Scuttlebutt At The Chow Table (Open)

[Furby, J.]

1200 Hours, June 20, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Aboard UNSC Vengeance, B-Deck, Crew Mess

Jayson bit into the slice of chicken at the end of his spoon-fork. It was tough to chew and charred at the edges, but otherwise tasted just fine. He'd learned over the course of his stay aboard the Vengeance that afternoon chow, or "lunch" as civilians knew it, was by far his least favorite meal of the day. Jay was not quite sure if the cooks behind the stoves were different than the ones from the morning and evening or what it was, but he could not find a single dish of food that did not taste bland and overcooked.

Sometimes he felt tempted to barge into the galley, throw an apron and gloves on, and fire up an oven himself. The meals he produced would be twice the quality of the gunk the Navy cooks attempted to pass off as food. It aggravated him beyond words that not a single food item on the menu looked or tasted as good as was displayed on the wall-mounted menus in the serving line. He believed the cooks had taken the images of thick, juicy hamburgers and steaming hot mashed potatoes from a website off the extranet, because the end product did not match the picture displayed.

"Dude, what the fuck is this shit?" be asked, his eyes turned to Lance Corporal Avery, whom sat directly across from him. "Like seriously, what the hell am I eating?"

Avery shrugged. "The menu said chicken and rice," he replied. "So I guess it's chicken and rice, bro."

Furby returned his gaze to the meal upon his tray, shaking his head. It did not look like chicken and rice to him. He wasn't quite sure what to call it, but it was not what the mess crew advertised it to be. Jayson considered making a formal complaint regarding the state of the food served at afternoon chow, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was to piss off one of the cooks and have them spite him later.

He didn't particularly enjoy the idea of food topped with human saliva.

Saliva was not an appetizing condiment.

Furby lifted the spoon-fork off the tray and, with much trepidation, brought the slab of meat up to his mouth. He set it down upon his tongue very slowly and closed his mouth, beginning to chew the suspect meat carefully. The taste of seasoned, crunchy cardboard became more and more prevalent with each subsequent bite of the chicken.

He gulped it down once he had thoroughly destroyed the piece of meat with his teeth, resisting the urge to shudder as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach. Right now, he would have given anything for an MRE to eat. MREs weren't the tastiest food to eat, but at least he knew he could season it to his liking.

"You got any ketchup?" Furby asked Avery, eying his food with disgust.

Avery shook his head. "Nah, bro. Mustard," his friend replied, raising a mustard packet in the air for him to see.

Jayson cursed under his breath and shook his head. Maybe this was in some weird, twisted way, some kind of punishment arranged by the cooking staff for some forgotten transgression upon them. He knew he could be an ass sometimes, but he could not recall ever being an ass to the cooks.

Furby's attention was snatched away from the terrible food in front of him by the sudden appearance of a Marine from First Platoon. The Marine collapsed onto the bench seat beside Avery, startling the machine gunner. Jay noticed he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Jesus fucking Christ Sampson," Avery growled, "don't fuckin' do that!"

Sampson turned to Avery as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh, sorry, brother," he apologized, "but you are gonna wanna hear this."

The PFC glared at Sampson, his curiosity piqued at his excitement. "What is it?" he asked.

Lance Corporal Sampson's eyes seemed to light up at the question. He turned his body towards Furby and leaned against the table, his voice low as he spoke. "I just got some fresh scuttlebutt from the Underground, man. Fucking grade-A shit!"

Jayson groaned and rolled his eyes. Rumors. He should have known. Sampson was one of the handful of Marines in the company that his ears tuned to the ground, listening out for the hottest rumors on the market. A month ago he had gone around the company, from platoon to platoon, spreading some bullshit about how the Covenant were in peace talks with the UNSC and making them a member of their organization.

Jayson had known from the get go that that was bullshit, but some of the more gullible Marines had eaten it up like candy. It surprised him how ignorant some of the people he served with could be. The Covenant were hellbent on their annihilation and have been since the moment humanity made first contact with them. Why would they all of sudden change their minds?

"Jesus, Sampson," Furby started, shaking his head. "If this is another story about how the Covies are gonna make peace with us or Danny Waylan and his band joined the Marines to play music for the troops, I'm honestly gonna have to smack you."

Sampson shook his head, the grin still plastered across his face. "Brother, I know I've told you guys some pretty far out things over the last few months -"

"Some "pretty far out things?" Really, dude?" Furby interjected, incredulous.

Sampson raised his hand in a silencing gesture. "Yeah, I know, I know, I'm a jackass. However, what I got has to do with the Skipper and No-Co!"

That caught the PFC's attention. Furby leaned forward, his back straight, now tuned into what Sampson had to say. Avery, who sat beside the rumor mill, casually craned his head towards Sampson. "What's the dope?" the machine gunner inquired.

Sampson's grin somehow managed to spread wider, his pearly white teeth glistening in the florescent lighting. "Our illustrious Captain got into it with Captain Alexander. Word is its because of that stray you boys picked up from No-Co. Now, you didn't hear this from me, but, Flannigan stripped buttnaked and challenged Alexander to a fight."

"What?!" Furby spouted, shocked.

"He was buttnaked? There ain't no way, bro," Avery said dismissively. "You're puttin' us on."

Sampson shook his head emphatically. "Nah, dude. My source is totally legit. This shit went down in the battalion CP, man, right in front of the fucking BC. A buddy in H&S told me."

Furby was unsure of what to say. If what Sampson was telling them was true, than Captain Flannigan was even crazier than he had thought. The Irishman was definitely certifiable, but this took things to an all new level. "So what happened?" Jayson finally inquired.

Sampson chuckled. "No-Co backed down," he said, as if it were the punchline to a joke. "The Old Man was ready to trade fists with the bastard and the pussy backed down!"

