Dog and Pony Show (EVENT)

[Flannigan, S.]

2100 Hours, June 20, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Aboard UNSC Vengeance, B-Deck, Muster Area,
in slip-space

Captain Flannigan stood in the wings of one of the local muster points on the ship. It was a big enough place to hold a company formation without interrupting anything. While they were at risk of November Company trying to pull some stunt, it would only be the most undisciplined of Marines who would attempt to break the sanctity of a formation. The other officers stood at the real of the formation while the NCO’s did their jobs.

“COMPANY!” Zieed bellowed over the enclosed space. His voice reverberated of the walls as only a senior NCO’s could bringing a faint smile to Flannigan’s lips.

“Plattoon!” the Platoon Sergeants barked out, preparing their troops for the command.

“ATTEN-TION!” Zieed barked, and the marines snapped to attention as one unit. It was a sight that had always filled Flannigan with pride and respect. Here was a ground of men and women who, willingly or not, had embraced centuries of history and showed their respect to those who had come before by doing things the same way. It was humbling to think how many Oscar Company commanders had watched this before over the generations. He was at once an honored member, and a very small piece of a giant machine. “OFFICERS! POST!”

Flannigan watched from the wings as his Platoon Commanders stepped forward to take their rightful place in front of their marines. The Platoon Sergeants took their half step to the rear, maintaining their position as senior aid and advisor to the Officer in Charge. When they were all settled at attention, Flannigan started his walk in front of the company. Slow steady steps to a cadence in his own head, he made his way to his place in front of the First Sergeant. Turning to face him, Zieed smartly saluted him.

“All present or accounted for sir,” Zieed offered as Flannigan saluted back.

“Thank you First Sergeant. Post.” Flannigan offered back, dropping his salute. The First Sergeant took his place as the other NCO’s did, beside his officer, as Flannigan took control of the formation.

“STAND AT!” Flannigan barked.

“STAND AT!” the Lieutenants echoed.

“EASE!” he finished the command, and as the entire Company snapped their arms behind them as one. “Marines, let us start this formation with a moment of silence for the nineteen of our brethren who will not be returning. Yes, nineteen. Lance Corporal Drake of Third Platoon has just passed aboard the medical ship. His family is being informed as we speak. TO THE FALLEN!”

His words echoed as the marines bowed their heads, saying nothing. The hum of the engines and general din of the ship were deafening in the quiet honor his marines payed to their kin. Flannigan bowed his head as well, saying a quick prayer under his breath, wishing them safe passage to the other side. They certainly had earned such a rest.

“While we have somber reasons for this formation,” he said, ending their moment of silence. “We also have cause to celebrate. You have all performed admirably, and I wanted you to hear it coming from my own lips, not just parroted by your Platoon Commanders. We suffered the fewest casualties in some of the fiercest fighting that the battalion experienced. It is a testiment to your skill and warrior spirit that so few of your brothers and sisters are not here. We also get to pay our respects to those of you who have earned recognition for your steadfast service and excellence in duty.”

Sean had started to wander a bit as he talked, making sure the marines had to move a little to keep their focus on him. It was an old trick, but one that helped weed out the fakers and let all the marines gain some reprieve by not having to look like statues. He made his way back to his command post and pulled himself up to attention.

“COMPANY!”

“PLATOON!”

“ATTENTION! Lieutenant Matheson, Lieutenant Johansson, Post!”

The XO and the First Platoon Commander broke formation and took their positions. Lieutenant Matheson carried a stack of papers under his arm, and after taking his place next to the other leaders he began to speak in his thin, clear voice.

“Private First Class Anthony and Private First Class Arcus, report to the Commander.”

The two marines from First Platoon broke formation and ran to the front of the formation, both stopping hard at attention and offering their salute to Flannigan. He returned it with a grin and dropped it nearly as fast. The marines followed suit and the entire company waited for the XO to continue.

“Let those who hear these orders know that Private First Class Mattias Anthony and Private First Class Belinda Arcus have, in light of their honorable actions and distinguished service in a time of war, be promoted to the rank of Lance Corporal, and had bestowed on them all the authority, responsibility, and honor due to this rank. In accordance to their oath of enlistment to the UNSC, they are to execute this new post with all the skill and ability they can offer.”

Pulling the rank pins from her pocket, Lieutenant Johansson offered a set to Captain Flannigan, who took them gratefully. The three leaders crowded in close, with the First Sergeant swiftly removing the old pins and Flannigan and the PC pinning the new rank on.

“It has been ages since someone has pinned a new rank on me,” Flannigan said softly, sharing a moment with the promoted marines. “In the corp, these are not handed lightly or as a reward for time. You have earned these marines, with honorable service and skill in battle. Let know subordinate disrespect you and let no superior belittle this achievement.”

