Let's Start a Riot (EVENT)

[Davis, E.]

2100 Hours, June 21, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Berthing Area, UNSC Vengeance, in slipspace

Davis stretched as he stood up from his rack, working out the kinks that wanted to settle in after a full day in the simulators. His dinner of a burger and fries from the short order line had settled into his stomach, giving him that drowsy feeling. He shook it off and picked up his ruck, looking through it quickly to make sure it was packed properly for the evening's activities. He looked at the rest of his team who had all the appearances of being settled in for the evening.

“Five minutes till we hit the simulators,” he barked. “Get your shit together! I’m gonna go let Stone know where we’re going, and you all better be packed and ready to move out when I get back. You all looked damn sloppy today when we worked on that compound breech. We’re gonna get it right this time.”

Davis stepped out of the team room and towards Sergeant Stone’s private quarters. It wasn’t much bigger than the bed and footlocker that resided there with him, but a private room it was. Davis was envious at times, but was glad he didn’t have to stay away from his guys. Loneliness was deadly out in space like this. It was only people that kept him sane.

“Hey Sergeant,” Davis said, sticking his head in through the open door, “I managed to book first team some more simulator time. We’re headed down and I’ll be taking Wilkas with as well. Should have everyone closer to being a team before we hit the freezers. I got time till 2330, so we’ll likely be out till after lights out.”

Waiting for Stones dismissive wave of approval, he ducked back out and rounded up his team. So far his cover story was falling perfect. He had civilian clothes packed in his ruck along with his additions to the alcohol stash. As long as his team didn’t seem overly eager to get to the simulators, there would be zero red flags at this point. They all knew what was happening from scuttlebutt, but he still kept up the charade and hoped they could as well.

“On your feet Furby,” he barked when he entered the room. He grinned his lopsided smile seeing the Lance Corporal already on his feet. “And I don’t want to hear you bitching anymore about this. We’re doing an extra session in the simulators so put your energy towards that rather than flapping your gums. Now let’s get going.”

Davis wheeled around and led the way back out, hoping Wilkas was ready for them. God only knew how long it would take for a woman to get ready for a party.

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone never truly slept anymore. Years and years of warfare had managed to trickle its say into his dreams, making any hopes of a decent night's sleep a pipe dream. He found that when he laid in his rack at the end of the day and closed his eyes, he entered a state of limbo. He was asleep in the sense that he rested but awake enough to acknowledge when someone entered his room without his express consent.

Perhaps it was a carefully crafted defense mechanism from time spent in the field. The notion of sleep in a combat zone was a difficult beast to battle. Rest was essential to remain combat effective for any long period of time, however one could not simply let themselves fall into a deep sleep. If the Covenant attempted to infiltrate your lines in the middle of the night, those who were easy to awaken held the best chances of surviving to see another sunrise. He supposed after all the time he spent in warzones, the habit had come to haunt him in the rear.

Before Corporal Davis ever spoke a word, Stone was aware he was there. He wasn't sure who it was whom had poked their head into his private swath of the berthing area, but he knew someone was there. Thomas stirred and opened his right eye, turning his gaze onto what served as a doorway. Hmph?" he mumbled as if terribly drowsy.

"Hey Sergeant," was Davis's greeting to him. The grizzled NCO made no attempt to acknowledge him any further. Davis would take the cue to speak his piece, knowing all too well his squad leader was listening, even though by all appearances he looked to be fast asleep. “I managed to book first team some more simulator time. We’re headed down and I’ll be taking Wilkas with as well. Should have everyone closer to being a team before we hit the freezers. I got time till 2330, so we’ll likely be out till after lights out.”

Stone raised his hand into the air wordlessly, and waved it dismissively at him. He cared little if the NCO and his team were out past the curfew set by the Navy. Training was more important than some bullshit regulation meant to keep the ship's crew in line. The Navy did not usually have to worry about fighting the Covenant face-to-face, but his Marines did. There was never enough training to be had in all the galaxy that could fully prepare someone for contact with the alien bastards, and simulator time was a precious commodity that no one in the platoon dare squander.

Just as quickly as the team leader had appeared, he was gone again. The aging sergeant listened to and chuckled at the now distant voice of Corporal Davis bark at his fire team to get a move on. Davis had proven since his appointment to the billet that Stone had made the right choice in making him his assistant squad leader. The boy was shaping up to be a damn fine NCO, and Thomas's only qualms with him stood with his occasional tendency to forget he was no longer a Junior Marine.

The antics that he had pulled in his pre-NCO days could no longer be attempted now if he wanted to keep his place in the squad. Thomas had leverage with a great many people in the chain of command, but even his word only carried so far. If Davis pulled a stunt akin to the one that had nearly cost him his promotion to his current position a year ago, Stone was not certain he would be able to save the poor kid from the more reg-heavy higher ups. He would try his damndest, but inevitably, Davis's fate was not left up to him.

