Futuristic Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842

[SirDerpingtonIV]

"There was once a world in which dwelled powerful beings of near-infinite magic, who shaped reality to their whim. The original ordinary inhabitants of this world have long since gone extinct, but their "Gods" lived on. Although our Confederation has come to know so precious little over time, and only by the aid of our... newest members may we know anything at all, we have learned enough. On this far-off world, the "Gods" ruled together, in peace and harmony. That was, until one among them betrayed the others, seeking ultimate power over his siblings to reign in their disorderly excesses. This "God" is known as Argerron, the god of Order, and by his will was sparked the fire that has forged our Confederation, the Onslaught. Some call them demons, others call them monsters, but all I can tell you, is that they are fuckin' efficient. Some members of our Confederation have fled from them for thousands of years as they burn their path across the universe, enslaving all life under the 'Order' of Argerron. Other members have only recently joined, but together we must make a stand. This solar system is the last we have, as we're surrounded, unable to flee any longer. It is here, that the Confederation have to make our final stand." -Officer Miles Amorrant

Hello everyone! In this RP you'll be playing as members of Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842, made up either new blood, remnants of other squadrons, recruited convicts, etc. To defend the Laarusystem, more commonly known as The Last System, the Confederation is enlisting every able bodied being in its borders for the coming conflict. The new recruits are forced into the navy or army, which are united under the common leadership of the Confederate Naval Command (CNC). The leaders of the CNC control the whole of the Confederation in these dark times, and cast all available resources to the war effort, otherwise this spells doom for the free peoples of the universe.

Speaking of doom for the universe, the Mad God Aggeron commands an army of space-demons, wielding sci-fi tech and powerful magic, additionally having enslaved peoples from conquered worlds to fight as slave soldiers. The Confederation has been on the run for thousands of years, until being forced into the Laaru system, home to the Ugir (A race of large, bone-plated Giants from the wasteland planet of Ugora), the Semyra (A race of fish-men from beneath the beautiful azure seas of Paradisa), and the Kathyrr (A hivemind of large insectoid ant-men from the desert planet Kathyrr). All three races have joined the Confederation, knowing their limited options.

CS Sheets: Futuristic - Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842 Pilots
Lore: Futuristic - Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842 Lore
OOC: Discord - Free voice and text chat for gamers
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The RP will commence on the orbital Hanger Platform JZ-342, named after the Jogus-Zarkiil Asteroid Field that encircles the system. JZ-342, often known as the Meat Factory to its crew and pilots, is on the border of the system, and shall soon likely face the brunt of Onslaught assaults. The space station has been transported through 23 separate solar systems since its construction 483 years ago, and has been repaired and renovated countless times since. It is infamous for its high casualty rate among pilots, almost as if the place is cursed.

Specifically, you all will be in your squadron's personal hanger, L3, where you are speaking to CNC Officer Miles Amorrant, a gruff human veteran with metal legs. He has been tasked with keeping you all in line on the station, as some of you may have... less than savory backgrounds.

 

[SirDerpingtonIV]

August 5th, 5792 C.Y

The newly formed Confederation Reserve Squadron M-842 had been stationed in orbital Hangar Platform JZ-342. The hanger, although a defensive platform known for its production of veterans and aces throughout the continued war, is known as the Meat Factory. This is most likely due to its poor conditions, lack of space for pilots and crew, and the massive casualty rate of its pilots, as the platform is often placed near to the frontlines, to cover more poorly defended sections where its pilots have little support.

This latest system has been no different, and pilots pray to whatever gods, if any, that they aren’t on the station when the Onslaught arrive, or else they have little chance of survival. This new squadron, stationed in hangar L3, is one of the worst, made up of convicts, snobs, extremists, and other such unsavory folks. So, the squadron was assigned the veteran Miles Amorrang, someone likely capable of keeping these misfits in line. Miles had a reputation for harsh command, the hangar L3 a reputation for producing squadrons that were wiped out near immediately after or during their first battle, and the station as a whole was likely haunted, or just ludicrously dangerous, given the extensive casualties it bore during periods of conflict.

Standing in the hangar were members of the squadron, their aircraft, and a rather sour looking Miles Amorrant.

“Among you, I see...” he glanced down at his Holopod screen, eyes scanning along it for a few moments. It was older technology, showing his tendency for hanging in the past.

“My number two is a... Miss Nore-a-mar,” he grumbled, looking up for a moment, finding the eyes of the Xii-Marth veteran. “Guard my back well, least you’ve flown before,” he sighed, a scowl on his lips. He knew little of her, save that she had lost a squadron previously. The old veteran could only hope it wasn’t her fault, he didn’t want a failure as his wingman.

“My number three is... a fuckin’ ant. By hell. What kind of nonsense, I told command I didn’t want any more ants in my squadron since they can’t be relied on,” he growled, prodding his finger towards Krex’Killik, who merely met his gaze in silence.

“My number 4 is... a fuckin’ useless dominion noble. Lovely. Says here you are here because yer rich fuckin’ daddy wants you here. Ya piss him off somehow, to end up getting put in this squadron?” Miles taunted, a glare on his face. “Dominion louts are always stupid and worthless, but since you’re a noble you’ll also be fuckin’ arrogant about it.”

“My five’s a grunt from the army, least you’ll listen to directions, eh?” He chuckled, before shaking his head. “Too bad you’re likely to crash the plane and kill yourself before the demons even have a chance.”

“Got an... Airfellow as my 6. Least we’re not all worthless here, though if you’re in this squadron your probably shit anyhow,” he said with a sigh, as mugs grinned.

The officer took a few more moments to look through the roster, a glare growing on his face. “They couldn’t even be assed to assign some of ye numbers, and most of the numbers are fuckin’ wrong. Why is there a blasted 77 in a squadron of... under twenty or something?” He sighed, rubbing a palm over his face for a few moments, as if trying to gather together his next words.

“All of you fuck off to the Cafeteria, I want some rest,” the old Officer grumbled, climbing up into his own Horseshoe fighter, placing his legs up on the control panel in the cockpit, and drifting off to sleep.

Mugs shrugged, and glanced at a small map he had on his Hololense. “Right... you all want some food?”

 

[Unicorn666]

(holy shit.)


