Cleaning and Killing Time (First Team + Wilkas)

[Furby, J.]

Furby frowned. Wilkas had yet to reply and he had the feeling his words fell off deaf ears. This was going to prove more difficult of a task than he originally anticipated... for the both of them. Memories flooded his mind of his first time witnessing the horrendous sight of a Covenant Orbital bombardment of a planet. The sight of a planet's atmosphere almost literally boiling away as the surface as forests were flash-vaporized and the surface transformed into a flat, glassy wasteland.

It was traumatic, demoralizing. Furby couldn't think of another word in the English lexicon that could accurately describe the shock and trauma that one felt when they bore witness to the destruction of a planet. He shook his head slowly as he attempted to purge the memories from his conscious mind. It was not a moment in his life that he wanted to revisit. Ever.

"I was a drop out," Wilkas said all of a sudden. Furby turned and looked at her, realizing she had hadn't spoken much about her time before the Marine Corps. He knew she was a Terran, originating from Russia on Earth; but, beyond that, he knew little else about her.

"I can't stop thinking about how many died... What if that was home?" he whispered. Jayson's frown widened. That was the worst thing to consider.

He shook his head. "It wasn't, Grace," he stated, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. "And if we have anything to say about it, it'll never happen. I know it doesn't seem like that, but we've slowed those bastards down. Ten years ago? Dozens of colonies were falling like flies in a bug zapper. Now? We might lose a four or five colonies a year. If that."

Jayson sighed. Wilkas was not making this easy on him. However, if it there was one thing that everyone could agree on, it was that PFC Jayson Furby was one stubborn asshole. He was not about to call it quits just yet.

"I don't think I can do this, Furby," she mumbled.

"Yes, you can," Furby replied defiantly. "You're not alone here, Grace. You've got me, Ward, Avery, the Corporal - hell, this entire damn platoon behind you. No matter what happens, we're here for you, and at the very least I will be. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I can tell you that you will never be alone in any of this."

He smiled at the redhead, giving her a reassuring pat on the back. "Now, do you want something to drink? I can get us some coffee. Might make you feel better."

[Ward, J.]

Ward was caught off guard when Corporal Davis tore into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing in the small space. It had been the first time since his arrival that he had heard the NCO laugh. It was strange for him to think about it. He had grown so used to his stoic demeanor that it was odd to hear him laugh.

"You need work on point, Fox," Davis said after recovering from his lapse in demeanor. “We need more practice as a team. We also need to get Wilkas up to speed tactically. It’s usually up to the RTO to try and keep the officer they're attached to from doing something stupid. I’m counting on us to keep the LT alive through her.”

Ward nodded. "Aye, Corporal," he said. He watched intently as Davis inspected his weapon. The gas tube had been cleaned thoroughly. There was not the slightest speck of carbon residue left in the chamber. The rest of the weapon was immaculate, a fact that he took great pride in. He imagined the Corporal would be pleased with his work.

That was why he was surprised when a frown formed across David's face. He hung his head low like a dog scolded by its master. What did he find this time? A speck of dirt or carbon that he missed? Were the quartermasters that bad?

"Should pass by supply,” Davis finally remarked. Ward exhaled a sigh of relief. He had no desire to disassemble the weapon for a third time. It was a terrible hassle and all he wanted to do was relax and perhaps read a book. His fiancé had packed him a whole series for the deployment, to which he was thankful. Boredom was a serious problem aboard a Navy ship. For all that the Navy had to offer, entertainment was something in short supply. And now with November Company on the prowl, truthfully, he dreaded the thought of leaving the relative safety of the berths.

He was just about to move to his locker and retrieve a book from the top shelf when Davis held out Private Wilkas' rifle in front of him. "You take Wilkas’s and give me Furby’s. You help your team when you can Fox, even when it doesn’t seem fair. And if they try to take advantage, you still help them, and then make them pay for it later. Right Avery?”

"Huh?" Avery asked distractedly. "Oh. Yeah, right. Take advantage of the boot every chance I get." That last part was delivered with a mischevious smile.

Ward sighed in exasperation. "The Lance Corporal's kidding, right?"