Purging the thought from his mind, Stone rolled over and got comfortable again. There was nothing left for him to do for the remainder of the night and the platoon had largely retired to their respective berths, so the old coot decided he wanted to catch up on some needed rest. Soon Oscar Company would be in the freezers, and he wanted to have some real sleep before that time came.

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas was ready for her time in the simulator, though she wished privately the marines would be fighting the pacifist bunnies of the peaceful sector, instead of the Covenant, Innies or Mutant Bears with shoulder mounted rocket launcher and bee miniguns. She did not know what they might be fighting against in the simulations, it tormented her.
The door to her room, well the room she shared with the Medic, currently happened to be locked, seal shut whilst she dealt with an rather sudden and unsporting ambush by Panic Attacker Guerrillas.

Count to five inhale, count to five exhale, repeat. She mentally repeated the words of the medical staff who much to her deep regret knew full well of her condition. She always suffered from them, even since High School. The UNSC still wanted her regardless, perhaps they suffered from a crippling lack of Redheads? Were she not in the vice like grip of a panic attack she may have found such a conclusion a tad amusing.
Unfortunately do to the foe she currently battled against, it was not funny. "Come on Grace its just a simulation... You can cope with one easy." The marine whispered to herself as she failed to calm herself down.

She imagined Davis, Furby and the rest of the team waiting outside her door. The thought drove the pressure against her chest deeper. Calm yourself, they know, they'll understand. She told herself, however her words of reassurance proved ultimately futile. Would they understand? Or would they merely question her as to why she decided to have one before the designated sim time?
No, she could not let her mind be poisoned by such dark thoughts. Her fellow marines understood her condition, how she possessed little control over it or its effects.

While at first she had been glad the medic happened to be out of the room, leaving her to the privacy of her own thoughts. Now the tables had turned utterly and she wished for him to be here, helping her through the panic attack. She lay against the door to the room, her back pressed firmly against it as she struggled to calm herself down. Her hands shook uncontrollably so she made them hug her knees to her chest.
It prevented one problem, now she merely needed to repulse the main one. It felt like a losing battle. Grace lost track of the amount she suffered from whilst on the vessel, one where she cleaned her rifle, then there was the incident near the mess which brought the total up to two. One before a training session so she arrived late, made three. Four she hoped to forget, five.... This must be six or seven.
Bloody hell, these seemed to get worse as time went on.

[Furby, J.]

Sims, sims, and more sims. Corporal Davis had run the team through so many combat simulations that Furby was certain his dreams would consist of gunfire and clearance drills. The team hadn't finished its last exercise until just before evening chow. Since then, First Team had been given a reprieve, one that Jayson was all the more happy to enjoy.

The newly minted lance corporal laid in his rack with his hands behind his head, fingers interlocked. He realized as he stared up at the ceiling that he hadn't really had time to relax and enjoy some much needed peace and quiet since he's been thawed out of the freezer. Phoenix III had been a hell of a ride, and the bitter cold had made any chance to relax amidst the chaos impossible. When the platoon returned, he'd returned to the berths and passed out.

Afterwards, while the day before had been relatively uneventful, he and the others had still been busy. After the awards ceremony, Furby had immediately retired for the night, despite the fact lights out wasn't for a couple more hours. Today, Davis had gone hog wild on a training binge, and Furby felt he was about ready to lose his mind when the young NCO finally called it a night.

Of course, the schedule for the team for the remainder of the night was not empty by any means. In just a few minutes, they would be off to the simulators again; although, this time, for entirely different reasons. Jayson grinned at the thought. Somehow, amazingly, the NCO had managed to put together a massive party for the junior Marines aboard ship. Scuttlebutt was that Marines from all over the ship would be participating, and perhaps even a few of the more trustworthy swabbies that did not have duty for the night as well.

As if on cue, Corporal Davis stood up from his rack and stretched. That was the wordless sign that the team was about to make its way to the party. "Five minutes til we hit the simulators," the Corporal barked. “Get your shit together! I’m gonna go let Stone know where we’re going, and you all better be packed and ready to move out when I get back. You all looked damn sloppy today when we worked on that compound breech. We’re gonna get it right this time.”

Davis exited the berth, obviously headed off to inform Sergeant Stone that they would be off for some more "training." Jayson shook his head and rolled out of bed, standing up to see Avery and Ward following suite. Ward seemed on the fence about the party. He hadn't voiced any concerns aloud, but there was a noticeable lack of pep in his step, which was a weird sight to see. Avery, of course, had taken the liberty of giving the boot shit for it.

