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[h3][color=662d91][i][b]Alexander Polawski[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=662d91]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Admnistration/Communications -> The General's Office
[i][b][color=662d91]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	[color=662d91]"I told you, keep the wire bundled up and dry. You never know when you're gonna need more wire for these radios, even more in this climate where it rusts faster than a baseball heading for the sky. I'll write it down and hope we can request more, but I sweat to God…"[/color]

	Six months. Six months of change and rediscovering ones place in the new life of Camp Mexico Beach. Six months of battling through his own personal Hell, then transforming into arguably the most redeeming six months of Alexander "Mugsy" Polawski's life, all things considered. With all that had happened and was continuing to happen, the past half-year had brought purpose to Alexander's life in the form of two shapes; one of Freedman and The General, and another in a radio-set. 

	Well, one of many radio-sets. The passing six months had shown that Alexander was to be promoted to Head of Communications of CMB. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise when one thought about his past experience as a radio-man in the US Army, including how to properly communicate over the radio-waves and how to fix the sets when they broke down. One could think this was Alexander's reward for marching out on patrol with a radio tower strapped to his back without being killed, or a worthy semi-retirement for an old veteran of Uncle Sam. 

	Whatever it was, Alexander was happy to be handed this responsibility, jumping at the opportunity to show he still knew how to work a radio. That included berating those who could talk sternly to about the importance of regular mantainance. Alexander shook his head in annoyance, but only in a professional sense as he wrote down yet another item on his list of requisitions for the Communications Center. Fresh wiring was underrated, especially in the Floridian climate that reminded ol' Mugsy all too much of 'Nam. 

	Alexander checked the clock on the wall, recognizing that the time approached the allocated meeting he had with Aeron. The General, as he attempted to call his old superior from days of both their youths. Old habits were hard to change, right? With a quick pen stroke on his notes, Alexander excused himself from Communications and made his way out of the room he and Thalia had cleared out half a year earlier, making his way upstairs and towards the office of a certain General. 

	Aeron. The Dragon. 

	Freedman's session with the old veteran had done a hell of a lot to…what was the word? It wasn't "Fix", as Alexander's memories continued to haunt still. As he walked effortlessy down the hallway and ending up at Aeron's office door, the word came to him. "Distract", that was it. Knocking on the door and waiting for the usual voice to summon him, he found himself replaying a memory he was fonder over. Nothing special, but it did involve himself and a few others fishing out on the pier in peace. 

	Memories of good times, resembling the good old days. A fragile hope he held that he could spend his coming birthday just like that. Fishing. It did help to drown out the sounds of mortar shells falling.


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[h3][color=B8860B][i][b]Nigel Cooper[/b][/i][/color][/h3][i][b][color=B8860B]Location:[/color][/b][/i] Camp Mexico Beach (Beach) 
[i][b][color=B8860B]Skills:[/color][/b][/i] N/A
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	[color=#B8860B]"We might be done with the Midterms, young alumnus, but that does not mean I won't be appraising your competence outside of class. I've got my eyes on you…but have fun."[/color]

	Nigel's words harkened back to a distant past, one in which his role inside of CMB was theatrically similar to the one he inhabited back in his old life. Even his intonation revealed that deep inside of his soul and mind, he was a teacher at heart, though now one wielding a sword and pen as a matter of life and death, not mere wages. Nigel let one of the pupils run along down to the beach where a group of others awaited him, following him with his gaze for a moment before shaking his head with a surrendered chuckle. No need in taking his harsh words to heart. Kids would be kids. 

	He just hoped he'd done his job well enough. 

	Nigel walked calmly down to the beach, sighting Manny making conversation with the Professor as the celebration picnic for the end of the Midterms unfolded. While Nigel hadn't had much time to get to know the old dentist/doctor before they became integrated parts of CMB, they'd grown to speaking terms while they both worked under Education. At least the less-than-expected time Nigel spent inside actual classrooms teaching the camp's pupils, as he'd been assigned to teach the more adult members in the arts of War. More specifically, the ways of the Romans and Greeks, as he knew best. No longer was he frowned upon when orating about the sword, shield and superiour formations of his adopted forebearers. Certainly to himself he liked to think he was seen as more of a Mars, rather than a Sportacus. (Not that the lable ever left him, sadly…)

	It wasn't the neo-Roman's intentions to evesdrop on what Manny and the Professor conversed about, partly concealed by the soft breeze of Neptune himself greeting Nigel's arrival at the shores of his domain. He did however overhear the word "Medieval", learning skills at a young age and inquiries into the state of the Midterms. Making his presence known and respectfully placing himself by Manny's side, Nigel let his eyes sail out onto the open seas, his ears listening to whatever was spoken. [color=#B8860B]"The sooner they learn the skills we can teach them, the better. Some skills and feats cannot be learned from a book, sadly, so the Medieval-label is quite spot on, Manny. Ipsa scienta potestas est."[/color] 

	Breathing in the fresh, salty sea air, Nigel let his head turn towards his two fellow educators. One had a clear view into his mind, while the other had one of his mouth, and he wasn't sure which one he dreaded the most. Further away from them however, was one he feared not in the slighest. Amelia, the newly-divined teacher for the younglings stood watch over the little barbarians that they were. In the best of sense, of course, as they could be made into good Romans after all. A fellow teacher now, and a steady cliff who Nigel held onto as he had dived head-first into the game of Dungeons & Dragons! She cared for the young kids, so he settled with giving her a big wave and keeping to the two others.

	[color=#B8860B]"Thank you, Manny, for your check-up on my teeth by the way. I was fearing I was going to pull it out myself…again, but you did it…well enough. Anyway, their grades? Nihil novi - Nothing new under the Sun. Some have done their work as expected, and some are in need of more assistance…which goes for both the young and old, but you did not hear that from me."[/color]