"Fucking No-Go, man," Furby murmured. "Those motherfuckers are all pussies."

Avery nodded. "That's why one of theirs joined us, bro. He wanted to be with the big dogs."

Jayson laughed. It was no secret that Oscar Company often found itself at odds with those outside the unit, but the feud between November Company and Oscar Company went back a long way. When Furby had first arrived with the unit there had been fights that had broken out between the two groups. He wasn't quite sure what had started the rivalry, but it was there.

He wondered who else had heard the story of the fight between Flannigan and Captain Alexander. It seemed like Sampson was keeping the information on the down low, but he knew how fast rumors like that could spread. He would have to ask Corporal Davis later if he knew anything about it.

And, later, perhaps he would pay a visit to November Company to poke a little fun in their direction. After what he just heard, he'd never let them love that down.

[Cruz, J.]

1030 Hours, June 20, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Aboard UNSC Vengeance, B-Deck, Berthing Area

Food. Need food. The thought and the grumble of his stomach filled his thoughts, making his current task near impossible.


Cruz set down his pen and looked at the form that was required in order to reserve the simulation room. On the Pelican ride back, the thought crossed his mind that they needed to train on jungle warfare against both the Covenant and Insurrectionists. Not necessarily at the same time, but both scenarios would be beneficial. During their combat, he noted that Oscar Company had indeed kept up on their urban tactics. Come to think of it, maybe he should think of something else to put the company through to keep them on their toes. The thought was cut short by the sound of his stomach once again. Sighing, the man turned off his desk light and stepped toward his door. He hadn't seen Wilkas in a few days and he was starting to miss their times together.


SWISH


The barely audible sound reached his ears as he stepped out into the hallway. He wondered what was on the menu in the mess, but decided that whatever it may be was not going to be overly satisfying. Everything lately seemed to be the same mush, just with a different name. A new curiosity entered his mind; what if the cooks were taking some sort of anger out on the Marines for the typical POG vs Grunt arguments that seemed to be never ending. Or maybe they had lost pride in their work and decided to say "fuck it. as long as it's edible and has sustenance, those apes should be fine.". A chuckle escaped his throat as he continued along his way.

He rounded a corner and noticed four Marines not too far from him. One was Ward or Fox as his fireteam had started calling him. The other three Cruz couldn't identify, mainly because their backs were turned to him. He leaned against a wall deciding he could put his hunger on the back burner in order to see what would happen and if Ward could hold his own.

[Ward, J.]

Jon pushed himself off the floor, sweat rolling down his forehead in tiny rivulets. He had his skivvie shirt on, tucked into his camouflage utility trousers, and his rucksack filled with miscellaneous items on his back. Morning PT had ended with the lieutenant advising the Platoon they would be on standby until the afternoon for some possible training in the simulators, and Jon had quickly learned that being on standby generally meant what felt like eternal boredom.

So, to pass the time, he had decided to get in a little bit more exercise. However, after about ten minutes of the usual, the thought occurred to him that he needed to spice things up a bit. He needed to get a little creative with his workout. So, he filled his rucksack with whatever he could find in his closet and footlocker that had weight to it, and started executing various exercises with it on. Fifty push-ups had been the last item on his PT list, and it definitely pushed him.

Standing up, he wiped away a bead of sweat and shrugged off the rucksack, debating on whether or not to sit down and take a rest. The words of his senior drill instructor ran through his head at the thought. "No rest for the weary, freaks," the tough bastard had said. Those words had somehow managed to stick with him, and he decided that it was probably sound advice at the moment.

Jon looked around the compartment. It was empty save for him, which was unusual, to say the least. Corporal Davis had gone with Sergeant Stone for some reason he had not been clued in on, and Avery and Furby had left for the rec room to play video games in hopes of killing time. Jay had asked him if he wanted to join them, but Ward declined. At the time he'd been absorbed into a book that he'd been halfway through, but he managed to finish it just shortly before getting the bug to work out.

The private glanced at the clock on the wall and noted the time. Afternoon Chow wasn't for another hour or so and he realized he was feeling a little hungry after all the exercise. While he was denied the opportunity to fill his stomach for the moment, it did not mean he couldn't have a little snack. The beauty of Navy ships, he learned, was that there were vending machines conveniently placed near the berths. He could snag himself a little snack without having to venture far at all.

Ward decided that was what he was going to do, and marched out of First Team's compartment. There were a few Marines from the squad milling about the bay, but Jon paid them little mind. He wanted something to snack on and perhaps a cold drink. Fortunately for him, the vending machines were stocked with his favorite flavor Vortex, and that was precisely what he intended to have.

Stepping out into the corridor beyond the threshold of the berth door, Ward made his way down the hall and rounded the first corner. He found himself at the mouth of a long stretch of passageway, and at the end - just before the corner - were the vending machines. He started towards them, picking up the pace a little as he could almost taste the cherry flavor of the Vortex beverage on his tongue. He was just about to reach the machines when he heard a voice call out down the hall from behind him.

"Devil Dog!" the voice boomed. Ward stopped in his tracks and instinctively snapped to parade rest. He stood there for several seconds, listening to the sound of multiple footsteps approaching him from behind, until finally a trio of Marines passed him and turned around. The three Marines were fully dressed in camouflage utilities, pristinely pressed (looking recently ironed), and were all lance corporals. Besides that he did not recognize them. Maybe they're from another Platoon, he considered as he scrutinized them.

The Marine in the middle stepped forward. His nametape, Ward saw, read "KILLION." He stood just a hair taller than Ward and sported a medium regulation cut, something that he noted was typical of the average E-3. "What're you up to, boot?"

"Getting a snack, Lance Corporal," Ward responded, glaring straightforward.

The Marine beside Killion chuckled, his tape reading "AKONO." Killion nudged him. "A snack, huh?" he asked. "Okay, okay. Well, what unit are you with?"

