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Thorvald groggily opened his eyes and scanned the floor of his cell for a bottle that still contained booze of some form in it. He'd been free to leave his cell for several days now, but grief over the loss of his fairy had hit him hard. Empty bottles and flasks covered the floor and the air carried the heavy stench of alcohol. Even the guards who had guarded his cell earlier weren't going to make him leave. The last thing they wanted was to deal with a grief-stricken drunken lunatic like Thorvald. Shuffling bottles across the floor, Thorvald finally found one with some kind of liquid still inside, probably the last one in his cell. Standing awkwardly with the bottle in his hand, Thorvald slowly began to stagger his way out of the cell. At the door, he smiled at the guards, took a swig of the booze, and then began the long march toward the kitchens, in search of more alcohol. Not being entirely sober, Thorvald's route lead him through the hangar. A voice called to him. "Thorvald!" Thorvald looked around confused, unable to find the source of the voice. His gaze eventually settled on a bright blue mobile suit, that looked similar to the one he'd irreparably damaged in battle a few days earlier. Thorvald's mouth hung open in shock. The botttle he was carrying smashed on the floor creating a small puddle at his feet. "Lass... Can it really be ye?" Thorvald Siggurdson - 1 VP Gained A making shift boxing ring iswas set up in the starboard hangar bay of the Orange Base, with groups of marines and crewmen all standing around. Inside this ring, there are no ranks, no "non-commissioned" or "officers". Kyle Slater stands ringside, his hands resting against the ropes that are put up. Inside the ring, two marines from the KCT dance around each other. Their feet duck and weave around each other as their fists try to find a place upon each other. Yet his mind can't focus on the match he is watching. Instead, his mind drifts back to the burned and ruined jungle surrounding Jaburo. To his Beam Team, now reeling from the loss of Gerard. He had vowed to continue on, but really, why was he still fighting. Why was he standing near "The Dance"? The Prince of Orange could see that one of his top aces had his mind elsewhere. He had established the Dance as a way of war weary veterans to vent their stress. To engage one another, and leave all grudges behind, and to let the weight of memories float off as they "fly like butterflies and sting like bees". He took off his dog-tag, walking towards the ring, and placing it in the bin with all the tags. "Slater! Get your ass in here now." The voice of Nigel Ferdinand rang out as all the soldiers looked at Kyle. The Prince of Orange himself had stepped into the ring, shaking his head slightly as he looked at the pilot of the EZ-8. Kyle seemed broken out of his reverie, as he looked around. "You sure, Captain?" He couldn't help but smile, taking off his nicely pressed military jacket, and handing it off to one of his co-pilots. He slung himself underneath the ropes, stepping into the ring, as one of the marines tapes up his hands and laces on his gloves. He watched as Nigel bit into the mouthguard, slapping his gloves together as he started warming up. Kyle slowly danced into the center of the ring, while Nigel appeared calm and collected. As soon as Kyle was within striking distance, Nigel unloaded a vicious right jab, followed by a left cross. Kyle was knocked back, his head reeling from the blows delivered him. He didn't even have a chance to recover, as Nigel pressed his assault. Blow after blow, Kyle could barely dodge them, as he took fists to his stomach when blocking his face, and vice versa. Blood started trickling from his lip as the bell signaling the end of the first round rang. br> Nigel stood ready in his corner, watching the cornermen work on Kyle. His head wasn't in the game, he was bearing too much of the worries from combat on his shoulders. If he kept that up, it would get him killed in the field of battle. Another loss of a fine pilot that the Federation shouldn't have to endure. "Slater. All of you. We've come a long way in this war. The blasted Zeeks dropped a colony on us, and we didn't give up then. They came invading our homelands, and we didn't back off then. We pushed them out of Odessa, and then they made an assault into the very heart of the Earth Federation. We've lost friends along the way, some very close ones. We do their memory a disservice if we allow their losses to hold us back. We start treating each other too much like eggshells, as opposed to the military. I will not allow that in this fleet, and especially on this ship. Slater. The enemy will not show mercy. Now, act like a soldier, and fight me!" His voice was booming, as he stood tall. Kyle couldn't help but look on in aw as he spat out the water given him. The bell rang again. Kyle lunged forwards from his corner, his feet moving faster than they had when the match started. Nigel was forced to fight on the defensive, as Kyle came at him with renewed vigor. Blow after blow, they met each other in friendly practice of "The Sweet Science". Nigel smiled wide, as Kyle landed a severe blow to his stomach, and then the smile was gone as another glove landed directly along his temple. His feet gave out as his knees buckled, landing himself on the ground, his head spinning as he looked up at Kyle Slater. Kyle was smiling, laughing even. The XO of the ship came and raised his hand, declaring him the victor. Kyle Slater: 6 CP Gained, Injured 2-1 Nigel Ferdinand: 4 CP Gained, Injured 1-1 The caves of Jaburo rumbled with the sound of trucks and bulldozers. The amphibious assault, only a few days previous, had inflicted a great deal of damage. For the purpose of morale and professionalism, repairs were enthusiastically handed out. A supply admin officer with a host of men entered the mobile suit hangar with a truck. A GM Ground Sniper was loaded on, as mechanics argued with the officer. As the mobile suit was driven out, a host of other trucks with parts came. Construction began immediately, and the hangar was closed off from outside traffic. The officer sent the GM sniper away, and searched for the pilot. An hour later, he arrived at the hospital. Under the guard of federal marines, he cleared through the hallways, paying no heed to fretting nurses and doctors. Eventually, they entered their objective. The hospital room of one Arieta Marius. A marine took the doctor there to the side, speaking a few words to them. He related these to the supply admin. They opened the door. "Officer on deck!" a marine announced. Aurem saluted diligently, but a spark in his eyes betrayed his greater concern. The beeping of the monitor distracted his thoughts. "Aurem Senaiha. Orders from high command relate that you are not to be granted leave. Instead, in recognition for your efforts in defense of Jaburo, you have been reassigned to the prototype 'Heavy Gundam.' It is being assembled as we speak. You are to begin training for it immediately. We cannot afford our top of the line pilots spending their time grieving the injured. That is all. As you were." Aurem blinked, somewhat overcome. Nonetheless, he saluted again. The supply officer handed over a few documents, ignoring the greater scene around him and fully given to his duties. Then, just as rudely as they had entered, they left - leaving Aurem with the diagrams of the Heavy Gundam, and heavier concerns on his heart. Aurem Senaiha: No damage, 1 vp gained |