Supermaxx

Battletech: Anabasis

P-p-p-present!

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The sound of music drifted to Graves's ear from behind him, barely a hopeful whisper over the howl of the furious wind. The frantic yet utterly precise playing of the strings from their bard caused magic to wash over the party, giving them a temporary boost in power that was much appreciated. Graves felt his limbs lighten, as if the weapon in his hands weighed half what it previously did. He could nary feel more than a dozen pounds of the steel armor clinging to his form. It gave him the added agility to avoid a leaping slime that aimed to wrap it's gelatinous form around his leg- disaster avoided by little more than the skin of his teeth.

Graves responded by lowering his halberd down the slime's center, the sharpened head executing the target like a falling guillotine. Or, it would have, if the target wasn't able to pull itself back together a few moments later.

'Damn it!' He sneered, taking a step back. He could feel the hot breath of Elian upon the back of his neck. Graves couldn't retreat any further without breaking their whole formation. That usually wouldn't be a problem for the tank; standing his ground was kind of in the title. Yet...'We're playing for keeps now.' He needed to trust his healer would keep him alive. Just like the supports needed to trust him to hold the line.

With a grimace, he took his place right next to Rael and Ochre once more. Their blind spots were being covered by the coiling, almost sentient chains from Tess. Graves could hear their disgusting little bodies crackling against the electrified perimeter she'd set. It sounded a hell of a lot like the sizzling the slimes to their front were doing when they ran into Ochre's minefield.

Her magic was incredible, but the mumblings that Graves couldn't make out over the sounds of battle made him worry. She had to hold it together. "Keep it together Tess!" The Blood Knight roared, his halberd singing like a banshee as it cut another enemy in twain. "You break and your little boyfriend's getting swarmed!" They'd all get swamped, but as far as Graves knew, flower boy was the only one Tess gave two shits about besides herself. A little motivation never hurt anybody, right?

His fight got a great deal easier when Landon lent his own unique form of support to the frontliners. Graves felt a slight 'ting' against his shoulder armor right before heat began to rush across his form. It washed over his body like an invisible, second layer of skin, and the cold suddenly became a great deal more bearable. The goosebumps on Graves's exposed pectorals began to fade, though that was far from the most impressive part of the spell.

That came when the Blood Knight cleaved another slime apart, fire flinging haphazardly with the swinging halberd as it cooked the creature alive from the inside. It died in a single cut. "Now that is what I'm talking about!" Adrenaline shot through the muscle-bound tank, filling him with a newfound strength and a confidence he hadn't been able to muster before. Graves began to advance, cutting, stabbing and cleaving away at every frosty creep that lay in front of him.

"Pipsqueak, flower boy!" Graves yelled out the names of the other melee fighters, hoping to draw their attention to him. "You think we can carve a path toward the front exit?!" He jabbed his weapon down into the center of a slime, letting the spear tip remain inside until it stopped struggling. "Put our backs to open air and just worry about letting them funnel in from one direction?!" That would make Sky all the deadlier, he assumed; let her flames move down a tight, single corridor and roast the entire lot of these things in one go. "Hell, we might even be able to force the door closed behind us!" It wasn't a great plan, but he didn't hear anyone else coming up with anything. And moving at all was better than sitting there and waiting to be overwhelmed.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

G R A V E S

---

• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The sound of music drifted to Graves's ear from behind him, barely a hopeful whisper over the howl of the furious wind. The frantic yet utterly precise playing of the strings from their bard caused magic to wash over the party, giving them a temporary boost in power that was much appreciated. Graves felt his limbs lighten, as if the weapon in his hands weighed half what it previously did. He could nary feel more than a dozen pounds of the steel armor clinging to his form. It gave him the added agility to avoid a leaping slime that aimed to wrap it's gelatinous form around his leg- disaster avoided by little more than the skin of his teeth.

Graves responded by lowering his halberd down the slime's center, the sharpened head executing the target like a falling guillotine. Or, it would have, if the target wasn't able to pull itself back together a few moments later.