Jayson, on the other hand, remained optimistic. Jonny would come around once he realized how much fun it was going to be. The kid needed to cut loose, and there wasn't a finer group of people aboard the Vengeance that could help him do that than First Team. Furby had heard stories about Lance Corporal Davis, and had for the longest time dismissed them as simple scuttlebutt.

However, after the last couple days, he wasn't quite so sure anymore. He would have never imagined Davis to be the mastermind behind a party that would be breaking a slew of military regulations. Were he caught at any point, the consequences could be severe. The military did not like disorder occurring behind its back, and this whole party idea definitely fit the definition to a t.

"On your feet, Furby," Davis said as he re-entered the tiny room. The NCO smiled when he noticed that Jayson was already on his feet. “And I don’t want to hear you bitching anymore about this. We’re doing an extra session in the simulators so put your energy towards that rather than flapping your gums. Now let’s get going.”

"But I love flapping my gums, Corporal!" he said, which was a comment he would normally make. He knew that the Corporal was pulling the wool over their squad leader, and he had to keep up appearances to keep from attracting suspicion from the grizzled lifer who was more than likely listening to what was happening in the bay.

"Ain't that the truth," Avery shot back.

Furby turned to look at him. "You have no room to talk."

"Right, because I bitch about stupid shit all the time," Avery replied, "and I totally cry about how the green weenie had its way with me."

"Hey, in my defense, I have a good point."

"Just shut up."

[Ward, J.]

Jon laid in his rack, a datapad in his lap with a book open on the screen, and skimmed through the pages of text. It was a horror story set on a distant, backwater colony where a security officer, who survived a starship crash and suffering from amnesia, awakened on a world infested with the undead. Since he had started reading it, he hadn't been able to put it down. He hung on every word in suspense, wondering if the main character and the band of companions he'd met along the way were going to survive the perils of the apocalypse on a world he imagined was not that different from the one Oscar Company had just left.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Corporal Davis crawl out of his rack and swing to his feet. The team leader stretched and then, barely missing a beat, jumped to barking orders at his team. Davis disappeared, headed for the back of the berth where Sergeant Stone resided, and Ward checked his chatter (which was affixed to his wrist) and noted the time. It was almost time for the night's festivities to begin.

He groaned and shook his head. Furby and Avery had been unable to shut up about it since they learned of it through Davis, and looked forward to what was to be a gross violation of likely a dozen UNSC regulations. Jon wasn't quite sure how he felt about it. Technically he had been to parties before, and occasionally found them enjoyable, but he also knew the stakes weren't as high back then.

He was in the military now, residing aboard a Navy ship, and his team alongside dozens of other Marines were about to occupy a simulator room that was meant for official use only to throw a party where there would be copious amounts of alcohol and tobacco products being used and consumed. He wanted to cut loose just like everyone else, but he wasn't convinced this was the correct means to an end.

What surprised him more was that it was his team leader -- an NCO, who swore to lead by example -- who had come up with the idea and was the driving force behind it from behind the scenes. Jon sighed. He glanced down at the golden engagement ring on his finger and wondered what his fiancé would say if she knew he was entertaining the idea in participating in something that could land him in a heap of trouble and possibly land him in the brig for the night.

Corporal Davis returned almost as quickly as he left, and immediately he ushered the team to move on to their next stop. PFC Wilkas, the platoon's RTO, would be attending as well tonight. He looked over at Jayson as he and Avery went about their usual shenanigans. Furby had, on numerous occasions, lamented on how beautiful she was and how he planned to swoon her into bed with him. The former GravBall player was infatuated with her.

"Jay," Ward whispered to his friend, "don't say it."

Lance Corporal Avery must have heard him because he started chuckling, his eyes switching between Jon and Furby. "Yeah, bro, keep quiet."

Ward immediately regretted saying anything, as Furby went on a lengthy tangent about Grace Wilkas and her physical attributes. Jon closed his eyes and tried to tune him out as he followed Corporal Davis into the corridors of the Vengeance. Before he knew, the newly pinned lance corporal fell silent, and Jonathan silently thanked whatever deity that might have been listening for the favor. However, the silence was short lived.

"That motherfucker!" he exclaimed suddenly.

Jon looked back at his friend in curiosity. "What? Who?"

[Davis, E.]

Davis led the way down to the RTO’s berth, his team still chattering away behind him. Well, the two chatterboxes were still talking. Ward had kept to himself for the evening, seeming rather ambivalent to the whole idea of a morale booster. Sure, it was against regs, but anything worth doing in the Corps usually was. At least, that was Davis’s view on things and he had no evidence to prove otherwise. He was confident Ward wouldn’t ruin anything for them, but he hoped the young man would enjoy his time. It would be good to cut loose, even if only for a few hours.

