Post by deadguydrew on Jan 7, 2010 22:38:08 GMT -5
*Tap* *Tap* *Tap*
Cornwallis bounced his cane between his legs against the metal plates that made the Excelsior's floor, watching as the rest of the bridge crew pretended that the repetitive noise didn't drive them crazy. The flight across what had once been called the great plains had been uneventful, and painfully boring to witness from his seat on the bridge. After the endless seas of oat covered wasteland, the Excelsior began crossing the equally bland desert that lay east of California.
“Monkey! Bring me a drink.”
Monkey, whose name was really Connor, nearly jumped from his seat, scurrying to the captain's liquor cabinet at the rear of the Excelsior's bridge. The first time he had messed up one of the captain's drinks he had simply gotten yelled out, the second time he messed up it had taken a week for the bruises to heal along his back.
The bottles of gin were ice cold, and there wasn't a single bottle of dry vermouth left in the cooler. Monkey guessed that vermouth was only brought on board to throw off any new member of the crew unfortunate to have to make the commander's drinks. After pouring the straight gin into the martini glass, he garnished the drink with an olive, and hurried as fast as he could, without spilling the drink, back to the captain's seat.
The fat, white, man was obviously in his sixties, and had lost all of the hair remaining under his officers cap. He accepted the drink with one hand, resting his cane between his legs so that he could hold up a finger to make Connor wait while he took a sip from the glass. Grabbing his cane from between his legs, he jabbed the ensign in the chest with the point of the walking stick.
“Now that's how you do it. Maybe monkeys can learn a thing or two.”
Despite the throbbing pain left from being poked by the metal tipped rod, he smiled. The fat man waved his hand to dismiss the subordinate, Monkey returning to his post strangely pleased with himself.
From the main window of the Excelsior, a shimmering line began stretching across the horizon. Sipping careful at his drink, Cornwallis grimaced as he realized that in all too short a time he would be meeting with the SS. Though in the loosest sense, the SS, and TAF were playing for the same team, few in the Terrestrial Assault Force trusted them, and he assumed the SS felt likewise. Suppressing the urge to toy with the revolver hidden under his Zeon-green trench coat. He instead finished the rest of his gin, rapping his cane against the floor to get his crew's attention.
“Monkey! Another drink!”
---
The Excelsior looked out of place on the small landing strip, the massive purple Gaw covered in antennae that gave away it's function as a recon unit. Cornwallis took a moment to watch his massive charge, the vessel empty of her crew. With a sigh he waved at it, and turned his back on the ship, walking with a slight limp toward the submarine pens. Despite the ache in his leg, he had declined the offer to have a jeep carry him to the meeting where he would receive his new orders. As he took a sip from his hip flask, he wasn't interested in hurrying the meeting anymore than he had to.
As he walked he thought of his military career, and how much things had changed since the advent of mobile suit. He had never thought, as he came up on his retirement, that he would actually see war with Earth. Still, as long as there was a job that needed doing, he would do it honorably, and to the best of his ability.
It was only when a cool wind came off of the Pacific Ocean, through the cave mouth of the subterranean docks, and almost taking his hat, did Cornwallis realize that he had nearly reached his destination. He had expected the meeting to be inside one of the Jukon submarines when he had been told that the meeting was at the docks, but as he approached the pier he saw a conference table set up on the pier itself with two men, and a woman standing around it, all of them wearing the telltale SS uniform.
As he took his position at the unoccupied side of the table, he saluted the three officers, also taking a moment to remove his hat as he nodded to the lady.
“Captain Richard Cornwallis reporting for orders.”
Cornwallis bounced his cane between his legs against the metal plates that made the Excelsior's floor, watching as the rest of the bridge crew pretended that the repetitive noise didn't drive them crazy. The flight across what had once been called the great plains had been uneventful, and painfully boring to witness from his seat on the bridge. After the endless seas of oat covered wasteland, the Excelsior began crossing the equally bland desert that lay east of California.
“Monkey! Bring me a drink.”
Monkey, whose name was really Connor, nearly jumped from his seat, scurrying to the captain's liquor cabinet at the rear of the Excelsior's bridge. The first time he had messed up one of the captain's drinks he had simply gotten yelled out, the second time he messed up it had taken a week for the bruises to heal along his back.
The bottles of gin were ice cold, and there wasn't a single bottle of dry vermouth left in the cooler. Monkey guessed that vermouth was only brought on board to throw off any new member of the crew unfortunate to have to make the commander's drinks. After pouring the straight gin into the martini glass, he garnished the drink with an olive, and hurried as fast as he could, without spilling the drink, back to the captain's seat.
The fat, white, man was obviously in his sixties, and had lost all of the hair remaining under his officers cap. He accepted the drink with one hand, resting his cane between his legs so that he could hold up a finger to make Connor wait while he took a sip from the glass. Grabbing his cane from between his legs, he jabbed the ensign in the chest with the point of the walking stick.
“Now that's how you do it. Maybe monkeys can learn a thing or two.”
Despite the throbbing pain left from being poked by the metal tipped rod, he smiled. The fat man waved his hand to dismiss the subordinate, Monkey returning to his post strangely pleased with himself.
From the main window of the Excelsior, a shimmering line began stretching across the horizon. Sipping careful at his drink, Cornwallis grimaced as he realized that in all too short a time he would be meeting with the SS. Though in the loosest sense, the SS, and TAF were playing for the same team, few in the Terrestrial Assault Force trusted them, and he assumed the SS felt likewise. Suppressing the urge to toy with the revolver hidden under his Zeon-green trench coat. He instead finished the rest of his gin, rapping his cane against the floor to get his crew's attention.
“Monkey! Another drink!”
---
The Excelsior looked out of place on the small landing strip, the massive purple Gaw covered in antennae that gave away it's function as a recon unit. Cornwallis took a moment to watch his massive charge, the vessel empty of her crew. With a sigh he waved at it, and turned his back on the ship, walking with a slight limp toward the submarine pens. Despite the ache in his leg, he had declined the offer to have a jeep carry him to the meeting where he would receive his new orders. As he took a sip from his hip flask, he wasn't interested in hurrying the meeting anymore than he had to.
As he walked he thought of his military career, and how much things had changed since the advent of mobile suit. He had never thought, as he came up on his retirement, that he would actually see war with Earth. Still, as long as there was a job that needed doing, he would do it honorably, and to the best of his ability.
It was only when a cool wind came off of the Pacific Ocean, through the cave mouth of the subterranean docks, and almost taking his hat, did Cornwallis realize that he had nearly reached his destination. He had expected the meeting to be inside one of the Jukon submarines when he had been told that the meeting was at the docks, but as he approached the pier he saw a conference table set up on the pier itself with two men, and a woman standing around it, all of them wearing the telltale SS uniform.
As he took his position at the unoccupied side of the table, he saluted the three officers, also taking a moment to remove his hat as he nodded to the lady.
“Captain Richard Cornwallis reporting for orders.”