Avery nodded. "Mostly."

Jonathan shook his head and accepted Wilkas' rifle. He leaned over and grabbed Furby's, handing it to Davis. It figured he wouldn't get off that easy. When did he ever get off that easy? The answer was obvious, so he sidelined the thought. Back to the grind.

"Avery, get us some tunes. This quiet is worse than listening to Furby bitch."

The Lance Corporal grinned and snatched the radio off of his rack. He ejected the chip and replaced it with one of his own. A moment later the sound of synthetic drums and electronic wirrs filled the void left by the silence. The deep voice of a very popular artist played through the speakers, making an attempt a poetry. Rap Ward believed it was called.

"And you thought Wilkas' music was bad?" Ward asked, shaking his head.

"Damn right," Avery replied with a grin.

Ward turned his gaze to Davis. "So I get radio next, right, Corporal?"

[Wilkas, G.]

It may not have been Earth, but what if it was? What if the one world which humanity lost happened to be their homeworld? Grace could not share in his conviction that Earth would never fall to the alien menace. Even if humanity was managing to slow the alien assault down, worlds still fell. Yes, it may be only a handful but each world fell meant the loss of its resources, millions of lives and the various ships in defence of that particular planet. 
Perhaps total defeat happened to only be a limited time away. "It is still too many to lose even one colony to the Covenant." Grace argued, wishing that the war could be over now, she wanted to go home, end her career as a soldier. It did not suit her. 

She shook her head at his encouraging words, yet she felt as though the platoon did have her back. After all they were a unit. Wilkas wondered if the RTO before her struggled like this or whether all of this happened to be just her own burden to bear. Part of her wished to find out, a greater part of her however desired to never know the answer. 
If her predecessor may have been better than her, it left her with some rather large boots in which to fill. Boots which she felt certain that she could never fill, regardless of what she did or how she did it. 

"I cannot keep doing this Furby... I'm letting the entire platoon down." Her training back on Earth she found out to be rather lacking. Hasty she might have dared to call it. She long suspected that the UNSC flung her in as an RTO because of her failed college course. Maybe they hoped that she would be able to fix the thing in the even it broke. 
They weren't wrong there on that aspect. "This is all too much for me I don't know how anyone manages to cope." 

She felt Furby's hand pat her on the back and let out a heavy sigh forcing a fake smile onto her face. Grace did not feel much better but dwelling on bad things and being miserable about them did not make them change thus turning out into a nice result. 
"Okay." She answered simply, sounding quite tired. "Time for some coffee." Wilkas had never been a fan of it but it might make her feel better. If it didn't well Furby could at the very least say he tried. 

[Furby, J.]

"Okay, time for some coffee."

Jayson smiled warmly at her and eyed the area around them. There were hundreds of vending machines across the ship, the majority located on B-Deck, and every one of them served the caffeinated brew. He walked to the edge of the corner and peered around it. Down the hall, going towards the berths of Third Platoon, was a vendor built into a steel pillar. His smile widened.

The PFC approached it and sifted through the options on the digital screen. Coffee was number four on the list of beverages. He selected it and pressed 'brew'. A styrofoam cup ejected out the top port. Jayson took it and set it on the center of the machine, directly beneath the nozzle. The sensor in the circular plate detected the cup, and the dark liquid poured from the nozzle.

It stopped pouring when the liquid was two inches from the brim of the cup. Steam wafted into the air and Furby took a whiff of it. The scent of freshly brewed coffee was intoxicating. After three days of resorting to chewing coffee grounds or making glasses of instant coffee, the real thing was a sight for sore eyes. He sifted through the settings of the machine and tapped the button to pour creamer into the coffee.

Ivory liquid poured into the cup, creating a miniature whirlpool inside the cup. Jayson grabbed two packets of sugar and pressed them together. He wrapped his index and middle fingers around the top of the packets and pulled, tearing the packets open. He dumped their contents into the cup and then grabbed a spoon, dunking it into the cup.

After stirring the coffee, he turned around and walked back to Wilkas, cup in hand. "Here," he said with a smile. "I don't know how you like your coffee so I put vanilla creamer and two packs of sugar in it. It's how I drink mine."

