T Minus 90

[Fish Evans]

// This post is in charector. for those individuals that wish to flesh out themselves a little before we start training. Please remember to keep things IC and not too crazy :) where possible please stick to cannon, although I am sure we will be creating some of our own here :) Posting in this thread is optional.


The Mess hall, a slight haze of Tobacco smoke due to a straining and old ventilation system, a slight stickiness underfoot, no one seems to have time to tidy up theses days. the bar, unfortunately closed for the moment and the entertainment stage layed out with a table and 3 chairs. A Screen behind reads "Artemis Division. Training and Acceptance Trials TODAY 14:00" The time is now 13:30 and a few Officers are gathered to one side eating lunch. The rest of the cavernous room has scores of unused chairs and there is a slight tenseness to the air as you walk in. One officer apart from the others, leans against the bulkhead staring at a complex engineering diagram on a nearby tables Holo Dispaly.
He spots you and motions you over.

"Ah You must be one of the new members, or here to try out? if you are your quite early. the orientation lecture is not due to start for an hour and a half. Let me introduce my self, I am "Fish" Evans. Feel free to grab something from the bar when it opens a few minuets and ask me any questions you want, I expect that the Division Master will be along shortly."

 

[Vastair]

As the Division Master walks in, the door makes a slight swooshing sound that is strangely satisfying to him. The smell of lingering tobacco fills him up with pride as he struts confidentially over to the opposite wall from the large projector screen, the eerie glow played with his vision. In a few minutes the rest of the new recruits will be filling these seats, the first ever official forming of the newly en-stated Artemis Division, and he was chosen to command it. The thought of it overwhelmed him but he would never show it.

He spots one of his trusted division executives Mr. "Fish" Evans chatting up one of the new recruits a few tables down from him. He thought about going over there for a drink but then thought better of it. He didn't want the first impressions of the new recruits to be skewed by seeing him drunk before they have even flown together. There will be plenty of time for that later.

 

[Prothean]

Peter Rothie awakens in a darkened corner, covered in vomit and laundry detergent. He moans imperceptibly, and hurls one of his numerous empty bottles at the Division Master. The bottle tumbles from his hand and rolls back under the booth. He eyes the new recruits, and reminisces to back when he was one, and was actually competent. He sighs, and flops out of the booth, humming the theme to Battlefield 76 as he stumbled towards the recruits.

 

[AntiSqueaker]

Lt. Andy McKenna strolls into the bar, glancing around the darkened interior. Figuring he had time to grab a drink and a bite to eat before the Artemis Division acceptance trials, he walks over to the bar, nodding to some acquaintances he spots in the back. Ordering some food and a pint, McKenna hears the door opening again, and sees the Division Master stride through the door. Wolfing down his sandwich, McKenna strides over to the table where the rest of the Artemis Division hopefuls are gathering.

 

[Corwin]

Captain Corwin hesitantly walks in the door, spotting some people forming around a table. Downing another pill to help calm his nerves, he walks up to the table. As he approaches, he notices what appears to be a Vanduul spy in the corner. Remembering what he had been told, he dismisses the spy as a hallucination and continues towards the table.

"Hello there, I am Captain Corwin. Can I interest any of you in a drink? Possibly have some of you join me in my training sims? My last crew... met an unfortunate fate when we had a simulated boarding attack. I swear they had the blasters set to stun..." he says, assuring them he means no harm.

Glancing at the nametag of a drunk at the table, he asks "Peter, you seem like a responsible man. Would you care to be my first officer?" Corwin waits for a response, but gets none other than the man vomiting on his uniform. Corwin, not quite sure what to make of the new recruits, decides to approach the Division Master to discuss the proceedings of the evening.

 

[Prothean]

Peter slips into his puddle of vomit, face caked in various other liquids. His eyes track the Captain from the cold floor as his tongue flails around attempting to recover the lost alcohol and headlight fluid. "Psheeewpshwleugh..." He slowly rights himself, and stumbles towards the bathroom, catching himself on various tables as he does. He smashes head-on into the Division Master.

