[B-Deck] "Team Time"

[Furby, J.]

It seemed that Davis was totally determined to make Wilkas's life miserable for the remainder of the day. While a part of him sympathized with the young woman, the vast majority of him took some measure of sick pleasure out of it all. He vividly remembered a time not too long ago when he was in Wilkas shoes.

A boot. A nobody that no one knew nor particularly cared to get to know. He was constantly messed with and screamed at for big things and little things alike. It seemed like there wasn't a single thing that he could do right in the eyes of those whom long ago experienced his trial by fire.

It sucked.

When Corporal Davis turned on him, it caught him totally by surprise and threw him for a loop. The instinctual urge to snap to attention like some recruit being grilled by a pissed off Drill Instructor blindsided him, and it took every ounce of discipline and self-restraint to keep himself from doing so. Instead, he placed his arms behind his back and stood at parade rest as was called for in situations such as this.

In the blink of an eye, Davis was nearly on top of him, and it took a great deal of restraint not to recoil at that fact. Having an over six foot pissed off farm boy that could likely break you in half with his pinky finger in your face was more than intimidating. It was downright terrifying.

That's why when the Corporal leaned in and whispered loud enough for Furby to hear him, his mind didn't register it right away. He was still in fight or flight mode, and his gut was telling him that fleeing would be his best bet. When the man's words finally did process, he had already turned his attention elsewhere.

Though he knew the man probably wouldn't catch it, he muttered "Aye, Corporal" under his breath.

Jay stepped forward and made his way onto the mat, where Scoggins eagerly waited for him. The look on the Marine's face was that of stone cold confidence. He believed that this would be an easy win for him and Third Team.

How disappointed he was about to be.

Furby glanced over his shoulder at Wilkas for a fleeting moment, and seeing her standing there in the corner with that ashamed expression in her face was all the motivation he needed to win this fight. He was going to take Scoggins down and prove First Team was the best of the three fire teams. The best team in the whole damn platoon if necessary.

"Ready," he said with an air of finality. He was well and truly ready for this. Jay threw his guard up and assumed the basic warrior stance, his eyes focused solely on Scoggins. The rest of the world was a blur to him, and he tuned out whatever noise might have been ongoing around him. It was just him and Scoggins in his world.

Scoggins raised his hand and signaled for Furby to come to him. The message behind the gesture was plain as day. "Come get some."

The words of Corporal Davis ran through his mind like a broken record. "Go for the legs," he'd said, and Furby repeated that in his mind until it was not just advice, but his mantra for this fight.

But he couldn't just approach him and think Scoggins would let him drop him so easily. He had to do something to catch him off guard. Jay needed to throw Scoggins totally for a loop and then seize the opportunity before it passed.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. A light bulb lit up above his head, and an evil grin splayed across his face.

"FIRST TEAM!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, charging forward towards a stunned Scoggins.

The distance between them closed fast, and Furby knew he only had one shot at this. He leaned forward into the run and outstretched his hands. When he closed the distance, he wrapped his arms around the Marine's waist and straightened his body, literally lifting the bigger man up. He leaned back some and let go of Scoggins, who crashed into the mat on his back, still utterly stunned by the maneuver.

Jay immediately turned around and brought his knee down on the man's throat, attempting a blood choke. He did not put all of his weight down, however, as the objective wasn't to knock him out but to win. And there was no way he would get out of this position quick enough were he to put all his weight into the choke.

He was the victor. There would be no denying that in just a few seconds.

[Faust, M.]

Faust had been about to unleash a wicked retort at Davis when a shout of an unfortunately all too familiar voice entered the room. "CORPORAL FAUST! What did I say? NO COMBAT TRAINING!" Doctor Thomlingson marched towards her swiftly, looking like someone's very angry mother. Michelle had grown to loath her with a passion that bordered on the urge of the psychotic. However, the ball at the moment was in the Doctor's court, Faust was uncertain how to defend herself against her.
She wanted to object but it would be pretty hard considering she had been caught red handed. 

"I want you to go to the infirmary anyway so I can check up on your wound. AND if you think of objecting I remind you that I am a Lieutenant Commander so this is an order." Doctor Thomlingson glared at Faust with such ferocity that it made Michelle's own anger seem mute, weak and pathetic in comparison. "Davis you got lucky today but this isn't over. As soon as I am fighting fit I will collect some of your teeth!" Faust snapped at Davis, choosing to unleash one last threat at him before crossing over to the meet the Doctor. 