"Oscar Company, Lance Corporal," he said. Jon wasn't sure what was going on, but he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The look on the strange Marines' faces made him feel like he was under interrogation.

"O-Co, eh?" Killion said, the question sounding rhetorical. "Not bad, not bad. You heard the newest scuttlebutt?"

Ward shook his head. "No, Lance Corporal."

Killion took a step back, feigning surprise. "What? You haven't heard the news?"

Ward regarded Lance Corporal Killion with confusion. What the hell was this guy talking about? He leaned over to see past the Marine. The vending machines were only a few feet away. He sighed inwardly and looked back at Killion. "I don't pay attention to scuttlebutt, Lance Corporal," he said, a touch of annoyance having bled through his voice.

Lance Corporal Akono stepped up at that. "You watch your fucking tone, boot! You're talking to a Lance Corporal, you O-Co bitch!"

Jon glared at the Asian Marine, slightly taken aback. He had just insulted his unit and he did not know why. What was his problem?

Killion placed his hand on Akono's chest and shook his head. "Now, now, boys, let's relax. He clearly doesn't know what's going on," Killion said.

Thank you! Jonathan thought. Killion turned his head back to Ward. "You see, we belong to November Company, and my friends here are a little pissed off because your CO took something from us," the Lance Corporal explained. "Do you know what that was?"

The Private shook his head. Killion smiled, though there was nothing comforting about it whatsoever. "A one Lance Corporal Upshaw. Your CO stole him. Why?"

Ward blinked and tried to think of who Upshaw was. Had he met him? He wasn't in First Squad, he was sure of that. The name sounded familiar, but nothing clicked. "I don't know."

The lance corporal that had remained silent so far spoke up. "Don't you fucking lie to us, motherfucker!"

"Why did your CO steal our guy?" Killion demanded.

Ward couldn't take it anymore. He was being verbally berated by three Marines whom he had never met before and all he wanted to do was get a snackm. Jon didn't care who the captain stole or didn't. He just wanted a bite to eat and a soda. "Why don't you ask him yourself?!"

Jon immediately wished he hadn't said that. Lance Corporal Killion reared back and punched him. Ward recoiled from the blow, stumbling back a foot, before grounding himself. Instantly his training kicked in and he assumed the warrior stance. These may have been fellow Marines in front of him, but this was combat. He had to defend himself, if for nothing else than to avoid being berated about it later.

Lance Corporal Killion charged forward with his fist cocked, using his momentum to deliver another devastating punch. Unfortunately for him, Ward had anticipated the move and brought his hand up, catching the man's fist with his palm. He wrapped his fingers around his fist and twisted, while moving his right leg between Killion's feet. In one swift movement he brought the senior Marine to the ground, immediately turning and dropping on top of him. Killion brought his fists up to his face in a move to protect his face as Ward rebuttled with a right hook. Despite the lance corporal's attempt to shield his face, the hook connected, and the Marine groaned from the blow. Jon did not waste a beat, executing a left hit that struck the grounded man on the back of his head.

Ward was just about to attempt another punch when he felt a pair of arms come up from underneath his armpit and wrap around to his shoulder. Before he could blink he was pulled to his feet. Lance Corporal Killion booted Ward in the stomach before he could be pulled out of range, knocking the air clean out of his lungs. Jon gasped and coughed for air whilst trying to wrench himself free from the grasp of his attackers. Unfortunately their grip was too strong.

Killion picked himself up from the deck and laughed. "You put up a good fight, boot," he said, "but now we're gonna have to teach you a proper lesson in respect." Jon scowled and hawked saliva on Killion's boot.

The lance corporal snarled and punched him, his fist connecting just underneath his eye. Killion did not rear back, but continued to pound him with both his fistsm, each blow connecting somewhere on his face.

Ward knew, as he was being bludgeoned with no means of retaliation, that he was in trouble.

[Min Jung Jun]

Min Jung Jin at first attempted to find sleep but sleep proved elusive so in the end she decided to scribble a short letter home to her family on Reach. Nothing fancy, just a small letter saying that she was still alive and inquiring about how things were back home. Afterwards, she left the letter on her bunk, she would post it later but right now she fancied something to eat, something snack like.
The thought of afternoon chow loomed yet if one considered the way the cooks prepared the food... It would never be anything special. If a marine actually enjoyed it, Min felt certain that particular marine deserved either a medal or a section 8.

She left the compartment which she shared with a few other marines, passing a handful on her way out. If they read her letter she did not care, there was nothing embarrassing in there.
As Min walked her ears picked up the sound of punching meat, like hitting a steak with one of those fancy mallet things to tenderise it. The sound was unexpected. Suddenly cautious, she approached stealthily, glancing round the corner spying Ward getting his ass beat by another marine, with one holding him whilst another ordered a candy bar of some kind. She failed to spot Cruz however. 

The desire to add a marine in her platoon burned within her, yet by rushing out to join the fight and save Ward, Min would be disobeying an order. This created conflict. In the end she reached only one conclusion, the platoon currently was not in the position to afford having a marine put out of action because he or she winded up beaten, bloodied and broken.
She turned the corner, walking with what she hoped equated to confidence down towards Ward and his enemies.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Jun called out to the three marines. The one punching Ward never even hesitated as he continued to punch the seven shades out of him. Instead he merely motioned to his friend who had up until now been quietly eating a candy bar. He approached her, eyes shining with confidence, Min was hardly the tallest marine, nor did she look very vicious.
"Looks like someone else needs a lesson in respect." Min wondered what he happened to be on about, then her eyes detected the lance corporal stripes. Ah, now this was a problem.
"Seems to me that you forget what these mean private." He went on to say before swinging a punch at Min, who slid gracefully out of the way of it. She launched a swift counter attack, stepping forward towards her attack moving quickly to take advantage of his outstretched arm. Having launched an attack, the marine broke his defensive guard leaving himself vulnerable to an attack by Min. Min swung her own punch striking the marine in the gut. She heard him exhale sharply, however she could not take advantaged of this for he caught her in the back with a left hook. Pain lanced up her spine, fingers grasped her shirt pulling her back, she managed to block the first punch, the second got through catching her in the stomach.
The pain of this was soon joined by a swift upper cut to the chin, dazed and somewhat confused, the lance corporal pulled Min to her feet by her collar, restraining the smaller marine in a manner similar to Ward. Min taunted herself bitterly, she should have gone for help, got an officer or the rest of her platoon out here instead of charging in alone. She hoped Ward did not place to much hope in her successfully rescuing him. "Got another one here for you." [/b] He chuckled behind her. "Careful though she is rather tiny so you might have to use smaller punches." He laughed which to Min sounded more like a snorting pig.