When they were done fussing over the rank placement and the First Sergeant drove the pins home with a solid blow, the pin backings were handed over. The Leadership returned to their positions and the salutes were offered again. Flannigan returned them and dismissed them back to their place in formation. Lieutenant Johansson was also dismissed, returning to her post.

“Lieutenant Durant!” Flannigan barked as everyone settled back into place. “POST!”

[Durant, M.]

Second Lieutenant Durant stood rigid at the rear of the company formation, his eyes set on Captain Flannigan, waiting for the festivities to begin. The sight of the entirety of Oscar Company together as a whole filled him with pride. It was a rare occurrence for the company to be together under amiable circumstances.

"COMPANY!" reverberated the voice of First Sergeant Zieed.

Durant anticipated the order to come next. "PLATOON!" he bellowed, preparing his unit for the next order to come from the SNCO.

"ATTEN-HUT!" Zieed barked, and the entire company snapped to attention. Durant stood ramrod straight, his arms at his sides with his fists balled, the Captain directly in his vision. He saw the grin across the company commander's face and knew he felt the same way about the present situation as he did. He wondered, in the back of his mind, what the senior officer was thinking. What went through the mind of a company commander? "OFFICERS! POST!"

Durant's train of thought was broken by the command. He marched forward to his rightful place in front of his platoon. Staff Sergeant Cruz followed behind him, stopping a quarter-step before he did. The Lieutenant returned to the position of attention and waited further orders. He watched Captain Flannigan begin to march along the company in front of them until he disappeared out of his peripherals. His eyes did not follow as per the guidelines of standing in the POA.

"All presented and accounted for, sir," Durant heard the First Sergeant say in his gruff tone. He did not see the advisor's salute nor hear Flannigan's words to him. Michael only heard the click of his heels as he assumed his position behind the company commander.

"STAND AT!" Flannigan barked.

"STAND AT!" Durant, alongside the other officers, repeated.

"EASE!" the Captain finished. Michael clasped his hands in front of him and spread his feet apart, turning his head to look at the Fighting Irishman. The noise of scuffling feet indicated to Durant his platoon had followed suite in step with himself, to which he smiled inwardly. Second Platoon was squared away both on and off the battlefield.

“Marines, let us start this formation with a moment of silence for the nineteen of our brethren who will not be returning. Yes, nineteen. Lance Corporal Drake of Third Platoon has just passed aboard the medical ship. His family is being informed as we speak. TO THE FALLEN!”

Michael bowed his head and closed his eyes. He imagined the others felt remorseful for the deaths inflicted upon the company at the hands of the Covenant. The Lieutenant, on the other hand, did not. While it was indeed a tragedy, he found a silver lining where many saw darkness. Lance Corporal Drake and the eighteen other Marines had perished as warriors, thus being granted the gift of an eternity in Valhalla.

The Lieutenant envied them. It was the highest honor that a warrior could be bestowed. A chance to live in a paradise where battle was not made over trivial matters or bloodlust, but for the sport of it, and where warrior spirit thrived in even the weakest of the transcended. One day he would transcend the corporeal and move on to the other world. He could hardly wait for that time to come.

When it was his time to be called unto the Heavens, he would answer the call with a smile upon his face. There was not a soul living that could take that glory away from him. It would be his and he would own it with pride.

"While we have somber reasons for this formation," Captain Flannigan said, ending the moment of silence with a speech that Durant was certain would ignite a fire in his heart. He enjoyed these events because it reaffirmed his purpose for joining the Marine Corps and forsaking all that his family had set out for him. "We also have cause to celebrate."

Yep. There it was. He could feel the spark of a flame in infancy in his chest. "You have all performed admirably, and I wanted you to hear it coming from my own lips, not just parroted by your Platoon Commanders. We suffered the fewest casualties in some of the fiercest fighting that the battalion experienced. It is a testiment to your skill and warrior spirit that so few of your brothers and sisters are not here. We also get to pay our respects to those of you who have earned recognition for your steadfast service and excellence in duty.”

The flame in his heart had transformed into a roaring fire, fueled by the words of the company commander, and a smile threatened to creep its way across his features. It was because of his Marines that the Covenant had been beaten to the brink of defeat. Their actions compelled the enemy to take the coward's way out and call for backup. His Marines carved the path to success for Oscar Company.

He loved his Marines.

Durant noticed the Skipper had pulled himself to attention. "COMPANY!" he roared.

"PLATOON!" Durant roared.

"ATTENTION!"

The clicking of tens of dozens of heels together resounded through the room like the burst of an assault rifle. Oscar Company acted as one body controlled by one mind. In Durant's opinion it was the epitome of warrior spirit and professional excellence. Even those that had not chosen their path here executed their orders precisely on command.