"If you do that Corporal I will have to lodge a report and also fix the damages to Davis." The Doctor informed her as she waited for Faust to arrive, before marching off with her, the Doctor became Faust's unwelcome, unwanted and despised escort to the infirmary. 
Faust intended to make good on her threats because she made promises not threats... And Faust always kept her promises. Of course she just had to put up with the Medical watch dogs who pestered her constantly, they seemed determined to make sure that she followed their instructions.

Still... With Faust out of the gym for the moment, that would reduce the likelihood of the other members of the platoon being injured. However it would be an unsaid rule that her comrades would be wise to never bring this up to anyone. 
Because if they did, Michelle would not be too kind nor too forgiving in her response to them. God she hated Thomlingson, she happened to be the woman most responsible for Faust's frustration and anger. All of which she directed at Davis because she couldn't touch the major without getting into a whole heap of trouble. 

[Davis, E.]

The sudden appearance of the medical officer caught Davis by complete surprise. No one had called them to attention, nor did he think the situation called for it. He was surprised, only slightly, that Faust didn't back down. Technically, she hadn't participated in any combat training, and as the NCOIC, it was on Davis to point that out. However, for just a moment, he froze, and that moment was long enough for the Lieutenant Commander to swoop in and pull Faust out of the room by force of authority. The door was already starting to close before Davis could speak up. He would have to talk to the LT about this before something went on Faust's records for bucking medical orders. Even more importantly, at least to Davis, the only real challenge in the room was now gone. He frowned and looked at Chip, having lost some of his intensity.

"Corporal, here's your chance to put some pride back for Third," Davis said, stepping out into the middle of the mat. "Any time you're ready."

Chip wasted no time, and charged straight at Davis, starting to lower his shoulder for what looked like a tackle. At the last second, the Corporal shifted his weight and threw a hard right hook into Davis's chin. Being as Davis had dictated no blows, he wasn't even looking to defend this. His head snapped around and his knees buckled as his vision started to blur with stars. Only one thought echoed in Davis's mind as his left knee hit the mat; 'Chip just cheated!'. Davis shook his head once to clear away the cobwebs, and Chip took the opportunity to grab him in a sleeper hold. Davis reacted with his own blow, turning hard and sending an elbow into Chip's solar plexus. He heard the air rush out of the marine's lungs and the hold slip a little. The momentum had shifted a little and Davis had to act quickly to capitalize.

Grabbing Chip's wrist Davis used it for leverage as he rolled forward. He was pretty sure he heard something pop in the Corporal's arm, but it was too late for that now. No screams came from the breathless marine, even as he cushioned the floor under Davis's extremely large mass. Carrying his roll away, Davis made it back to his feet, turning to find Corporal Chip standing, trying to regain his bearings after the lightening fast attacks. Davis charged in, grabbing Chip by the belt and his shoulder, hoisting him straight up in the air over his head. He stopped with him there, and spared his fellow team leader a glance.

"Are we done, Corporal," Davis asked, sweat starting to form on his face.

"Aye Corporal," Chip said with a grimace. Davis brought the marines down and dropped him from a mere four feet off the ground. Blood was starting to form in Davis's mouth, obviously having been cut from Chip's sucker punch.

"Don't you ever cheat," Davis said, turning back on the rest of the squad. "Scoggins, take your team leader to the infirmary. If they asked what happened, you all saw him fall off the top rack. Wilkas, recover, but you don't get to leave yet. We've still got another discussion to have. Might as well stretch out a minute while you have time. The rest of you are dismissed. It's closing in on time for chow. Leave by twos and threes again. I hear about some gaggle-fuck of privates roaming the ship, you'll all wish you were Wilkas. Now get!"

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas hoped when everyone was dismissed that she might have been able to slink out unnoticed and evade the wrath of Davis. Clearly that was not to be the case. She realised that she would have to come up with some kind of defence, something that he might believe was the truth, it would contain bits of the truth.

But wouldn't necessarily be the whole truth, somehow she foresaw that as being something that Corporal Davis could have some difficulty swallowing, or at least accepting. She could not just simply confess what had happened, yet she did have a story to spin and Cruz could, well would hopefully verify her tale.

