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2 mos ago
Current I have no fear of death. It just means dreaming in silence. A dream that lasts for eternity.
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2 mos ago
Kept you waiting, huh?
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2 mos ago
Atta girl Crunchy! Own it!
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2 mos ago
Traps
3 mos ago
Jack Black make that movie 100%.

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Boop.
So, it was going to be an inquisition, was it? Jasper had seen that kind of behavior from commanding officers before and it always turned ugly. Particularly for the accused. Good Captain Keene was out for blood, that much was clear. The fact that he and Mave individually had more personal awards, most of which were for combat action and a few for valor, than the Captain and XO combine, seemed to be the root cause for his vitriol. Despite the ribbing at their current circumstances, Jasper couldn't help but feel a certain sense of irony at their insufferable superior's unprofessional and downright childish insult. While he didn't like being the OIC of the Marine detachment, he had seen more than his fair share of boarding operations as the pilot of a dropship, braving enemy point defense fire to offload marines into the breach created by the Vac-Comm teams. More than once his ship had been disabled during entry, forcing him to move forward as one of the boarding team members, thus earning him a niche set of skills and experiences most spacers didn't have, barring specialized troops like VCs and other marine units. To say he was pretending to be a marine was true, but only half so and if he had taken one thing from his time with the jarheads, it's that you always protect your own.

"Sir, Lieutenant Cykali up to her release from the infirmary has been on temporary assignment to the MBT and thus her primary function and responsibility was to myself as the OIC. By your direction, Lieutenant Cykali was relived of her duties as Operations Officer up until which time she had completed her duties as 2IC under my charge in observance of Fleet Naval order twenty one Oscar section-" There it was, the XO springing into action like a jungle cat pouncing upon it's prey from the trees.

"Who in God's name gave you permission to speak, Lieutenant?!" Raged the perpetually scowling man, stepping up to all but spit in Jasper's face as he began the dressing down.

At this point, the few souls that remained on the bridge had all but stopped what they were doing, watching the shit show unfold before them. Technically speaking, reprimand like this was to be handled outside the view of their peers but Captain Keene enjoyed putting on a humiliating display where the junior officers of his ship were concerned. The XO was unfortunately no different.

"Lieutenant Gnash, do you know why we assigned you as the OIC for the marines?" Halberstadt was almost snarling by this point, nose millimeters away from the junior officer's.

"... No, Sir..." Jasper replied uncertainly, knowing full well he didn't like where this was going.

"Of course you don't." the gaunt man spat, his hollow sunken eyes narrowing into hate filled slits.

The bridge had fallen dead silent at this point, naught but the soft chimes and humming of electronic equipment breaking the still as the XO began circling around Jasper at an infuriatingly slow pace, hands locked behind his back. It took all of the younger officer's self control to keep his eyes locked forward, body rigid at attention as they had not been given permission to rest at ease since their arrival.

"You're assigned to the marines because your usefulness begins and ends with your ass in the seat of a dropship, Lieutenant." Jasper had to fight the urge to let out a derisive snort when he heard the half-assed excuse for pinning him with the duty.

So that's what this was about. It was a bit of an open secret among the crew that their fine XO had flunked out of the flight program early on in his career, something about not meeting the physical requirements for duty as a pilot. Ever since then, the frail looking man had always held a personal grudge at those young officers who had been able to do what he couldn't. Jasper felt like he should have seen it coming, but he'd tried giving his superior the benefit of the doubt. Not that it had done him any good.

Unable to formulate an appropriate and respectful response, the pilot pretending to be a marine stood locked at attention, refusing to meet the spiteful man's gaze lest he provoke him any more than his mere existence already had. To his relief, the XO stepped away from his junior and assumed his position left and abreast of his Captain.

"You know what, Captain Keene? It sounds as though Lieutenant Gnash has volunteered to share the burden of responsibility with Lieutenant Cykali. It's only appropriate, him being her OIC at the time, don't you agree?" With his arms crossed over his chest, the Executive Officer of the Madame De Pompadour drilled both of the junior officers with more than a bit of scorn.

Yup, he was absolutely fucked.
Approximately 2.5km Outside Paradise Space Dock

"Lets go ya lazy fockin spunk bubbles, we're twenty minutes in and we haven't even reached the six kilometer mark!" Bellowed Gunnery Sergeant Antonio Freedmont, a hulking bear of a man assigned as the senior enlisted Non-Commissioned Officer to the Madame's detachment of Marines, clearly not pleased by the progress of his platoon on their eight kilometer shoreside run. His annoyance only magnified as he watched each young naval infantryman pass by, huffing and wheezing while their lungs struggled to supply the body with the sparse oxygen provided by the thin air on the recently terraformed planet. Gritting his teeth, the NCO fell in step beside one particular man, an officer of the ship. "You're lagging behind, Sir," the derision in the Marine's use of "Sir" was thinly veiled, the much larger man making his dislike for the young naval officer known. "You'll set a bad example for the men." Without ever making eye contact with the Lieutenant, the Marine NCO sped off, hollering at his platoon as he went.

