Hurry Up And Wait (EVENT)

[Edward, Z.]

Edwards placed his book and earphones back in his bag. Looking from his hiding spot after a nice amount of commotion swept through the hanger. "What in the hell?"   Out of the corner of his eye, noticing that all the squads were starting to get into their formations, he sighed and grabbed his helmet. "I have a bad feeling about this..." Mumbling to himself as he left his hiding spot and placed his helmet on. (Not noticing he forgot to turn the armor/helmet com and systems back on.)

He walked over to where his squad was and just blended in. Knowing that this time that the danger was real and not a simulator.  This time he wouldn't step on a landmine like the simulator, because that was a long time standing there not moving while everyone moved on.

He stood there quietly, waiting for orders to move. Never making eye contact with anyone.  The less he was noticed the better off he would be or he thought.

[Durant, M.]

Lieutenant Durant grimaced as all of Oscar Company cheered and chanted at the expense of the rest of the battalion. The look plastered across the battalion commander's face was all that the butterbar had to see to realize that boundaries were being overstepped. He glanced at Gunnery Sergeant Sabre, whom merely shrugged, and the two shared a nonverbal understanding in that moment.

There was nothing either of them could do to stop it.

Durant tried to see the silver lining in the situation, although it was perilously difficult. At least his Marines were in high spirits. The better they felt, the less likely they were to brood over what lay ahead. He was certain that if the company hadn't been in good spirits, the Gunny's fears about his Marines would have been well placed.

Once the cheering had died down to a more manageable cackle, the Lieutenant about-faced and cleared his throat. "Alright, Marines," he shouted, "form up! PCCs and PCIs! Let's go!"

The platoon formed up in front of him, each and every one of them looking proud and determined. They were ready for whatever was to come, and soon, Durant would be leading them into glorious battle once again.

TIME SKIP

0900 Hours, August 12, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) /
Hangar 2-C, C-Deck, aboard UNSC Vengeance,
en route to Melfa, Zeta-Zorada System

Two long hours had passed since he had inspected the platoon, and in those two hours, not a thing had happened. The cheerful, excited atmosphere that had permeated the hangar had vanished, leaving in its wake nothing but pure boredom. Durant sat atop a crate, his kevlar in his lap, sipping water from a canteen. In the back of his mind he wondered if they were ever going to leave the ship.

Last mission had been much different to this. There hadn't been an opportunity for hurry up and wait, as they had to land planetside almost immediately upon entering the system. The atmosphere on the FROST DRAGON had been much more akin to hurry up and get the hell outta dodge. That, obviously, was not the case here.

Durant scanned the hangar and saw some Marines sitting amongst their teams conversating in hushed tones, almost as if they occupied library and not a hangar made with the express purpose of storing and sending off machines of war. Others seized the opportunity to catch some much needed rest time, as no one quite knew what to expect once they hit groundside. And finally, the last of the Marines he spotted, were up to their usual shenanigans.

Bored Marines was a terrifying concept. When left to their own devices, and fueled by boredom, terrible things could happen out of the best of intentions. Gunny Sabre watched as two Marines tossed a pack of MREs back and forth to each other, gazing upon the game with the same intensity that one might a GravBall game when their favorite team was playing. It was a sign of how far the infection had spread.

Even the SNCOs were bored.

Michael sighed and looked over at Captain Flannigan almost pleasingly. He wanted nothing more than to be aboard a bird right now headed down to the planet. There was no reason why he and his Marines should have been cooped up in a hangar for so long. Surely they had to be over Melfa by now. What was the hold up?

"The XO needs to hurry the fuck up," Sabre mumbled as he tore his eyes away from the game. "I think I'm going nuts."

Durant chuckled. "Somehow I feel as if this isn't Major Killinger's doing."

Sabre's eyes trailed over to Colonel Harrison, whom had surrounded himself with his staff as if they would shield him from the likes of the Big Bad. "You think the BC's purposely fucking with us?"

"Wouldn't you?"

He sighed. "Point, sir."

[Furby, J.]