'Damn it!' He sneered, taking a step back. He could feel the hot breath of Elian upon the back of his neck. Graves couldn't retreat any further without breaking their whole formation. That usually wouldn't be a problem for the tank; standing his ground was kind of in the title. Yet...'We're playing for keeps now.' He needed to trust his healer would keep him alive. Just like the supports needed to trust him to hold the line.

With a grimace, he took his place right next to Rael and Ochre once more. Their blind spots were being covered by the coiling, almost sentient chains from Tess. Graves could hear their disgusting little bodies crackling against the electrified perimeter she'd set. It sounded a hell of a lot like the sizzling the slimes to their front were doing when they ran into Ochre's minefield.

Her magic was incredible, but the mumblings that Graves couldn't make out over the sounds of battle made him worry. She had to hold it together. "Keep it together Tess!" The Blood Knight roared, his halberd singing like a banshee as it cut another enemy in twain. "You break and your little boyfriend's getting swarmed!" They'd all get swamped, but as far as Graves knew, flower boy was the only one Tess gave two shits about besides herself. A little motivation never hurt anybody, right?

His fight got a great deal easier when Landon lent his own unique form of support to the frontliners. Graves felt a slight 'ting' against his shoulder armor right before heat began to rush across his form. It washed over his body like an invisible, second layer of skin, and the cold suddenly became a great deal more bearable. The goosebumps on Graves's exposed pectorals began to fade, though that was far from the most impressive part of the spell.

That came when the Blood Knight cleaved another slime apart, fire flinging haphazardly with the swinging halberd as it cooked the creature alive from the inside. It died in a single cut. "Now that is what I'm talking about!" Adrenaline shot through the muscle-bound tank, filling him with a newfound strength and a confidence he hadn't been able to muster before. Graves began to advance, cutting, stabbing and cleaving away at every frosty creep that lay in front of him.

"Pipsqueak, flower boy!" Graves yelled out the names of the other melee fighters, hoping to draw their attention to him. "You think we can carve a path toward the front exit?!" He jabbed his weapon down into the center of a slime, letting the spear tip remain inside until it stopped struggling. "Put our backs to open air and just worry about letting them funnel in from one direction?!" That would make Sky all the deadlier, he assumed; let her flames move down a tight, single corridor and roast the entire lot of these things in one go. "Hell, we might even be able to force the door closed behind us!" It wasn't a great plan, but he didn't hear anyone else coming up with anything. And moving at all was better than sitting there and waiting to be overwhelmed.

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

Thanks for playing, lads. Sad to see you go.

Pariah Online | Season One

I gotchu cap'n. Should be up in just a bit.

Superboy's Shitty Characters

A brief exchange of words between the Admiral's personal aide and Commander Ross were had before Elijah made his way inside the Commanding Officer's Quarters. He knew Locke's office well; in the five years they had spent on the Ark together, they'd held more than one meeting here. Ross had to confess that he was a little envious of the space provided to William. Martian vessels didn't offer lavish extravagances like 'space' and 'comfortable bedding' or other such superfluous luxuries to it's officers. Quarters were, for the most part, spartan and utilitarian in nature- as all things Martian were. Seeing as how the Ark was built and designed by more than just Martians engineers, however, the Feds and Conglomerate types decided to give the royal treatment to the Ark's commanding officer.

'Living like this is going to make Locke go soft.' Ross quietly joked to himself. He wouldn't have protested a room like this...much.

With heavy, uneven footfalls, he made his way inside the cabin. His officer's uniform was crisp and well kept as ever. Appearances were important to Ross. It was a fact he had learned far before he was ever inducted into military service. Back when he was just a school boy, Elijah had a teacher that refused to roll up his sleeves, loosen his tie or unbutton the top button on his shirt. The man ran the most disciplined class in the district. The presence he commanded when he entered the room was never forgotten, even when Elijah became a man. He had learned to emulate that teacher, and it had paid dividends in his military career.