Seven minutes passed by relatively quickly for Durant as he listened to the company commander congratulate and award a pair of Marines from First Platoon that had earned a promotion to lance corporal. He resisted the urge to grin when Flannigan, Matheson, and Zieed made their way over to Second Platoon. The best platoon, Michael mused.

"LIEUTENANT DURANT," the Irishman called, "POST!"

Durant stepped back and about-faced. He eyed his platoon for a fleeting second, smiling at them, before he wiped it away and took his position alongside the others. He leaned over to Lieutenant Matheson and whispered, "Can I?" The XO replied with a subtle nod in his direction.

"PRIVATE WILKAS, PRIVATE LAWRENCE, PFC RODGERS, AND PFC FURBY," Durant bellowed, rattling the names and ranks off in quick succession, "FRONT AND CENTER!"

[Davis, E.]

Davis found himself in the loathsome position of standing in a company formation. A platoon formation for getting information out was one thing, but a company formation could only mean one thing; ceremony. While he had been in awe of the pageantry of a full formation as a recruit and Private, Davis had long ago lost his love for such things. Standing at attention for any amount of time was tantamount to torture in his book and as an NCO he could no longer take pride in slacking off and finding sly ways around the rules. Large gatherings such as this were even more unbearable now than they used to be as a Lance.

Davis followed orders as he knew he should, sparing sideways glances at his team to ensure they did as well. Avery could have been his clone, squirming in formation by marines standards. Of course the only way Davis could tell was by knowing the same tricks from when he had been in Avery’s shoes. Thankfully, he also had the solution in hand. Waiting for the next order, Davis reached out with his foot, kicking Avery in the calf. It got the Lance Corporal’s attention and Davis shot him a look that screamed at him to stand still.

As First Platoon received their promotions and awards, Davis stood at attention and let his mind wander. He was not interested in First Platoon, or promotions, or any of it. All he really wanted to do was to be done here and go sleep. It had been a tedious day of mundane things and he was tired of playing marine for the day. A freshly cleaned set of PTs and his rack were all the more he wanted now. They would be in Cryo in another few days, but Davis was still lacking the sleep he missed on Phoenix III.

The sound of Lieutenant Durant being called forward brought Davis’s attention back to the matter at hand. Second Platoon was about to see their recognition, and while he still was disinterested, it was good to know who was getting new rank and what accolades were being laid upon his brothers and sisters in arms. Marines deserved every bit of recognition they got, even if he cared more about getting to sleep.

When Wilkas was called, Davis could help but spare a small smile. A marine was supposed to be a stone faced machine at attention, but his pet project was growing up and it made him proud. Hopefully the extra rank would bring some extra confidence she was sorely lacking. She was a good person and could make a good marine if she would just believe in herself. Someone did, because she was about to pin on that Private First Class rank.

Those happy feelings were immediately reigned back in when Furby’s name was called. While still proud of his team member and feeling he was deserving of his Lance, Davis knew what that would mean. As a PFC, Furby had a natural check to whining and complaining in the Lance Corporals. They had been there, seen it, done it, and didn’t care if the PFC hated every second of his life. This promotion erased that barrier.

Now there was nothing to limit the amount of complaining that came from his SDM except him.

[Wilkas, G.]

Though Grace Wilkas greatly despised standing at attention, ever since she and the other unlucky recruits were drafted into the UNSC on Earth. The Russian Stepps in the depth of General Winter tended to be a horrible place to stand still. She shivered at the memory of being that cold. She recalled the pride marching with the other proud graduates (everyone graduated) ready to face the horrors which threatened the UNSC.
She tried her best to remain at attention but the position grew to be uncomfortable and the idle wait tore at her mind.

Her attention was suddenly brought back to the room when Durant called her name. She honestly never expected to receive any recognition for her actions in the United Nations Space Command. Wilkas looked utterly startled, surprised and completely caught off guard. The Radio Operator remained stationary for a few heart beats uncertain as to what to do, or maybe too nervous to make a move.
She heard someone hiss quietly at her to move, feeling numb and all to aware of how now everyone's eyes happened to be on her, each movement felt awkward, tense and nervous.

She found herself unable to believe that this happened to be actually happening. Wilkas heart beat rapidly in her chest like the frightened wings of a trapped bird. Okay, she hated the fact that this ceremony was a public one, she wished silently for it to be a private affair.
Unfortunately there was little chance of her changing this arrangement. Grace tried to look somewhat proud, yet she struggled to do it, feeling distinctly uncomfortable about all of this.

She reached the area with all of the officers including Durant far too quickly for her liking. She wanted to disappear completely inside her uniform or through a trap door in the floor. The chances of either becoming the case were growing increasingly less likely.