Lance Corporal Furby sat with his back against a crate in the midst of a conversation with the platoon's RTO, PFC Wilkas, and fought hard to keep his mind off of the utter boredom that plagued him and the rest of the platoon. The revelry and moto-BS that had gone around earlier had croaked over an hour ago, and now the company sat around trying to keep itself occupied with mixed results.

Sampson and Adelson from Third Platoon were busy tossing a pack of MREs back and forth to eachother, some Marines in First Platoon were going around tagging anything and everything with artistic depictions of life-squirting phallic objects (to include other Marines), and here he was keeping himself distracted by being mildly flirtatious with Wilkas. She had to know it, of course, and he had the sense that the feelings were mutual despite her best attempts to shield it.

At this point, his entire team knew his stance on the RTO, and Avery had been surprised he was still trying to get with her after all that had come to light. While nothing official had ever been said, scuttlebutt was a monster that went untamed, and by now half the battalion knew of her and Cruz's illicit affair. Some of the details had been left out, to which Furby was sure she was grateful, but it was still enough to crucify the both of them with.

Had it not been for the Fighting Irishman, Furby suspected Cruz would have been shipped off to the furthest backwater shithole from civilized space and left to rot in the rear with the gear. Somehow that old Irish bastard knew how to work the system in his favor, despite publicly denouncing politics in every way, shape, or form. The man was multi-talented, Jayson realized.

"So when we get our post-deployment leave, you should take me to Earth with you," Furby said with a boyish grin. "I've only ever seen it in pictures, and from what I've seen, it's beautiful. It'd be nice to tour a beautiful planet with a beautiful woman."

Jayson winced, almost waiting for a sarcastic remark or some playful teasing from his counterpart, but it never came. Lance Corporal Avery had fallen into a deep, deep sleep over an hour ago, and had not come out of it since. It was yet another sign that boredom had affected them all. Avery almost never slept before a mission unless he was bored and knew he wouldn't be called upon to do anything for awhile.

His friend was knocked out against a crate practically cuddling his machine gun, and his mouth was wide open. Every now and then he would snore, and the sound grated against Furby's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He wanted to wake the bastard up just so he could have some peace and quiet, but had decided against it.

Although...

A terrible thought implanted itself in his mind, and his lips curled into a mischevious grin. Payback would be had against the machine gunner, and it would be glorious. He looked over at Private Ward, whom was wrapped up the book he had brought with him to read, and whistled at him. "Yo, you got a marker?"

Ward shook his head without looking up at him. Jayson frowned. He glanced at Wilkas. "You got a marker or a pen, Grace?"

[Davis, E.]

Davis had taken up a place near his team, reclined and relaxing. For once in his normally busy schedule he had nothing that needed to be done. Rather than stress about things that his team could be doing, he simply relaxed. It was one of the greatest moments in the last deployment to simply be able to sit back and have no pressing responsibilities.

For about ten minutes. After that it became an agonizing exercise in boredom and patience. While he didn't vent his frustrations to anyone, he was just as bored as the rest of his team. Except for maybe Avery. The machine gunner was soundly asleep and while Davis envied him a little, he was not so carefree that he could just pass out on the flight deck. There had been a time though when PFC Davis was known to be a very heavy sleeper.

The turn in Furby's conversation with the RTO caught his attention. He could tell by the excited tone in the man's voice that he had something devious planned. Normally, he would not encourage such things, but he wanted some entertainment. A grease marker that stayed safely tucked in his cargo pocket came out as if summoned. He stuck it up in the air for Furby to see before tossing it in the marine's direction. 

"Don't lose it or you'll have to get me a new one from supply Lance Corporal," Davis said before laying back down, waiting to see the new form of entertainment.

[Chambers, T.]

The Gear checks had been all that, gear checks, then they'd formed up for inspection and been told to get ready to board the birds for a ride down to the planet. That had been two hours ago. For the first little while he had gone back to nervously checking his weapon. After around half an hour, he was interrupted by Lance Corporal Mihaylov who offered him something to do: cards. "Why not it's better than continuing to look like I'm fondling my weapon." He said with a quick laugh.