"Sir." Elijah saluted, his arm snapping up into place so that his fingers touched his temple. It was quick and customary, but Ross insisted. Military tradition was a means of honoring the past that they had left behind- a way to keep from forgetting where they had come from.

Once he was given the go ahead, Ross found a place to sit. He wasn't exactly in any shape to remain standing for great lengths of time, given his leg, but Elijah wasn't going to break protocol just because his knee was a little sore. "Captain Lopez." The commander offered a nod of recognition to his equal from the Marine division.

"I have the list of names you asked me to compile. It should be connecting to your datapad in a moment." Ross was as quick as ever to dive into business. Locke and Lopez didn't have time for pleasantries, though Elijah had to confess that his time was a great deal less valuable than theirs. He didn't drill his men as strenuously as Lopez did. Flight simulations and emergency contingency practices could only be run so many times before it just started to feel tedious. And Locke being horrifically busy wasn't exactly a surprise, either, given his position. "None of them should be much of a surprise. They're all experts in their fields with up-to-date EVA training. Provided we're not walking into hell, they should do just fine."

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The frozen breath of the wild brushed against Lethino's rosy cheeks as he stood in the courtyard, his boots soaked from marching across snow-caked cobblestone. "Gods be damned." The royal steward cursed, flinging his head about frantically. There was no one to be seen! He couldn't believe it- he was late. Terribly, horribly, awfully late. Frederick couldn't blame the adventurers for leaving; who would want to stand out in the cold for so long?! Lethino's failure was truly, unequivocally outrageous. So monumental was his floundering that the steward was sure the king would have his head.

Perhaps not his head. That was a little drastic, especially for King Astius II (long may he reign). But he'd certainly lose his position as head steward if he didn't find a way to remedy the horrors of this situation post-haste. "The first expedition of winter, ruined! What an ill omen this is!" He lamented.

If Lethino wanted to preserve his position in the royal court, his first course of action was finding those he had summoned to Praetor City. That was easier said than done, of course- they could've gone anywhere! Literally anywhere! The capital was far too large for the steward to search alone, which meant recruiting the help of others to his cause. Frederick spun about on his heel, rushing back toward the keep. He threw open the heavy oaken doors, raising his voice until it echoed like thunder. "GUARDS!" He cried. "I require your assistance immediately! This is of the utmost importance!" His voice drew the annoyed attention of several men who's duty it was to stand around the keep looking intimidating. They were drawn to him, like moths to a flame, though their slothfulness was less than appreciated.

Frederick was in a hurry! He had no time for dillying or dallying! The steward swiftly explained his predicament to the gathered host, before unleashing upon them orders most divine to seek out any who carried an official summons bearing the mark of the king. Anyone with that letter was to be brought back to the keep- inside this time.

One of the royal warriors raised his hand. He was a brutish looking fellow with an ugly birthmark on his cheek and several missing teeth. "Oi, there was some bleedin' moron come 'round here shoutin' about a quest from the king. Said he lost his summons, so we's threw him in the dungeon."

There was a pause from the balding steward, a look of disbelief plastered on his expression as he tried to find some words to explain how utterly ridiculous that was. "Just..." Lethino began, shaking his head. "Retrieve him." Even if the fellow was full of it, one more body on the mission couldn't hurt. Especially if the entire party had bailed on them, of no real fault of their own. "I will remain here, since...mine being somewhere else sort of caused this whole mess in the first place. But you all must hurry! Quickly, now! Find my adventurers!"

---

Garbed in coats of thick fur over their chain and gambesons, the keep's loyal defenders, six in total, set out into the streets with purpose in their step.

They came upon the first potential adventurers almost immediately. A man of a strange complexion and a questionable mental state was standing ramrod straight in the corner of the courtyard, covered in ice and snow and staring into the distance like an utter loon. A few mutters were shared between the soldiers as they tried to decide who was the unfortunate one among them that would have to go speak to the crazy man.