As mockery flew from the assigned 'captain' of their squadron, Raz'velios slowly realized the ominous truth. They were not the best pilots, this was not the most efficient squadron, their aircrafts were far from advanced, and their captain was far from a leader. Words such as 'tyranny' and 'dictatorship' sprung into the cadet's mind when he first saw their new leader, and despite the saying "first impressions are wrong", they imprisoned themselves in his head ever since. He always felt as if the man wore a crown too big for his head. The feeling of creeping trouble never left the young man's side whenever Miles was in the room, for a reason so far he was unable to explain. Perhaps, it were the rumours and the veteran's reputation that created his opinion, or perhaps it is because of those rumours he felt an uneasy aura around the old man. It felt as if he attracted trouble and terrible luck. Or, perhaps, it was something different.

No matter the reason, the cloaked cadet disliked the man. He wasn't going to speak up about it, however. When in a murderer's lair, you do not critique their work, lest you wish to leave your mortal coil. Anyhow, they were told to, as some officers would say, 'move their asses' over to the cafeteria. It wasn't exactly the most mind-boggling of places, but a nice place to rest if one is weary. As, presumably, the squadron was about to move, one of the cadets spoke up. A bearded man, not too old and not too young, with a habit of expressing friendliness towards others. It wasn't an unwelcomed gesture, but a weird one nonetheless. To assume one would treat another with as a friend from the beginning is simply foolish, to say the least.

"Indeed. Everyone feels the morning hunger, I presume?"

Raz'velios replied, restating the question 'Mugs' stated earlier. As the man moved across the cold, yet, alluring corridors, his clothes flowed like some sort of plastic bag on his slender body. The young cadet wore clothing out of curiosity, simply wishing to know how it feels to have them on. And it hid, what humans would say, the 'skin and bones' of his body from the gaze of others. After all, he did look somewhat human-like, it could disgust some people. The 'swamp green tank top', as it was described to him, did a poor job of covering his hideous looks. But, at least. it was something. He also had to cut pieces of cloth from the back to let his wings through. The baggy black pants did a much better job, the man's feet being completely bandaged with cloth only to reveal the sharp claws. Their forearms and hands recieved a similiar treatment, with dirty claws untouched. His race never really considered clothing - armor, sure - since they had no need to wear them, except for their cloaks. Everyone hid their mouths in some way or another, so to not let the Wheel hear what they say. If the Wheel of Fate catches them, what they said will be used against them, as his people believed.

The Nafarian pondered as he moved closer to the cafeteria. They had escaped the Wheel once more not too long ago, so when will the machinations of fate catch up to them? When will the Wheel turn their gaze upon them? How long until they meet their doom? As the old song goes, when will they see their "flaming star"? According to the rumors about their leader - not too long, as their reputation told a tale of several dead squadrons. An unsettling thought, indeed. But, maybe now that he's escaped it once more, the Wheel of Fate will finally give up and stop chasing his race? And even if it catches up again, they've continuously escaped it's cycle of birth, death and rebirth, what will stop them now? The glyphs have worked in their favor countless times, what will be different this time? All these questions were crammed into the zoned out mind of the 51-st, and even more appeared with every passing moment. Raz knew what he'd write in his journal today. Once his thoughts had turned calm, he realized he must've zoned out for a bit.

"..So, how is everyone feeling?"

The man asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.

 

[idalie]

Camhlaidh "Scottie" McTavish ​

The Scotsman was an intimidating brute of a man, arms crossed and biceps bulging to stretch the tattooed skin taut over muscle. His shoulders were slightly hunched, brow furrowed, wearing an old battered leather jacket over his flight suit. Their officer, assigned to the ragtag bunch didn't seem a bad one to have -- although call McTavish biased for the jab Amorrant made at the Dominion kid. Nobles of that type made his skin crawl, fighting an urge to give a menacing side-eye to either of the Dominion men. Still bitter after his father's forced vanishing and the bones of emaciated workers. Nay, if anything, it wasn't his problem and he wouldn't act like it was. Last thing he needed was some Hoity-Toity assholes tagging him. As for the rest of the team, they were a mixed sort of skill and ability, a motley crew of men and women intent on suicide apparently. Not that Scottie minded, he supposed it was a better way to go out rather than hiding to perish like cowards do. Scared and smelling of piss.

Camhlaidh once recalled his father remarking it was every man's duty to fight for life, as denizens of the universe. For unlike how the Dominion presented them, the worker bees, it was a sacred thing they held in grubby palms. The only blessing they would receive and one easily withdrawn at that. It was a cruel existence and one worth every selfish breath, for there was more than anger and unfairness. But balance had to remain as it did in nature, and they made it so mockingly beautiful. One would only feel absurd giving it up. Scottie wouldn't say he was standing in that hangar for the right reasons, after all, he'd been part of the convict conscription program thanks to being caught between the law and a hard place. Nevertheless, he had the heart for it and one could say he saw it as an opportunity even -- he perhaps wouldn't have joined under any other condition.

The older officer left to clamber into his cockpit, leaving McTavish amused if anything else, his orders still a fading echo of obscene language. Mugs, the said Airfellow interrupted a hanging silence which had momentarily overcome the group occasionally interrupted by squeaking boots. Thus the migration of the Squadron began on toward the Cafeteria, through clean corridors and the occasional flickering light which needed replacing, although would most likely never be. One of the members had spoken up before, although received a nonchalant grunt from Camhlaidh initially, then again to question how everyone was doing. An odd-looking creature, then again he'd been living in Faeron Z for so long, Xenos' appearances had little impact. Unless they were of a particularly outstanding and awe-inspiring form, which so far, he'd only managed to think that of the hookers.

"Like we jist signed up fur a bludy suicide pact." The Scotsman's strong Gaelic brogue replied, massaging the side of his temple. "Aye, dinnae get me wrong, I've hud it comin' but ne'er expected it tae be in th' army." McTavish walked with the swagger of a labourer through and through, after all his father said they bled redder than the Dominion's flag. Sniffing and glancing off, Scottie arched his brow at the small following. "Guess thes is our lot then, but I've won cards wi' worse hands."