[Cruz, J.]

Cruz watched silently as Ward took one of his assailants down with him and went on the offensive. That was short lived as the other two jumped in and restrained the young man. With a deep sigh, Cruz pushed off the wall to intervene when a female Marine, who didn't appear to notice him, rushed in to help. Sadly her attempt to help also landed her in the unforgiving embrace of a restraining hold. Cruz looked around to make sure there were no other spectators and no one else coming. Seeing no one, the irritated and angry NCO moved quickly toward the group that luckily had their backs to him.

Grabbing the back of the head of the only Marine who wasn't holding or straddling another, Cruz pushed forward while kicking the feet out from under the man. The Marine, caught by surprise, didn't have time to react nor to brace against the full impact of his face hitting the titanium deck. The Marine holding Private Jun, who Cruz was now able to identify, tossed the female aside as his head made a slight downward motion. Cruz understood that it was a nod meant for the third Marine behind him. Akono was stitched into the fatigues of the Marine that had been holding Jun.

Good, at least I know a name. Cruz thought as his hightened senses picked up on the sound of approaching feet. Cruz sidestepped as a fist appeared where the back of his head had been just a heartbeat ago. Before the Marine could retract his arm, Cruz grabbed the wrist with his right hand and pulled forward as he shot his elbow back into what felt like a face.

Akono didn't wait, he charged Cruz. Cruz gave the Marine an evil smile as he turned his momentum into a Judo throw. The third assailant was sent crashing into Akono. Both men went sprawling to the floor with groans of pain. Akono pushed himself on his hands and knees as Cruz spoke.

"You're gonna tell that pussy CO of yours this. I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder." Akono looked up at Cruz in confusion before Cruz unleashed a sharp kick that connected with the side of the man's face. He went limp as his body did a partial turn before settling on the ground.

"As for you," Cruz said as he grabbed the front of Killon's fatigues and partially lifted the dazed Marine off the floor, "you deliver this message to the same fucker. One of the four beasts said come and see," Killon opened his mouth only to have it shut by a powerful uppercut that knocked the man out.

"Jun. Ward are you two alright?"

[Ward, J.]

Hit after hit, punch after lunch, began to wear on Ward as he fought relentlessly to struggle free from the grasp of the Marines that had him restrained. His vision had already started to blur from repeated blows to his face and now, as Lance Corporal Killion focused on his midsection, he finding that he was becoming very numb to the pain. Jon wasn't sure whether or not that was a good sign, but either way, he was thankful for it. The last thirty seconds had been utter hell for him.

The sound of footsteps coming from behind him reached his ears, and with it, a sliver of hope. Someone had come to his rescue and would teach the assholes, whom were beating the seven shades out of him, a lesson. He heard a voice, feminine but confident, originate from behind him. The words were lost on him, however. He was having trouble comprehending anything at the moment.

He was conscious enough of reality to realize that one of the Marines holding him had let go, most likely to confront this new threat to their activities. The Marine behind him thus had to compensate by wrapping his arm underneath his arm to grab a firm grip of his shoulder, leaving Ward with less resistance to his attempts to wrench free. He waited, giving Killion another opportunity to hit him, before executing his move.

Jon leaned forward as far as he could, displacing his aggressor's balance and slightly taking his feet off the deck. With that, Ward arched his body to one side, tossing the unsuspecting Marine to the ground and thus freeing him from his grip. Jon stood up, his arms at the ready, only to receive a devastating left hook that turned his head to the left. Suddenly, the arms of the Marine he had thrown wrapped around his leg just as he tried to take a step back.

Ward, unable to ground himself, lost his balance and collapsed into his back. His attempt to gain the upperhand had failed miserably. He was now in an even more vulnerable position and there was nothing that he could do about it except try to keep his assailants off of him. Lance Corporal Killion lunged forward to mount him, only for him to receive a boot to the knee.

The Marine stepped back, wincing in pain, but quickly recovered. Before Jon could react, the Marine that had grabbed his leg climbed on top of him and brought his fist down on his face. Just as soon as he had retracted the fist, Lance Corporal Killion replaced the Marine and recommenced his attack.

That is until Staff Sergeant Cruz showed up. Jon was too dazed from the blow to see what transpired, but he heard the whole ordeal and listened with satisfaction as the SNCO dispatched the November Company Marines. "Jun, Ward, are you two alright?" he inquired, his voice laced with concern.

Ward did not answer immediately. He was preoccupied with trying to regain his awareness of the situation and see properly through his blurred vision. After a moment, with an air of finality, he said, "I'm fine, Staff Sergeant."

It was a lie. He was not fine. Not fine in the least. He could hardly see, his head hurt, and his stomach ached from the blows delivered by Killion and the other two No-Co bastards. He would not admit it out loud, but in his head, he was screaming to go to the infirmary, and he was afraid to see what he looked like in a mirror.

