Log:Pew Pew Pew Dead
Pew Pew Pew Dead
OOC Date: January 2, 2016
Location: RSD Finalizer
Participants: Fuze, Duke, EM-1710
After a long day of being reassigned to things that he can't breathe a word about to anyone, DK-4077, or 'Duke' as he's affectionately called by the other soldiers, finds himself in the swing room. The young soldier is seated on one of the couches, dressed in fairly comfortable clothes (at least by Imperial standards), and watching a recording on his datapad with a thoughtful attentiveness.
FZ-4792, callsign 'Fuze', one of the squadron leaders, is propping up the bar with a group of her pilots. They're discussing the recent raid on the Serenno militia outpost. There's a lot of "and I pulled up behind him in a tight four-G inverted turn and, pew pew pew, he was history, man, history!", and "that battery on the left was being a pain in the ass, took a solid hit on the port deflector but then Alpha Seven took it out with a missile, kerblum!", and that kind of talk, aided by whooshy hand movements with thumb and little fingers held up like TIE fighter side panels. But gradually the pilots disperse to their bunks or back to the simulators to re-run the battle again, and Fuze is left on her own nursing a drink and looking quietly satisfied with herself.
Another trooper into the 'bar', but EM-1710 was a new assignment after extended simulation training. A 'shiny' trooper as it were, the woman had been assigned a day ago to Delta as the designated Marksman. Not that anyone can tell by badging on their armor. Said armor is missing as the woman steps through the door dressed in her own 'civvies', looking over the Swing Lounge. Newbie might as well be stamped on this trooper's forehead.
A woman in her late twenties. Her face is straight-sided, with a pointed chin. Her brown hair is in a military buzz cut. Cold, emotionless brown eyes survey the world from an olive-skinned face with strong cheekbones, a snub nose, and a full-lipped mouth. Her build is light to average without any pronounced muscleture, she's certainly not a body builder, and her soft curves support that fact. When she's out of her armor she is wearing basic First Order off-duty training garb - cheerless undecorated black pants, black t-shirt, black sneakers. Probably her undergarments are cheerless undecorated black too, but let's not go there.
"Sounds very dangerous, FZ-4792. I'm glad to hear the operation was a success," Duke remarks, clicking a button at the bottom of his datapad and collapsing the screen. He sets it down on the table in front of him and looks over to Emma as she enters, "Hello, EM-1710. Finding your way around well?"
"Hell yeah it was a success. Not a single fighter lost. Not one single fighter lost," Fuze replies, stabbing the air with her forefinger emphasis. "My people took out their base defenses," she says proudly, "took out their air support, and shot several hundred tons of rock down on their underground complex. Sealed the exits." So, tens or hundreds of men and women consigned to a dark and miserable death, and Fuze doesn't seem to give a damn. No, she's buzzed: "Teach them to mess with the First Order!"
"I'm adjusting," EM answers, shifting a little while she looks about with that clear 'take every litle detail in' gaze meaning she's sort of stares for a couple of seconds before moving deeper into the room. It's very different to her time on Starkiller base, being assigned to a star destroyer.
It doesn't take a genius to work out that Fuze really is buzzed, perhaps on the alcohol, perhaps on the adrenalin rush from the mission. Not falling down, not by a long way, but talking just a notch louder than is necessary and moving with just a tad exaggerated movements. She must have met DK before, so she acknowledges him with a white-toothed grin, before she turns on the vision of loveliness that is EM-1710. Her gaze takes the young trooper in detail before she, a moment later than proprietry demands, steps forwards to thrust a hand out to shake. "FZ-4792, callsign 'Fuze'," she introduces herself. "We're the flygirls and boys that save your asses every time you go into a ground scrap," she grins again. Ah, that old Navy-groundpounder rivalry at its best.
DK-4077 just watches Fuze with a blank expression. "Very good," is all he remarks as he stands up from the couch and tugs at his shirt to straighten it out. He moves to sit near the loud woman at the bar and sets a few credits down, "A water, please. Thank you." His eyes move to Emma and he says, "One of the many virtues of the First Order, is that most of our layouts are relatively uniform. If you've seen one base or ship, you've pretty much seen them all." He looks her over and continues, after Fuze breaks in, "I am DK-4077." No callsign given. "I'm sorry if me knowing your designation was a bit off-putting. It's my job."