It was decided that the smallest and most junior of the crew had to go. With a huff, the young soldier started forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword on the off chance the snow dweller was violent. "'Scuse me, sir," the guardsman started, waving to get his attention. "You wouldn't happen to know where all thems adventure types went off to? The ones here to see the king?" It was a bit of a long shot, but the crazy fellow looked like he'd been standing around here for a good while. He might've seen where some of them went off to, or over heard some crucial chatter. If the man could suppress his urge to stare into the distance long enough to recall, he might actually prove helpful.

The others, meanwhile, continued onward, sharing a quiet snicker at the misfortune of the new recruit. They moved out toward the gatehouse, where they once again encountered a few figures. Two, to be precise. One was an rickety old peasant paid pennies to clear the entryway of snow, who looked like he was having a hell of a time with that broom of his. The other was a woman, if her slight build and height were anything to go off of. It was difficult to tell with the strange attire she wore. The group of five stopped and again discussed their course of action in low voices. It was decided that one of them would address the foreigner while another picked the brain of the servant. Surely they would be able to ascertain the location of their quarry with the help of three separate witnesses!

A man of aging years with many a harsh line upon his face and sunken shoulders stepped up toward the seated foreign woman. He was the eldest of the guardsmen present, and his senior rank afforded him slightly better winter clothing that wasn't so rugged. A polite smile on his lips, the guard deigned to lower his hood despite the weather out of a sign of respect. "Good day, madame." The veteran warrior greeted, nodding his head. "Would I be incorrect in assuming you're here on business with the king? I apologize for the wait; there was an error made on the steward's part. If you'd like to come inside, we can see about getting you something warm to drink."

---

It took a bit of effort, but eventually the royal guardsmen were able to determine- thanks to their witnesses- the location of the rest of the summoned treasure hunters. Now but five in number, the eldest choosing to stay behind and assist the steward in treating their found guests, they set off toward the nearby inn. Though the 'Lame Mule Inn' was near to the keep, it wasn't quite as popular as one might think. The owner was a lecherous old scoundrel that often attempted to bed his female guests. And his employees. And, at one point, a young stable boy he mistook for a woman. Most people didn't like the man very much, but he had been acquitted of any wrongdoing thanks to a few legal loopholes found by his Guild-provided lawyer.

The group of guardsmen entered the inn, throwing open the questionably stable doorway to move inside. It was surprisingly warm within, thanks to the roaring fire that looked like it might be a little too large for the fireplace it was in. They shrugged off the hoods of their coats, striding further inside through the hustle and bustle of activity within. Their impromptu leader, a bald headed and rough looking man who was actually quite fond of quilting, approached the barkeep. There were several people within that looked like they belonged to the crowd the soldiers sought. More than one wizard was present, and there was one particular giant of a man that looked like he could crush a Broken's skull between his thighs.

"Barkeep." The bald warrior called, tapping the surface of the counter. The keeper's eyes went wide with fear when he spotted the King's golden crest on the royal guard's tabard. That was the sort of look one gave when they owed someone money, the bald warrior figured. But he wasn't going to comment- the collectors could handle such petty crimes as tax evasion. "I'd like to buy a round. Colton's Whiskey." A surprised look was sent his way by his three friends, but no one argued at the prospect of free alcohol. He turned, his gaze tracing the occupants of the inn.

"One of you, head back outside. There may be more of them that need to be found." A groan came from the man at the back of the foursome. He knew neither of the other two would be willing to pass up on free whiskey, and his wife had recently ordered him to cut alcohol altogether. Begrudgingly he left, a grumble on his lips as he hit the snow-covered roads in search of more wandering adventurers.