He paused. She had said she was a drop out, but didn't specify what type of school she had left. "So, did you drop out of high school or university?"

[Davis, E.]

“If this is what Avery thinks constitutes music, yeah, you get it next,” Davis said, cringing at Avery’s selected noise. Everyone had their own tastes, and Davis could respect the fact that his tastes were not the norm, but this felt like a felony set to a heavy bass beat. Davis tried to tune it out as he focused on the new rifle he was to clean.

Extricating the shaving cream was always a far more lengthy process than he liked, but it was better than having Furby go toe to toe with a Corporal whose pride had been hurt. As he had said before, the Master Sergeant could only reign in his breed of devil dogs so long. They may be POGs, but they were still Marines. That meant pride and aggressiveness, even in the midst of a supply cage. A wounded NCO was far more dangerous than any wounded animal and Davis wanted to be sure that they didn’t provoke him any further.

“We’ll probably go hit the gym after chow,” Davis said, letting his mind wander as he pecked away at the last bit of cleaning Furby had left on his rifle. “It’s pretty obvious Fox needs some brush up on his hand to hand, and it’s always good PT.”

“I think you just like showing off Corporal,” Avery said with a broad playful grin. “What about the other upcoming extra curricular activities?”

“You mean our simulator time tomorrow night,” Davis asked, scowling at the Lance Corporal in an attempt to get him to shut up. “Likely more MOUT work so Fox can learn how to actually be a point man.”

“Formal attire,” Avery asked. Davis chuckled at the double meaning. Sometimes, when they were doing blocking and simple practice, it was possible to get away without the body armor and extra field gear. To wear it all was mockingly referred to “Formal attire.”

“No, I think we’ll be far more casual for the evening. I wouldn’t worry about it yet, we’ve got a whole day of training to get through. Focus on that first, Avery. The rest of it will all fall into place.”

“Just lookin’ for some fun, Corporal,” Avery said, starting to reassemble and lubricate his LMG.

“Well Avery,” Davis said with a grim smile. “We always seem to find it, one way or another.”

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace Wilkas accepted the warm cup of coffee, a small smile forming on her face as the the delightful aroma drifted around her in a soft warm embrace. She never had been a fan of coffee but there was no harm in admiring the way it smelt. "Thanks." She replied quietly, forcing herself to take a small sip of the liquid, wincing at how hot the liquid happened to be. She swallowed the small amount of coffee, managing to resist the urge to wince at the bitter taste. People drank this? People drank coffee and enjoyed it? They must really like it or be after a medal or two.

She sighed when he inquired naturally about her life before the UNSC. Grace disliked talking about her education, how she flopped out of it only to be snapped up by the United Nations Space Command. The RTO took another sip, wincing at the taste again. She managed to find the courage to answer his question. "University and it was more kicked out." She sounded honestly defeated about the subject. "I tried my best... Still failed, tossed out and went home... Home to a letter from you know who." Her parents were exactly thrilled by her being kicked out of university nor were they pleased about the UNSC wishing to recruit their daughter.
Her father even tried to suggest using his contacts to keep her free from the United Nations Space Command.

She refused of course, there were no other options left open for her. "What about you?" Wilkas asked quietly. "You said something about being a sports person right?" Sports honestly failed to strike much interest within the red head, well accept during work out sessions on the pitch. That managed to attract her attention.
But well that was the old Grace, before the UNSC, before she spent most of her time with muscular men and women, getting far too close to them in fox holes and ditches.

She took another sip at her drink, however by now she reached the conclusion that she disliked coffee, even the way which Furby made it. Or to tell the truth, the way the machine made it for him to give to her.
"Sorry I do not like this." She admitted quietly, now uncertain as to where she should put the coffee or what rather she should do with it. Perhaps offer it back to Furby instead?

[Furby, J.]

Furby smiled as Wilkas relieved him of the steaming cup of coffee. The aroma was delightfully intoxicating, and for a fleeting moment, Jayson considered going off to make a cup for himself. He put the thought to rest, however. Wilkas did not need to be left alone in her present stats and there was still the lingering threat of November Company's goons showing up to cause trouble.