OOC: Feel free to edit if required, these ceremonies I have only seen briefly in movies so I tried to go off what I recall from them. Apologies if it is not up to standard.

[Furby, J.]

Formations. If there was one aspect of military life that Furby cared for the least, it was the prevalence of formations. He never understood the point in them outside of recruit training. Hundreds of years ago formations had a combat purpose attached to them. Armies would march together in formation to the battlefield and engage in warfare from those very same formations.

However, that was hundreds of years ago, not now. Formations had no purpose nowadays other than to annoy the shit out of those required to be in it. Marching, saluting, standing at attention -- none of it was very interesting. No one liked standing for hours while some pompous big wig weighed down by brass gave some speech about how awesome his career was and how those standing before him were the reason his career was so awesome.

Generally, officers gained their rank upon the bodies of those they sent to die for them; or, at least, that was Furby's explanation of the dichotomy of the military. If someone wanted to pin a medal on someone or award them a new rank for whatever reason, why not just do it instead of calling everyone and their brother to stand in a formation to watch it happen. Was it just to feed into their overinflated egos?

He would probably never know.

Jayson stood at attention as the company commander spoke. Second Platoon was posted in the middle of the enormous company formation. First Squad was in front with First Team beside Sergeant Stone. To the left of Furby, about an arm's length distance apart, was Corporal Faust and her Second Team. Second Platoon had a front row seat to watch the Fighting Irishman as he went through the normal pre-ceremony routine.

Finally, after a few minutes of orders being barked and parroted, the CO made his way over to First Platoon to start handing out the promotions. Jayson listened to the affair with half-interest; he would have much rather been in his rack asleep by now. It had been a long day. Earlier he'd spent some time servicing his weapon and playing shrink to Private Wilkas, and then did some hand-to-hand combat drills with his team in the ship's gym. He was tired and cranky.

Captain Flannigan finished with First Platoon quicker than Jayson had anticipated, and within seconds he was upon Second Platoon. Lieutenant Durant stepped forward with Staff Sergeant Cruz at his heel, and then he turned around to face the platoon. Durant was glowing with pride, an observation that Furby was sure had not been lost on anyone who gazed upon their platoon commander. "PRIVATE WILKAS, PRIVATE LAWRENCE, PFC RODGERS, AND PFC FURBY; FRONT AND CENTER!"

Furby was taken by surprise as he heard his name exit the lieutenant's mouth. He had not been expecting to receive anything from his actions on the surface of Phoenix III. The fact that he was being recognized for anything was a point of astonishment for him. Snapping out of if, Jayson stepped back out of formation and about-faced. His eyes fell upon Second Squad and he noticed Corporal Rio issue him a nod.

The PFC nodded back and pivoted on his heel. He marched down the line until he passed Sergeant Stone, then immediately pivoted left and marched around the formation before moving directly towards Lieutenant Durant. He stopped a few feet shy of the platoon commander and snapped to attention, issuing him a crisp, but half-hearted salute. He knew in a few moments he would be handed his mosquito wings and BB guns and officially become a member of the infamous Lance Corporal Underground.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone was well versed in the customs and traditions of these types of events. Over the years he had probably attended thousands of promotion ceremonies and thus knew the SOP. The Captain would issue the obligatory commands to prepare the individual platoons for the ceremony before delivering some kind of short speech to the company. For a man that had seen and done it all, there were no surprises to be had.

Stone stood in the right-most corner of the platoon formation, assuming his rightful position as the leader of First Squad. His body was ramrod straight and he held his usual scowl as he watched the company commander go about his routine. Honestly, these ceremonies did not interest him like they had years ago. He realized that rank was not the badge of honor he once believed it to be.

Over the years he had met people from all walks of military life. He's met NCOs that were as green as the boots fresh out of training, and he'd met privates with as much experience as two NCOs put together. The UNSC rarely forced separation upon anyone these days. Someone would have to do something particularly egregious to be awarded a discharge from the military, and even then sometimes they kept them.

The fact of the matter was the UNSC was starved of bodies to fight the war. That epiphany was the driving factor for the instatement of the draft. Now anyone could be called to the service of the military. No one was safe. Stone had even heard through the grapevine that the UNSC had begun to recruit people from the many penal institutions across the galaxy to fill the void left by the growing number of dead or dying.

Thomas had met a man in '38 whom bad once been a Gunny. Due to a particularly unfortunate set of events, he had made some unsavory decisions that landed him a transfer to a line unit and a demotion back down to PFC. The man had been stripped of his rank and position despite all of the experience he'd had; forced to follow the orders of Marines whom lacked the knowledge and experience he possessed.