Wilkas’s door was locked when they arrived. Stepping over to a quick query station, Davis found no record of her leaving her berth, so she was still in there. He gave a few loud raps on the door, knowing he would garner her attention, if she didn’t know they were out there already. He could start the override sequence if he had to, but getting the Navy involved in any of their business at this point was not something he wanted to do.

“Wilkas, it’s Davis,” he called. “Open up. It’s time to hit the simulators again. You’ve got four escorts to the festivities, so there is no need to be bashful. I’d like to check your gear before we head out.”

Davis tapped his foot impatiently, hoping that Wilkas was not in one of her moods. She needed to blow off steam worse than any of them but he wasn’t sure if she had gotten the word on what was actually happening. If she still needed to get dressed and all of those things, she could take forever to get ready. He wasn’t sure he could afford to take that much time. At least not being the event's MC.

[Wilkas, G.]

She heard the raps on her door. Grace knocked back twice, finally managing to get herself together. A few minutes passed however before she convinced herself to open to the door to allow them in or herself to exit. She wanted to make sure all lingering traces of the panic attack were gone. She quickly ran a comb through her fiery locks. She brushed down her uniform in an attempt to hide the creases in them because a certain RTO believed it to be an excellent idea to have a panic attack in them.

Eventually she opened the door, hoping all traces of the panic attack were hidden. "Come in." The doc was out so she could entertain a few guests before the five on them journeyed off.
"I'm just putting a few things back." Grace's side of the room appeared distinctly messier than the medic's. She gave no reason as to why it took her so long to open the door and seemed content to ignore it.

"Everyone ready?" She asked, putting a few items of clothing back in a drawer. It was a start, how Wilka's ever managed to pass an inspection of her quarters must have amazed everyone. Wilka's always tidied her room to regulation standard the day before an inspection, like she had a sixth sense about them.
Some of the wiser or more cunning marines, realised that if Grace was tidying her room they should too.

In truth, she did not know why it always turned out like that. Every time her room reached maximum tolerated messiness, she tided it up. Which usually by pure luck happened to be just before an inspection. She froze cheeks reddening, diving across the room to grab a stray undergarment that must have escaped from washing and quickly put it away. Hopefully before the other marines could see it.
"Shall we?" She inquired, praying no one brought that up in conversation.

[Davis, E.]

Wilkas’s room, much like the RTO, was an apparent disaster. The fact that Davis hadn’t heard about her being a health and wellness issue, or even a bad marine, was a testament to her abilities and intuition. The RTO was obviously in the middle of something and had not been prepared for them, and it showed. Davis chose to ignore her spastic attempt to hide her undergarments. He had seen more than enough in his day to not be awkward about it, as she seemed to be. Hell, they all saw each other naked every time they left the freezers.

“Give me your pack, Wilkas,” Davis said, roughly grabbing the newly minted PFC’s ruck. Without any ceremony he took it and turned it upside down, dumping all of her field gear out on the floor. None of it was fitting for their “mission” that night. Wilkas obviously hadn’t gotten the news.

“This won’t do at all,” he grumbled, throwing the ruck down on top of the pile of gear. “Fox, you’re with me. Furby, make sure PFC Wilkas is properly packed for this mission and explain the situation to her. She obviously didn’t get the news. Avery, make sure Furby does his job and ONLY his job. And don’t be late. We lock the door at 2150 hours. You get there late, you don’t get in.”

With that, Davis left the RTO’s berth with Ward following behind him and a sputtering pair of Lances left in the room with the RTO. If he had left Furby alone, who knew what the loud mouth whiner would have done. And Avery alone wouldn’t have cared and left Wilkas to her own devices. The pair of them would be efficient enough to get the job done and ensure they made it. He wore his lopsided grin broadly as they made their way to the simulators, proud of his own ingenuity with his team.

[Furby, J.]

Furby followed Corporal Davis out of the berth, stepping out into the empty corridor beyond. The majority of the ship's crew by now were in their quarters -- with only technicians and security personnel really out and about -- so Jayson expected he would see little in the way of life on their trek to the simulator. He followed Davis as he led the team down the corridor, their destination the quarters of Private First Class Wilkas.

The Lance Corporal grinned. Ever since Wilkas had joined the unit, he'd had a thing for her. He wasn't sure what it was about her in particular that drove him crazy, but he knew her looks and her accent played a huge role in his attraction to her. The last few weeks he'd worked hard to get to know her better (after the debacle on the Templar) and so far liked what he had heard. She shared similar views as he did, although, albeit, she was less vocal about them than he was.