After more than a few hands, Chambers looked around other members of Oscar were doing things as varied the the marines themselves, some were tossing MREs to each other, how that was entertainment escaped him, but if he'd learnt anything since he'd become a marine when they got bored, it was always a sight to see what they could come up with to take up the time, there were also a few sleeping and what appeared to be another marine suckering others into the pick a card and I'll guess it game, surely buying 52 packs of cards wasn't worth what you could stitch people up for.

"What the hell could be taking so long, or is this the Army's way of welcoming us? probably forgot we're on the same side." He muttered out of frustration as they continued to play. Reaching into one his pocket he had a pack of gum, one he'd hoped to already be free of using, taking another piece and beginning to chew as he lost another hand. "Jeez, never let me play you again. how many do I owe ya now Lance?" The machine gunner let out. He was going to owe the Russian Lance Corporal more than he could afford, if they didn't get going soon.

[Mihaylov, D.]

Dmitrii laughed as he laid down another winning hand. While he knew the game better it was really just luck at this point. It was getting to the point where Dmitrii was starting to wonder if he was getting played. It was time for the classic "double or nothing" take where in one hand you could lose everything you had properly earned, as far as gambling could be called earning. 

Dmitrii was by no means a card shark. He had learned a couple of simple tricks while shuffling when he was younger that gained him some credibility as a card player. Many a night on the beach had ended with card games so he knew more than his share. However, he was now into Chamber for first choice on five MRE's with no sign of slowing. It was an incredible run of luck.

"It is game, nothing more," Mihaylov said with a wave of his hand. "Luck change soon, me think."

[Durant, M.]

Durant released a long, exasperated sigh as he sat upon a crate with his helmet in his lap and his rifle slung across his back. The last few hours had been quite the grind, as he and the rest of Oscar Company struggled to keep themselves preoccupied in the face of sheer boredom. Several transports -- Albatrosses -- were already lined up on the pads, waiting to be boarded. However, the order to board had not yet come, and as Gunnery Sergeant Sabre had so eloquently pointed out, it may have been a subtle move by the battalion commander to punish them for recent events. After all, Oscar Company had stirred up quite a lot of trouble, and likely been the cause of many a headache over the last few weeks.

He chuckled inwardly at that thought and shook his head. While he did not quite agree with their methods, he had to admit that morale was better than it had ever been before. Some of the revelry had died off in the last couple hours, but traces of it were still present. It was great to see his Marines ready to take on whatever might happen into their crosshairs. They were warriors, after all. The gates of Valhalla would surely be open to them should combat planetside take a turn for the worst. Durant, while by no means looking for death, was excited by the prospect that he might soon meet the gods.

However, until the time came when the enemy bested him and his platoon, he would continue to act as Thor's Hammer; doling righteous fury upon the enemies of humanity, and the UNSC.

Suddenly, the radio buzzed to life with static. The suddenness of the static burst had nearly caused him to jump out of his skin, but he managed to keep it down to a startled jolt. He tuned in and listened closely as the static was replaced by the voice of their cockney Sergeant Major. "All stations this net, yer cleared ta board da birds. Git on it, won't ya? Over."

Durant set the helmet in his lap up on his head and stood up from the crate, outstretching his arms in a long, satisfying stretch. Adrenaline shot through his veins as his heart increased its pace and blood flowed more openly. It was as if the life had returned to him -- and now it was time to breath life back into his comrades. The Lieutenant stepped forward so that he could be seen by the entirety of his platoon, and smiled. "Marines," he began as his eyes sparkled with vibrant life, "we are leaving this ship. The call of the gods has been heard, and now, as their instrument, we are to exercise their will by destroying our enemy in righteous battle! The bird directly in front of us -- Foxtrot One-Three-Niner -- is our ticket to the surface. All aboard!"

