War Pigs: Origins

Joeyray's Bar
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Brock continued to drill Commervac's eyes.

"It damn well better be." He said before turning the opposite direction of the ramp and heading to his personal quarters, where he kept his weapons and armor.
Rob stands up
As ordered, Rob walks over to the cockpit, addressing Natalie with the nod of his head.
"How's the ship lookin'?"
"She's a beauty. We'll be preped for dock in a few." She says without looking back to see who was addressing her. She quickly turned around, realizing it wasn't Brock Tailor.

"Who are you?" Natalie asks, her suspicious blue eyes eying the man. The door to the cockpit closed, leaving the two alone.
""Your new co pilot I suspect, Miss." Rob says tipping his head yet again.

"War Criminal Rob Alwin reporting for duty, pleased to meet ya." He says with a smile.
"I'm Natalie." She replies, her face lacking the curves of a smile. She was still trying to figure him out.

"I guess I could use the company." She turned back to face the controls of the ship. "War Criminal?" She asks, throwing a few switches and analyzing a few monitors.
Thane, the capt never answered Alison's question. (post 17, bottom of page 1)

Rolling her eyes at the PO, Alison gets to her feet and heads for the armory, whistling tunelessly.

With a chuckle, I get up and head for the armory, giddy in my steps, seemingly bouncing with excitement.
“Wait. A ship?” I ask nobody as I stand in the hall. “Well damn.” I say, continuing on my merry way.
I make my way to the armory quickly slipping into my older CMC-230 Thunderstrike armor which still had the jumpjets enabled and was one of the last things Feek did for me even though I'd been in prison at the time. He fixed the reliability issues and gave me the last Thunderstrike with Jumpjets still usable. The front of the armor closes around me and locks I take a few steps to get reaquainted with it as I grab my rifle pistol and combat knife placing them where they belonged. "To bad I won't be able to test out the jumpjets on this mission." I say to no one imparticular as I head for the boarding ramp.
Cedric, who is already suited up, glances at the person walking next to him.

"Surely that is not a... CMC-230 Thunderstrike. Are you suicidal? Or perhaps you have always dreamt of perishing amidst the roar of flames. At any rate, when you crash and explode, try not to do so in my direction."
Grabbing my kukri from it's spot and putting it on the front of my left shoulder, I glance at the resident pretty boy. "Keep talking like that and I might just give her a nudge in your direction." Sliding the bolt back on the FN92, I slide it forward again, racking one of the rounds into the chamber. "So, no one up for a friendly wager then?"
"My friend, gambling is foolish, I know from personal experience. Having said that, there is a significant difference between a gamble and a wager. What did you have in mind?"
"Yes ma'am don't worry anything about my credentials. I was the best damn wraith pilot in the Confederacy before I was discharged for friendly fire on innocent civilians." Rob beams, but then suddenly realizing what he had said.

"Ah well I mean it wasn't really my fault. It was bad orders and such. I was sort of framed. And they weren't really innocent per say, well at least there's no way to tell...especially now..."

Rob scratches his head.

"And I mean, hell, I definitely killed more people in prison than I did in the military. That's just how prison life is! You do it to survive and such. Clear conscience there. It was me or them y'know? I mean, it's like they say, you may not go into prison a criminal but you sure as hell leave it as one, right? Haha. Yeah."
I chuckle and look over at the two. "No I'm not and Feek fixed those issues. He was one of the only people to come visit me other than confed idiots." I pull back the slide of my rifle making sure it was loaded and let it go back into position locking the round. "Better hurry up and mount up. This Colonial Ranger ain't waiting for no slow-pokes."
Walking in, Alison suits up, and gives her flamethrower a little safety test, followed by the rest of her gear.
I shake my head at Bianca and head for the door. "Simple really. Two hundred creds to the messiest head shot." I let it sink in as I step into the hall and head for the dropship, sliding extra clips into their pouches.

OOC: Hey Thane, mind posting my character and Morph's edited character sheet on the first page?
I chuckle and follow him. "Not interested. Besides its not so much fun when you mastered doing headshots at terminal velocity and use exploding AP rounds." I say thinking back to all the fun I'd had at Camp-39 when my scar on my back starts to burn again and I let off an involuntary groan.
Once I was in gear I trot up beside Hank.
"You want a messy head shot I can make em. But you might call my method of doing so unfair."
I glance over at Reggie, a small chuckle escaping my lips. "Heh, which is if you agree, I lay down some ground rules. First, you have to use no more than an AP round. Means you have to get inventive to make it messier. Second, watch your line of sight. If it looks like the ricochet might hit a friendly, don't take the shot." Then I glance at Bianca. "You alright?"

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