Dark Times (Open)

[Silva, J.]

Janet Silva lay on the top bunk, her bunk for that matter, staring blankly at the ceiling. She was lost in her own private thoughts, sifting through memories like a prospector hunting for gold. The cat for her now happened to be out of the bag, yes she may have hinted about her relationship but Silva did also admit to her comrades in arms that she also once possessed a fiancée. Sadly perhaps even tragically, he fell in the New Paris Uprising. 
It no longer matter that the UNSC eventually won the war there, the Covenant destroyed the planet. The pain of knowing her home was gone felt ten times worse due to the single reason of Silva not being there to help defend it. 

She sighed quietly, conjuring up images of New Paris all destroyed, burned, reduced to ash and glass. There was no doubt in her mind, she needed to survive long enough to see New Paris rebuilt. She would not allow her home to remain a lifeless graveyard, those who gave their lives in its defence deserved it at the very least. 
One thing which Silva struggled to cope with happened to be the lack of letters from home. Before its destruction, Silva usually received a stream of letters. Now the occasional one showed up and she knew there would not be any more till after deployment. 

It was not something she believed herself to be able to adapt to easily. Unfortunately, there might be precious little she could do to change such matters. After all, it was not like the UNSC possessed a time machine. 
If they did, she suspected that they might have already used it in order to warn humanity about the threat of the Covenant. Damned aliens, life was far better till those alien terrors came along. She longed to choke the lifeforce out of one of those hideous elites, watching the light of life fade from its eyes. 

Well... That train of thought was exceedingly dark. She forced herself to sit up, she knew her fellow marines were concerned about her. Since news broke to the rest of the platoon and her release from the loving care of the medical team, Silva had lost a lot of her body weight. Largely due to stress, exercise and the simple fact of her not eating. Often she possessed little or no appetite for a meal. The last time she got dragged to the mess hall by a collect of the marines who essentially forced her to eat something as they all were and it would feel 'awkward' if she did not eat either. 

[McMillan, J.]

Jim stepped into his quarters after having spent his time in the infirmary assisting the medical staff with a few routine errands. While he was no longer a "blue side" corpsman anymore, he didn't mind volunteering his services to those whom had not chosen the Fleet Marine Force option. The infirmary was no where near as busy as it had been during and shortly after the events of FROST DRAGON, but that did not mean that life was dull.

There were plenty of Marines and sailors that walked into sick bay with complaints as mundane as a cold or slight fever up to more serious ailments that deserved immediate attention. The majority of the mundane issues were normally BS cooked up by personnel seeking a sick chit to avoid their duties for a few days, or under more grim circumstances, seeking drugs to satiate their illicit addictions.

He marched over to his desk and grabbed his med bag. The reason he had left the infirmary in the midst of sick call was because he intended to check up on the Marines in Second Platoon whom had been wounded during the fighting. They had all recovered from their wounds quite nicely, though he imagined there may have been lingering side effects, such as in the case of Private Robin whom had suffered from a concussion.

Of course, not all the wounds suffered by the casualties were physical alone, and that was where his concern was mostly directed. Private Silva was a prime example of a Marine whom had suffered far more than merely a physical injury. She had learned after the fact that her planet had been glassed and most everyone she had known and loved had not made it off world. Jim had to check on her; both as a medical professional and as a human being whom empathized with her internal strife.

He looked over to the other side of the room as he hefted his medical bag onto his shoulders. Private First Class Wilkas was there with her back turned to him. From what he could tell, it sounded as if she was watching a video on her chatter or datapad. He wasn't sure, however. "PFC," Jim called to the platoon's RTO, "I'm about to check up on Private Silva. Would you like to come with? I'm sure she could use a friend right now."

Mac wasn't sure whether or not the two had ever conversated with one another; however, right now, it didn't matter if they were well acquainted or not. Silva was in a very precarious state. Time spent alone without the company of others was potentially dangerous. Dark thoughts were the norm under her circumstances. All medical personnel in the UNSC -- Navy or otherwise -- were trained in psychological trauma to include post-traumatic stress and it's symptoms.