 

[AntiSqueaker]

Lt. McKenna sees some drunk slob fall over and smash into the Division Master. "Oh Jesus, Mary, and all the fuckin' saints." he mutters, before quickly downing his drink and hauling the man up to his feet. Bleary, filth crusted and glazed eyes stare back with the comprehension of a particularly dull potato. "Fuck me sideways, you smell like a bunch of maggots opened up a cologne factory. Jesus take the fucking wheel."

Equally as swiftly leaving and wiping his hands on a nearby bar towel, McKenna soon seats himself at a table with a few more mildly sober looking hopefuls and waits for something interesting to happen, ordering another beer as he sits. He has the sneaking suspicion he's going to need it before nights end.

 

[Prothean]

Peter hovered in place, contemplating McKenna's words... He knew how to fix his life. He would become... a born-again space-Christian. Or something. He stumbles further towards the bathroom, knocking a beer out of a waiter's hand, and eventually reaches the relative safety of the lavatory. He turns on the faucets, all of them, and steam fills the room.

"What the fuck?" A pilot in a stall stumbles out, blinded by the fog, and slips, smashing his head against the rim of his Porcelain Throne. Peter, seeing his opportunity to stop being encrusted in the last few years' refuse, strips down and takes the other pilot's clothes. He reads his new name tag: Aaron Randall, Admiral. Well shit.

 

[ViatorRex]

(Its been a couple of weeks but I'm going to jump in anyway)

Rex glances down at his watch as he walks quickly through the corridors, well perhaps quickly would be the wrong word, maybe briskly? But he was walking, well maybe you could classify it as a jog, but he was not running, he knew enough not to run. Hatchs flash by as he hurrys down the corridors, Rex knew he shouldn't have started tinkering this morning but well he was sure he would be able to adjust he scanners out for a few more meters. Truth was while he was excited to be asked to attend the recruiting session for Artemis Division, he was also a bit hesitant, back in the UEE he never really got along with the other pilots, it was always about 'me me me' with them, they never really thought about all the people who helped along the way. Sure the pilots had an amazing flight record, but what about the numerous man hours that went into keeping their ships in tip-top shape. Teamwork was the way to go, hell with more teamwork maybe his homeworld wouldn't be the mess it was.


He skids to a halt just outside the mess hall and looks into dingy mirror labeled "Check your dress". He runs his fingers thought his hair using the engine grease already on them to smooth it down and then tries to rub away some dirt on his cheek with the back of his hand, "Well" he says to himself looking at the pockets of his coveralls all bulging with various tools "At least they're are closed"


Walking into the mess hall he is suddenly reminded why he usually ate in the hanger, coughing he make his way over to the recruit table and checks in. "If you don't mind I'd like to take a look at the ventlation system while we wait" he said to the officer by the table "If all this smoke is hanging around who knows what else is in the air, though if you want to keep smoke I should be able to configure it to not scrub certain molecules, but I've already caught the spacer flu this cycle and I'd rather not catch the next iteration of it to come through" He then makes his way over to the ventaltion panel and started tinkering, to the trained ear the hum of the ventalion system changes pitch as he tinkers.

 

[maynard]

Maynard enters the hall, eyeing the crowd as he saunters through. "Jesus," he says to himself, "Are any of these people sober?" He slips through the kitchen and out into the alley, where the dumpsters full of empty beer bottles hide him from casual passers-by. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his trusty vaporizer, stuffs it with herb, and inhales deeply. "Ooh yeah, now I'm ready to deal with these fuckwads."

 

[Fish Evans]

"oh by all means uh.." *looks at the Greasy haired oily mechanic with half disgust and half nastager. the smell of hydroxine and lubricants stiring deep memories, he finaly spots a name tag. "rex but dont get too invovled.. theres less then an hour before the brief.. and its helpful to be able to um... breath when one is making a speech."

