altoh
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Post by altoh on Oct 19, 2009 2:02:08 GMT -5
The rest of the joke was drowned out, but few cared.
The atmosphere of the break room was quite rowdy; several new personnel had temporarily interned themselves in this lonely EFSF way-station, somewhere in the depressing dark depths of space. The crewmembers, like deprived citizens of a poor nation welcomed the arrivals with open arms and generous offerings of food. It was quite a dark irony that this way-station had one of the few undisturbed supply routes and undisturbed supply bases, and no command has come yet for them to share their rations with the rest. Unlike other garrisons, they did not lack salt.
Marc Simmons, one of the very first pilots of brand new Federation mobile suits, was there to provide them with what they did lack. It was entertainment. An eager mechanic that joined the conversation a few seconds ago contributed. “Shit, Simmons, is it true that this GM thing is better than a Zack? Better than the ****in’ pig snouts?”
The blonde man turned his head in annoyance, lounging on the sofa. “…Are you kidding me? Don’t call them pig snouts. Zeon made good decisions in picking their mobile suit designs, you know. For first-generation mobile suits, they performed very well…I say us, the Federation had some catch-up to do. They’re quite admirable, honestly.”
Many groans and boos greeted Marc Simmons, all of which he dismissively waved away with a hand. “Come on. You can’t say that I’m wrong.”
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Post by druglordkai on Oct 20, 2009 16:05:37 GMT -5
Shuffling into the bar, Anton ran a hand through his hair, sighing from exhaustion.
The training was taking a lot out of him. Still, it had been worth busting all that ass to get into the MS divisions. Even with all of the excess training that entailed, he couldn't shake the feeling of accomplishment. Especially since he and the rest of the recruits would finally be ready soon.
Ready for combat.
Ready to finally help Zeon take it as hard as they'd given.
But, that would have to wait till tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to get some coffee and call it a day.
Wandering through the bar, he heard all sorts of snippets of conversation. Some comments on the war. Some talk about this Gundam mobile suit that had come out of Side 7...seemed the guys at Luna II talked this thing up.
"You mean he beat the Red Comet?"
"Hand of God, man!"
"Bullshit he did!"
He kept walking. Conversations changed...two of his fellow recruits talking about their interest in one of the female instructors...naturally, not on command tactics.
As he neared the bar, two more snippets came at him from either side.
To his left... "and the man answers, The Aristocrats!"
An old joke...kind of filthy, but still a classic.
But that's not what catches his attention.
That goes to the conversation to his right.
“…Are you kidding me? Don’t call them pig snouts. Zeon made good decisions in picking their mobile suit designs, you know. For first-generation mobile suits, they performed very well…I say us, the Federation had some catch-up to do. They’re quite admirable, honestly.”
Without even consciously realizing it, he'd bristled up on the spot. Zeon? Admirable? Those butchers?
In hindsight, he knew he should have checked himself. Thought about what was waiting for him in another day.
Unfortunately, that's the thing about kneejerk reactions.
Turning as the blonde man smugly commented, “Come on. You can’t say that I’m wrong.”
He spoke up to be heard over the din
"What the Hell was that?!"
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altoh
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Posts: 83
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Post by altoh on Oct 20, 2009 22:07:00 GMT -5
Simmons' head turned around the other way from the now angry mechanic walking away from the huddle. He raised an eyebrow at the new member of the conversation. Finding it a little bit hard to believe that he was being challenged (or believed that he was being challenged) in his analysis of mobile suit progression, Simmons stood up to face him.
"...Do I have to repeat myself? You know, it's biased guys like you who hold the Federation back. I'll say it again, the Zeons are our superiors in mobile suit technology. They're just good. There's nothing bad about acknowledging the fact that you're wrong."
He smugly gave a smirk to Anton, believing that he won the contest of wits.
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Post by druglordkai on Oct 24, 2009 2:00:10 GMT -5
Anton just stared for a moment. Fists clenched. The clarification should have helped things...instead, it just made them worse.
"You did not just...
Those monsters are a shame to spacenoids everywhere.
Their so called belief in their superiority has ruined everything Deikun ever stood for."
As his comments continued, his voice slowly increased in volume. Something he wouldn't have noticed, were it not for the other recruits slowly moving away from hm
"...they've stained the colonies with their bloodshed. They've murdered those they claim to fight for...
They are a number of things..." by this point, his voice had become a low shout
"But if there's one thing they are not..." his hands were now grabbing at Simmons's uniform
"IT IS SUPERIOR!"
To emphasize the point, he violently slammed the smug blonde man into the table he was previously sitting at.
By now, any sense of a rational voice that would have told him to stop had been drowned out in every single thought of contempt he'd built up towards Zeon in the past few months.
Mobile suits or not...this man picked the wrong person to associate the phrase 'Zeon' with 'superior' in front of.
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altoh
New Member
Posts: 83
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Post by altoh on Oct 24, 2009 2:12:08 GMT -5
"UFGH!!"