[Min Jung Jun]

Min found herself growing increasing nervous yet surprising eagerly for the fight. However. Nothing would prepare her for the coming news and there was nothing that training could do to prepare her for it. "Private Jun." A unfamiliar voice sounded from behind her, she turned around to see an officer she had never seen before, a fancy uniform, his hand held under his right arm. "I need to speak with you." He glanced at her fellow marines. "In private." Min looked swiftly over at the rest of her marines, she supposed she did have a minute or two.
"Okay sir." Min let herself be led away.
"Sit down." He indicated to the crate. Frowning slightly, Min seated herself down.

"Are you aware of the Hardship Discharge?"
"Yeah..." She answered, her voice cautiously wondering just what this may be about.
"You were in cryo before you could be notified." The officer began. "I am afraid there is no easy way to say this..." He looked uncomfortable, himself pained from the unfortunate task he was ultimate resigned to complete. "Three of your brothers were killed in action and ordinarily this would not result in a hardship discharge but it is with my deepest regret that..." He swallowed. "Your father and six of your siblings were killed in a car crash on Reach." The news hit Jun like a booted kick to the stomach. "H.. H... How? They were just..." Min managed to stammer out.

"I know this is a difficult time for, especially as you are due to go on deployment." He informed her. "But the nature of this is to inform you that you are to be going home." This news always came to her as a complete shock.
"I can't."
"You can refuse if you wish but your family needs you too."
"Do my commanding officers know?"
"They will." He pulled out a select of forms. "I have the paper work right here."
"I... I'm going to need a moment." She removed her helmet, hiding her eyes with one hand. The officer nodded. "Of course I will go inform those who are required to do so."

[Stone, T.]

With boredom often came shenanigans, and Sergeant Stone was on the prowl for those whom might run amok amidst the calm. So far the Marines had managed to keep themselves in check. A few engaged in simple activities to divert their focus away from the boredom, such as tossing rucksacks or MREs back and forth.

Stone was no fool, however. He knew better than anyone that the Marines would not remain take for long. It was simple logic, really. You keep an animal cages up long enough without the opportunity to execute its base instincts, and it became rattled, anxious. Soon enough, if the captivity continued, the animal would turn wild and unreasonable. That was ultimately what Stone had to deal with.

Wild and unreasonable animals.

The Sergeant's cold grey eyes shifted in the direction of First Team as he searched for signs of dissent, and suddenly his eyes stuck to the likes of Lance Corporal Jayson Furby. He watched as Furby anxiously asked around for some type of writing utensil in order to stencil drawings upon the visage of Lance Corporal Avery, the team's crazy machine gunner.

Much to Stone's dismay, Corporal David supplied Furby with the utensil he needed to satiate his immature desires. Thomas started forward slowly; his intention to nip any problems in the bid before they became serious, but he also moved slow enough to see any immediate reactions. Truthfully, he hoped the machine gunner would awaken and commence an ass-whooping on the young Marine for his actions. That would make his day.

As he approached, he was given a better vantage point in which to witness the events that were just about to transpire before him. He stopped dead in his tracks, resigning to wait and see what was to happen before taking any action.

Lance Corporal Furby slowly crept up to the machine gunner, amused giggles barely contained. He leaned forward with the marker between his right thumb and index finger, the top just inches from Avery's forehead. Stone stood frozen in place, hungrily watching, curious to see what was going to hapen next.

And then, just as the top of the marker was about to touch soft, dark skin, Avery's eyes shot open. The machine gunner slapped Furby's marker wielding hand away and sighed heavily, as if he was disappointed in the actions displayed by his friend.

Stone was unable to listen to the exchange as the voice of Lieutenant Durant carried across the hangar, drowning out all other sound. The officer announced the platoon was set to deploy groundside. A smile crept its way across his face.

"Alrigh', y'all stop lollygaggin' about! Git'cher asses aboard that Albatross! TLs, keep track of yer Marines! MOVE!!"

[Sørensen, E.]

The Forward Observer had spent most of the past two hours introducing himself to those he could at least for the first fifteen minutes or so, then he'd got caught up with a conversation about the party, it had been the talk over everyone including a few particular superiors who seemed to have it in for him. The tale pretty much remained the same. Oscar marines had one the fight and first team had downed 28 Navy Master at Arms, and he had gotten those of his battery out of there before leaving himself, not without incident, he did have to fight his way through a November marine or two to escape before the Navy's fun police arrived.