No, rank was nothing more than a piece of metal slapped onto the shoulders of men. Rank meant nothing to Stone. Experience is what he valued above anything else in the armed forces. That was why he was given such latitude from the higher ups for all of the things that he did. He may not have had the rank that he should have, but he did, in fact, possess the experience. Hell, he had more combat experience than anybody else in Oscar Company. He could school the CO on combat if he wanted to.

Of course he didn't. He respected the man far too much to do so, and besides, so far the Irishman had not given him a reason to do it. There had yet to be a call made by Flannigan that Stone did not agree with. It was because of Captain Flannigan that Oscar Company was the best unit in the battalion. He gave nor accepted BS from anybody and he took charge like a good commander should.

Flannigan and his entourage finished up with First Platoon rather quickly; much faster than the grizzled NCO had expected. He watched as they marched their way over to Second Platoon and called for Lieutenant Durant to take his post. The CO, XO, and First Sergeant took their positions as Durant fell into place. Stone watched as the Lieutenant leaned over and whispered something to Lieutenant Matheson. He had an idea what was said and his suspicions were confirmed when the Swede called out for the Marines that were being promoted to come to the front.

The Sergeant felt a gust of air against his neck as PFC Furby swiftly marched past. When the junior Marine passed by him, he whispered quietly to him. "Don't let it go ta yer head, son," he said. Furby was one a smartass and a whiner, and with his new rank, Stone imagined he would be much more so now than before. He could already envision how much more annoying the bastard would be with the new rank pinned to his collar.

Without moving, he whispered to Davis. "If he gets outta line, send 'im my way. I'll straighten 'im out real quick."

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan and Durant made their way down the list of marines who stood in front of the formation for second platoon. They proceeded with the pinning of each as Lieutenant Matheson read through the orders, grinning as he pinned each one in turn. He knew that Third Platoon only had three more to be promoted, leaving Second Platoon in the enviable position of receiving the most promotions this day. Flannigan had once upon a time been the Second Platoon Commander and still held a special place in his heart for them and loved seeing them succeed above their peers. Flannigan glanced over as the First Sergeant trailed behind with handshakes, congratulations, and a hearty slap on the rank to set the pin all the way into the Marine's skin. It was less than many of them had suffered before now.

"Private First Class Wilkas, stand fast," Flannigan said, as he recieved his salutes from the freshly promoted. "The rest are dismissed."

Flannigan saw the confussion on the newly minted PFC's face, but she stood fast as he waited for the other's to return to their place in the formation. When all had been settled he spoke clearly to but Matheson time to dig out the order needed.

"Private First Class Wilkas gets to receive a reward that nearly all of you have earned, but it is due her and she deserves to be recognized for it. Our first taste of combat is an experience that few of us wanted, yet all of us can clearly remember and Private First Class Wilkas is a part of that honored fraternity. Lieutenant Matheson, read the orders for all to hear. Private First Class Wilkas, you are now officially a veteran. Take this as an honor and not the nightmare it can become if you let it."

The orders were read, the medal presented, and rather than waiting her salute, Flannigan raised his first. She deserved no less.

[Wilkas, G.]

To Wilkas there was only one thing worse than having to stand in front of a large audience of her fellows, and it was the following, having to stand in front of a large audience of her fellows alone. She imagined correctly or not the eyes of everyone burning into her, silently judging her from a distance. She stood fast. hoping that her body wasn't shaking as a result from her nerves.

She stood fast, trying to calm her panic and her confusion. She wondered what Flannigan wished to say to her, she assumed incorrectly that it must be something bad. If so, she quietly wished he decided to inform her privately rather than in public.

The RTO looked completely caught off guard by Flannigan's words. She felt a small flicker of pride, yet she still believe that she made a rather poor soldier. Grace never intended to become a marine so she hoped that somehow she proved useful to her more successful soldiers and veterans of the marine corps.
She doubted her ability to see this award as an honour or a nightmare, the war in her eyes happened to be a nightmare rather than her service, not matter how poor she judged her own service to be.

She found it surprising when Flannigan saluted her first, she returned the salute quickly, smiling. Today she was more than a mere RTO, today she became a marine with combat experience under her belt. It may not be a vast amount but it showed she survived both of her first tastes of actual war. All she needed to do now was to survive the rest of the conflict.

[Durant, M.]

Durant's smile deepened as the four Marines called to the front broke formation and smartly marched around the platoon to meet up with him. He watched as each and every one of them stopped in front of him and stood ramrod straight, assuming the position of attention. The look of PFC Furby's face was telling. He knew what was about to happen.

Private Wilkas on the other hand seemed bewildered, and perhaps even a little apprehensive. Durant glanced at the young RTO and smiled warmly at her. He hoped she would relax some and bask in the moment. It was not every day that someone earned a promotion, especially in the day and age where most people weren't expected to live past their second combat engagement (let alone their first).