He debated heavily over the idea of letting her know how he felt. There were a lot of ways for that situation to play out terribly, and he wasn't quite sure whether or not any kind of relationship with her would constitute fraternization, but a big part of him could care less if it did. The UNSC, as a rule, needed to get over themselves sometimes. If two people wanted to be in a relationship within the same unit, he felt there should be nothing in place to discourage that. Sure, there were parts of the fraternization policy that he could agree with, but the entire policy as a whole Jayson believed needed to be reviewed and revised.

"Jay," he heard Ward say all of a sudden, "don't say it."

Avery chuckled behind them. "Yeah, bro. Keep quiet."

Jayson's lips parted in a toothy grin, splaying his perfectly white teeth. Had they not said anything, he would not have brought Wilkas up aloud. "Oh come on," he said, shaking his head, still grinning, "you two cannot tell me you wouldn't hit that. Grace is fucking gorgeous, man. She's got a nice body, beautiful red hair, and that accent... You cannot beat that. I swear she is like an angel."

"Bro, you need to get out more," Avery quipped.

Furby looked back at him, incredulous. "Are you trying to say she isn't good looking?"

"I ain't sayin' that, bro," he replied. "But there are other girls you could be wantin' to bang."

Furby was about to respond when a thought suddenly came to mind from the darkness. Ward had mentioned the day before that he'd seen a pair of women's panties in the personal quarters of their platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Cruz. Nobody in the platoon ever visited Cruz in his quarters aside from the Lieutenant and...

Private Wilkas.

Since the battle on the Templar, Grace had been regularly visiting the SNCO's office for what she had called "counseling sessions." On the handful of times he happened to catch her on the way back to her quarters, she had always looked particularly disheveled and unkempt; a stark contrast to her usual appearance.

It was then that it all clicked in his mind. The pieces to the puzzle had fallen together in his hands and he had put it together. Private First Class Grace Wilkas was having a fraternous relationship with their platoon sergeant. "That motherfucker!" he exclaimed aloud, unintentionally.

"What? Who?"

Rage simmered beneath the surface on slow boil, slowly consuming him inch by inch. Staff Sergeant Cruz, their platoon sergeant, was taking advantage of Wilkas and all her issues for his benefit. The thought grounded in his mind, digging in like a tick, taunting him incessantly. He had no proof to support the accusation, but it sounded plausible, and that was all that was needed to fuel the fire beneath the surface. He knew it was Cruz. He knew it.

"Our fucking Staff Sergeant," Furby answered, as if that was the be all, end all answer to his question. "Jonny, you remember how you said you saw the Staff Sergeant stow a pair of panties in a footlocker or some shit? Well, who in our platoon has been seeing him on an almost regular basis for some much needed "counseling?" I'll tell you who: none other than our own RTO, Private First Class Grace Wilkas. That motherfucker!"

Lance Corporal Avery stepped ahead of him and turned around to face him, walking backwards. Jayson clenched his fists, barely capable of containing his anger. "Whoa, bro," Avery stated, holding his hands up in a calming gesture, "that sounds kinda far fetched to me. Staff Sergeant just gettin' it in with Wilkas? No way, bro. How'd this even come up?"

Jayson gritted his teeth. "It's been on my mind ever since Fox mentioned that he saw that asshole had a pair of panties on the floor. Nobody else visits him besides the El-Tee, Stone, and Wilkas. Two of those people I'm fairly sure don't wear panties."

Avery snickered. "Well, the El-Tee is into some weird shit, y'know. Who's to say he ain't rockin' a thong underneath them cammies, bro?"

Furby shook his head. "Not funny, dude."

"It was kinda funny, bro," Avery replied dejectedly.

Furby said nothing as the team arrived at the door that belonged to Wilkas and McMillan. While the team waited to be admitted into the room, Jayson remained quiet, trying to calm himself down. He wanted to confront the woman about it, perhaps to gauge her reaction for some degree of concrete proof that she had, in fact, been sleeping with Cruz. However, the more he thought about it, the more he decided against it.

Wilkas was in a fragile enough state of mind as it was. Confronting her about something that -- however unlikely -- might not have been true would only exacerbate the problems she faced and ostracize himself from her. He needed to keep a clear, level head, until he could dig a little deeper into the issue. So, with some effort, he unclenched his fists and took a long, deep breath.

He could do this.

Jayson had to do this.

The door to the room opened and the four Marines filed in, finding Wilkas by herself, her room noticeably unkempt. Jayson watched as the young woman hastily scooped up a pair of her panties from the floor and stowed them away. The sight brought the thought of her and Cruz back, but he said nothing. Normally he would have made some kind of comment to lighten the mood and embarass the woman a little, but not today. Not right now. Instead, he chose to stand there and listen as the Corporal engaged her.