Picking up the pace a little and ducking through to the cafeteria he made a beeline towards the coffee counter. Reboiled for the tenth time, tasting suspiciously of tangy metal and heaped with sugar. He'd been aboard for a month or two already before being assigned a squadron, making himself useful down in the engine rooms with the rest of the Greasemonkeys. If only he hadn't been conscripted, perhaps he could've chosen to remain one of the main ship engineers rather than one for a smaller team with a smaller chance of surviving. Even so, beggars couldn't be choosers and it was honourable. You couldn't say no to a little bit of glory, even if glory was getting thrown into space or torn apart by demons. In any case, he'd not met anyone as far before getting shuffled around again to M-842. Caffiene before interaction and he'd be less likely to insult the little lords who'd come to play navy.

 

[pilgrim_]

It made no sense.

It made no sense.

The Confederacy had flew down, requested the Kurresh give up their warriors, and started giving out orders. They agreed to take responsibility of the last races in what remained of inhabited space, to put in as much effort as possible into the defence against the Onslaught, together with the surviving factions and species, in a bitter rejection to the conquest of their universe.

They saw fit, somewhere along the line, to promote this man as a leader, who was supposed to be an example of how Humans behaved when presented with the possibility of extinction at the hands of a cruel invader. He wanted to tear this derisive man's throat out- he was criticising non-pilots, all while being a non-leader.

He supposed this was why the Dominion made only a fraction of surviving societies. Disorder was the norm in this species, not the anomaly.

Stability, he thought. To think resentfully is an insult to your species. He is only Human, after all, they have their psychological limitations. They tire easier, and even you do not know what will occur when faced with the Onslaught. If you do not straighten your discipline now, this man's jokes alone will start to wear you down. And that is what the Humans call having a "stick up your ass".
Hruska's head turned away from Miles, some of his locks bristling slowly above the black flight uniform. He faced Mugs, assuming he had some kind of important message that would elaborate on further information about their wor-

Oh, he just wanted food too.
Getting away from Miles was in his mutual interest though, and so he made away close behind the Nafarian, opting not to answer the question; he wasn't particularly hungry, he'd gotten rid of that desire, but he appreciated the necessity to eat anyway. However, he learnt that among the individualistic races that such responses were considered unnecessary, and so only gave a low sound of validation instead. It was odd. An honest question could not be always answered with full honesty.

However, the next query was confirmed by the Human as wanting of a fairly lengthy response. How was he feeling?
"I have read that Human armies fight on their stomachs. I hope then, that rest serves that man well, and he straightens out when we meet him next," a translation device uttered in a semi-monotone rhythm to Raz'velios.
Another flaw of some men- their tendency to find bitter insulting humour in something as simple as a non-human using a translation device. It was the Dominion recruits that typically carried this sort of thing out, and it was unusual. Racial relations genuinely spread disconduct into mankind, not just light disgust.
They called him Stephen Hawking at times to try and insult him. Puzzling, given that the man was pre-Confederate hero of science, according to all records. It had to be insulting, because their faces curled into that familiar wrinkle of superiority.

It did not matter. He was dwelling too much, he thought. The replicating corridors seemed to stretch on forever, and gave an entrance for these distractions.

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

One of the first things Bodii learned from the organic species' was that if you are 10 feet tall, you should stand at the back. It was a hard lesson learned, his first day on the job when he stood near the front. He wanted to appear eager and battle-ready. He thought that it would impress his commanding officer. Instead, he was met by angry shouts and thrown water bottles to the back of the head. It was the first and only time he was universally hated by everyone in the room. From that day on for the next seven years, he stood at the back of the group. Today was no different. He stood at the back, towering above all the other pilots listening intently to his new commanding officer. He was unsure that the other pilots were aware of his presence, or if they were maybe they thought he was simply not part of the group because they had mostly ignored him even before the arrival of their grumpy, disheveled captain.

Bodii had to admit that the captain was quite an odd fellow. He sat there insulting a few of the members of his new squadron for some time before dismissing them to eat. It was strange that he was unimpressed with his staff when clearly he should be thrilled. A diverse amount of fresh cadets meant that they were clean slates and easy to mold! Surely that was good news. Not to mention, the diversity meant that there would be a lot of different strengths on this team. As far as Bodii was concerned, there was no downside.

Bodii contemplated going to the cafeteria for some time, after all he did not need to eat, before deciding that he would bring a tea to their new captain. The obvious reason for the captains' disdain was that he was feeling tired, or hungry, or sad. Therefore, Bodii decided that he would bring a tea to cheer him up. The humans had taught him that drinking tea together was a sure sign of friendship and happiness.

A few of the squad members started towards the cafeteria and Bodii followed quite a distance behind with a distinct and steady *THUD* *THUD* *THUD*. When he arrived the group was already deep in some sort of conversation. Bodii tried to make out what the conversation was about but unfortunately was unable to decipher the strange language the human was speaking. It seemed as if he could understand some words as English but the rest was all mumbled gibberish. Orange wisps of confusion swirled in his display. Perhaps he would get the human to teach him this strange language some day.

In the meantime, it seemed like a perfect time to introduce himself, unaware that interrupting people was rude.

"I am Bodii." The deep, metallic voice echoed throughout the cafeteria. The orange wisps on his display slowly faded to a grid-like blue.

 

[Pavan]

Durall was not impressed by the human comander. He was brash, and un proffesional. But Durall had learned early that looks can be decieving. As an agent of the collective he had been provided with the files of most of his new squadmates. Every thing from physical evaluations to criminal records. In this group that had been shoved together on a little rock in space they had a dominion lord, a convict, a warrior, a assortment of automated of varying lethality and a collection of other species. As far as Durall knew he was one of three Rantans on the station, one working in engineering the other a quatermaster bur he had yet to see any of The Aavklari. This confused Durall as he was informed that his mission was to prevent betrayel from any Aavklari. How can you watch something that isnt there? But he knew the collective had a reason for him bieng here. He simply had to wait for it to become apparant.

As the group made its way to the cafateria Durral fell to the back of the group to observe. The opinion of the commander seemed fairly unanimous so at least the squadron had something in common. When the group's converstation was severed by the ten-foot automated introducing himself Durall stepped forward aswell. "Durall is most pleased to meet new squad mates. Durall also wishes to know which of the cafaterias options are the most... eddible" It seemed there where two common things accross the universe. Death and bad rations.

 

[Hextremus]

"Permission to speak freely, meatbag."