"Attention!" He called out in a booming voice. "I come for those summoned by order of the king!" The warrior explained. "...And I wish to apologize to you all by buying you a drink. Come forward, produce your summons, and let's share a round!"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

Praetor City, Dall
Winter - 941 F.M (Finis Mortem)
[ ♫ ]

---

The frozen breath of the wild brushed against Lethino's rosy cheeks as he stood in the courtyard, his boots soaked from marching across snow-caked cobblestone. "Gods be damned." The royal steward cursed, flinging his head about frantically. There was no one to be seen! He couldn't believe it- he was late. Terribly, horribly, awfully late. Frederick couldn't blame the adventurers for leaving; who would want to stand out in the cold for so long?! Lethino's failure was truly, unequivocally outrageous. So monumental was his floundering that the steward was sure the king would have his head.

Perhaps not his head. That was a little drastic, especially for King Astius II (long may he reign). But he'd certainly lose his position as head steward if he didn't find a way to remedy the horrors of this situation post-haste. "The first expedition of winter, ruined! What an ill omen this is!" He lamented.

If Lethino wanted to preserve his position in the royal court, his first course of action was finding those he had summoned to Praetor City. That was easier said than done, of course- they could've gone anywhere! Literally anywhere! The capital was far too large for the steward to search alone, which meant recruiting the help of others to his cause. Frederick spun about on his heel, rushing back toward the keep. He threw open the heavy oaken doors, raising his voice until it echoed like thunder. "GUARDS!" He cried. "I require your assistance immediately! This is of the utmost importance!" His voice drew the annoyed attention of several men who's duty it was to stand around the keep looking intimidating. They were drawn to him, like moths to a flame, though their slothfulness was less than appreciated.

Frederick was in a hurry! He had no time for dillying or dallying! The steward swiftly explained his predicament to the gathered host, before unleashing upon them orders most divine to seek out any who carried an official summons bearing the mark of the king. Anyone with that letter was to be brought back to the keep- inside this time.

One of the royal warriors raised his hand. He was a brutish looking fellow with an ugly birthmark on his cheek and several missing teeth. "Oi, there was some bleedin' moron come 'round here shoutin' about a quest from the king. Said he lost his summons, so we's threw him in the dungeon."

There was a pause from the balding steward, a look of disbelief plastered on his expression as he tried to find some words to explain how utterly ridiculous that was. "Just..." Lethino began, shaking his head. "Retrieve him." Even if the fellow was full of it, one more body on the mission couldn't hurt. Especially if the entire party had bailed on them, of no real fault of their own. "I will remain here, since...mine being somewhere else sort of caused this whole mess in the first place. But you all must hurry! Quickly, now! Find my adventurers!"

---

Garbed in coats of thick fur over their chain and gambesons, the keep's loyal defenders, six in total, set out into the streets with purpose in their step.

They came upon the first potential adventurers almost immediately. A man of a strange complexion and a questionable mental state was standing ramrod straight in the corner of the courtyard, covered in ice and snow and staring into the distance like an utter loon. A few mutters were shared between the soldiers as they tried to decide who was the unfortunate one among them that would have to go speak to the crazy man.

It was decided that the smallest and most junior of the crew had to go. With a huff, the young soldier started forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword on the off chance the snow dweller was violent. "'Scuse me, sir," the guardsman started, waving to get his attention. "You wouldn't happen to know where all thems adventure types went off to? The ones here to see the king?" It was a bit of a long shot, but the crazy fellow looked like he'd been standing around here for a good while. He might've seen where some of them went off to, or over heard some crucial chatter. If the man could suppress his urge to stare into the distance long enough to recall, he might actually prove helpful.

The others, meanwhile, continued onward, sharing a quiet snicker at the misfortune of the new recruit. They moved out toward the gatehouse, where they once again encountered a few figures. Two, to be precise. One was an rickety old peasant paid pennies to clear the entryway of snow, who looked like he was having a hell of a time with that broom of his. The other was a woman, if her slight build and height were anything to go off of. It was difficult to tell with the strange attire she wore. The group of five stopped and again discussed their course of action in low voices. It was decided that one of them would address the foreigner while another picked the brain of the servant. Surely they would be able to ascertain the location of their quarry with the help of three separate witnesses!