"Thanks," the crimson haired Russian said.

"You're welcome," he replied with a warm smile.

Silence pervaded for a short time as the young woman indulged him with small sips of her coffee. He could tell she was not a fan of it, as he noticed with every sip she winced. It did not offend him in any way. Some people just had different tastes and he was not about to make an issue out of it. If flattered him that she had even accepted it from him.

When Wilkas finally spoke, it was to answer his earlier question regarding her level of education. She admitted that she had been kicked out of University, though she spared him no details as to the reason behind it. He sighed when she mentioned that she had received her draft notice upon returning home. There was no worse feeling than realizing you were being involuntarily enlisted into service by the government.

"What about you?" she asked him. "You said something about being a sports person, right?"

Jayson nodded. The question dredged up a slew of memories from his time in school, where his only concern was training for the next GravBall game. "Yeah," he said distantly, smiling at the memories. "I was a GravBall champion at my high school. I broke my school's record for most touchdowns scored in a single low gravity game. No one could touch me."

He paused, remembering being awarded the championship trophy after the game, and the magnamity he felt afterwards. "I was awarded a scholarship to a prestigious university where I'd be playing GravBall for the junior varsity team. I was voted most likely to go pro by my school. A couple weeks before I was supposed to head out to the school, I got my draft letter."

He exhaled a sigh. "And here I am."

Furby had not wanted to be a Marine. The thought of military service had not once crossed his mind in all his years of schooling. He'd had friends whom had expressed interest in it, but he hadn't been one of them. GravBall was his first and only love and that was the career he had wished to pursue. Obviously the UNSC had different plans for him, and to some degree he still resented them for it.

Despite that, he was still proud of all of his accomplishments. Boot camp had been a challenging obstacle in his path, but he managed to make it through it and had been proud of the day he was awarded the title of Marine. The Marine Corps was the ultimate fraternity and he was glad to be apart of such a colorful unit. He could not imagine being anywhere else besides Oscar Company. Jayson hated the cards that were dealt to him, but had learned to make the best of it and be prideful of his accomplishments.

"Sorry, I do not like this," Wilkas said, bringing him back down to reality.

He nodded. "Hey, no problem," he said, and extended his arm, palm out. "I can take it if you want."

[Wilkas, G.]

She handed him the cup of coffee, she disliked it but he at least did not seem to mind her not being a fan of caffeine drink. Grace put on a brave face, still trying to focus on anything other than all of those who died on the planet they left behind. "Maybe you should or could play against my University at some point?" Wilkas doubted their teams would have ever faced off against one another, the cost alone of such a match must be astronomical.
"You must have been very good player before the UNSC drafted you for the Marine team?" Grace chuckled slightly.

"Sounds like you did much better at education than I did... I'm merely a drop out slash kicked out kid who found herself unable to escape the draft board." Service in the marines or any part of the UNSC had never been part of her plan. A couple of her friends from the more military families intended to join the UNSC to fight the Covenant.
Turns out Grace managed to beat them to the punch, since the UNSC came hunting for her before anyone from her social group.

"Tough break maybe when all of this is over you can... Resume?" She sounded uncertain, she doubted it would be that simple, to merely restart an old life after the war ended. Assuming humanity won, which Grace doubted. Once she believed the humanity's victory to be inevitable but having seen the aliens face to face, witnessed their unholy powers...
She found herself unable to accept the belief of human victory any more. Grace doubted that her fellow marines felt the same.

"I do not know what I will do after the war before you ask." Grace attempted to pre-empt his question, since she expected him to go back to GravBall afterwards. The RTO decided against thinking about whatever she might do after the war.
If humanity won, if she survived, perhaps she might go back to University or maybe she might buy some farm on the stepps and live out the rest of her life in peace.
Assuming she lived of course.

[Furby, J.]

Furby accepted the warm brew with a smile and sipped from it, letting the vanilla cocoa taste settle on his tongue a moment before swallowing. The coffee brewed from the ship's vendors wasn't exactly the best out there, but it was a far better alternative to the instant coffee that came with practically every MRE he'd ever had so far. Fortunately, the creamer was good, and that improved the overall quality of the coffee, in his opinion.