He felt defeated. This had been the first actual fight of his entire life, and he had gotten his ass kicked, with little to no damage dealt to his opponents. Jon fight now did not feel like a Marine. He felt like a helpless victim - a damsel in distress - that had to be rescued by someone stronger and more capable than he. The reality of the outcome of the fight cut deeper than a butcher's knife. Corporal Davis would be disappointed in him for letting the November Company Marines get the best of him.

Jon did not want to show his face in the berthing area ever again. The sting of the defeat was too potential for him to handle.

[Min Jung Jun]

Min barely managed to recover her balance in order to prevent herself from falling over. Never in her entire life had she been so grateful to see any Sargent. If Cruz had not turned up in time, things may have gotten rather messy, for both her and of course Ward. The blow to her back and chin stung fiercely but nothing too serious or at the very least nothing which the marine could not handle.
She glanced at Ward, the man had taken a pounding. Min blamed herself for it since she failed to rescue him, instead getting herself captured by a stronger marine. Jun happened to be better with weapons than hand to hand fighting, but somehow using a rocket launcher to save a friend may strangely be unappreciated on a UNSC vessel.

At the Staff Sargent's question, Min nodded the once. "Yes Staff Sargent, I am fine thank you." Except rather obviously for the minor bruising and the breaking of an order, no fighting with the other marines. Hell, it was not like either of them possessed much of a choice. Did they expect for her to just merely walk away or ignore the fact that one of her fellows appeared to be enjoying a barrage of knuckle sandwiches?
She felt certain that it had been the right call to attempt to intervene in the rather one sided fight, even if her intervention sort of failed epically.

"Apologies for fighting Staff Sargent." Min added, her gut twisting with a mixture of worry and concern. She half feared that she and Ward might somehow be punished for their actions. After all she currently had no way of knowing who actually started the fight.
One thing became abundantly clear in the aftermath of the fight, Min Jung Jin desperately needed to improve her skill at hand to hand combat. She suspected if any of the other marines from their platoon were present here they would have saved Ward, kicked ass all without the need for Cruz's intervention.
Not that however, Cruz's intervention was unwelcome, she happened to be very grateful for the staff Sargent saving both of their asses from a good beating or worse.

She rubbed her chin with her hand, knowing it would more than likely leave a rather nice bruise. Hopefully it did not appear that she and Ward had been fighting against each other, if it did well since Ward regrettably got the worst amount of punishment from those three marines. One might make the mistake that she somehow did all of that.
Min did not, she felt sympathy for Ward. She wondered if this was difficult for him to cope with, after all some of the marines felt a considerable amount of pride and needing to be rescued by someone else, even from their own platoon may hurt or damage the aforementioned pride. Not that Min felt too much shame in needing to be rescued, she was just grateful for Cruz's presence and the ending of the pounding of Ward.
Her hazel eyes scanned the other marine, looking more than a little bit concerned about him.

[Davis, E.]

Davis sat at afternoon chow with several other Corporals, shooting the shit and trying to unwind. It had been a great day of sleep and he was refreshed, ready to get his team back on the training track and make sure Fox wasn't going to be left to play point without some more reps under his belt. Totino, the CO's RTO, Kensington, a Team lead from Third Platoon, and Curtis, the Corporal who helped run the simulator, all sat with him at a table, talking and eating what the squid cooks passed as chow. It had all been small talk and BS, remembering their times as Lance Corporals, a few stories from the surface, and other minor things.

“You know what we need,” Davis finally said. “A party to blow off some steam. Like the one we had back on Reach last year.”

“That sounds like Lance Corporal Davis talking,” Kensington said with a chuckle. “You remember that you got two months of KP for that little stunt. Almost cost you your promotion.”

“Almost,” Davis said with his typical lopsided grin. “But tell me I’m wrong. We haven’t had a good chance to let down in almost eight months. It would be good for morale.”

“Where we gonna fit the number of people you’re thinking of,” Totino asked with a frown, picking at his chow, obviously disgusted by his ‘chicken and rice’.

“They’d all fit in the simulator,” Davis said, looking at Curtis with a conspiratorial wink. “And it just so happens that I know the NCOIC on the evening shift two nights from now.”

“You tell me how to get rid of Lt. Mac and I’m in,” Curtis said, obviously looking forward to a relaxed shift for the evening.

“Food poisoning,” Davis said. “Just like we did back on Reach. He spends the evening in the shitter and in bed while you cover. We book for simulator out in advance and we’re covered. Not only that, we can hold this party wherever we want. What do you say boys? For old time sake? We haven’t had any real fun like this since we got promoted.”

“I’m always up for a good time,” Totino said, looking over at the other two.

“Just like Reach,” Curtis said, obviously thinking it over. “I’m in. Better to pay and have a good time than be good and bored.”

“I’ll play,” Kensington said, obviously bowing under the peer pressure, “But I’m telling you it’s a bad idea. When we get caught, I’m throwing you boys under the bus.”

“Duly noted,” Davis said with a grin, standing up from the table. “You all know your jobs. And make sure to invite the NCO’s worth having. Too many invites on that front and someone will blow the whistle.”

“Where you going,” Totino asked,

“To invite the rest of the people who need to be there,” Davis said with his grin firmly in place. “Lance Corporal underground is still the fastest news source around.”

With that, he made his way across the chow hall and sat down with Furby and Avery, the most inconspicuous way to spread the news. Thankfully, Sampson was still there. He was the biggest gossiper on the ship, and Davis was pretty sure that every lower enlisted man (and woman) would know about the party by dinner chow. All three looked at him a bit nervously as he saw down, unsure of what he would do as an NCO.

“What’s the news Sampson,” Davis said cheerily. “You’re pretty well connected. Anything worth telling.”

“Wild bullshit about the Captain,” Avery said around a mouthful of food. “Says the Skipper offered No-Co’s CO a knuckle sandwich over Upshaw.”