It wasn't a question. The voice that cut through the air was snide and gratingly synthetic, the voice of an Automated. The menacing black and purple Automated took a step forward with a faint whir, optics burning white as it directed its words towards Mugs, since the probably self proclaimed captain of the Squadron was an unreliable sack of Xekiid waste. Without waiting for a confirmation, the Automated spoke again.

"According to my remaining logic circuits, the commanding meatbag that is currently sleeping on duty is a waste of resources and should be used for live-fire target practice by the soldiers aboard this station."

Calidus proudly proclaimed his opinion to the human known as Mugs before slowly easing into a salute, the motion somehow coming across as sardonic despite him being a robot. Despite having no memory of his past, Calidus knew what his purpose was, and he was sure that the meatbags around him would only obstruct that purpose. His programming stopped him from harming them without provocation, however... how strange.

"I cannot consume food but I will do my best to socialise with the DISGUSTING ORGANIC WASTES OF SPACE that I share this Squadron with. Excuse me, meatbag."

His white optics shifted to bloody crimson about halfway through his finishing statement, his voice rising in volume and somehow growing even more grating. They returned back to their normal white as quickly as the red had come, the faulty Automated spinning on his heel and making for the cafeteria, stalking his way there. Even walking he appeared hungry for a fight, fingers twitching constantly and glowing optics swivelling from side to side. He for one had no desire to make for the cafeteria, but their commanding officer had ordered them to. Orders were orders. Upon reaching the cafeteria with the gaggle of organics as well as a bloody massive Automated, he decided to be friendly.

"Hello, meatbags. I too enjoy consuming disgusting burned pieces of small rodents and other such forms of sustenance. Does anyone wish to discuss the best way to tear out a Demon's insides without any tools?"

Calidus tilted his head to one side in a sad mockery of curiosity. It was a genuine question.

~
​

"What a nice man! He's just like my shadow!"

Mackenzie J. Capelli said to herself when Miles finished speaking, applauding the veteran as though he'd performed an incredible speech before he decided to take a nap. Capelli slowly stopped clapping, looking around at everyone, still talking to herself.

"Hold on a second... is it nap time now? Do we sleep now? I want to sleep. I can sleep, right? How do you sleep again?"

Capelli soon found herself alone as the Squadron drifted out of the hangar. She watched them go and made a quiet 'oh' of realisation.

"Of course. Silly me! We need to sleep in beds! Yes! Let's go find beds! This field trip is so exciting!"

She quickly began making her way after them, eventually reaching the cafeteria with them. She couldn't suppress her confusion as she glanced around, scratching the top of her helmet as though it was her scalp. She held her hand up as though wanting to ask a question, glancing around the Squadron.

"Yeah, uh, guys, where are the beds? Are we cuddling with the food? Cause I don't want to cuddle the food, they say mean things to me."

She continued to glance around with her arm upraised. Hopefully someone would take pity on the poor girl.

 

[DarkianMaker]

Noramar Seddu-Xaa​

Already had this human captain insulted her to no believe, he didn't address her by rank, called her Noreamar the sheer arrogance of it and then didn't mention her surname probably for the best as he would probably fuck that up as well, implications that she should protect his back as if she was here to do that and he'd probably think she'd become his wingman he wishes he got that lucky but that's what cadets are for, not NCO's. He couldn't even give his first command without cursing and then HE WENT TO SLEEP?! She already felt like she wasn't going to miss this officer and his already appearance of being a rotten old human. She had already heard stories about him throughout the time she had already spent on the station and she wondered how someone like him could even be placed in command of such a diverse and inexperience squadron which wasn't even up to strength for that matter. eMugs suggested to go to the cafeteria and she agreed although she already ate, it would be good for the cadets to get to know each other.

On the way to the cafeteria she nudged Lucius. "With a leader like that you seem at least capable enough." She muttered with a chuckle. She had met Lucius before during her time on the station and even though she wished she could slap some sense into the man he was at least competent and actually came from a faction whose military wasn't comparable to a bag of turds. She wouldn't become friends with him, but given time she could see them become comrades-in-arms one day. She ignored most of the others as it was mostly banter although she did hear the sound of an older auto-translator behind her and she took note of the Kurresh fellow who used it, she recalled seeing a file on a Kurresh pilot joining them, a man named Hruska'gaatar. She laughed and replied. "I'd hope so too cadet."

When they arrived at the cafeteria she went straight for the counter and received a good cup of tea, the staff there already knew better than making her drink the horribly reboiled crap. She overlooked the group and frowned at the sight of the big Automated. Why is that combat drone following us around? He better not be one of the pilots. She grumbled under her breath before she heard a girl's voice ask something and she looked up to see cadet Capelli with her arm raised up. "Cadet Capelli, the beds are in our 'dorms' and no we don't cuddle with our food, we eat it." She said as she put a hand on Capelli's shoulder. "Are you hungry Capelli?"

 

[Braddington]

The Hon. Augustus Oswald George Friedrich de Courtney
Cadet of his Majesty's Royal Navy and heir of his Lordship, Viscount Hadrianus de Courtney, Deputy Minister of Propaganda
​

Augustus had no idea why he was here. Why he was sent to this....hellhole. As he stood there, in a dashing and rather expensive blue uniform that looked like it had been modeled off of a painting hanging up in the estate, he couldn't help but panic. He was surrounded by Xenos in an unknown place about to enter a war he thought he would never have any part of. If the causality figures his father ranted off were anything to go by, he was about to die. But he had to be strong, he had to put on a straight face else he would become a laughing stock. He was cut from the brightest minds in the Dominion, if anyone could make it through this, he could.

Be strong

A human Captain of some description began walking up and down the line of pilots that were to make up his squadron. Augustus payed him no mind, he had more important things to worry about right now. Like those ghastly fighters...they weren't going to put him in one of those things, right? His thoughts were interrupted by the Captain who came to him next. Augustus simply smiled at the man, trying to pull off a military like pose of some kind that didn't work in the slightest. All he got in return was insults. Insults. Did this man have any idea who he was? Did this man have any idea what basic manners were? How he was in charge of anyone was a mystery. Officers needed to be gentlemen of the highest order, his father taught him. This being was far from gentle and was only just barely a man with those barbaric words. Still, it was to be expected. He had been taught that soldiers were sometimes crass, he just didn't expect it of the officers. He remained in line, wanting to speak out but remaining quiet. Eventually the man went to go...sleep? He was sleeping. This was an officer? This thing, this creature? I am going to die.