Looking around he notices the room is rather full now, taking a pint of small beer to steady his nerves he watches a vomit encrusted Peter depart in the approximate direction of the Bathrooms "i know we take in some rough ones but.. I wounder if there is anything aside form alcohol there to shine.... still.. non of us are at our best all the time" he mutters under his breath, he turns to some papers and shuffles through them for a moment, half an eye onthe crowed, wincing as he spots Corwin.

//Not long now, with a bit of luck less then a week so stay tuned for more details when DFM is finally out!//

 

[silver_surfer]

Lt Radd had been eating his meal and engrossed in the wall opposite him, completely zoned out, when he finally realized things were happening behind him. As he downed the last of his drink, he spun in his chair towards the main of hall to assess the situation.

Was that man having a seizure falling into the bathroom? Hopefully he can handle himself.

Norrin's mobiglass chirped it's usual notes and he unlocked the screen, his dealer getting back to him. With joining a new division it wasn't yet clear if they would be going on long term mission so he thought it best to stock up before they got shipped out to some dead system that was blockaded or a backwards moon that preached purity.

There was an over-eager gent fixing the air-filtration system and some strange noises from the door to the restroom. Norrin eyed the ceiling and realized part of the haze was his. He reignited the cigar, uncapped his flask, and puffed smoke rings at his food while waiting for the room to come to order.

 

[GrammarGestapo]

As ensign Metzler happily sat scrubbing the vents with a toothbrush, he too noticed that strange noises were coming from the restroom. Mildly annoyed that his fellow division mates were already messing up HIS bathroom (blood is so difficult to clean up, you need gallons of bleach); the ensign quickly finished, and sulked over to the meal line. He hadn't eaten in a while, and it was time to see what kind of grub these navy pansies were serving today.

Soon, fond memories of the steak and bacon, so common in the marine corps chow halls, began to waft into his memory. He put down his fork, and stared at his half finished (admittedly excellent) Belgian waffles. Shrugging, he slathered them in more bourbon-infused syrup, and let the pleasant buzz of alcohol invade his mind. He would let the actual janitors clean up whatever mess was being made in the rest room. He could always do a quick look over after they picked up the big stuff.

 

[Inzlinger]

On the other side of the room Inzlinger (who indeed has a strange name) is busy in a drinking game involving tipping the opponents glass over by sheer mindforce. It always fails, but nonetheless everybody has a lot of fun and cheats like hell (the table has moved a few metres already). Currently Inzlinger is "winning" as in less drunk (which everybody here considers loosing) but the whole squad already knows that it is pretty hard to get him drunk on anything less than 90% alcohol.

 

[Nuke]

(definitely late to the party here, but let's see if we can't get things rolling again)

Nuke wanders into the hall grumbling about his shitty MobiGlas system and It's glitchy alarm system. He glanced over the crowd, most of which were drinking and socializing. Deciding that he apparently wasn't late enough for anyone to care he adjusted his concealed sidearm and wandered over a table and ordered himself a drink. "welp" he said to no one in particular "time to find out what I signed up for"

 

[GrammarGestapo]

(definitely late to the party here, but let's see if we can't get things rolling again)

Nuke wanders into the hall grumbling about his shitty MobiGlas system and It's glitchy alarm system. He glanced over the crowd, most of which were drinking and socializing. Deciding that he apparently wasn't late enough for anyone to care he adjusted his concealed sidearm and wandered over a table and ordered himself a drink. "welp" he said to no one in particular "time to find out what I signed up for"

He looks over to see his formerly concealed firearm fully field stripped and in the process of being cleaned by ensign Metzler.
Nuke checks his pocket incredulously before ensign metzler finally looks up.

"How long has it been since you cleaned the barrel on this thing? There's an absurd amount of carbon build up."
says Kurt passive-aggressively.

 

[Nuke]

How long has it been since you cleaned the barrel on this thing? There's an absurd amount of carbon build up."
says Kurt passive-aggressively.

After briefly considering drawing his backup Nuke shrugs and takes another drink. "Probably about a week, knock yourself out. Here while you're at it this could probably use a once over" and sets his backup on the table.