“Sounds like the Fighting Irishman,” Davis said with a grin. “Did you hear about the party?”

“What party,” Sampson asked, immediately reeled in.

“Guys at the next table over were talking about a party in the simulator tomorrow night after chow,” Davis said blandly, as if it were nothing news to him. Sampson was nearly drooling at this tidbit. “They wanted to keep the NCO’s out so I stopped listening, but it sounded like some pretty serious planning.”

“I’ll have to look into that,” Sampson said. “Gentlemen, Corporal, I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”

With that, the frustrating terminal Lance exited the scene and Davis was left with his team. Avery and Furby were obviously unsure of what just happened, and Davis was glad to see he had caught them off guard. Marine’s often forgot that NCOs had once been lower enlisted men, and Davis had only been recently promoted.

“That’s how you spread news via the underground gentlemen,” Davis said with a grin. “Hope you’re ready for a good time.”

[Furby, J.]

Neither Furby or Avery had expected a visit from their team leader, and his sudden arrival sparked shock from the both of them. Jayson straightened up at the sight of him, setting his spoon-fork down and shooting a silencing glare at Lance Corporal Sampson. Davis had, in the past, expressed his dislike for the Marine and his rumors. Furby didn't blame him in the least for it, but he wasn't about to turn the guy away for it.

So Jayson found himself quite startled when Davis initiated conversation with the walking rumormill. He watched and listened to the exchange in silence, chewing away at the tough bits of chicken that he had shoveled into his mouth. His interest piqued when Corporal Davis mentioned talk of a party in the simulators, leaning forward slightly as he continued to devour his meal.

Lance Corporal Sampson seemed the most intrigued by the information that had been placed in his lap. Within seconds he dismissed himself and disappeared, most likely off to spread the word that a party was in the midst of being organized. Davis, free from the likes of Sampson, turned to them with his signature lopsided grin, which Furby noted had an air of mischief about it.

"That's how you spread news via the Underground, gentlemen," Davis said curtly. "Hope you're ready for a good time."

Furby stared at his team leader in disbelief before turning his gaze to Lance Corporal Avery. "Is he for real?" he asked as if Davis wasn't beside him.

Avery took a moment to consider the facts before issuing a curt nod. "I think so."

Jayson turned back to Davis, a grin slowly materializing. "... Well played, Corporal."

Avery seemed to visibly relax, the smile returning to his face. "Yeah, Corporal," he started, chuckling somewhat, "I never knew ya had it in ya."

Jayson's curiosity was eating away at him. He'd heard no word of any party at all from anyone, and he found it mildly suspicious that Sampson had not been the first to catch wind of it. Sampson's ear was always placed firmly to the ground no matter where he found himself. If he hadn't heard anything in regards to it, then how exactly had Davis?

He leaned back and glanced at the table beside them. The table was occupied by a group of Navy technicians and what appeared to be a couple of enlistedmen from the bridge crew. He couldn't imagine any of them conspiring to throw a party in one of the ship's simulator rooms, especially considering their closeness to the ship's captain, Admiral MacArthur.

Furby leaned forward, regarding Corporal Davis with suspicion. "How exactly did you hear about this 'party', Corporal?"

Avery sighed and shook his head. "Ain't it obvious, bro?"

Furby shifted his gaze back to the machine gunner. "Huh?" he asked, confused.

"Corporal made that shit up, bro," Avery stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "He didn't hear that shit from nobody. This party is his idea."

No way! he thought. "Is that true, Corporal?"

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone strolled down a busy corridor, paying no mind to the riff raff that surrounded him. His stomach growled, a reminder that it was empty, and the aroma of fried food assaulted his nostrils. The chow hall - his destination - was just around the corner from him.

Thomas rounded the corner. The chow hall doors parted way and he stepped through the threshold, removing the coveted NCO cover from atop his dome. He stuffed it in the right cargo pocket of his trousers while scrutinizing the cavernous room set before him. The chow hall was packed as per usual for this time of day; every demographic was on display here. Marines, sailors, and the heralded ODST all shared the space together, the latter segregated from the former.

The Sergeant scoffed with a shake of his head. The ODSTs were, in his opinion, a bunch of undisciplined cannibals. He hadn't met a single Helljumper in all his years of service that he did not believe was deserving of a Section 8. You had to be off your rocker to volunteer to drop from orbit in a metal tincan. Thomas knew he was one crazy SOB, but the ODSTs had him topped by light years in the psyche department.

Stone's stomach growled once again, a reminder that sustenance was required. He nodded curtly to no one in particular and started towards the serving line, already strategizing on what kind of food he wanted to fill his stomach with. The lunch special was chicken and rice, which sounded absolutely delicious, but he knew better than to believe that. Afternoon chow was generally a disappointing affair for all involved. The specials always sounded scrumptious, but rarely met expectation.

The grizzled NCO had almost reached the serving line when something intriguing caught his eye. He looked to a table off to his left and spotted the likes of Corporal Davis. The large farmboy was in the midst of a hushed conversation with several known associates of his, all of them notorious for antics executed in poor taste in the past. Thomas recalled one particular incident orchestrated by the group that stood out in his mind.

Almost one year ago, just days prior to the announcement that First Battalion would be attached to the 27th MEU, then-Lance Corporal Davis and the three men with him at the table had put together a rather large gathering of Marines from across the camp. The party had been concealed as a routine training exercise thanks to then-Lance Corporal Curtis's connection with the training section of battalion's H&S Company.

All had gone well until a handful of highly intoxicated Marines got irate with members of another unit. The gathering had quickly dissolved into a brutal riot, one that managed to put the entire base on lockdown and called for the entire camp's police contingent to move in and disperse the massive congregation of drunken Devil Dogs. Stone had not been present at the gathering, and had nearly skewed Davis when he found out about it.