Another human by the name of "Mugs" came out next. Presumably not his real name. He suggested food, something Augustus quite agreed with. He was starving. A feast would be most welcome now to be sure. Have to make his last meal worthwhile, after all. With that, Augustus followed the rest of them, remaining towards the back ever quiet, searching for his friend James. He spotted a familiar face getting patted on the back by the one Miles called "His number 2", not James, but his cousin. He had known Lucius from his childhood and he knew he was in the war but in the same squadron? He assumed he would be leading a fleet right now. What happened?

Without hesitation he put on a broad smile and marched over to Lucius with determination, waving his hands and shouting louder than he thought he was at the man. "Lucius? It's me! August! August de Courtney! Hadrian's son, your cousin! Remember!" And without giving the man time to react, engrossed him in a hug. He had no idea why the hug was necessary....he was just happy to see a trustworthy face.

High Moon

 

[lilcherrykitten]

Angrissi peered around at the ragged group she was sent to die with, her ears twitching at the annoying and low drone of her Commanding Officer, Miles. How he managed to get this position she had no idea, the old and frail looking human barking out insults to half of her pitiful squadron, all of them looking vaguely bored and uninterested in the fact that they were going to die soon if the past had taught them anything. She studied them all carefully as she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed. There were more humans than she expected, the two from the Dominion looking like they wanted to be anywhere except stuck on a ship with a bunch on inhuman creatures. She suspected that they would be the first to go, the Dominion from what she heard was a sheltered place, the people living there set apart from the rest of the world. The real world. Angrissi's fur rippled as she took in the rest of the squadron, her size becoming glaringly obvious as she stood next to creatures at least a foot taller than herself. A small smirk played on her face, no doubt they would underestimate her and she couldn't wait for when they did.

As their captain dismissed them and Mugs suggested food, the rest of her squadron ambled their way to get food and tea, Angrissi hung behind everyone, still looking at the mess of creatures that she was. She felt out of place in the group, and she knew she had to make sure she got along with at least some of them for the sake of the battle. Reluctantly, she pushed herself off the wall and followed the gigantic automated, his announcement of his name making her wince and flatten her large and sensitive ears for a moment.

"That's nice, Bodii." She grinned up at the large metal creature.

"I'm Angrissi." She went to sit next to the automated that was double her size, grabbing herself a mug full of steaming but disgusting tea. The rest of her squadron spread out, already forming bonds and talking to each other although no one looked happy to be here but Bodii.

Angrissi sipped her tea with a grimace, this was definitely going to be an interesting experience.

 

[Hextremus]

Mackenzie J. Capelli

Capelli glanced around when a voice spoke, her eyes settling on an unfamiliar alien woman that told her where their beds were and that they don't cuddle food. This made Capelli hum in thought, placing a finger to the chin of her helmet.

"But nice tall alien lady, if there are only beds in the dorms then how will we take our hourly power naps? This is a silly system. My system is much better."

The alien woman then placed her hand on Capelli's shoulder and asked if she was hungry. The cadet made no move to shrug the hand off, humming in thought again and shrugging her shoulders to show that she didn't know.

"Well, you know, my belly isn't telling me anything. My mouth is telling me things though. He always echoes what I say. See? He's doing it right now, the silly goose. Anyway I think I could go for a drink. Do you have any gasoline?"

Capelli clapped her hands together and tilted her head to one side as she spoke to the alien woman. She sounded like she was smiling cheerfully under the helmet she wore, someone completely out of place at the frontlines of a desperate war.

 

[Unicorn666]

The answers his crewmates gave the Nafarian were far from pleasing. It appears no one had any hope in their own abilities, which quite frankly surprised Raz'velios. The man with a peculiar accent replied first, and his message was hard to decipher, but the winged cadet understood what he meant as soon as he heard him say "suicide". The second reply was rather informative, and he only nodded to it in agreement. The rest? Unfortunately, he did not hear the rest. He zoned out once more. Raz'velios' mind was still clouded with questions he wished to answer, and he simply couldn't focus at the moment.

This team.. What chances of survival did they have, with a leather such as Miles? Surely the team has competent members, even if they are 'green', as Humans would say. These people can be trained into excellent pilots, yet Raz was suspicious of the leader of theirs. They were no warrior, and had no right to lead him into battle, not to speak of a whole squadron. Perhaps, they would recieve a new leader soon? Or, as the Kurresh suggested, he simply requires rest to act like a leader? Miles is an old person, after all. As time passes, the more feeble your bones and flesh become, like everything else in existence.

As Raz'velios finally arrived at the cafeteria, his mind snapped back to reality. He knew precisely what he wanted to eat. So, the blue-skinned cadet walked over to the.. 'food counter' are what they called, he believed, and grabbed a free plate. As he looked around, he saw several people mostly grabbing something to quench their thirst. Was he the only one who felt hunger, or, perhaps, they've already consumed their morning rations? No matter. Raz took a large spoonful of tiny yellow square-shaped seeds that people called 'corn', some yellow slime-like substance called 'mashed potatoes' with presumably meat or.. perhaps mushrooms? In them. His plate was already full. Deciding where to sit and who to join in a conversation, he heard an interesting question. The best way of ripping out the spinal cord of a demonic creature without the help of a weapon or a tool?

Quite an interesting topic. It could help Raz gain information on new ways to attack or, perhaps, even learn new things biology-related. He heard many voices join conversations. Cheerful, 'sophisticated', monotone and robotic, squeaky and silvery. Many a people have gathered here to form the squadron, indeed. The winged man approached the black Automated with a rather brisk pace, a full plate of food and the sounds of his feet sweeping the floor with bandiges clear as ever.

"Greetings. I am Raz'velios, one of the Nafaras that is part of the squadron, and I would quite like to discuss the most efficient ways of fighting demons. It is an interesting topic, and knowledge such as that will proove useful in the future. Now, shall we take a seat at one of the tables?"

The Nafarian replied to the taller Automated, waiting for a response.