Davis ordered him and Avery to stay with her and ensure she got herself situated for what was to be a very fun night. The thoughts in his mind were so far ruining the excitement he should have had, but he tried to push past it. He needed to relax. They all did.

"Grace," he said cooly, stepping in front of her. "We're not doing training, but we are hitting the simulators tonight. A huge party is gonna be going down and all the lower enlisted are getting together. Get dressed like you would for a night in town."

"Yeah, girl," Avery said. "It's gon' be fun tonight."

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas reluctantly surrendered her pack, expecting for the lecture on how to properly store her gear, what she should take, what she needed to take, what she forgot to take. She rolled her eyes like a sullen teen whose over protective mother just emptied out their school bag for fear that it might contain something it shouldn't. She braced herself for him to pick through her gear like some scavenging higher ranking vulture. 
She looked distinctly confused not to mention surprised when according to Davis her gear would not do. She had been on the verge of voicing a rather large objection to his statement but he swept on, leaving her with two of the fireteam in her room. She felt certain that there must be some measure of regulation now currently being breached by this but she could hardly throw the book at anyone. People in glass houses should not throw boulders right?

"Just one small question." Grace began, looking at them both before pointing to the floor. "What just happened? And why is none of this acceptable?" She shook her head, trying to keep herself calm, keeping calm was important. Vital. 
"Oh." Grace was not certain as to what to make of the news that the enlisted planned a secret party. A strong feeling of immense embarrassment now descended over her. Wilkas had spent the god knows how long stressing over a party? A bloody party? She found herself switching between the idea of being angry and delighted. Angry that she stressed so much about nothing and delighted how she no longer actually had a simulation to attend.

In answer to Jayson, Grace shrugged her shoulders. "I guess jeans and a t-shirt? Or formal uniform or casual?" Truthfully Grace did not know what to go with. She rarely attended party parties, she disliked the idea of getting drunk. In fact Wilkas had only ever drunk a single glass of wine, it represented the entirety of her alcohol consumption.  
Yet she discovered the idea of a party, particularly a secret party to be intriguing. She might as well attend, she had nothing else better to do other than tidy her room up. Grace knew of the rumours, of someone getting it on with the Cruz, she play ignorance to such knowledge saying there must be someone else.

After the fiasco of their last liaison, Cruz and Wilkas became friends though she still attended for counselling sessions, literal counselling sessions. If he moved on to find someone else knew who could blame him? Perhaps Faust also saw him? She did not know nor did she possess the necessary death wish to inquire into the crazy German's personal life. 
So far the procedure she underwent in secret remained a total secret. With a handful of exceptions here and there, however Wilkas intended to brush it under the rug, burn the rug, burn the house down, burn the town down before denying any involvement in the whole affair. Unless specifically ordered to do so by someone of a higher rank yet even then she may refuse. It was in her opinion a personal private matter not a military one. She expected the UNSC to disagree with her on it. 

[Davis, E.]

Davis led Ward down the last few halls to the simulator. He was the first one there, with the exception of Corporal Curtis who was up in the control booth at the moment, flashing a thumbs up through now translucent glass. It was all clear, with Lieutenant McKenna having taken the evening off leaving them all free. Davis slung his pack down on the floor and looked around the room. The bay was cavernous and while it could be shrunk down for smaller teams, but at it's full size it could accommodate an entire company on maneuvers. He was happy with this chance to let everyone cut loose. 

"Corporal, please run scenario P-4-R-7-Y," Davis called up, and the room melted into a huge bunker. Crates, large open bladed fans, and other bunker apparel were phased into existence all around him. It was the start of a last stand scenario, but it had been modified over the last few days to turn it into a club, reminiscent of a club he had heard of once in a place on Earth long ago. It was the perfect cover if someone happened to wander by.

"I'll be down with the remote in a minute, Corporal," Curtis called back down, the transparent windows fading out into a part of the scenery. Davis took another look around. There were back rooms already for people to get changed out of fatigues, and he knew exactly where the stage and dance floor were going to be. He had been able to walk through a holomap with Curtis and the others several times, and he was happy with the setup. Or at least the setup that would happen. It still looked like the bunker he had died in more times than he could count. Sergeant Stone was fond of last stands for some reason.

"Go to the back and get changed Fox," Davis said. "It's 40 minutes to showtime. The others will start filtering in soon, though I'd expect most of them to filter in at the last minute so as not to be caught. Hopefully Kensington and Totino show up soon."

"Here as charged," came Totino's voice from the door. "And oddly enough, HQ was more than happy to help with tonight's refreshments."

Both Corporals were holding backs laden with drinks. Davis grinned his broad crooked grin knowing they had just figured it all out. Curtis came down with the sim remote and the four of them stood for a moment with conspiratorial smiles. It would take an act of God at this point to stop them and Davis was quite sure that God was on their side for tonight. With one last smile he turned away to start the setup and came face to face with a holographic nurse. 