All that was left to do was to convince Davis of the truth, the Wilkas Truth. She wouldn't technically be lying, she had been with Cruz and later stopped by an officer, who happened to be one grumpy devil intent on making her life a misery. She stretched, soothing her aching muscles. 

She wondered what Davis would have to say to her, perhaps something about being late, him being disappointed in her or how she shouldn't lie. Funny thing was it happened to be not a total lie. Indeed both she and Cruz classed it as a counselling session, just because this time she didn't have the form on her didn't mean it wasn't something real.

Of course, she doubted Davis would let her get a word in edge wise, like when she arrived for example. He would no doubt go to Durant about it. Logically who wouldn't? A member of the platoon arrived late for training with what could be seen as a rubbish or at worst a completely fake excuse as to why they were late.

Still... There was no other option for Grace except to tell Davis what had happened. If he chose not to believe it well there was nothing she could do about it. He made that choice not her. 

She finished her stretches. "You wanted to speak to me Corporal Davis?" She inquired waiting for his reply. It was obvious that he wanted to speak to her he even said so himself. 

Still it felt like the right thing to say to him, rather than simply just stretching or standing there in silence. That would have been a lot more awkward. 

Time to once more feel the wrath of an angry Corporal she thought to herself darkly. Maybe though it would be a conversation about how disappointed he was in her, especially after her technically but technically not assigned to his squad or fire team.

She forgot which one of those two however she knew it happened to be one of those things, so she wasn't completely off target there. 

[Furby, J.]

Jay watched the scene that unfolded between Corporal Faust and the seemingly perturbed Navy Doc. The German hothead begrudgingly complied with the Doc's order to follow her out, and whispered something to Davis before departing. Furby looked over at Avery, whom had also been watching from the sidelines, and leaned over to talk to him.

"Sucks,man," he said quietly. "I was hoping to see Faust and Chip tag team Davis."

Avery nodded. "Yeah, I know. My money was on Davis."

Furby gave him a look of incredulity. "What?" he asked. "Dude, Davis would have totally lost that fight."

Avery was just about to reply when Corporal Davis challenged Corporal Chip to one-on-one to reclaim the pride of his team. Everyone was caught off guard when he charged forward and dealt a punch to his jaw, managing to drop the giant farm boy onto one knee. Furby was just about to give Avery the "I was right" look when Davis flipped the table around in his favor.

In the matter of almost a second Chip was down, and the sickening pop of his arm from being pulled resonated through the open, relatively deserted gym. Jayson cringed and brought his hand over his mouth, imagining the amount of pain the Corporal was feeling at the moment. Back when he played GravBall, he'd suffered quite a few injuries here and there. He'd had his shoulder dislocated once.

It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

The PFC's jaw dropped when Davis hoisted Chip up over his head until the injured and defeated Marine finally submitted. Then the FTL dropped him on the ground and stepped away, ordering Scoggins to haul the man to the infirmary.

"I take that back," Furby said to Avery, this time no longer whispering. "My money's on Davis too."

Avery nodded with a smirk and once it was their turn to exit the gym, he and Furby left Davis with Faust. Jay looked at his watch and noted chow was roughly an hour away, so he decided he'd return to the berthing area and find something to do to kill time til then.

[Davis, E.]

"I do," Davis said, turning on the Private. "You can start this conversation by doing push-ups until I get tired, and I can do a lot of push-ups. NOW MOVE!"

Davis started to pace the floor collecting his top and trying to make sure the blood in his mouth wasn't staining his teeth. A check of his jaw and teeth showed that everything was still in place. That was also good as running into a hatch rarely cost one his back teeth or jaw. Always tricky to explain to a Navy Doc how that happened. Though the expectations of the marines were not particularly high. He had heard the term "animal" thrown around more than once. Especially concerning O-Co. They did have a reputation for being ruthless, but effective.

"Wilkas, do you think you're the only Marine ever drafted? The only one who's ever had a hard time adjusting to this life of violence and death we live? The only one to be unsure and green? News flash Private, you're not. Now, I invited you into First team so you weren't floating by yourself, so you had some resources. And what do you do? You show up late to training with some lame ass excuse. I DIDN'T SAY YOU COULD STOP PUSHING!"