"Maybe you should or could play against my University at some point," Wilkas asked. Furby shook his head. He doubted that would be logistically possible, as the travel expenditures for a trip that distance would be astronomical. It would serve for an interesting idea, however. He wondered if the Terrans even played GravBall. If he recalled correctly, the sport had first originated on Mars before spreading across the Colonies.

"You must have been a very good player before the UNSC drafted you for the Marine team," Wilkas added, chuckling.

Jayson nodded with a boyish grin. "I don't like to toot my own horn, but some people said I was the best up-and-comer in like... the last decade."

The local news station had made that statement about him after his third game. He had scored more points for his team in those three games than any other member of his team. His parents had told him about the news article that he was featured in, and he watched the video sometime later, showing it to his friends.

The reputation he earned from those few games had carried him a long way through the many cliques in high school. Everyone knew him by name, and because of it, he enjoyed a plethora of liberties that the common student had no access to. He could have gotten away with murder if he'd wanted to. The teachers loved him, the students idolized him, and the staff gave him a wide berth to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Come to school late? Not a problem. His teachers would mark him as if he had arrived on time, even if he arrived with five minutes of the class left to spare. Jayson recalled those days as the best of his life, and sometimes, he wished he could go back in time and relive the glory days. Before the UNSC and all its BS.

"Sounds like you did much better at education than I did... I'm merely a drop out slash kicked out kid who found herself unable to escape the draft board."

Furby laughed, shaking his head. "Are you kidding?" he asked incredulously. "I was an idiot. Skipped all the time, came late to class, the works. The only reason why it never came back to haunt me was because I was my school's star player and put their GravBall team on the map. By all intents and purposes, I should have failed."

It wasn't a lie. He was a terrible student.

"Maybe when all this is over you can... Resume?" she suggested.

Surprisingly, despite all the bitching and moaning he did about being in the service, and how he couldn't wait for his EAS to come, he hadn't thought about what came afterwards. Furby wanted to say he would return to his old life the way it had been, but he doubted that would be the case. Though he was only a few months shy of a year with the UNSC, he could attest without a shadow of a doubt that he was not the same person he had been before the Marine Corps. He was sure that the divide between his old self and who he was now would grow farther by the time his EAS rolled around.

"I honestly don't know," he remarked in a solemn tone. "I can't say that I would, but I'm not about to say I wouldn't either. I just... I don't know."

Before he had even the slightest chance to turn the question around on her, she had produced an answer. "I do not know what I will do after the war before you ask," she bluntly answered. It was if she had prepared to answer the question before she had even posed it to himself.

He checkled. "Well, that makes two of us, I guess."

[Ward, J.]

The noise of Avery's choice in music left an almost bitter taste in Ward's mouth as he focused on cleansing Wilkas's rifle of any latent dirt and carbon particles. Ward was not yet the expert on weapon maintenance as evidenced by his terrible mistake earlier, but he had to say he was impressed by how well maintained the RTO's weapon was. He had envisioned a tedious amount of work to do on the rifle, only to be pleasantly surprised that all that was needed were a few minor touchups. Perhaps there were a few things he could learn from the girl in that department.

Scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn flek of grime, it took the private a moment to realize the sudden absence of music. He glanced up at the radio to see Avery disgorging his audio disc from it in preparation to surrender the device to someone else. Since Corporal Davis had confirmed that he had possession of it next, he set down the rifle and his tools in his lap, and extended his hand to take the radio. The Lance Corporal looked at him, sighed, and handed it over.

"You play something stupid and I swear I'll murder you," the machine gunner threatened, his lips pursed and stiff.

Jon had no idea that the terminal lance held music in such high regard. Though, as he thought about it, it made sense to him. Music added background to what would otherwise be an uncomfortable, weighted silence, and as he had just realized moments ago, terrible music often had a negative impact on one's demeanor. Despite the negative nature of the threat, Ward smiled. "I think you'll like what I'm about to play, Lance Corporal."