Huffing and puffing as he slogged along the foothill paths surrounding the Docks, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jasper Gnash wheezed in misery before picking up his feet and pushing on towards the front of the column of Marines. He hated it, hated that he had been the officer assigned to babysit the meatheads while they were on the ship. The Corps didn't have officers of their own, they were given naval officers to lead them when underway while maintaining themselves as a security force for naval facilities when ashore. All because a few fanatical loyalist Marine officers had orchestrated an armed coup against the provisional government after it seceded from the Terran Hegemony. Their little stunt had almost ended the Commonwealth's bid for independence before it had even begun. Here he was, swimming in sweat and misery on some backwater barely worth mapping on a star chart, all because the stupid jarheads couldn't be trusted.

"Anyone who doesn't make it back before thirty five minutes is up is secured to ship without liberty!" Everyone groaned, Jasper included, even though he knew intellectually the man couldn't make him do anything he didn't choose to. However, the burden of command demanded he lead by example so if he failed to meet the Gunny's inane requirements he would have to endure the already laid out consequences. Damn dirty rat bastard knew he wasn't build for grunt work the way the rest of them were, he was being singled out in a way he couldn't reasonably complain about. Dammit all...

The last two kilometers were absolute hell on Jasper's lungs, back, and legs, the burning in all three making the young officer wish he would die of heat stroke already so that he didn't have to consciously suffer the waking torture of intense physical exertion. With the end in sight, Jasper could almost cry in relief, if the sweltering heat hadn't already sucked all the moisture from his body. He didn't finish in time.




It hurt to breath, it hurt to move. As the Officer in Charge of the Marine boarding detachment, he was required to train with them and had his quarters on their section of the ship, a long way off from the rest of his fellow junior officers. It was a lonely existence for the Lieutenant, not one of the Marines, no longer a standard member of the crew, and isolated by billet from both. Aside from the motivated gung-ho warrior types, Boarding Action Duty, while garnering extra pay, was the most despised and dreaded duty a Junior Officer aboard a ship could be assigned. As a line officer, a man destined for command posts, he didn't have the luxury of a specialized trade role like the Staff Corps officers of a ship. Because of this, he was of course a prime candidate for the worst duty aboard a vessel. "It builds character," they said, "You'll be a better officer for it" he was told. Horseshit, all of it. They weren't at war anymore, they rarely boarded an enemy ship and when they did, it was to capture the remaining crew of a disabled pirate vessel. A task like that hardly required an officer of the line to accomplish. He could be in a fighter squadron, or even a Naval Special Operations group, but no, he was here, with a bunch of muscle bound trigger pulling meatheads.

"Lieutenant Gnash, report to the bridge at once." Jasper felt his heart suddenly jump into his throat before it settle back down into the pit of his stomach. "Shit..." It had to be about the last boarding they had conducted. He had been given another junior officer to lead a separate strike group during the boarding and if he had heard right, she'd gotten herself shot during the ordeal. The man had no doubts he was finally about to get his ass chewing for the debacle, despite it not being entirely his fault. Shit ran down hill on a ship, and unfortunately for Jasper, he was on the bottom of that hill where it all just piled up.

Heaving a sigh of resignation, he straightened out his uniform and began the long journey from the aft section of the ship up toward the command deck. He was tall and thin, cut from all of the damn running and physical training he had to do with his platoon, short black hair cut in a high fade sat atop his lean face which framed dark hazel eyes. Unlike many of his fellows, he was in his late twenties, having gone to the Naval Academy after a foray on commercial vessels for a number of years. He was a spacer through and through. After the long climb and plenty of time to stew over why he might have been summoned to the command deck, Jasper came to the closed blast doors of the bridge. Stopping, he gave a sidelong glance to the woman who had already been waiting by the time he had arrived. Shi-t, this really was about the boarding, it had to be. The woman standing next to him was that other junior officer from the boarding.

He was absolutely fucked.
Bumparoonie.
Yup yup! I'm still here and we're still open. I've been waiting for another poster or two as my posts are completely dependent upon other people interacting with the bartender.
Heheh. As long as expectations are curbed.
Very nice. Sorry if you guys expected many a paragraph in response, but the setting ans style of this roleplay doesn't really allow for that outside of initial introductions.
Looking to the newest costumer with that same grandfatherly smile, the bar tender slid a menu over to the thin looking man. Even as he did so, the smell of well cooked food began to permeate the small bar, smelling of the most enticing meal one could imagine, hearty and warm. If the Stool's most recent patron were to open his menu, it would be filled to the brim the with most familiar and comforting of foods. No matter how hungry one felt, the menu's options provided what seemed to be the perfect portion for the amount of hunger they felt at the moment. In this case, rustic, home cooked meals of the Mid-western American style filled the pages, each chock full with goodies as the last. If he got a thirst about him, the pages of his menu would most conveniently show familiar brews and cocktails for him to enjoy.

"You look famished, stranger. Please, review our humble offerings and take your pick of any one of our lovingly prepared meals. Choose any accompanying drink you like." Wordlessly, the bartender presented the hungry looking man with a large basket of steaming, fried, potato wedges, lightly salted and hot from the fryer. Something to whet the apatite. Turning back to the first customer of night, the bar tender set a tall glass in front of them and filled it with ice and water before doing the same for the man who had just walked in. A little hospitality always went a long way.

"If either of you need anything, please just ask."
Still open for anyone to drop in.
Makes sense.
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