Davis gathered up any sign of them presence in the gym, looking for any blood, just in case. He dropped Wilkas's gear next to her, taking the time to choose his next words. She needed something, and not all Marines responded to screaming and yelling. She needed a mentor, but likely didn't even know that. Boots, they were always so difficult to get started.

"Recover, Private. Now, do you understand that you have a family here? That we take care of each other? What do you need, Wilkas? Someone to talk to? A friend? It's all here, and I'm willing to get you where you need to be. You are a vital part of this platoon, but that doesn't make you irreplaceable. Your punishment is done. Talk to me, Marine. What are you missing? What do you need?"

[Mason, I.]

Mason noted that Sergeant Stone blew off his secondary question and decided to leave it at that for the time being.

Mason chuckled at Stone’s response, “the only thing I can’t handle is piss water,” he replied. He picked up the bottle and examined it, it was an impressive piece. Mason was quite familiar with a variety of fine bottles, since he had a magnificent collection of wines, brandies, ports, sherries, bourbons, and a few select scotches. He had inherited a large portion of the collection from the passing of his father and had added quite a bit to it, himself. All this was back at his home, on Earth.

This particular bottle was a rarity, and was even a rarity before Harvest was glassed. The 2482 was an exemplary year for bourbon coming out of Harvest’s finer distilleries. It’s common for such distilleries of this grade to go through cycles of having good spirits, great spirits, and unforgettable spirits. These cycles often last decades long. There are many variables that factor into a distilled beverage and in order to come out with an unforgettable product, all of them have to be perfect. The 2482 was just such a year.

Mason never managed to come across this vintage, simply because all of the distilled products that came out of Harvest were under lock and key when the planet was glassed. The price of these bottles skyrocketed in no time. If it was a 2482, it would’ve easily auctioned off at a year’s worth of Mason’s pay.

Mason did have a couple of Harvest spirits left in his collection, that his father had gathered decades ago. One being a 2500 port, a delectable spirit that went wonderfully with an infused cigar - such as the Acid Blondie by Drew Estate. The other was 2513 bourbon that was a simple and pleasant blend, with a hint of caramel.

“I imagine this will make an impressive combination with the Vudus,” Mason said as he set the bottle back onto the table. “I’m impressed you keep such a fine bottle with you,” he added handing Stone one of the cigars.

[Stone, T.]

The expression that Mason had on his face seemed to be a mixture of awe and admiration as he picked up the bottle. One of Stone's rare, toothy grins exposed his glistening white teeth, despite some obvious damage to them that had come about through numerous means. Mostly fist fights and close combat with Innies from back before the genocidal freaks that were the Covenant reared their ugly heads and started stomping the shit out of humanity. Stone's grin grew wider at Mason's quip.

"Hey, now," Stone said in mock defensiveness, "I've been known ta enjoy an ice cold beer every once in awhile."

The thought of that must have been repulsive to Mason, though Stone didn't care. In some cases he would rather drink beer than open up the bottle that his fellow squad leader was so carefully inspecting. Not because of the taste, as his bottle of bourbon won that contest hands down every time. But, because it was cheap and easily accessible.

That bottle in his friend's hand was not only expensive, but precious to Stone. It was perhaps the only item in his possession that he could call a legitimate family heirloom. Besides a handful of still pictures and a couple holo-albums, he had nothing that he owned to remind him of his mother or his father. He cherished that bottle for more than its impressive make and year, but for what it represented.

Harvest. His family. His home. The three things that were no longer -- and probably never will be again -- a part of his life. Harvest was a shell of its former glory, destroyed by the aliens that the UNSC was still fighting after seventeen years of conflict. They had taken everything that ever mattered to him, and robbed him of his future.

In a way, he reflected what Harvest was today. A shell. No longer was he the man he had been prior to the loss of his home world. That Stone had died with Harvest. Now he was simply Sergeant Stone. A Marine, and not entirely by choice. He hadn't exactly volunteered willingly to be a Marine, but he had decided by the end of his first four years to sign up for another four. That would have been the end of that.

Would have.

He'd intended to leave the Marine Corps behind as soon as his contract ran up. He'd talked about returning home and taking over the family farm to his parents. He'd had some pretty spectacular dreams regarding running the farm, and had hoped to retire by the time he was fifty. He'd had it all figured out.