Avery held his stare but a moment longer before resigning with a shrug. "I better, Fox."

Jon chuckled and half-turned his body towards his rack, snaking his head underneath the mattress. He searched with his fingers for the audio disc that, unbeknownst to his team, he had stowed there, and met purchase after digging a bit deeper underneath. Fox withdrew his hand from under the mattress and inserted the disc into the radio. The LED screen came to life with an ocean blue glow, black text winking into existence on the screen.

Beneath the screen were four square buttons; the top button was a horizontal triangle, the button beside it two capital i's set beside each other, and the final two buttons below those were arrows pointing left and right. Jon pressed his forefinger to the right facing arrow, sifting through the list of songs on the disc until he found the one that he wanted to hear. Immediately, the song began to play.

"Let the bodies hit the floor,
Let the bodies hit the floor,
Let the bodies hit the floor,
Let the bodies hit the...
FLOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRR!!!!"

The sound of heavy bass, guitars, and drums filled the air as Ward set down the radio, smiling. His eyes moved over to Lance Corporal Avery, who sat impressed, yet seemingly dumbfounded, by his own choice in "noise." Jon chuckled and scarfed up the rifle and the tools in his lap, setting back to putting the finishing touches on the Russian RTO's rifle.

"I ain't never heard this before," Avery finally said as the first verse began to play, "who is this?"

Ward did not answer the inquiry right away, cherishing the simple fact he knew something that his peer and hierarchical superior did not. "Drowning Pool," he said as if the answer were obvious. "They were a band from about five hundred years ago. A pretty good one, too."

"You listen to ancient shit, bro?" the Lance Corporal asked, astonished.

The private nodded. "I think classical music is much better than most of the trash that comes out today. Catch me in the right mood and you'll hear me listening to Beethoven."

"Who?"

Fox sighed. "Nevermind."

[Wilkas, G.]

"Is that one of those who throws the ball?" Grace inquired, her knowledge of the sport tended to be less than basic, dudes in armour with a ball right? Something like that anyway, it was abundantly clear to her however he adored the sport. Yet the big Green came calling for marines and so he ended up in the same boots as Wilkas did. 
Life sucks sometimes. 

"Wow." She replied. "Now I imagine flopping out of engineering to not be so bad... Unfortunately someone found out I studied it and I landed a nice heavy box for my trouble so you may have been right with the skipping classes." She forced a smile onto her face, Grace wished to return to her rather dull civilian life. No one shot at her with plasma weapons or yelled at her. Though to be fair, it really should be no one yelled at her as much. 

"Some of the other marines were talking about life after the war." She shook her head slowly. "Getting married, buying farms or remaining in the UNSC." Grace did not find it amusing. At least they had a plan unlike her. "I don't think I am going to survive this conflict." She whispered softly to him, studying the floor beneath their feet. 
She failed to see herself with any future as a soldier. Wilkas believed she survived because of the actions of her platoon rather than herself. 

"Sorry." She whispered. "Is it bad I want to go home? It is selfish I know... But I... I... I don't fit in here." Wilkas answered in a quiet voice, afraid of being overheard and ashamed at herself.

OOC: Sorry it is small, the muse is not very strong atm

[Furby, J.]

Furby grinned at the question. It was painfully obvious that Wilkas was ignorant to sports, and probably never paid a second's attention to them a day in her life. He remembered how he used to make fun of those who garnered no interest in sports, finding them to be awkward and droll people. What was there not to like about sports?

Of course, since high school he'd grown up some, and no longer harbored any ill feelings towards those that lacked any sort of interest or knowledge in his previous profession. People had different tastes, which was quite alright. If everyone were the same he would have certainly gone crazy by now. There was no way he could put up with millions of himself running around. The thought almost made him regret being the whiny, boastful person he tended to be around his team.

Almost.

The fact of the matter was he enjoyed being "that guy." It allowed him the opportunity to slip under the radar at will because people largely dismissed people like him and ignored anything they had to say. That offered him privileges few of the other grunts had the opportunity to enjoy. He could practically get away with murder and no one would card, because he was that guy.

