isaac Store is that any complaints from higher-ups or enlisted personnel should deal with him directly.  Britta had more patience, but Isaac had the right attitude in dealing with the unreasonable, which is to say [i]losing[/i] his patience was the correct response.  It prevents people from walking all over you, especially if it involves them getting in the way of doing the right thing.

That wasn't important, for now.  Nobody was [i]complaining[/i], right now.  Except for anyone losing their hand at poker, that is.  Isaac wasn't exactly cleaning up, but he wasn't out of it, either.  They were generally having a good time, with the dark-haired Gunner facing the no man's land, so that if any unwanted heads or anything else tried to poke into the trenches, he'd see it and he could shoot it.  It helped to have Rikes along when he could be here, because the wolf-dog had keen senses to bring to the gathering, and thus the chances of being taken by surprise were almost non-existent.  It [i]did[/i] mean that his back was facing the trenchway leading back to Plymouth Lane, but the other men here were obliged to warn him if anyone important was headed this way.  Furthermore, Rikes would [i]also[/i] spot anyone who would take a look at their poker game and hate on it.  This one didn't need the glance from the other soldiers, nor the telltale sign of Rikes standing up and glaring down the lane.  The fact is that the new arrival had a tell of his own that wasn't in reference to pokerfaces.  He'd seen 'im around, him and his big slab of a dog.  Isaac was only human, but he'd trained his senses well enough in the picking up of footfalls, breathing patterns, and so on.  A man and his heavyset dog were fairly easy to pick out.

He asked of them what they were playing, even as the mostly-brown wolf dog began to sniff curiously.  It was a ritual.  Isaac had seen it among the pack and regular dogs often enough.  No harm in it unless objections were made.  Frankly, if the bigger of the two had any issues, he wouldn't have any trouble communicating them.  Isaac glanced up at the...yeah, that's a Sergeant...and answered [color=f7941d]"Poker.  Walcome to join."[/color].  Truth be told, they'd had a couple rounds, already.  What the man had seen in their setting up was Isaac dealing in the latest.  Anyway, there wasn't any harm in a Sergeant knowing anything about this.  Most lower ranks, such [i]as[/i] Sergeants, usually understood that unbearable conditions required them to bear the bending of some rules for recreation.  To wit, nobody was going to stop gambling to pass the time away anymore than they were gonna give up a few innocuous bribes to get things moving.  The Isaac Store [i]had[/i] its assets partially to handle such payments.  Getting the cooperation of the stingy quartermaster took a bit of work, for instance.  He was kind of a prick...  Anyway, Isaac was looking over the incredible bulk of the Sergeant's dog now.

[color=f7941d]"Strong breed ya got there.  Push past or pin down damn near anyone."[/color]

Isaac knew dogs.  Or rather, his father did, and the information passed down so that he could easily see that Valkur here was a living battering ram when he wasn't carrying supplies or messages like Rikes.


[center][h1][i][b][color=ed1c24]Britta Hagen[/color][/b][/i][/h1][/center]

She tended to wander about the whole of Plymouth Lane, taking no particular direction unless she had particular goal.  Sometimes, you could find things of import - people to address, problems to fix, opportunities to take - quite at random.  At the very least, what the commanding officers [i]wanted[/i] when you were on duty without a particular assignment was to look busy.  As long as it seemed like you were doing something constructive instead of standing around and looking lost, you were alright.  It was only when they had something specific for you to do or when they find you [i]without[/i] something to do that things could get dicey.  On the former, if you had something to do [i]as per orders[/i], you can be sure that you'd better get down to it, or else you were in trouble.  And in the latter, you were basically [i]already[/i] in trouble, and you were going to get an assignment you really REALLY didn't want, as a result.

All of this was important because morale in Plymouth Lane was [i]terrible[/i].  Even one with determination such as hers faltered when the enemy line refused to budge in either direction, leaving them in a purgatorial state as a result.  They would not move back, so as to give up the ground they'd gained, but there was yet any sign that an advancement would carve more than feet at a time.  Isaac was worried that command would order them to dig tunnels to try and reach the enemy camps in secret, only for the weather and mortal shelling to collapse said tunnels with them inside of it.  He did not like the military, and as much as she believed in the [i]cause[/i] of the war, they'd both seen things that makes one question the methodology of those in charge.  And so, the stalemate continued, with the probably breaking of it lying in potentially great sacrifice, a crazy plan, or both.  Britta, for one, didn't think much of the fruitless charges from the trenches.  Gunners like her standing in trenches like this made such people irrelevent, even if they were shocktroopers.

Speaking of which, a Shocktrooper chose this time to speak to her.  So, 'Marius' had come up the staggered approach to the Assault Trenches - they were like this, of course, to break up the explosive force of any shell that exploded IN the trenches - and his description of Britta was...[i]adequate[/i], but perhaps not doing her justice.  Ash-gray though her hair was, there was significant life in those threads, unlike someone for whom age had taken their toll.  It was a strange sort of thing, life.  It gave you unusual traits, at times.  And indeed, Britta was full of life, herself.  Also vigor, as she was glaring with machine gun ready out into the land that swallowed up many a soldier, as well as explosives, parts of vehicles, and all manner of debris.  She would turn upon being addressed, professionally checking her weapon to make sure she didn't misfire or something.  She noticed the slip of the tongue, and there was a slight tilt of the head when 'Marius' made it, but she made no address of it.

[b][color=ed1c24]"I would be, indeed.  Is there something I can help you with?"[/color][/b]

Here was where he introduced himself and...funny.  That was kind of a Francian name, right?  She'd known Jean from her first day of active duty, and he was a Francian-Darcsen, so she knew [i]kind of[/i] what to expect in the look, the body language, and certainly the accent.  Maybe it was due to Jean being Darcsen while this man was not, but...he seemed quite different.  No matter.  He was a man in need of assistance, and she had no reason not to help him.  Britta herself had on a bright smile, always wanting to reassure those who turned to her for aid, and this one sounded like he wanted use of the Isaac Store.  Unless, of course, this were somehow personal.  Nah, it didn't seem like it.

[b][color=ed1c24]"Sure, I can do that.  What're you looking to store away?  And, forgive me, but is there some reason that a personal footlocker would be inadequate?"[/color][/b]

There could be any reason, up to and including him just not having one issued.  Isaac and Britta had one.  When they started this, the two of them agreed to move their personal belongings - a short list, to be fair - to her own footlocker, and that the Isaac Store would be in the Isaac footlocker.  Nobody stole from said store because everybody benefitted from it, and someone trying to would endanger the store, and thus bring down the wrath of a good two dozen people [i]at least[/i], upon said doer of the heinous deed.  That all said, Britta would do what she could for the man.  Simple storage of items wasn't ordinarily in [i]huge[/i] demand, but they'd done it before.