And then the Covenant appeared, destroyed his world, and left him with no other choice but to stay in and fight. And fight he did. War has been a part of his life since he was sixteen, and niw he knew nothing else. Thomas Jeremiah Stone was war personified.

Mason's voice tore into his thoughts, and the middle-aged NCO fell back into the realm of reality. The smile had left his face, but he quickly corrected that as Mason's comment finally processed through his brain. "There's a lot of things ya don't know 'bout me, Mason," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking the cigar. "This particular bottle was given ta me by me pappy. I'd just returned home from boot camp, 'n he brought me inta his room 'n showed me the bottle. He told me, "Son, I want ya ta have this." I didn't know how ta respond, so I just took the damn thing 'n cracked it open that night."

He paused for a second, falling back into that memory for a fleeting second. "After that, I've only opened her twice. This'll be the third time."

Thomas reached into his right breast pocket and removed a silver zippo from it. On the front it bore the Marine Corps' logo, and below it was his last name crudely carved into it. He flipped the top open and flicked the spool, the flint inside the lighter sparking a flame to life. He brought the flame to the tip of the cigar and lit up, taking a puff of it before exhaling the smoke.

The flavor was surprising, yet pleasant. "Well," Stone said, removing the cigar from his mouth and clenching it between his middle and index finger, "Now it's my turn ta be impressed. Ya have yerself a fine taste in cigars, my friend."

[Mason, I.]

Mason was curious to know the second reason to which Stone opened it upon the sergeant mentioning three times.

Mason grinned at Stone’s admission to being impressed, “thanks. I had a feeling from the moment I met you that you’d have a similar appreciation in taste,” he replied as he picked up his own cigar. He tooks two wooden matches out of the match box and set them on the table. Without cutting or biting the end of his cigar, he took on match and lit it. He then held it up to the end of his cigar and rotated the cigar’s tip in the flame. A pleasant smoky scent rose from the end of the cigar. He continued this until the match was burnt all the way through and dropped the rest of the match into the ashtray. He then repeated this with the second match. Next, he swiveled the cigar in his finger so the tip was facing him and blew on it. An evenly rounded red glow emitted with every breath he blew.

Mason then took the cigar cutter and, after precisely lining up the cutter, took a clip off of the opposite end of the lit tip. He raised it to his lips and took two short and quick puffs to ensure the initial burn held. He then rotated the cigar slightly in his fingers and took a deeper drag - this time holding the smoke in his mouth and blowing it out through his nose. The technique of holding in the mouth allowed the smoke to cool down, which would allow more flavor to detected from it. Blowing it out through the nostrils allowed more scent to accompany the taste - enriching the experience further.

The process of lighting the cigar was one taught to him by his father on his eighteenth birthday. To be honest, Mason always figured to bite off the tip and light a cigar with any old lighter. However, he never failed to it the way he was taught out of respect to his father and his lineage since it was one of many things that were passed down from the Masons of old. In his mind, he had no choice in the matter, to him it was simply the way he had to it.

Mason took a sip of the bourbon that Stone had just finished pouring into a couple of glasses while the flavor of the cigar was still fresh on his tongue; the mix was heavenly. The cigar and bourbon by themselves were enough to please even the most discriminating critics - the bourbon was nearly as pleasant as bourbons could get. “A fine mix indeed,” Mason sighed.

His thoughts came back to Stone’s mention of three times and he was suddenly humbled. “Stone,” he said looking at the sergeant, “I am honored that you would share this with me. I am also curious,” he added, “what was the second time that you opened this bottle?”

[Stone, T.]

Stone chuckled at Mason's comment as he poured the bourbon into a couple of glasses he'd procured from the drawer beside his bed. He set the bottle down after having filled his glass to the brim, and grabbed and held the cup in his left hand. "Now I ain't that easy ta read I hope," the Sergeant replied, grinning.

He watched silently as Mason went about what seemed to be a long practiced ritual with his cigar. He took a wooden match and lit the cigar as thoroughly as he could, taking a puff on it before cutting the tip off. The whole process caused Stone to arch a brow at his peer in curiosity.

Thomas brought his own cigar up to his mouth and took a long, deep drag. The pleasant taste was enough to satisfy him, not to mention the aroma that wafted from the tip. He exhaled the smoke through his nose like Mason did, then glanced down as his glass as he removed the cigar from his mouth.