Simmons' sudden gasp of air at the shock of this transpiring situation is punctuated by a sudden flood of enlisted men pushing past the retreating recruits to surround Simmons and Anton; The greenhorns were scared of breaching regulations, but the veterans craved a good betting game. And that's what they'll exactly get.
Marc Simmons, Petty Officer 2nd Class was now gasping for breath. He attempted to pull away the vicious grip on his collars with his left hand, but it was to no use. The table rattled with each raging stutter from the aggressive Anton.
"I...If you'll just admit that you're wrong...and I'm right...IT WOULDN'T HAVE COME TO THIS!!"
With that last declaration, Simmons swung a powerful and quick jab towards Anton's jaw; He was going to free himself one way or the other.
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Post by druglordkai on Oct 24, 2009 2:33:49 GMT -5
Most of what the man below him was saying, Anton couldn't hear. The blood was rushing in his ears. About the only part that managed to get through was that final exclamation "IT WOULDN'T HAVE COME TO THIS!!"
To emphasize the point, Anton suddenly felt a sharp impact hit his jaw. His vision flashed stars for a moment. The metallic taste of something in his mouth now...as well as feeling something now in there that shouldn't be moving.
Without even stopping to spit the dislodged tooth out of his mouth, he immediately returned fire.
Drawing back in anger, he swung forward hard.
With a sick crack, he felt the first hit strike home dead center. One Hell of a lucky shot...
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altoh
New Member
Posts: 83
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Post by altoh on Oct 24, 2009 2:58:28 GMT -5
Somehow, Simmons had managed to get back up on his feet, although he was stumbling and slipping, as Anton's grip is still lodged on his collars. Fortunately, he released it soon after, giving Simmons the freedom he so badly desired.
Unfortunately, the angr(ier) man released it after landing a great shot into Marc Simmons' face. Blood stuck to the knuckles of Anton as a sick sort of trophy as Simmons lost his footing and was thrown backwards into the vending machine behind him. Glass shattered with the sweet sound of impact between the machine and Simmons' back. Clear fragments rained down on him as the Petty Officer landed on his ass, with cans of god knows what falling down to the floor one by one.
The crowd around the fight grew rowdier and rowdier, as bets were passed down and the house made the necessary arrangements. Simmons struggled to stand, though he felt his nose was somehow not right; blood had stained a third of his shirt, forming some sort of a macabre virtual tie on his crisp brown uniform.
"Y...y..you...what did you...DO TO ME?!"
Shaking his head, Simmons once again launched a surprise attack as he lunged at Anton with full force, attempting to tackle the aggressor to the ground.
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altoh
New Member
Posts: 83
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Post by altoh on Oct 27, 2009 16:54:27 GMT -5
~
The keyboard clicked endlessly and regularly for minutes. The officer writing the report was displeased at the three new reports he had to write for the day, nearly quadrupling his daily workload. But he was somewhat comforted by the huge amount of money he won for betting on this Anton Rowsdower. The officer attempted to recall the details of the result of the fight, and began to type them down. A broken table, two busted vending machines, two expended cans of apple juice, one sliding door, a metal cart, one celling light, one hallway light, a random private's glasses, and several pens and pencils.
In the end, there isn't really much wrong with requisitioning these things; The Feds haven't had trouble with their supply lines to this base. It's a perfect way-point for traveling soldiers. In fact...
Marc Simmons. Reassigned to the Floppy Lion. The ship will be here in a few days and it will be refitted to be able to carry the new Federation mobile suits. The GM D...no, E. He groused and continued to type the rest of the report, occasionally glancing at the clock in the lower right corner of the screen... they'll just hold Simmons in solitary confinement until his new leader bails him out. Anton... There was mail regarding Rowsdower. Check that out later too.
~
Two cadets carried an injured man among a poorly lit hallway, stopping in front of a lonely steel door. "...Get in."
One of the cadets dragged Simmons, now adorned with a black eye, puffy cheeks and a nice-looking large bandage on his nose. He roughly dropped the Petty Officer on the floor inside the room, clicking his tongue in disgust.
"...Hey, be nicer to him. He's technically our superior, you know." The other man standing inside the room responded. "Yeah well, you're not the guy who lost half a week's paycheck betting the wrong way."
The man outside chuckled. "Shit happens, dude. You were the one betting on the nerd who's claiming Zeon Zacks are better than his brand new spankin' suit." He looked down at Marc Simmons, who was struggling to say a few words. "..M...If this was...a mobile suit...fight...there's no way...he could've...beaten me.."
Another click of the tongue. The cadet inside the room was clearly still sore about the ordeal. He gave Marc Simmons a hard kick to the chest, with excellent quality Federation boots that haven't been broken in yet. Pure, hard leather.
"URGH!!"
And another kick. And another. "Still wanna talk shit, pussy?"
"F...f.....you...guys..."
The cadet hoisted Simmons up by grabbing his collar, and gave him his second beating of the day.
~
Simmons awoke hours later, laying on the ground.
"...Shit. ...T...the f***'s w...with...this floor...t..tastes like blood."
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