"Corporal, I don't recognise this training simulator," the AI said with a grin like a younger sister who had caught him doing something wrong. "It looks heavily modified. Nor was I aware that your friends were part of this scenario."

"Beatrice..." Davis said with a scowl. It was a surprise, perhaps the act of God he had been so sure against. However, he wasn't about to quit yet. His scowl faded to his grin as his brain spun up an idea. "It's a party. I have more friends coming. I'm sure you're familiar with a party."

"I've read about them," Beatrice started, taking a somewhat defensive posture.

"Well then you have to attend," Davis said cutting her off. "You only learn by experience Beatrice. You have to join us!"

"But isn't this illegal," she started, being slowly persuaded by his argument.

"It's a good spot of fun," Davis said. "It'll be good for morale and you'll get to interact with all the marines on the ship. No one gets hurt and nothing is lost but a few archaic rules. Surely worth the experience for someone like you."

"I know what you're doing," she said with a frown. "Yet your logic is sound. I'll see you in a while Corporal."

"Selling ice to an eskimo," Curtis muttered as Davis turned back to his compatriots.

"Let's get to work before our luck runs out," Davis said with a laugh.

[Furby, J.]

Furby chuckled at Wilkas's confusion over the scenario that had just played out. For one reason or another she had not been clued in on the true nature of the evenings festivities, and now it was left up to him and Lance Corporal Avery to explain everything and educate her on the protocols for such an event. The pair of lance corporals looked at each other when the Russian RTO questioned the attire that she should wear, and the both of them had to exercise every bit of self-control to not burst into laughter.

He stepped forward and shook his head at her, a smirk plastered across his face. "The only "uniform" you should be wearing is your civvies, Grace," he said, glancing at the drawer that he assumed she kept her clothes. "Wear something nice, but comfortable. This isn't the Marine Corps ball or prom, it's a party."

Avery chuckled from behind them. "Yeah, girl. Pack a pair of jeans, a shirt, and all that jazz in your ruck. You'll have places to change outta your cammies in the sim, girl."

Jayson nodded, smiling warmly. He didn't say it, but he was curious to see what she looked like out of uniform. Skivvies were nice because they hugged her figure, but there was just something he found attractive about a woman in the military who was willing to take off the uniform, throw on civilian attire, and cut loose. Grace obviously had never had that opportunity before, and he found the idea of teaching her how to relax and cut loose to be mildly intriguing.

It was no secret that Wilkas was often high strung and rigid. Furby imagined that was, perhaps, part of the reason she suffered so frequently from fandom hours of attacks. The woman needed to learn how to kick back, relax, and be care free -- even if it was for only a short period of time. This party would very possibly work wonders for her disposition.

Everyone in the battalion needed a stress reliever after the last few months of combat they had had to endure. A lot of crap had been thrown onto their shoulders since the beginning of the deployment and the battalion had not been authorized any shore leave since the third month into it. Jayson felt this party would do wonders for him, personally.

"Pack you some clothes so we can get out of here," Jayson told her. "I don't want to miss a minute of what is about to go down."

[Wilkas, G.]

"I see..." Grace answered quietly. "The kind of party a marine probably should point out that the event in particular is against the regs and if she attends it will be noted that she is not a fan of the idea." This was Wilkas for, if she went and someone clocked onto the party, she would make it out like she was A) against the idea and B) there against her will. Despite secretly wanting to attend.
She folded her arms when Avery suggested changing into her civvies at the sim. Privacy was an issue, showers were one thing, parties were in her mind at least, a completely different matter entirely.

"There better be a private place to change or I'm not changing into anything." Wilkas wondered who exactly would be attending and if anyone had tipped off the officers to this legitimate training session. She doubted Faust would know about it, but she tended to be a rather surprising woman, she may know about. Hell she might even have helped to plan it.

She grabbed a pair of faded blue jeans and a t-shirt with the logo of her college printed on it out of a draw, spilling several others items of clothing out in the process. Grace pushed the articles of clothing to the bottom of her rucksack, slinging it over one shoulder whilst she collected the various pieces which had fallen out.
She returned them home, stuffing them inside and with some difficulty, sealing it shut once more.

"I'm ready for this party that I officially do not want to attend and I was dragged into attending." She declared, though she had never been a party person. Honestly she did not want to go but... Currently she lacked any excuse not to attend.
"Let's go." She winked at Furby, confused by the way this caused his cheeks to redden. Yet she pushed it from her mind, she possessed far too many things to worry about. "You guys hear about the rumour with Faust?" She added suddenly changing the topic completely. "Apparently she is seeing someone."