The JAG office on post had had a field day over the incident. Fortunately, thanks to the testimony of several members of Oscar Company, Davis was only given a slap on the wrist for the incident. After it was all said and done, Stone did not let the farmboy out of his sight until the day they deployed. If he was capable of organizing such a huge gathering of Marines under the radar, Thomas had been afraid of what else the young man could accomplish if left to his own devices.

Stone watched as Corporal Davis stood up from the table and made his way across the chow hall to sit with his team. He stood there for a moment debating on what he wanted to do, before coming to the decision to pay the former troublemakers a little visit. He quickly marched over to the table and stopped, scrutinizing the men for a moment. They all noticed him standing there, and they all appeared nervous.

"Afternoon, Sergeant," Corporal Totino greeted, sounding not in the least bit happy to see him.

"Corp'ral," he replied blandly with a curt nod. The trio remained silent as they looked upon him with apprehension. Inwardly he was smiling at their reaction to his sudden arrival, but in the outside he remained stoic, unreadable.

"Y'all three should be careful," he warned, his tone cold and measured. "Some folks might think y'all are... up ta somethin'." He locked eyes with Corporal Curtis upon the deliverance of those last words. The NCO visibly cringed under the scrutiny. Stone's inward smile widened.

Without another word, he turned and made his way over to the serving line, letting his final words simmer in the air at their table. He knew by their reactions that they were up to something - likely something no good - and he decided he would have to keep a close eye on them in the coming days. If they were planning something along the lines of their last stunt, he would make sure he knew about it.

Because damn it all if he would go uninvited this time around.

[Durant, M.]

Durant sat at a long, crescent-shaped table near the chow hall's exit, surrounded by the other officers of the MEU. The company's executive officer sat across from him, with Johansson and Hernandez to his right. Generally he preferred to sit with his platoon, but there weren't any spots available at the other tables, so, begrudgingly, he chose to sit with his own kind. He felt there was a stigma attached to the idea of an officer segregating himself from his Marines at chow.

Michael scooped up some rice with his spoon-fork and dumped it into his mouth. While he ate he listened to the conversations happening around him. He'd picked up on some of the rumors going around about Flannigan and his altercation with Captain Alexander. It was none of his business to pry into the affairs of senior officers, but the story had piqued his curiosity some. Enough for him to belay his concerns about asking, anyway.

"Sir," he said to Lieutenant Matheson, drawing the officer's attention, "is it true that the Skipper was ready to fight Captain Alexander over Lance Corporal Upshaw?"

Lieutenant Matheson smiled, much to his surprise, and nodded. "You aren't the first Marine to ask me that, Mike," he said as if that were any consolation, "but yes, there was an altercation between the CO and Captain Alexander. It's been handled, however."

Durant arched his brow at the XO's last statement. He wondered how exactly it had been handled. "I take it Lance Corporal Upshaw is being handed back to November Company?"

Matheson shook his head, still smiling. "No."

"Why?"

Lieutenant Matheson chuckled, seemingly amused by his curiosity. He leaned forward and spoke quietly, as if what he had to say was some kind of big secret. "I believe the Captain put it best: 'we won him fair and square.' Upshaw is ours now, and he's being permanently assigned to your platoon, Mike."

"I bet Captain Alexander's none too happy about that," Lieutenant Johansson spoke up suddenly.

The XO waved his hand dismissively. "It's not my place to talk about fellow officers among subordinates," he said dryly. He smiled a bit more, adding, "however, I'm sure Oscar Company isn't going to be receiving the popularity vote from No-Co."

Durant chuckled. He didn't quite agree with the decision to keep the lance corporal considering he belonged to another unit, but he was glad to have another experienced Marine under his charge. Lance Corporal Upshaw had performed well during the course of the battle. He executed when he was called upon to do so and proved to be a crack shot with a rifle. The lieutenant saw a humble warrior in Upshaw, the kind that he would certainly enjoy doing battle with in the afterlife.

Oden was truly with Second Platoon. Michael could not ask for a better platoon to command. There were no cowards in Second Platoon. Even the most inexperienced Marines in his unit were capable warriors, ready to lay down their lives in the field of battle. The gods had obviously smiled upon him.

"It was a slaughterhouse down there," Lieutenant Hernandez said, shaking his head. "How we survived is beyond me."

Michael grimaced. Hernandez had proven himself to be a substandard human being. He wasn't sure how the man had made it through Officer Candidates School, but he sometimes wished that he hadn't. Third Platoon deserved a much better leader than him. In Durant's opinion, Hernandez probably should have been a POG rather than a grunt. In garrison or aboard ship he was a decent leader of Marines, but he was not built to be a combat leader.

Unfortunately, Oscar Company was stuck with him. Were it up to Durant he would have fired him as a platoon commander by now and taken his sidearm from him, recommending that he be transferred to a noncombat posting somewhere or be reassigned to battalion H&S. Perhaps Captain Flannigan saw something in the young lieutenant that he didn't.

He didn't know.

The Lieutenant took another bite of his meal and glanced towards the door. It opened, and in walked the likes of Sergeant Stone. Durant was fortunate to have an NCO like Stone. When he first joined the unit as Second Platoon's leader, he's taken the time to read through everyone's CSVs, and Stone's had stuck out by far the most out of all of the records of his Marines. Sergeant Stone was a twenty-five year vet with a colorful record of service that started years before the Human-Covenant War. With the amount of time he'd been with the Marine Corps, he should have been at least an E-8.

Of course, the long list of disciplinary issues had kept him from making it past the rank of Staff Sergeant. Durant knew that Thomas Stone was not the easiest person to work with, but he knew his stuff. There was no one he trusted more to lead his Marines in combat than Thomas Jeremiah Stone. The man was a legend in the First "Suicide" Battalionx, and aboard the Vengeance itself. Everyone knew who he was, even if they hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him. He commanded his squad with an iron fist and executed feats of extraordinary bravery and tactical wit.