A man of aging years with many a harsh line upon his face and sunken shoulders stepped up toward the seated foreign woman. He was the eldest of the guardsmen present, and his senior rank afforded him slightly better winter clothing that wasn't so rugged. A polite smile on his lips, the guard deigned to lower his hood despite the weather out of a sign of respect. "Good day, madame." The veteran warrior greeted, nodding his head. "Would I be incorrect in assuming you're here on business with the king? I apologize for the wait; there was an error made on the steward's part. If you'd like to come inside, we can see about getting you something warm to drink."

---

It took a bit of effort, but eventually the royal guardsmen were able to determine- thanks to their witnesses- the location of the rest of the summoned treasure hunters. Now but five in number, the eldest choosing to stay behind and assist the steward in treating their found guests, they set off toward the nearby inn. Though the 'Lame Mule Inn' was near to the keep, it wasn't quite as popular as one might think. The owner was a lecherous old scoundrel that often attempted to bed his female guests. And his employees. And, at one point, a young stable boy he mistook for a woman. Most people didn't like the man very much, but he had been acquitted of any wrongdoing thanks to a few legal loopholes found by his Guild-provided lawyer.

The group of guardsmen entered the inn, throwing open the questionably stable doorway to move inside. It was surprisingly warm within, thanks to the roaring fire that looked like it might be a little too large for the fireplace it was in. They shrugged off the hoods of their coats, striding further inside through the hustle and bustle of activity within. Their impromptu leader, a bald headed and rough looking man who was actually quite fond of quilting, approached the barkeep. There were several people within that looked like they belonged to the crowd the soldiers sought. More than one wizard was present, and there was one particular giant of a man that looked like he could crush a Broken's skull between his thighs.

"Barkeep." The bald warrior called, tapping the surface of the counter. The keeper's eyes went wide with fear when he spotted the King's golden crest on the royal guard's tabard. That was the sort of look one gave when they owed someone money, the bald warrior figured. But he wasn't going to comment- the collectors could handle such petty crimes as tax evasion. "I'd like to buy a round. Colton's Whiskey." A surprised look was sent his way by his three friends, but no one argued at the prospect of free alcohol. He turned, his gaze tracing the occupants of the inn.

"One of you, head back outside. There may be more of them that need to be found." A groan came from the man at the back of the foursome. He knew neither of the other two would be willing to pass up on free whiskey, and his wife had recently ordered him to cut alcohol altogether. Begrudgingly he left, a grumble on his lips as he hit the snow-covered roads in search of more wandering adventurers.

"Attention!" He called out in a booming voice. "I come for those summoned by order of the king!" The warrior explained. "...And I wish to apologize to you all by buying you a drink. Come forward, produce your summons, and let's share a round!"

Sticks And Stones [Post-Apoc/High Fantasy Hybrid]

I'lll get that post up in just a bit! Sorry for the wait, everyone.

Except Dead Drop.

He deserves this.

No Turning Back - Surving the Abyss

---

THE GOOD DOCTOR

CDR. ROSS
VITAE LOG #3
Morning, 2221
♪♪♪

---

_{@The Valkyrie}

If there was one thing in the known universe that Elijah might hate more than the Devastators, it was paperwork. Though he hadn't used actual paper official documents in more than a decade and a half, the man still abhorred it. He understood the importance of what he was doing well- deciding who was best qualified to join them on the first expedition to a habitable world was a monumental task. And Ross was honored that he had been chosen for this duty. All of that said, however...

'Good God I hate this.'

It had to be the worst part about all of these promotions he'd earned over the years. Elijah appreciated the increased income and the better quality of life that came with it. And he appreciated, too, the weight of the tasks that came with his rank and title. There was nothing quite like the feeling of commanding a crew from the helm of a gargantuan warship in the midst of battle. It was altogether terrifying and exhilarating in the same breath. With those highs came the lows. And unfortunately for a man of his standing, the 'lows' constituted around eighty percent of what he did on any given day.