The blonde trooper nods her head before she looks up at Fuze. No callsigns for this trooper either, but at least she introduces herself even if DK clearly already recognized her. "EM-1710. Designated Marksman for Delta." It's all rattled off quick and efficiently, proper protocol at it's finest...but she takes a breath afterwards. This -is- ment to be a place of downtime. "I'm sure I'll find my way around it eventually. I've been mostly making sure my kit was ready for the next field op."
"An admirable goal," DK-4077 says, taking the offered glass of water from the bartender. He raises it to his lips and takes a long sip. "You were stationed on Starkiller before this assignment, yes?" he asks, setting the glass back down on the bar and crossing his arms.
"Good to meet you, Marksman EM-1710," Fuze interjects, before flopping back in a comfortable chair and watching the conversation between the two Stormtroopers. At least there are no more Navy-Stormtrooper rivalry cracks. Yet. "Buy you both a drink? We're celebrating. Hey, Bartender, whatever these two want is on my tab." She waves a hand generously at the bar. "Anything you want is on me," she repeats, just in case the first time round hadn't sunken in. Yep. She's buzzed.
"Celebrating?" The dangers of being new off the shuttle? EM has no idea about the team's most recent victories...aside from what she caught from Fuze a few seconds ago anyway. DK's question however gets a nod. "Yes. I did an amount of security rotations and patrol while completing my advanced marksmanship simulation training." Security on Starkiller? Almost certainly translates to no real world combat just yet. Shinier then Phasma's armor this one.
"Very good," DK remarks once more to Fuze, this time in regards to her offer to buy drinks. "Another water," he instructs the bartender. A nod to Emma and he says, "FZ-4792's wing successfully completed their mission, and thus alcohol and celebration are in order."
"Water? What are you, some kinda Resistance sleeper? Real Stormtroopers drink firewater. Bartender, a firewater for them both," Fuze declares dictatorially, grinning broadly at both DK4077 and EM-1710, as she orders them the local potent brew, eyes sparkling a little red-rimedly. "We took out one of them militia airbases. Reckon that's all the militia outposts, now we can start on the civilians." She lines up her hand in a strafing run on Duke's glass, "Pew pew pew dead!"
"Congratulations." EM comments, but there's a hesitation in her tone. Or perhaps it's evny? Hard for the newly assigned to know exactly what to say after a successful assignment if she'd yet to be sent on one herself. The brew is regarded like it were suspicious, an unstable thermal detonator wouldn't be looked at so hard before the blonde sniffs it questioningly. "Has there been many deployments recently?"
A Resistance sleeper agent? Not exactly. Duke furrows his brow as he's being forced into drinking 'firewater'. He sighs and takes the glass, holding up to examine its contents. "A handful," he responds to Emma. "The time is finally right to bring the Resistance to their knees."
Fuze takes her own glass of firewater and raises it high. "To the ultimate triumph of the First Order, and the absolute destruction of the Resistance scum who wish to prolong the inevitable!" As toasts go, it lacks a certain snappiness, but the sentiment is unmistakeable. She downs the oily-looking clear liquid in a single gasp, and as it burns its way down her oesophagus she smiles a somewhat forced rictus as the other two.
"Not too soon." EM comments aas she sniffs the drink one more time before taking a sip for herself and making a face. Going to be an aquired taste that. "Can't have the battle over before I've even fired a shot at something other then a simulation." Actually smiling at that comment the trooper takes another attempt at her drink, but the same result result follows.
DK-4077 raises his glass to Fuze's toast and takes a short sip of his firewater before setting the glass down with a bit of a grunt. "I, for one, would rather their elimination be swift and ruthless."
"I'm sure you'll see action," Fuze consoles EM-1170. "Hell, if you're as good a gunner as you claim..." (what claim?) "...you should apply for a transfer as a tail gunner in one of our TIE fighters. We /own/ the air," she boasts arrogantly. She stands, walking mostly steadily over to the bartender to settle her tab. "I gotta go get my downtime. Pleasure meeting you, EM-1170. You take care, DK." Then she's walking away in a determined manner, as she does with everything she does. She doesn't look back.