Once Sorensen had heard it again he moved on one of his more staple activities, flirting with female marines first then to his favorite way of getting better MREs and other things to trade for later, A deck of precisely 50 identical 10 of diamonds, and two ace of spades. Over the past just under two hours he'd gotten an invitation for after the operation if they both made it back, which he fully intended too, dying would only mean victory for those who thought him a pain in ass.

Having also made two a few favorable trades and even a spare time to get down to business seemed to have come. Lieutenant Durant spoke out to the platoon. "Marines, we are leaving this ship. The call of the gods has been heard, and now, as their instrument, we are to exercise their will by destroying our enemy in righteous battle! The bird directly in front of us -- Foxtrot One-Three-Niner -- is our ticket to the surface. All aboard!" Erik smirked at the marine before him. "Damn, lucky for you." before the other marine could do anything the deck of cards was inside a pocket and the Norwegian FO was on his way back to the platoon command element, time to get down to business.

[Furby, J.]

Furby accepted the grease marker with a mischevious glint in his eyes. The hilarity that was about to ensue would have everyone rolling on the floor in laughter, of that he was certain. He turned around and made his way back over to the sleeping machine gunner, careful to not make a sound along the way, and he removed the cap from off the marker. The smell that wafted off of the tip was oddly pleasant to him.

The Designated Marksman knelt down so that he was eye level with Avery and began to draw the tip of the marker ever closer to his friend's forehead. Avery's eyes were shut tight, indicating he was still sleeping peacefully. Furby resisted the urge to chuckle with all his might as he imagined the fruit of his labor; the giant phallis that would be etched in grease on the machine gunnner's forehead.

Davis's marker was just centimeters away from hard contact when, suddenly, Avery's eyes shot open. Before Furby had time to react, the automatic rifleman's fingers were wrapped around his hand, and he twisted his hand forcefully. Jayson cried out in shock and pain, dropping the marker onto the floor, and used his free hand to try and wrestle his arrested hand free.

"What the fuck were you doin', bro?" Avery asked, deadpan.

For all the planning that he had done, Furby had not really had the time to think of a good excuse or explanation to what he had been doing if he was to get caught. Now he was kicking himself for it. "I was just... Ummm..." he stammered.

Avery shook his head. "Next time I'm ripping your arm off. Cool?"

Furby merely nodded his head, still struggling to free himself from the vice grip of his friend's grasp. Avery nodded but continued to hold on, his other hand reaching for the marker. Furby watched in horror as he picked it up and turned it his way. He was about to mark him! That bastard!

Avery shot him an evil grin and brought the marker in front of his face like a snake poised to strike. He waved it in front of Furby menacingly, taunting him in some sick, twisted game. It was clear now that he intended to make Jayson suffer before doing the deed that he had been incapable of finishing himself. It was almost ironic.

Now, thanks to Avery, everyone would know him as Dick Head. The irony being he had been a dick head to even try to draw one on his friend's forehead while he slept. Jayson closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, and accepted whatever was about to happen to him. After all, there wasn't anything he could do. He was totally at Avery's mercy.

He waited.

And waited.

... And waited.

After a long, tense moment, he opened his eyes. Avery glared at him with an amused grin, and Furby realized the marker was nowhere to be found. Silence pervaded seconds longer between the two (and anyone in the vicinity), and then laughter broke out all around him. The machine gunner laughed along with the others, shaking his head.

"You was scared, dog!" he crowed, slapping his side as he laughed away at his expense. "You thought I was about to draw a dick on your forehead!"

Furby wasn't sure what to say. He had just been made the laughing stock of the entire platoon -- perhaps the entire company -- and his reputation was now thoroughly damaged as a result of it. "Where's the marker?" was all he could think to stammer out.

The Lance Corporal laughed even harder at the question. He pointed to his left (Furby's right) and Jayson allowed his eyes to follow the path outlined by the machine gunner's finger. Corporal Davis was leaned against his ruck, the marker clearly shown in his hands with the cap back on it. Furby cursed under his breath. He knew there was no way it could have been, but he felt like he had been set up.