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

As the one named Durall introduced himself to the group, Bodii lifted his hand, faced his palm towards the man, shifted it to the left once, and to the right once. Someone had once taught him that this was a type of greeting called a "wave". Supposedly it was a way to say "hi" without really saying it. It was rather confusing, but he had found it effective in the past. The Automated remained silent at his follow-up question. Bodii had never eaten a piece of food in his life, (he didn't even have a mouth), and he felt that he could not offer Durall a useful opinion at that time.

In the meantime, Bodii decided to follow through with his plan to cheer up his captain. He stared down at the assortment of mugs and machines in front of him. There was one off-colour yellow mug left in the pile. 'How Perfect!' He thought. Yellow was the colour that appeared on his display when he was happy, surely this is the mug that would incite the most joy in the captain. Bodii reached down to grab the mug, which immediately shattered in his well-meaning death grip. It was apparent that Bodii had never done anything like this before. He was a little disheartened at the fact that the only colour left was black- but you know what? The colour of the mug doesn't matter, it's the tea that would bring him real joy. With extreme care, Bodii picked up the mug and the kettle. Unaware that pouring water was a delicate act, he turned the kettle completely upside down and dumped all the water into the mug. Predictably, the mug overflowed and spilled boiling water all over the floor. He looked down at the mess he had made and decided that it was a danger to anyone walking around this area.

"Be careful." He proclaimed to no one in particular, with absolutely no context as to what to be careful of.

Bodii placed the kettle back on the table and turned around. Satisfied with his job of making the tea, despite the fact that there was only half a mug of hot water and no tea bag, he started on towards the sleeping quarters to find the captain. He then stopped in his tracks when he heard a response to his earlier question followed by a greeting.

"That's nice, Bodii. I'm Angrissi."

It took some time for Bodii to find the source of the greeting as he was looking far too high above the Volpyr to see her. Finally, he looked down and saw the small creature sitting on the bench next to him. The lights on his display exploded with yellow. He was under the impression that he had already made a friend and gave her a mechanical wave.

"Hell-oh Angrissi. It is nice to meet you."

He decided to sit next to her on the ground, rather than the bench, believing that he had broken enough things for the day. He sat down with such force that he shook a few of the tables near-by and spilled more of what little water was left in the mug.

 

[Pavan]

Duraal walked over to the cafeteria bench and grabbed a tray of some sort of meat mixed in with grey Protein paste and a piece of carb, a biscuit made by the lowest bidder that provided more carbs to the diet, hence its name. It also gave Terrans the "shits" as they called it. Though Terrans did seem to use that word for a lot of things. Duraal walked back towards the tables stepping gingerly over a Terran that had clearly not heard Bodii's warning and had subsequently ended up on the floor in the middle of a puddle. He sat down opposite to Bodii and Angrissi placing his tray down on the table. As he tried digest the foul concoction in front of him he said. "Duraal is not used to being around other species. The collective is fairly tight knit but Duraal Relishes the chance to expand Duraal's Knowledge. Duraal wishes to learn about Squad-mates home planets if that is permitted."

Duraal spoke slightly slower than normal as he had recently come to learn from a rather rude Sargent that the Collectives Grammatical structure differed from other species. The prime example being the common use of personal Pronouns like mine, my, his, hers and I. These words were not used often in the collective. Rantans referred to themselves by their first name in common conversation, their last name when addressing someone of a higher rank or station, and simply as Ranta when they felt ashamed allowing themselves to slip into anonymity. Words like I were saved for the Jab-ui. Heroes of the collective who had done great deeds to preserve or advance the collective. They were honoured in this way so that when they said I everyone knew exactly of who they spoke. KhazTheGiraffe lilcherrykitten

 

[Pacificus]

Standing still and at attention, stood Arty. It was not a posture he enjoyed. The pose was derived from the humans ancient warrior discipline. Apparently, it was designed to make armies look professional and intimidating. Despite his dislike of the pose, he wanted to appear respectable to his new CO. As he intently listened to the captain. He was not unnerved by the mans words, he expected as much out of a Navy man. His speech made Arty look back with fondness to his days as an artilleryman. Of course, two-thirds of his previous unit was dead or dying and there was terror all around him but atleast the people were decent. Something about copious amounts of murder really seemed to bring people together.

Once the captain finished his speech, Arty relaxed a little. He had been told this was considered a nightmare of a post, but he assumed that meant combat. Not shitty officers. He decided not to dwell on the subject and followed the rest to the cafeteria. His frame moved swift and quietly. One nice thing about this station was the abundance of mechanical grease. His hydraulics made nary a noise as they moved along. Despite the oddness of his new comrades in arms he didn't feel particularly concerned this for the situation. Until he realized that he was automatically suppressing his concern for the situation. He stayed quiet as they began conversing. His ears perked up however at the talk between another automated and a nafarian about killing demons. This was a subject of great interest to him and sat near the two.

"I couldn't help but hear talk of demon slaying. Mind if I join in? My designator is IA-888 but call me Arty." He said in his metallic voice.

Unicorn666 Hextremus

 

[Hextremus]

CALIDUS

After waiting for several seconds, no one seemed particularly interested in Calidus' bold introduction. Oh well. He hadn't been expecting success from this group of disgusting flesh things anyway. He began to pivot on his heel to do literally anything else when a voice finally appeared to respond to him, stopping the Automated in his tracks. Calidus looked down at the mole-like creature that was speaking to him, expressing his interest in fighting demons. Looks like there was some hope for this pitiful Squadron after all.

"Greetings, meatbag. I'm sure we will have a pleasant conversation together over the yellow diarrhoea you have placed on your plate."

Calidus proceeded to make his way to the nearest table, letting himself sit with enough force that his chair creaked alarmingly and skidded backwards slightly under his weight. He waited for the Nafarian, Raz'velios, to take his seat as well before introducing himself. However, he was interrupted by a fellow Automated that sat down beside them and also stated his interest in demon slaying. This one called himself Arty. This was quite pleasing to him. Calidus leaned forward and placed his elbows against the table, the metal scraping against it.

"My name is Calidus. It is nice to make both of your acquaintances, and I look forward to PERISHING IN GLORIOUS BATTLE with you."

Calidus' eyes shifted to blood red for a moment or two once again before returning to their normal brilliant white. His head twitched slightly, unnatural for an Automated, before he decided to cut to the chase.