With the way the Human-Covenant War was going, it was a good choice by the brass to implement the training as standard protocol. Cases of PTSD, combat stress, and other psychological ailments were commonplace in this day and age. Decades ago the suicide rate in the military had been outrageous. Fighting a war against insurrectionists that could have potentially been people you grew up with did little to help the mental health of those involved in the fighting.

Since the start of the war and the implementation of the new training guidelines, the suicide rate had dropped exponentially. The UNSC was a big force with millions of personnel across the galaxy serving. Currently the statistic sat at one suicide per every ten thousand personnel serving, which was a vast improvement from what it had been.

McMillan was not the most personable or outgoing of people. Often he would avoid engaging in conversation with others due to that fact alone. No one liked to be around someone whom shied away from others like they were the plague incarnate. However, under such severe circumstances, he was willing to make an exception.

After all, his duty was to help others and save their lives if necessary.

"If you're going to come along, how's the time to do so," Mac warned her, turning to start towards the door. "I'm headed out now."

[Wilkas, G.]

Wilkas jumped out of her skin when Jim spoke to her. Grace's cheeks flushed with colour and she turned around. "I thought you were one of her friends?" She saved her video, she would watch it later. "Sure I'll come she is a friend and a platoon member." Grace did feel however that she would be unable to do much good here.
After all Earth remained nice and safe, Grace could believe with reasonable certainty that Earth would never fall to alien invasion. Silva's home however lay burned, dead, glassed, destroyed.

"I'm coming try to warm up on the bedside manner." Grace chuckled, getting up off of her chair to follow him out. "Thanks for checking my wrist out when I fell off of my bed." She whispered quietly, just loud enough for Mac to hear. It had been an embarrassing thing to ask of him at the ship's two am time. Grace first thought she had in fact broken the limb, after a minor inspection from a sleepy and distinctly annoyed medic, the pair found out that she had only bruised it.
She made a personal note to not fall out of the bed any more. Grace flexed her right hand, afraid that the pair of them may have misjudged it.

OOC: Silvia is one of my other characters, so feel free to post.

[McMillan, J.]

((OOC: Sorry for neglecting this for so long. Let's get it back on a roll.))

Jim nodded to the RTO as she moved to join him. He knew better than anyone that he was not exactly the most personable human being aboard the ship, especially for a corpsman, and having someone whom was more open with herself and her emotions would prove beneficial considering the overall objective of the visit. Wilkas quipped about his bedside manner, to which he rolled his eyes, and said, "I'll make no promises, PFC."

With that he marched out into the corridor beyond and starts on his way to Second Squad's berth. He didn't stop to see if Wilkas was keeping up, maintaining a steady stride until reaching the hatch to the berth. It was closed until he stepped in front of the sensor, and as the door parted way, McMillan stepped inside. There were a few Marines that belonged to Staff Sergeant Mason milling about. Jim paid them little mind, however, making his way over to Third Team's compartment. He knocked on the wall beside the open threshold thrice in an attempt to announce his presence to anyone whom may have been inside.

Third Team was comprised almost entirely by females, and while they boasted nothing he hadn't seen before, he did not want to waltz in while they were in the midst of changing. "Private Silva," Mac called into the compartment. "It's Doc. PFC Wilkas is with me. May we come in?"

[Silva, J.]

Janet did not wish to speak to anyone, but the words out of her mouth were... "Come in." She sounded significantly better than she actually felt. She pushed herself off of the bed, managing to keep her balance when her feet hit the floor. "I am here if you want to talk about... Whatever?" She looked little under weight. Silva really did not have much of an appetite, never had one since she heard her home got totalled. In truth, Silva felt guilty, ashamed that she had not been there to help defend her beloved home.
She took the off to defend Earth and her colonies... And the one place in all of space that mattered more to her than all the others got totalled whilst she was away. Her family, most of her friends all gone, dead. How could she ever stomach food again?

OOC: sorry it is short.