War Pigs: Origins, II

Joeyray's Bar
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Alison shakes her head;
"Nada. I'll go tell Hank where we're going."
She says getting up and walking out.
I help James to his feet. "No questions sir."

I shake my head. "None sir."
Brock followed Natalie down the corridor before splitting to his private quarters. Natalie took her seat as the Silico's pilot and altered their course via navi-computer.


It's good to be back :)

Sorry, with this being temporarily dead, it's tough to remember all the emotions running through our characters, I know. But we can press on. Any interaction we want to happen, or do you want me to press on with the plot?
Making her way down to the armory, Alison hits the access button & steps inside knocking twice on the inside of the door frame;
"Knock knock."

Lets see if anything happens & then move forward.
I lean slightly on Carah not wanting to have to rely on her for walking even though I know I needed the help.
"I guess it's back to the medical bay then..."
I don't look away from cleaning my rifle, in the middle of greasing the bolt with a fresh coat. I let the silence persist as I finish greasing the bolt and move on to cleaning the barrel, pulling the rag through with little effort. After about five minutes of the motion, the barrel having not been serviced super recently, I speak. "Did the Captain finally see reason or is he intent on suicide?"
Wait, I'm a little confused here: Is Brock saying this? Or is that Steve?

01/27/2014 07:02 PMPosted by SpacePirate
"No airlock will be necessary, I have a small apartment on Tyrador VIII. It's not very populated and the Confederates don't have an immediate presence in the city I'm in. We can go there, and you guys can bicker about what to do next."

Brock eyed the Siege Tank driver. The only security they would need to worry about was at the Starport.
The talking is Svensen and the security is the starport security.
My apologies. Zarkun is correct. Steve is the one telling the group he has an apartment on Tyrador VIII.
Alison shrugs;
"Things have more or less been put on hold. It seems our guest has an apartment on Tyrador VIII. We'll be going there for the time being."
I snort, pulling another rag through, this one coming out cleaner than the last couple. "Tyrador huh? Don't think there's a chance he'll just let the fool notion go is there?"
Again, Alison shrugs;
"Probably not. Still, it's his head on the line. If he's convinced that walking into a deathtrap is the best idea, who are we to stop him?"
"The only people in this sector who really care?" I sigh, running the cloth through my barrel again, once more it was less dirty than previous ones. "Face it Alison, he's only going back to try and get us back to square one. Hell, that would be a luxury after that damn fleet." Running one last rag through the barrel, it comes out clean and I smile inspite of my frustration, putting the barrel down and working on the receiver.

"We've all been through a lot together, and loosing Reggie and Cedric pushed us all to our limits, which being thrown back into New Folsom only served to push us further." Letting loose a small, sad chuckle, I shake my head. "When's he gonna realize the Confederacy is useless?"
"Frankly, I think we should have defected before the mission even started. I'm sure the SoK would have loved to get their hands on people with our kinds of talents. Still, getting sucked into a revolution I sympathize with, but am not willing to die for probably wouldn't have been the best idea."
"I was of the opinion we should have vanished from the face of the Sector. Isn't hard. Plenty of folks do it all the time. Not even Ghosts can find them." I chuckle slightly, thinking on the matter. "Hell, Confederacy probably wouldn't have noticed if we'd left."
"And do what? Settle down some 'perfect' planet in the middle of nowhere? No thanks. That life isn't for me."
"And fighting is, Alison?" I sigh and shake my head, leaning back and resting it against the weapons rack behind me. "You're young with plenty to learn, but me? I'm old and tired. You really think I'd still be fighting if I didn't have to?"
Alison nods, leaning against the wall;
"Fair enough. Then again, I assume you had a more or less normal childhood, at least in comparison to mine. You know how to live the quiet life. I don't, not really at any rate."
I snort, thinking back to all the fights my parents had had. "Sure, if normal is an infidel father who can't keep it in his pants, who's also a drunk, and a controlling mother who disowned you the day you enlisted with the Confederate Marine Corp. All I heard at night was yelling and screaming between them. Made me glad I didn't have younger siblings. Spared them the heart ache of the divorce."
"At least you know who your parents were."

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