"What do you consider the most aesthetically pleasing way to dispatch a demon?"

[ Unicorn666 , Pacificus ]

 

[pilgrim_]

Hruska first received himself a vague sort of collection of semi-solid food, on a thin white plate, along with a cup of water. Human drinks like tea and coffee seemed to be produced entirely out of random kitchen seasonings, judging by the appearance of the liquids in question.
A large automated Cadet had rumbled away from the counter, having abandoned an example of humanity's cuisine in a puddle.
There was a common problem-solving question in Humans learning programming, he read. Write a step-by-step algorithm for a cup of tea. Perhaps it'd be useful for this Automated to receive some of the finer details.

Calidus, the Nafarian, and possibly another Automated with an aesthetic oddly similar to Capelli's armour had already launched themselves into demon-talk, with the robots expectedly being the least able to function socially in an organic environment such as this. A Rantan appeared to be attempting to socialise with the individuals around him, making quite general queries and statements. A fellow collective-species was quite welcome, he thought.

Between the corridor and the cafeteria, the squadron seemed to have already flown into their own little subdivisions, humming about whatever particular subject, though it was mostly greetings.
There was one voice, of what he thought had been a young Human girl, chirping up at Noramar. Judging by what she was speaking about, she wasn't quite a standard human.

Well, Kurresh society rarely saw such anomalies. Being mentally unstable usually left you excluded by the adult tribesmen that went on raids, who required a disciplined unit. His mandibles bristled for a moment, as the rest of the squadron separated, and he approached Noramar and the smaller figure.
"...go for a drink. Do you have any gasoline?"

He stopped to think. Was she automated? It would explain the helmet, and her unusual structure of language.
What if she was human? There were some factors that contributed to that idea, as well, like her naturalistic voice and smoother body shape. Automated didn't have unnecessary external fixtures that resembled skin or muscle.

"I wouldn't recommend gasoline," the Kurresh's translator responded in static rhythm. He doubted the Confederacy would easily give up fuel for an eccentric human pilot.
"Water is by all means trustworthy, however," he continued, raising his own cup as if to demonstrate. He hoped it was, anyway. There were old Human records of people accusing pre-Confederate societies of using modified water to 'turn the fricking frogs gay'. Although there weren't any frogs, he certainly didn't want the water here to cause such drastic effects.

DarkianMaker Hextremus

 

[Unicorn666]

"I am far from a meatbag. It appears you haven't yet taken a closer inspection upon my body, or the clothing is doing what it is supposed to. I am, as people would say, 'skin and bones'. And, call it what you will, but I've never eaten anything like it in all my life. It is better than what I had to consume back in my homeland. We survived off of minerals, mushrooms, bugs and whatever else we could find."

The cadet replied to the Automated, following them to the table. The noise the chair made when the 7 foot metallic sat down in ran through Raz's ears, forcing him to almost close one of them with his free hand. Thankfully, however, it was short. The winged man sat opposite of the black robot as another Automated joined them in their conversation. 'Arty is one peculiar name for a robotic being', the Nafarian thought, putting his plate down on the table.

"I am Raz'velios, Arty. Pleased to meet you as well, crewmates. Now, shall we continue with our conversation? In my opinion, the most satisfying way to kill a demon would be with your bare hands. Mine, as you may see, have claws that allow me to cleave stone and metal alike. Ripping the heart of a demon out of their body would be far more satisfying than simply using a firearm. Carving open their ribcage to ravage their insides and rip out the mechanism that keeps them alive would be perfect."

Raz replied to the question Calidus gave him, his voice more excited than before. He had completely forgotten about the food he brought. The man was eagerly waiting for the response of the Automated.

( Hextremus , Pacificus )

 

[Pacificus]

Arty shifted slightly to ensure an ample amount of room. He pondered the question for a moment while listening to the Nefarian explain how he wasn't a meatbag. The bot was familiar with the term but didn't really use it himself as its meaning was often lost on many xenos. For sure Raz'velios was one of them.

"Meatbag is a general term for organic beings used by many of us automated. Personally I don't use it, but to each their own." He explained to him. "But back to the matter at hand, I personally find explosives to be the most SaTiSfYiNg means." His voice was considerably more lively. He held his hands out and expanded his fingers, miming an explosion. "It is less personal, but far more fun. I recall a type of artillery cartridge known as the Hellround that was used in the defense of Istavan IV. It was a human invention that exploded mid-air and showered the enemy in a burning material known as thermite. For sure, their screams of agony are one of my fonder memories." Arty finished. He realized he had left some open ends with his statement but chose not to expand on them unless asked by Calidus or Raz'velios.

Hextremus Unicorn666

 

[lilcherrykitten]

Angrissi watched curiously as the lizard like Duraal sat heavily in front of her and the gigantic automated next to her. Her ears flicked in as his deep and slow voice boomed out, asking her about her home . She thought about her answer for a moment, knowing that Duraal and Bodii both didn't know that she was from Faeron and was curious to see their reaction to her being from the slums. Angrissi was not naive, she knew that many would think less of her when they found out, especially knowing that many of them had formal training in some way shape or form in order to be here whilst she was simply conscripted at a time where the Confederacy were running out of soldiers.

"I am from Faeron Z," she began, "everyone who has no home lives on this station. We are a world made of thieves, merchants and anyone who is trying to find their way. We don't take well to outsiders insulting us, as many of them tend to do. Especially the assholes from the Dominion." Angrissi's voice gets darker and she frowns.

Angrissi's mind wanders to the rest of her squadron, curious if any of them have ever been to her station, let alone lived on it. Faeron Z was thought of as the garbage world by many creatures, the over crowded and intense atmosphere that permeated every corner of the world often being seen as dirty and uncultured to those on the outside. Everyone who had grown up on the planet, however, knew that wasn't true. Whilst there was much death and destruction, poverty and difficulties that went hand in hand with living on Faeron, the sense of teamwork and family bonding was one that she could not imagine finding anywhere else.

Pavan KhazTheGiraffe

 

[Hextremus]

CALIDUS

Well then. It appeared all hope wasn't lost for this Squadron. Having these two individuals here was a stroke of luck that pleased Calidus to no end, leading him to laugh quietly and lean forward further on his elbows. The laugh was particularly unnatural, grating and scratchy.