The clear liquid of the bourbon looked inviting, and he swirled it around in the glass a couple times before slowly bringing it up to his lips. He cocked his head back all of sudden and downed the whole glass in one gulp, the icy liquid cooling his throat while burning it at the same time. Not that the burn bothered him. He'd long ago grown used to it.

Just as Stone reached for the bottle to pour himself another glass, Mason asked him a question that, quite frankly, he wished he hadn't. Not that he could hold the man at fault. He had set himself up for a follow on question. So, were it to be anyone's fault in particular, it would have been his.

Sergeant Stone sighed and poured his second glass, then immediately downed it without so much as a pause. "Ya wanna know 'bout the second time, huh?" he asked, his voice a tad bit more withdrawn. His mind raced, memories of that day flooding through it unabated. It was all very difficult to sift through and sort out. "I 'spose that's fair, given what ya confided in me back in the chow hall not too long ago."

He knew Mason would understand right there and then that he had touched upon a subject Stone wasn't quite comfortable with telling. But, he'd happily talked himself into this mess, so he would finish it. It was only fair, after all. Mason had told him about some of his skeletons that were buried in the closet, and now it was his turn.

"The second time I opened up this bottle was..." he stopped himself, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say. This was not something he talked about, and Mason would be, in fact, the first to know about this. Not to say that others didn't know that he was from Harvest. Most did, but some were still ignorant to it. In fact, he wasn't sure which group Mason fit into.

He couldn't recall whether he'd ever told the man where he was from.

Well, what a better way to find out?

"I cracked 'er open the day I found out Harvest had fallen," he said, his eyes glossing over some as more memories flashed before his eyes. The trademark "thousand yard stare" was evident in his eyes. "She was my home world. The place where I grew up. I lived just outside of Gladsheim 'n grew up on this big 'ol farm that my parents owned. If I hadn't screwed up, I'd have been farmin' with 'im... 'n I probably wouldn't be alive taday."

Stone took another heavy drag of the cigar and shook his head. "'N so the day I found out my world was gone, I pulled this baby out 'n got shitfaced. Ended up on the floor in a pile of my own puke, 'n ta this day I don't know how the fuck I got there or what happened after I started drinkin'."

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas struggled to resist the urge to roll her eyes at Corporal Davis' demand, she didn't fortunetly. Sighing, she had no choice but to start doing the press ups, fortunately she was used to having to deal with harsh instructors, training to be a marine in Russia wasn't exactly a walk in the park. 
She watched Davis as he moved around the gym collecting everything and checking to seem that the gym was left in a tidy condition. Press ups where exhausting but the key to doing them lay in the mind. If one was resolute, they could perform an insane amount of press ups, ignoring the pains, the exhaustion and the aches. 

"With respect the excuse is true you just choose to handle the truth poorly." She replied ignoring his shout to keep doing press ups as she never stopped just slowed her pace enough to allow for a audible reply. "I wasn't born for this, but I am doing my best I will not apologise if it is not currently up to your standards." Grace never responded well to those who shouted at her, their opinions clearly weren't of any real value if they needed to be yelled at the top of one's own lungs. Shouting, though an effective way of ensuring someone heard you was woefully inefficient in making sure they actually listened to what you screamed. 

Grace stopped when instructed too, getting up and facing Davis, she knew what she wanted. However, she doubted that Corporal Davis wished to hear it. "I know what I want but... Not meaning to be rude I do not wish to say what I desire most in all the galaxy." Grace wanted to be with Cruz, well... She wanted to spend specifically more time with him, yet she could not confess such things to the Corporal. 
"I... It is not something that I can really admit but it is worth fighting for, being late for, being punished for and if... If need be dying for." The private finished talking to him, she picked up her gear. 

Up close it was possible to see that Wilkas looked tired, her eyes held dull grey shadows underneath like she had been suffering from poor sleep. That was a separate mattered that had nothing to do with Cruz, though it was the main reason she initially came to see him. The combat experience caused her nightmares or at least dreams that disturbed her sleep, disrupting it. 
Currently it wasn't really an issue, never the less that it might be dreams and nightmares could disrupt the unit if Grace woke up in a fright. Exhaustion itself, could become a killer if she and the platoon found itself engaged. Tired marines made silly mistakes and those very errors would get marines killed and herself. 