Captain Flannigan and Lieutenant Matheson set about awarding each of the Marines their new ranks. The chevrons were easily pinned on Wilkas and Lawrence as there had been no rank there before; however, Rodgers and Furby had to shed their previous chevrons in order to don the new. First Sergeant Zieed balled his fist and drove the pin home on Furby's collar, the newly-minted Lance Corporal exhaling a grunt of pain as the sharp ends of the pins dug into soft flesh.

Despite the grunt, Furby did not break his bearing for a second, continuing to stare forward at the wall across the room. After everyone was pinned with their new rank and their warrants read aloud by Matheson, Captain Flannigan dismissed them; all of them except Wilkas. Furby, Rodgers, and Lawrence faced and walked off to return to their places in formation, while Private Wilkas remained in place.

Michael listened to Flannigan dole out a brief speech to Wilkas in an attempt to build her confidence before falling silent so that the award warrant could be read aloud. Durant looked and saw Matheson looking back at him. The XO nodded at him, and Durant smiled.

The honor would be his.

"The Company Commander is proud to present Private First Class Grace Wilkas with the Combat Action Ribbon," Durant bellowed, having brought up the citation for the award on his datapad. "For active participation in combat operations having been present and under direct enemy fire while conducting military operations on the UNSC Templar while serving Oscar Company, First Battalion, Twelfth Regiment, Twenty-First Marine Division. Given under my hand this twentieth day of June, twenty-five-forty-two."

Lieutenant Matheson stepped over to PFC Wilkas and handed her the red and yellow ribbon. "Congratulations," the XO said to her. "You're now a proven combat-tested Marine. You should be proud, RTO."

Durant nodded, agreeing with the company's executive officer. "Valhalla awaits you, PFC. It is in your future."

[Furby, J.]

First Sergeant Zieed stepped in front of Furby, a handful of obsidian rank pins in hand, with Durant and the XO on either side of him. The PFC stiffened at the sight of them. His earlier lethargy forgotten, he awaited the pinning of his new rank with pride. He had gone through hell to be here. If anyone deserved a promotion, it was him.

Anyone that has to put up with Av and the Corporal deserves a damn promotion, be thought, fighting the urge to grin. He loved his brothers to no end, but sometimes they drove him crazy. However, despite the façade he put on for the sake of show, he enjoyed being a member of First Team. It truly was the best team in the battalion.

Lieutenant Matheson cleared his throat to speak. It took all the self-restraint that Furby had to keep from grinning from ear to ear. "To all who see these presents, greetings," Matheson recited, reading word for word off of the promotion warrant. "Know ye, that reposting special trust and confidence in the fidelity and abilities of Private First Class Jayson Furby, by order of the Company Commander, this Marine is now appointed a Lance Corporal, E-3."

Furby felt the hands of First Sergeant Zieed firmly grasp his collar. The SNCO set about removing the mosquito wings from it. While he swapped them with his new chevrons, Lieutenant Matheson continued to read from the warrant. "This Marine will hereby discharge the duties of his previous position and assume the duties and responsibilities inherent with his new station. Given under my hand this twentieth day of June, Two-Five-Four-Two."

Jayson gritted his teeth as Zieed drove the pins into his collar, biting through his utilities to the bare flesh underneath. He had forgotten that time old tradition that borderlined cruel and unusual punishment; punching the pins into the collar to inflict physical pain upon the recipient. Supposedly it was supposed to be a badge of honor, however Furby saw it as nothing more than pure sadism at its finest. Zieed grinned at him, seemingly amused by the sight of his discomfort.

Yep. It was sadism. First Sergeant enjoyed witnessing the suffering on others, especially when he was the inflictor of said suffering.

Lieutenant Matheson looked over at Zieed and Durant. "Ready," he called, spreading his feet apart, "STEP!" Together, the three of them sidestepped over to the next Marine in line, PFC Rodgers. Jayson tuned out the ruckus as they continued the dog and pony show that was surely to trickle down to Wilkas in just a few minutes. He had received his new rank, and that was all he cared about.

[Ward, J.]

The last ceremony Ward had attended before his arrival to Oscar Company had been on Reach, when he and his fellow trainees has graduated the School of Infantry and been given their individual unit assignments. He knew that ceremonies in the Fleet were a different beast altogether than what he had so far experienced in his fledgling career, and he was curious to see what this one was all about.

Like the rest of his team, Ward stood ramrod straight, his eyes focused forward as called for when at attention. He could see movement out of his peripherals, but he was unable to make out who it was that was moving about; not that he would recognize the person. Outside of Second Platoon, Ward knew very few people that comprised the battalion's personnel. This would be, he realized, the very first time he would lay eyes on the company commander up close since he arrived aboard the ship.