Corporal Davis often gave him grief over it, but that was okay. It was the NCO's job to give him grief. He understood it, and he was sure the Corporal understood it. That, and sometimes he annoyed the farmboy with his attitude and constant bitching, but Furby didn't care. Without Furby, First Team would be a dull billet indeed.

"Yes," Furby said with a smile, "GravBall is derived from American football. Basically it is two teams on a large field in microgravity, who throw the ball back and forth, and whose goal is to get the ball to the other side of the field to score a point. A score from halfway down the field through the field goal is worth five points, a touchdown worth ten points. The team at the end with the most points wins."

Furby fought to remain grounded in reality as the memories of his glory days threatened to overcome him. He had really enjoyed the challenge that GravBall had offered him. Microgravity changed the whole landscape of the game, making some things easier and so much more harder for the players on either team. It also increased the physical demands, meaning those who were accepted onto a team had to be physically fit.

"Wow," Grace replied with the slightest hint of a grin, "now I imagine flopping out of engineering to not be so bad... unfortunately someone found out I studied it and I landed a nice heavy box for my trouble, so you may have been right with the skipping classes."

Furby laughed, a hearty kind of laugh, the kind that only came from someone whom had not truly laughed in some time. It felt good to do so, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized, in that moment, he hadn't laughed since he'd been thawed from the freezer. There just hadn't been anything to laugh about when faced with a legion of Covenant bent on their destruction on a frozen snowball of a planet.

He was, in that moment, reminded how shitty the conditions were down on Phoenix III. Even with the temperature regulators in his armor, the atmosphere was bitterly cold down there. He'd hated it like anyone whom had been raised on a tropical paradise world would have.

"They gave you a POG job and yet you're still slugging it out with the grunts," Furby remarked aloud, lamenting on her current predicament. "I would say things turned out better for me, but I'm one of those grunts. So I think we both lose."

He smiled at her warmly. Wilkas, like him, had not asked to be in the military. She hadn't made any sort of concerted effort to become a Marine like the majority of Second Platoon. This was all forced on her as much as it had been forced on him, subverting any plans they might have had for their civilian lives. Had he not been about to go off to a prestigious university to play the sport of his dreams, he probably would not have minded the onset of the draft.

However, that had not been the case, and he would never truly know the answer. Despite all that had been set before him, he did not mind military life as much as he let on. Sure the grunt life sucked and he was treated like second-class shit by just about everyone with rank on their collars, but the closeness to those he shed his blood, sweat, and tears with was something he had never felt in the civilian world. He knew that when the cards were down and the stakes were high, every single person in Second Platoon had his back and were determined to ensure he returned to the Vengeance alive and in one piece.

"Some of the other Marines were talking about life after the war," the RTO said, shaking her head. He watched as strand of crimson hair fall down in front of her face, and he realized just how beautiful she was. When forced to look at the likes of Davis, Avery, and Ward all day, Wilkas was certainly a sight for sore eyes. "Getting married, buying farms, or remaining in the UNSC."

Jayson did not hear the comment she whispered to him, and shook his head at the thought of the future. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about what the future held in store for him. It was hard to imagine returning to his old life after being subjected to the horrors of war on a rather frequent basis. This was only his first year of his four year stint with the Corps before he had the opportunity to choose whether or not he re-enlisted (if the Marine Corps didn't decide to whisk that choice away from him and do the choosing for him), and he was sure he was bound to witness more death and more horror in that time.

How could anyone return to a normal life after all of that? Would he ever really be the same person he was when he was drafted? Could he really just go back home to the people he had left behind and pick up his life from where it had left off? Jayson doubted that very seriously. The sad, yet God's honest fact of the matter was, as he thought about it a little harder, that he was no longer the Jayson Furby from before. A lot had changed, and he was sure the world before had changed much along with him. Or maybe it hadn't?

He didn't know.

"Sorry," Grace suddenly whispered. "Is it bad I want to go home? It is selfish I know... But I... I... I don't fit in here."

Furby gazed silently upon her for a long moment before opening his mouth. "It ain't bad at all, Grace. Shit, I want to go home all the time, to be honest. No one in their right mind wants to go through the bullshit we do every day, and those that say they do are fucking liars."