[Davis, E.]

"Wilkas, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt," Davis said with a low rumble. "No NCO would run a counseling session without filling out a form. That means you are either a liar or the most careless Private in the galaxy. I would prefer a liar. So, you're telling me that in the time it took you to get from there to here, you lost your counseling form? That's your story?"

Davis stared at her, not trying to stare her down, though this examination may have the same effect. He was searching her for a crack, a weakness, anything that would tip her hand on those things she wouldn't say out loud. Something was definitely off, but he would be damned if he could figure it out. He would need her to spell it out for him, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. She was going to be a good marine, but he didn't understand what it was to be a draftee, and couldn't even come close to that mentality.

"Private, you need someone to spend some time with," Davis said, motioning her to put on the rest of her uniform. "Someone you can be friends with. They've got you billeted with the corpsman, right? Most corpsmen are too wrapped up in their job to do much more than sewing. If you don't want to spend time with first team, Faust and Robin might be some people worth getting to know. We need you on your game, Private. We're not going to baby you to get you there, but we will get you there. You know what we're facing out there. And from your words, you've got plenty of drive, you just need to focus it. Now, unless you need something else, lets get back to billeting before chow."

Davis double checked his uniform before checking out hers. They were going to get to navigate the halls again, and hopefully he could teach her a few more things about this tub. She was struggling as a marine, but as he had said, there was plenty of drive there. She just needed to focus it on being a Marine. And being an Oscar Company marine was even easier.

[Wilkas, G.]

"Don't you accuse me of lying because it is the truth I wasn't given a form but I didn't lose it!" Wilka responded she hated being accused of lying, she kept a strenuous hold on her temper. "I however... Was delayed on my way to here due to getting lost and an officer stopping me to make me salute him till they found it satisfactory." Grace admitted but she made sure that she wasn't careless and reveal anything about what had been happening between her and Cruz. 
She found Davis' lecture to be most tiring, disrespectful and coming from a rather ignorant point of view, it seemed he assumed an idea, a concept and now refused to let it go, despite her defence. Like a dog with a bone. 

Wilkas met Davis' stare, her eyes burning with defiance. She could and would argue with him, she refused to allow herself to become intimidated by him, his rank or anything. "I have many more things to say but I doubt you will wish to hear them." Mostly because you wouldn't listen to them thereby lack any understanding, she added silently. "I am focused I know what we are fighting for. I know what my fellow marines are out there fighting for." Wilkas chose not to wait to be dismissed, she collected her gear and stalked off, intending to not talk to Davis again for a long time, preferably until he took that rod out of his spine. 

Grace Wilkas decided that now was the time to go get some food, or what passed for food in the UNSC before completing what other tasks required of her. She wondered if she would, might be able to get some time alone with Cruz again. 
Grace doubted that it would be easier, their time together was always short, both where important parts of the unit as a whole, disappearing and getting a decent amount of time alone would always be a difficult task. 

She wondered if there would be any post from either of her parents or something written by them both. It would be a great way to calm down by reading rather than having to deal with Corporal Davis any more. However, there where precious few places that Grace could successful avoid Davis, at least for the amount of time she desired. Except possibly by diving into one of the freezers. Of course, hiding inside a cryo tube was a terrible evil, no marine ever wanted to go inside the pods, yet it would be a good way to avoid Corporal Davis. 

[Furby, J.]

The trip back to the billets didn't take that long. Furby followed Avery through the door into First Squad's berth, the thought of having an opportunity to relax and lay in his rack very enticing. No sooner had he walked in did his nose pick up on something totally out of place. A foreign smell he hadn't smelt before when he'd followed Corporal Davis and the others to the gym.

His blue eyes shifted towards the back of the room, where there was a pretty thick and noticeable cloud of smoke that had accumulated. What the hell? was the first thought that crossed his mind upon seeing that. He glanced at Avery, whom seemed oblivious to what he'd seen.

"Av, you see that?" Furby inquired, his eyes glued to where Sergeant Stone's sleeping area was located.

Avery turned around and stepped out of First Team's compartment. He followed Furby's eyes and noticed the cloud of smoke that wafted through the air. The slightest hint of a grin splayed across his tanned features, and he chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I see it."

Furby shook his head in disbelief. "There is no way they're that careless."

Avery laughed. "You mad, bro?"