The ceremony started out as a rather standard affair. Marines way above his paygrade barked commands to the platoons and the company as a whole, and Ward executed those commands as required. Minutes passed by like that until finally it seemed the company commander and his command staff were ready to get on with the show, making their way over to Second's sister platoon. Names were called and Marines hustled to the front of their respective platoon, ready to be awarded whatever the company commander had in mind for them.

It was then that the wet-behind-the-ears private realized that this was an awards ceremony, not all that dissimilar from the one from boot camp where he received the title of his Marine and his first ribbon (the Colonial Defense Service Ribbon). He wondered if First Platoon were the only ones receiving awards, or if others in Oscar Company would be bestowed the same honor.

The answer to his unspoken query became apparent to him when the company officers stepped off from First Platoon and took position before Second Platoon. Second Lieutenant Durant assumed his post and rendered a crisp salute to the Captain before turning to face his platoon, calling a handful of Marines out to report to the front of the formation.

Furby's name was among the four that were called to the front, and Ward had to resist the urge to look around Lance Corporal Avery to see him fall out from the formation and make his way up to the platoon's commander. Furby, along with Wilkas and two other Marines whose names he didn't recognize, were systematically awarded promotions by the staff. Jon smiled inwardly, happy to see his friend advancing in the ranks. Perhaps it would do the man some good, maybe even help shape up his generally negative attitude.

Jayson had grown to be Ward's friend, and he admired the man to no end, but his incessant bitching had become somewhat annoying. Jon wasn't sure how his peers put up with the former sports prodigy for so long. He really was a whiner.

When all but Private Wilkas was dismissed to return to formation, Ward kept quiet until Furby was just about to pass him. Carefully, he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side and quietly whispered to his passing friend. "Congrats, Lance Corporal," he said.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace Wilkas managed to smile nervously at Durant, struggling to keep herself still. She listened quietly to his words, the RTO recalled the operation all too well. She failed to see how her part in the operation seemed worthy of a ribbon. She remembered suffering from a panic attack and vomiting several times during the mission, hardly the conduct worthy of a marine, right?
She watched Matheson head over towards her, she accepted the ribbon looking at is curiously. She thought it might suit her, but she did not believe she deserved the ribbon.

"Thank you sir." She whispered so quietly that poor Lieutenant Matheson probably never even heard it. She smiled at Durant, she knew she would never be able to share in his belief in the Pagan Norse Gods, it was nice to know he believed something waited for her. Hopefully not death, but didn't one have to die in battle to get to Valhalla?

OOC: I apologise but I cannot think of anything else to add to this post as I'm not used to rping awards ceremonies. Sorry.

[Flannigan, S.]

Flannigan dismissed the new PFC and his entourage of leadership moved on to third platoon. While they only had a pair to be promoted, Lieutenant Hernandez was very anxious to pin his people. Repeating the process of the previous two platoons, the names were called and Third Herd now had a new PFC and a new Lance Corporal. Flannigan was glad to see his ranks growing. They had lost too many on Phoenix III, at least by his estimation, and assimilating the new troops in always took more time than he wanted. Such was the life of a line unit though.

Walking back to the front of the formation, Flannigan let the marines rest a moment, breaking out of the rigid stance tradition required. It was something other commanders took pride in, but Flannigan had never understood the need to make his killers stand in one place too long. It was both illogical and unreasonable to ask people to be both violent and eternally calm. Tradition was one thing, but expecting a dog to act like a cat was just plain cruel in Flannigan’s mind. He would rather he had marines who could survive combat rather than marines who could stand in formation for hours.

“Congratulations again,” he barked as he paced in front of the Company. He never had been good at standing still. “Expect a day in the simulators tomorrow. We’ll only have a few before they put us back in the freezers. Information will be disseminated through your usual channels. COMPANY!”

“PLATOON,” the echo came back from his officers. He had caught them unready in the past and they were always ready now when he finally reached his correct position for giving orders. He would have grinned in approval if it weren’t against regs.

“ATTENTION! FIRST SERGEANT!” Zieed hurried out from his post, offering another crisp salute. Flannigan returned it. “Dismiss them for the night First Sergeant.”

“Aye sir.”

Flannigan marched out to the wings, the other officers giving way to their NCO’s and following him back to their own billets. Once they were well away from the Company, Flannigan started talking to his officers in the quasi private of being in a corridor without their enlistedmen close by.

“I want a full training schedule in my office before I hit my rack at lights out. You should already be nearly done with them. Check with each other to make sure we aren’t taking up too much simulator time from each other.”