It took a couple of minutes for the laughter to die down, and Furby returned to his place against the supply crates, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Private First Class Wilkas but immediately looked away, feeling embarrassed and somewhat ashamed. What had she thought of his antics? Had she lost some respect for him after the tables had been turned against him?

On second thought, he didn't want to know. The bark of Sergeant Stone rang across the hangar, calling for the Marines to shift into high gear and board the transports down to the Melfa. "About fucking time," he murmured bitterly. Had the order been given earlier, he would not have had the chance to embarass himself like he did.

Jayson snatched his rifle from off the crate and placed his kevlar on top of his head, fastening it securely. The last thing he needed was for some lifer like Stone to harass him for an unsecured helmet. As he started towards the NCO, where he assumed the squad was to assemble, he glanced over to Mihaylov. That Russian bastard had been watching the whole exchange like a hawk. He had no proof, but he knew he did.

"Not a word, Ruski!" he yelled at the man. "Not a fucking word!"

[Chambers, T.]

He'd never been great at cards, at time he'd been good, but that was rare and certainly wasn't true today, today he was getting pants'd  that was clear, he was down five first choices of MREs and it looked soon he would have to wager something else. More than anything else even not losing he wanted to get going, as that would both save him from losing more to the Russian Lance Corporal and get them dong what they had been sent here to, solve a problem.

"It is game, nothing more,Luck change soon, me think." The Machine gunner smirked at Mihaylov, "Saving all my luck for later." He said trying to cover how he truly felt, he was sure he'd already gotten lucky with staying alive once, how much longer would it hold out, he hoped long enough. Looking up as Durant summoned them. "Marines," the Lieutenant started off "we are leaving this ship. The call of the gods has been heard, and now, as their instrument, we are to exercise their will by destroying our enemy in righteous battle! The bird directly in front of us -- Foxtrot One-Three-Niner -- is our ticket to the surface. All aboard!" 

Before they could do anything the voice Sergeant Stone cut through all the other noise. "Alrigh', y'all stop lollygaggin' about! Git'cher asses aboard that Albatross! TLs, keep track of yer Marines! MOVE!!" Getting up to his feet quickly he passed his hand of cards back to the Russian. "Damn... Pocket aces..." He said jokingly as he collected his Helmet and secured it before picking up his M247 and starting off to the Squads Assembly point. As they moved together he was wary of first team, their legend and Furby's challenge before worried him and it only got worse... "Not a word, Ruski! Not a fucking word!" Chambers shook his head and kept moving, hopefully they could keep it from turning to blows because otherwise it was going to be on for young an old.

[Durant, M.]

Durant watched as Second Platoon assembled into a long line and started to filter onto the Albatross. There were looks of relief across the majority of their faces. After a couple hours stagnation and boredom, the order to bird the birds had come as a welcome change of pace. Gunnery Sergeant Sabre had even mumbled something under his breath that Durant believed to have been along the lines of "thank God."

When all were aboard the transport, Durant stepped up the ramp and into the massive troop bay of the Albatross. It was a great deal more spacious than that of a Pelican's blood tray, and for that he was thankful. Travel by Pelican was generally an uncomfortable affair when in full battle rattle, especially given the fact that generally some people had to stand due to the lack of seating. The fact that everyone had a place to sit (and then some) was a welcome change.

Michael took his seat by the exit and nodded across the compartment to Sabre. As per tradition, he was the last on the bird and would be the first off once they made landfall. He set his rifle across his lap and leaned back against the bulkhead as the intercom squelched to life. "You've boarded Albatross Airlines; please keep your hands and feet inside the troop compartment at all times. There won't be any in-flight movie as the UNSC doesn't believe in entertainment. Enjoy your flight."

The Lieutenant's brow arched at that last bit, but he said nothing. His mind was preoccupied with the thought that, in just a little while, Oscar Company would be on the ground and in the fight.

And he couldn't wait for it to come.