As far as Durant was aware, Stone was also the only person in the entire battalion to be a recipient of the UNSC's highest award, the Colonial Cross. The Sergeant was truly an extraordinary individual, and Michael was certain that he knew it, despite pretending that he wasn't. Stone was a humble man when it came to his many accomplishments. He had all the right in the world to brag about the awards he'd received and the things he'd done over the years, but he never did. Michael admired that about him.

Yep. Durant was truly fortunate to be in command of such a fine platoon. There was no way for anyone to deny that. Second Platoon was the best platoon, hands down. Not even Johansson's platoon could hold a candle to Second.

Not one bit.

[Ward, J.]

Cruz's eyes switched between Ward and Jun, a look of concern plastered across his visage. Jun indicated she was fine, and so did Ward, but he knew better. Ward's feelings were written across his face, as visible as the sun at high noon, and Cruz read that the young private was far from okay. He'd just been ambushed and bested despite his best efforts.

No Marine enjoyed being humbled. It was a blow to the immense pride he knew the young man normally possessed. Of course, it was best to be humbled here than on the battlefield, but he knew that that epiphany was lost on the still wet behind the ears Marine. Jun was harder to read, but he knew she must have felt the sting of defeat too.

"Private, check yourself into the infirmary," Cruz said to her. Ward started to turn as if to follow her, but the SNCO stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "You're coming with me," he told him firmly.

Ward stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what he should do, and afraid of what was to come. Would the Staff Sergeant berate him for his failure to hold his own? Was he going to take him to Sergeant Stone and tell the squad leader what had happened? Neither option was very appealing, mostly, in Ward's mind, the second one. Stone had seemed to have taken a special interest in him and never seemed satisfied with his performance. The old man was always on his case about something.

With little no choice and no real opportunity to escape, Ward begrudgingly turned and followed Cruz. The senior enlistedman turned the corner and beelined directly towards his personal quarters. Jon gulped, wondering what was in store for him within the sanctity of Cruz's room. He almost wanted to turn around and make for the infirmary, willing to deal with the incessant questioning of the doctors than to be in the presence of the second most important person in the platoon.

The automatic door swooshed open and Cruz stepped inside. He stepped to the side to allow Ward to enter, and perhaps to give him a strategic advantage over the private should he attempt to flee from him at the last possible second. Jon stepped through the threshold and the door shut behind him with a gentle thud, jarring him a bit. That sound of the doors shutting could very well be the last he'd ever hear.

Ward scrutinized the room before him with something akin to awe. It was spacious and strangely homely. The room was lit by a pair of florescent lights on the ceiling, revealing a small living space off to the side along the far wall that consisted of a twin bed, dresser, and nightstand. The sheets were neatly folded in one corner of the bed and a clean, almost brand new pillow situated against the headboard.

In the middle of the room was a round, wooden table flanked by four metal chairs; a deck of cards rested on the table and a holoprojector in the middle. Lining the walls were photographs of UNSC aircraft and portraits of Cruz with his squadron, and even a photo of him in his Dress Blues taken at boot camp. It was strange seeing the younger version of the man that he knew as his platoon sergeant.

Cruz maneuvered around Ward and opened a door to his left. A light came alive revealing a room that Ward had not seen that branched off of the main quarters. The SNCO turned and motioned with his finger for Ward to come in. Jon obeyed, moving forward and into the room, only to discover that it was, in fact, a miniature shower and bath unit. There was a sink with a mirror mounted to wall above it directly to his left at he stepped into the room, and a toilet directly beside that. Three meters ahead of the toilet, against the back wall, was a shower unit.

"Clean yourself up," Cruz ordered, stepped out of the bathroom. "You look like hammered shit."

Jon nodded. "Aye, Staff Sergeant."

The door shut, leaving him alone in the bathroom, and Jonathan turned to the sink beside him. He looked himself in the mirror and almost cringed. His skin was already starting to turn purple from the bruises inflicted by the fists of the November Company Marines, and his lip had noticeably swollen. He shook his head, not wanting to imagine what his abdomen looked like, and turned the faucet on, cold water pouring out from the spicket.

He cupped his hands together underneath the steady stream and leaned forward, splashing the accumulated puddle of water on his face. He watched as the water flowing into the drain had a scarlet tint to it, and he realized his was bleeding from somewhere. Ward sighed and spent the next several minutes cleaning himself up. When he was finished he looked back in the mirror and realized he didn't notice much improvement. How the hell was he gonna explain this to Davis?

Jon cut the faucet off and dried his hands and face with the towel hanging from the wall, and then opened the door and stepped out back into the quarters proper. He spotted Cruz over by his bed, a pair of what appeared to be women's panties in his hand. Jon thought to ask about it, but decided against it, as he watched the SNCO place the underwear in the crevice between his footlocker and the wall. It didn't appear that the man had noticed that he had seen what was in his hands just a second before.

"All done, Staff Sergeant," he announced quietly.

The Staff Sergeant looked up at him and shook his head slowly. "Still look like hammered shit," he said with an audible sigh. "Good thing you were ugly before, boot."

Jon chuckled and then immediately regretted it. He clutched his stomach in pain. Those No-Co guys sure knew how to hit. "Thanks... I guess."

Cruz stepped forward and pulled a chair out from under the table in the middle of the room. He gestured to it with his hand. "Sit," he said. Jon glanced over his shoulder at the exit behind him. "Oh no, son, you're not leaving til we've had a talk."

Jon gulped again and nodded. He moved over to the chair and carefully plopped down on it, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the ting of pain that shot up from his stomach as he bent down. If there was one thing he wanted to do, it was to find those pricks and make them pay for what they had done to him. However, he knew that would only land him in hotter water than he was in now.

So, instead, he decided that he just needed to suffer in silence.