“What about the other companies sir,” Hernandez asked.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what they need. We’ve booked our simulator time already, they can work around that. Your jobs are to work inside of that. Keep em busy, but don’t run em too hard. I don’t need any marines trying to kill each other tomorrow, just enough work to keep them out of trouble and building as a team.”

They reached his portal and Flannigan stopped and looked them over. They were a good group, doing fine work with a shitty job. Being tossed back and forth from the freezers to the fight at the UNSC’s whim wasn’t an easy task, and keeping marines in line was an even taller order. The three officers that stood in front of him were doing an admirable job of it thus far.

“Dismissed. Lieutenant Durant, step into my office please.”

Flannigan turned into his room and waited for his junior to follow him in. Offering him a seat, Flannigan started to dig through the pile of paperwork on his desk. Finding the one he was looking for, he handed it over to the Lieutenant.

“This is a medical report from before we got stuck in the freezers,” Flannigan said, answering the questions before Durant could ask them. “It is for one PFC Wilkas and I didn’t find it until today. Apparently she had a procedure done before we hit the freezers. They caught something in her medical scans. The details are there. I’d like you to look into the matter of who the other half of that couple is. Do it quietly, and deal with it quietly. I won’t go against UCMJ, but I don’t want scuttlebutt running wild with rumors and witch hunts, understand? I expect you to have discretion on this. Unless you have anything else Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.”

[Durant, M.]

Just as quickly as the ceremony had began, it came to an end. Lieutenant Durant stood proudly before his platoon. He was glad to be the man in charge of such a diverse and exceptional group of Marines. It wasn't often his platoon received recognition beyond a congratulatory speech that the end of an operation for their exploits, and it was a moment in which he would savor for a long time to come.

Second Platoon was the best platoon in the company in Durant's opinion. First Platoon often competed for that title under the tenure of Lieutenant Johansson, but Second almost always won out in the end. Despite the competitive nature of their subordinates, Johansson did not care for it. Her concern was solely on maintaining a standard of readiness and preparedness in her platoon. She wasn't interested in competition, and her and Durant shared a healthy working relationship. Michael admired the woman for her warrior spirit and tenacity.

In stark contrast to its sister platoons, Third Platoon was known as Oscar's underacheiver. Lieutenant Hernandez was, by all accounts, an excellent leader on paper. But when it was time to trade the pen for the sword, he rarely was up for the challenge. Durant had spoken with some of the enlisted under Hernandez's command, and was unsurprised to find their opinion of him to be terribly negative. Hernandez had excellent Marines under his charge, but he seldom utilized them to their full potential. Michael had heard a rumor once that Hernandez had signed up to be a supply officer, but had his MOS changed against his will during his stint in TBS due to a shortage in infantry officers. He never chased the truth behind the rumor, deciding it was none of his business, but it fit his Hernandez's profile.

The three officers followed Captain Flannigan out of the muster area and through the corridors of the Vengeance back to the berthing areas. Eventually the trio arrived at Flannigan's office, and the company officer ushered Durant into his office. He stepped inside, unsure of what to expect. The last time he'd been called into the office, it had not gone very well.

He had his Marines to thank for that. Shaking his head, he walked up to Flannigan's desk, and debated whether he wanted to sit down. Flannigan hadn't offered him the opportunity, and seemed to be rifling through a stack of papers. This is gonna be brief, he decided.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

Flannigan slapped a piece of paper on the desk in front of him. “This is a medical report from before we got stuck in the freezers,” the Fighting Irishman States, his tone matter-of-fact. Durant took the paper and examined it closely. “It is for one PFC Wilkas and I didn’t find it until today. Apparently she had a procedure done before we hit the freezers. They caught something in her medical scans. The details are there. I’d like you to look into the matter of who the other half of that couple is. Do it quietly, and deal with it quietly. I won’t go against UCMJ, but I don’t want scuttlebutt running wild with rumors and witch hunts, understand? I expect you to have discretion on this. Unless you have anything else Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.”

Michael stood there in shock as the ramifications of the report fully dawned on him. He slowly shook his head and folded it, stowing it in his pocket for safekeeping. Private First Class Wilkas had been pregnant unbeknownst to him, and asked for pills specifically used for one purpose: to purge the baby from her system. It was not what he expected from his RTO.

"I'll look into it, sir," he said, the slightest hint of determination in his voice. The shock was beginning to wear off, being replaced by anger that his RTO had not the courage or inclination to inform. "These Marines are gonna be the death of me," he mumbled under his breath.

He turned on his heel and started towards the door. A sea of thoughts swirled through his mind like a whirlpool. He would find out who aboard the Vengeance had been responsible for the unauthorized pregnancy of his RTO. And that Marine, he decided then, would be in a world of shit.