[Davis, E.]

Davis took another look around the bunker and nodded at their handywork. The four Corporals, along with Fox’s help, had everything ready as the first Marine’s started to trickle in. They were immediately shuffled off to the back, hiding “outside” the bunker, as well as in the private rooms in the back. It was a thrill to know they were about to pull off the party of the century right underneath the brass’s nose. In ten more minutes the door would be locked and no one outside would be any wiser about what was happening inside the simulator.

“Davis, you are the craziest sonova bitch on this tub, you know that,” Curtis said as he stashed the last of their booze under the crates that would become the bar when the magical hour approached. “You should get a medal for this.”

“Not yet,” Davis said with a knowing grin. “We still got to get back to the berths without losing everything. But for now, I just need my team to get here soon. Might as well go change and slip out back. I’ll hold the fort while we wait.”

Curtis nodded and slipped out. Davis went and stood at the large bay door into the simulator and scowled out into the passageway. An aviator walked by and stopped to look the same direction. Davis glanced at him and then back out down the passageway as they stood there in silence.

“Issue Corporal,” the aviator asked.

“Just waiting on my team sir,” Davis grumbled. “Slackers had to go back for gear and still aren’t here yet.”

“Well, don’t be too hard on em,” the aviator drawled. “Heard you boys have been in here all day.”

“Aye sir,” Davis said, holding his NCO glower. “Not too hard.”

The aviator moved on as Lance Corporal Samson and three other lower enlisted men from First Platoon rounded the corner. Davis could see the look of panic on Samson’s face from here. They had likely gotten this far undetected and now forgotten any cover story they had prepared. Davis shook his head and put his NCO scowl on even deeper.

“SAMSON!” He barked, getting the attention of the aviator and the junior marines. “Get your asses over here, or so help me sweet baby Jesus, we’re going to run this damned sim all night! Keep me waiting for another ten seconds and I’ll have you in an airlock!”

Samson and the others sprinted forward amongst the chuckles of the aviator who sauntered back off down the passageway like he owned it. The first platoon members ran inside and Davis turned to follow them in. Samson turned back on him with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever trust again Corporal,” Samson said, shaking his head in amazement as the pieces all finally connected for him.

“After tonight Samson,” Davis said with his broad grin, “You’ll trust me forever.”

[Ward, J.]

Davis led the private through the ship's corridors towards the simulator chambers, the journey made in silence. When the pair arrived, Ward stepped into the large, cavernous chamber and took a moment to admire it. The simulators were rather astounding works of human technology and engineering. He did not fully comprehend how it was that they worked, but they were an invaluable asset in the training process of a Marine unit. A list of various scenarios -- from slayer to Capture The Flag -- could be selected from a list and instantly played out by the room's occupants.

The line that differentiated reality from simulation seemed to blur together. When a map was loaded and a scenario chosen, the world seamlessly transformed from an empty, metal cavern to whatever location had been selected for the simulator's occupants to operate in. The simulator was capable of replicating the sights, sounds, and smells of the environment that they would train in. It presented unique and engaging opportunities for realistic training without the fear or death or real injury.

Ward was torn from his reverie by the drawl of Corporal Davis. He nodded at the NCO and turned towards the bunker. It appeared ominous and foreboding, which made it the perfect location to hold a party against regulations. No one would suspect that behind the closed doors of the bunker that there would be peoppeople partying and drinking. Jon was still uncertain about how he felt about the idea of the party, but he did admit to himself that he was impressed with the set up of it so far.

Jon walked into the bunker and found his way into one of the back rooms that Davis had mentioned earlier. He shut the door, locking it behind him, and dropped his rucksack onto the floor. Bending over, he undid the clips and pulled the flap back, revealing the stack of neatly folded clothes stowed inside. The Private quickly undressed and re-dressed into his civilian attire. There was a mirror on the wall behind him. He turned and examined himself in the mirror.

He wore a olive drab t-shirt with the letters "UNSCMC" stitched across it in black and pair of blue jeans. The shirt hung loose on him, he noted. The last time he had worn the shirt was shortly before his three month stint at boot camp, and he had lost several pounds since then. Jon chuckled and glanced down at his feet. He'd switched from his combat boots to a pair of sneakers for the sake of comfort, and realized he was actually happy to not have to wear the boondockers -- even if it was only for a very short period of time.

When you wore the same pair of boots every day, you quickly grew tired of it.

Jon unlocked the door and exited the room, his rucksack slung over his shoulder as he navigated the bunker. When he was finally back outside, he found Davis and four other NCOs making the final preparations for the night's festivities. "I guess I'm ready, Corporal," he said, unsure of what else to say.

"Have Jay and Avery come back with Wilkas get?"