"It's not selfish, it's just how you feel. But there is not a damn thing either you or I can do about it. We're here until our time in runs up and they give us the boot or tell us we've still got shit to do," he said. "And hell, Grace, you fit in more here than you think. Like it or not, girl, you're a Marine. And from what I've seen, a damn good one. Case and point, you waited until now to have an attack. Back planetside, you were doing your job and lookin' good doing it. Give yourself some more credit. You did good. If you weren't, you would've been transferred out already, 'cuz that's how the El-Tee and the CO run things around here."

He shook his head. "Besides, if you did get out right now, would you be able to return home and act like everything was okay? Would you be able to forget all the shit you've done and seen? How the hell would you even explain any of this to your family or your friends? Nobody back in the world cares about the shit we do! They're too busy worrying about bills and when the UNSC is gonna let the UEG retake authority, or what some actor is doing behind closed doors. They aren't thinking about what us grunts are doing on some far off world where the alien boogeymen are systematically eradicating people."

He did not mention the fact that the media did not speak truthfully about the state of the war thanks in no small part to the efforts of ONI Section II. The Spooks did not want the general public to no just now desperate the fight really was out in the fringes of human space. They wanted people to believe humanity was winning the war one battle at a time. When a colony was lost by the hand of the Covenant, they mentioned it only in passing, as if it were some afterthought in news broadcasting. He hated it.

"Face it, Grace," he said sullenly, "you belong here now."

[Wilkas, G.]

"Yes, GravBall is derived from American football. Basically it is two teams on a large field in microgravity, who throw the ball back and forth, and whose goal is to get the ball to the other side of the field to score a point. A score from halfway down the field through the field goal is worth five points, a touchdown worth ten points. The team at the end with the most points wins." Grace listened to him explain the sport, the microgravity sounded strange, weird... Ever since her first mission, the thought of anything less than usual gravity upset her terrible. He must have possessed nerves of steel or great skill. "It sounds interesting." The redhead replied quietly, uncertain what to make of the sport. 

"They gave you a POG job and yet you're still slugging it out with the grunts, I would say things turned out better for me, but I'm one of those grunts. So I think we both lose."
She nodded in grim agreement, she guessed they both lost in the great draw of life. "It is terrible run of bad luck for us both." Grace commented, wishing somehow that things might be different for them both. 
If they were however, then neither of them would have ever met. She managed to look him in the eyes, returning the warm smile with one of her own. 

Furby stared silently at Grace for a long increasingly uncomfortable moment before opening his mouth. "It ain't bad at all, Grace. Shit, I want to go home all the time, to be honest. No one in their right mind wants to go through the bullshit we do every day, and those that say they do are fucking liars."



"It's not selfish, it's just how you feel. But there is not a damn thing either you or I can do about it. We're here until our time in runs up and they give us the boot or tell us we've still got shit to do," he said. "And hell, Grace, you fit in more here than you think. Like it or not, girl, you're a Marine. And from what I've seen, a damn good one. Case and point, you waited until now to have an attack. Back planetside, you were doing your job and lookin' good doing it. Give yourself some more credit. You did good. If you weren't, you would've been transferred out already, 'cuz that's how the El-Tee and the CO run things around here."



He shook his head at her. "Besides, if you did get out right now, would you be able to return home and act like everything was okay? Would you be able to forget all the shit you've done and seen? How the hell would you even explain any of this to your family or your friends? Nobody back in the world cares about the shit we do! They're too busy worrying about bills and when the UNSC is gonna let the UEG retake authority, or what some actor is doing behind closed doors. They aren't thinking about what us grunts are doing on some far off world where the alien boogeymen are systematically eradicating people." 

His last comment struck her hard. "Face it, Grace, you belong here now." Grace disagreed with him, she did not get to pick and choose when she had a panic attack, they happened suddenly. She unfortunately always possessed a history with them, unfortunately the UNSC knew of this and cared not. After all it was just another person to fill the ranks. Wilkas shrugged her shoulders uncertain of what to say in response. She wanted to go home.