Furby nodded emphatically. "Hell yes I am! See that right there is everything that's wrong with the Marine Corps."

"What do you mean?"

"A couple of sergeants can go into the back and light up cigars or whatever and be perfectly fine," Furby explained, shaking his head. "Fuck the fact that it's totally against regs. They don't give a shit and nobody says a damn thing to them about it. Yet, if one of our asses lit up a cigarette right now, we'd probably get ninja punched so hard that we wouldn't be able to tell which way is up and which way is down!"

Avery shook his head and turned, stepping back into the team's compartment. Furby took one last long look towards the back before following him inside the cramped confines of the compartment. Lance Corporal Avery had climbed into his rack when the PFC stepped inside.

"I can't wait to get into the shit again," Avery said out of nowhere.

Furby arched his brow. "Why?"

"So I don't have to listen to you bitch," the Lance Corporal replied with a smile. "I'm surprised the Covenant haven't shot that big mouth of yours. A couple weeks of peace and quiet would be fucking awesome right about now."

Furby sighed, shaking his head. "Geez, you're a dick."

Avery nodded with a smile. "I am what I have, bro," he replied.

[Durant, M.]

The elevator came to a sudden stop as it reached its destination. The doors chimed and parted, revealing the corridors of B-Deck outside their threshold. Lieutenant Durant stepped out first, with Staff Sergeant Cruz right on his heel, and the others trailing closely behind them.

The berthing areas were a little ways away, and so Durant decided to take them on a tour of the area to let them get familiarized with it somewhat. He didn't intend it to be a thorough tour of the deck, as there was far too much ground to cover in a short period of time, but just a basic tour of what was nearby the place they'd all be staying.

"To my right is the chow hall," Durant said, pointing at the set of double doors with his finger.

The group turned down a hallway on the left and marched down it. Navy personnel moved to and fro around them, heading to their duty stations or to wherever else they were needed. Durant nodded at a pair of Navy lieutenants that walked by, whom seemed to relunctantly return the gesture. A smirk splayed across his face for a moment, before he wiped it away and went back to looking serious.

"Down the corridor we're approaching to our left is the rec center," Durant said. "It's outfitted with arcade games, computer consoles connected to the extranet, and even sports a movie room with surround sound. It's seldom used, but sometimes Admiral MacArthur schedules movie nights to keep the ship's morale up."

Durant took them down a corridor to the right and then another set of passageways until he finally reached the long stretch that was Second Platoon's domain. "This is Second Platoon's berthing area. The berths are situated to our left, the Head complete with showers are across from them to the right."

Durant stopped at the room belonging to Wilkas and McMillan and about-faced. His eyes fell upon the corpsman, and he gestured to the hatch with his thumb. "This is your stop, Doc. I'm not sure if Private Wilkas is inside or not, so it'd probably be best to knock before entering. She's our RTO, and your roommate from here on."

Durant turned on his heel and marched down the passageway before stopping at Third Squad's berth. He called the names and ranks of the Marines that he'd assigned to Third Squad and instructed them to report to Sergeant Willowby. Michael waited until they had all entered the berth before continuing down the corridor.

Next, he stopped at Second Squad's berth. He picked out the handful of personnel that he had assigned to the squad prior to their arrival and cleared his throat. "Corporal Stringer, Private First Class Gray, Private Silva, Private Leona Lawrence, you're up. Report to Sergeant Mason. If he's not present for whatever reason, then you'll report to Corporal Rio."

He paused just long enough to ensure they understood and made their way inside, and then turned and made his way to his last stop.

First Squad's berth.

By now there was only a small handful of people left, and out of the group Durant's eyes fell upon Private Ward. He knew that the kid's father served in Oscar Company, and that he was not only a friend to Sergeant Stone, but his superior. He was more than moderately interested to see how things would pan out, and wanted to be around to see Stone meet the spawn of his mentor. However, the unfortunate fact of the matter was he couldn't.

He had far too much stuff to do. He couldn't afford to lollygag about when there were important matters to attend to. "Lance Corporal Baldwin, Private Ward," Durant called first, and then the others, "Report to Sergeant Stone or Corporal Davis."

With that, Durant walked around the group and headed for his quarters. As he made his way there, he glanced at Cruz and said, "What do you think, Staff Sergeant? What's your take on our new people?"