Paperwork. It was nothing but paperwork. Signing off on orders, reading over mechanical and troop inspection reports, dealing with requests from personnel and other departments, and any other host of poignantly mundane duties that came with a position of leadership. Elijah's mornings typically consisted of pouring a pot of copy and then looking at his datapad for a few hours. Then he would leave for Eden, and look at his datapad for a few hours. Then to lunch, more of the datapad, on to his office and more of the datapad (and, refreshingly, other viewscreens!) and finally he would return home for dinner and eventually bed...and more looking at a datapad.

If Eli was forced to remain in a single place to do all of this, he might've lost it awhile ago. As it was, he was quite thankful that places like Eden existed to offer some different scenery to his aging eyes. Eden was- pun totally intended- a breath of fresh air. It cut out a bit of the monotony of it all, in a way. Ross enjoyed the warm breeze brushing against his face. The sound of swaying trees broke up the maddening hum that came from the rest of the Vitae.

As his fingers traced across a barely tangible screen, Elijah heard a familiar voice play in his ear. The pad fell down against his knee, forgotten momentarily as the commander turned to face Rois Holt. "Doctor Holt." He greeted, his voice distorted by the mechanical breathing apparatus that dominated the lower half of his face. Elijah ran a finger up along his neck, pressing down on the button that caused the mask to retract. Ross held in a cough, letting his lungs adjust to the unfiltered air for a moment. Even if his doctors implored him to keep the mask on as often as he could, Elijah was adamant about speaking face to face. He was doing his body no favors, but a few minutes of unregulated breathing shouldn't kill him.

Ross rolled his shoulders, bracing himself for the upcoming strain as he went to stand. He suppressed a groan at the screeching ache within his right knee and upper thigh. A near silent mechanical whirring followed the action, the sophisticated brace adjusting to release the pressure on his wounded right leg.

"It is a good morning indeed." Elijah offered a warm smile to Holt, taking several steps to meet the Head of Hydroponics with an outstretched hand. It wasn't just a good morning. A good morning involved waking up feeling rested and eating a healthy amount of scrambled eggs and bacon. No, today was shaping up to be a great morning. Potentially even the best since he had entered the ark five years ago- paperwork aside.

Her question on whether he was in Eden for business or pleasure brought Elijah's hands together, to be clasped in front of him as his demeanor shifted slightly. "A little bit of both, actually." Ross said, his earlier joviality replaced with a dash of seriousness. "I meant to come speak with you personally later today about an...opportunity."

He glanced down at the datapad in his hand, remembering well the names of those qualified for the expedition. Among many others, Elijah had seen Doctor Holt's. "The admiral has me choosing a crew for a very...special assignment. I'm trying to bring together a small team of experts, and, well.." He started, picking his words carefully; he knew that the mission wasn't on the official record just yet, and letting that information slip early could very well stoke the fires of unrest that were already burning.

It was difficult for Elijah to keep from getting at least a little excited at the prospect. They were going to a new world! After five long years spent with nothing but dwindling hope, they had finally arrived at a world ripe for colonization. His attempt at remaining serious and keeping this all under wraps was broken by the slight grin that Ross wore as he spoke in a lowered voice. "...How would you feel about being a part of history, Doctor Holt?"

Rois was not a hard sell. She was their leading expert on plant life and agriculture- along with someone like Wolfe, Holt could determine just how 'habitable' this habitable world really was. "Now, nothing's finalized quite yet, so I can't get into the details until I've met with Locke-"

Ross's point was interrupted by an obnoxious beeping coming from the device he held within his fist. He turned it over, glancing down at the screen to see what all the fuss was about. "Ah. I let time get away from me." Elijah grumbled, switching off the alarm. "Speaking of meetings, I'm going to be late if I don't get moving to mine now. I'll have one of my aide's reach out to yours so we can schedule something." The commander implored, starting to turn away from Eden's caretaker. He really should've set that alarm for fifteen minutes earlier, all things considered, to give himself more time. But Elijah had a terrible habit of rushing to get on time to things. "Have a wonderful morning, Doctor Holt! Oh, and Eden was just superb!"