"I find many forms of slaughter appealing. For example, TEARING A DEMON'S SKULL FROM ITS HEAD AND BEATING IT TO DEATH WITH IT. Brutal evisceration is certainly the most aesthetically pleasing way of dispatching a foe, with the added bonus of bathing in their blood."

Calidus sounded like he would be grinning madly if he'd had a physical mouth. His fingers twitched slightly as he placed his hands together, lacing the gleaming silver fingers.

"However, ranged eliminations can be satisfying as well. For example, making a shot to the knees of a target 120 kilometres away using a sniper rifle. Despite that, I must say I would much prefer jamming the barrel of a machine gun down a demon's throat and observing the results of holding down the trigger."

[ Unicorn666 , Pacificus ]

~​

Mackenzie J. Capelli

Capelli's attention was diverted from Noramar when a second alien approached, this one a Kurresh speaking through a monotone translator. The young woman frowned under her helmet as he told her to stick to water over gasoline.

"Oh... people told me drinking gasoline's bad, but I feel just great and I've been drinking it for years! But don't tell my dad that, I don't want his ghost to haunt me and take my gasoline. He did that when he found out the first time and it made me sad."

She sounded like she was pouting, but she just as quickly sprung back into her incessant chirpy nature.

"I like your voice, nice alien lizard man! You remind me of my helmet's alarm clock when I don't wake up the first three times!"

She paused for a moment before making an 'oh' sound and turning her head to look back up at Noramar, clapping her hands together.

"I like your voice too, nice tall alien lady! Do you wear high heels?"

She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet slightly, humming cheerfully to herself once she'd finished talking.

[ DarkianMaker , pilgrim_ ]

 

[idalie]

Camhlaidh "Scottie" McTavish​

Returning from fetching his coffee -- a taste to which he'd grown accustomed -- McTavish heard the familiar place name of which he attributed to half his youth. Faeron Z, from the fox-faced lass and the prior question from the Rantaran. Besides them sat the automated of questionable intelligence and charming behaviour. Now, a man such as himself couldn't lose out on making a few allies in the squadron, especially one who had originated from his old home. He approached, dragging a chair with him and half jolting it forward to straddle it. Steel mug in hand as he swigged it back and made a clicking noise between the roof of his mouth and tongue. He'd lived long enough in various shitholes that food and drink didn't have to be the best quality for him to enjoy it. One could even get used to the tinny taste and aroma of burnt grounds.

"Apologies fur th' intrusion, but ah couldnae help hearin' ye say Faeron Z?" Camhlaidh arched his brow dramatically, "I was a manager at th' big mechanics by th' docks. Run by an automated loon called Billy Brown, liked wearin' suspenders 'cause he was absolutely off his bludy rockers." McTavish heartily laughed, the sort of laugh that had an irrepressible warmth to it and refused to be anything less. "Nae offence tae this big lad here, aye?" He winked at Bodii, giving the automated a cheers motioned by the raised cup. "Someone's been drinkin' their milk."

McTavish shook his head and inhaled, chest puffing up before he took another sip of the cooling beverage. "I'm one of them convict types, spent some time behin' bars in th' slammer. Can ye believe it? Jus' mindin' me own business ans one o' these days, I'm clapped in irons by the pigs." His eyes darted between the small group. "Ans before that, I was a Dominion lad. One of th' wee workin' jimmies. Managed tae smuggle meself out and there I was, standin' in the gleamin' pile of shite that is Faeron Z. Reminded me of home really." He tipped his head with a short sigh. "ACH! But whats an auld man daein' tellin' ye aw 'at? Th' names McTavish, folks call me Scottie. Born n' raised a Gael, most cannae understand a wurd I say, but it dornt shut me up." Again the slightly quieter chuckle.

He drew the rough palm of his hand over his beard in some habit of reassurance before sticking it out toward Angrissi, Duraal, and then Bodii for a shake. "Been haur a while, sae dornt be afraid tae ask whaur things are. It's aw up in me noggin'." Camhlaidh tapped his temple pridefully. "So whats yer deal? Huh? I'm guessin' little lass over haur is a convict tae."

lilcherrykitten Pavan KhazTheGiraffe

Seirye "Stitches" Yllagwyn​

Aiur were notorious for their flawless complexions, how they would glide instead of walk and approach situations in aloof confidence of proper breeding and education. For Seirye, this wasn't the case most of the time. Having garnered a reputation in flight and combat training as rather clumsy for a 'knife-ears', A slur which had almost become a second nickname behind Stitches. Stitches being a result of slipping on a wet mess hall floor and smacking her head into a table corner. The scar, even after all having been quickly attended to, left a small mostly hidden silver line which disappeared into her hair. Nevertheless, in comparison to other creatures and beings on the station, the young medical officer had a glow of health about her -- unlike any human. There was a vibrancy, unable to be captured which lingered in her eyes and smile, a colour that never bled from the magic user.

Dressed in a flight suit, her arm sported a 'red cross' band signifying her station, whilst the bob of red locks was pinned back in a low bun -- kept in place by a pencil. Spritely she entered the cafeteria, clipboard in hand as her gaze searched the room for the new faces. Moving forward and clearing her voice, Seirye flashed a warm smile. "Attention! Attention please! Squadron M-842! Hello," She gave a quick wave, "I'm Seirye Yllagwyn, of the Aiur Royal Medical Corps. I'll be the consulting medic on your team and in your squadron. However, It's also my duty to perform preliminary physical and psychological health exams to ensure all our soldiers are in ship-shape." Her voice was high, albeit not dislikeable, rather like a songbird trying to be a peppy scout leader.

"I've a list here of names and I've had access to your files as far as the Confederacy would allow or could retrieve. As for the automated, I would suggest you visit a skilled Engineer! We don't need anyone falling apart in our next mission." Stitches glanced down again. "The first on the list is a -- Ms Noramar Seddu-Xaa, apologies for any mispronunciations. Ms Seddu-Xaa anyone?" She turned about searching for any recognition of the name.

She'd been ecstatic about getting a position in a Squadron and recieving all necessary training. Her parents continued to disapprove on the other hand, alas, Seirye wasn't the sort to stand by whilst men threw themselves in sacrifice against the Onslaught. It was too close to ignore, the death count was too high to forget. Nay, she didn't join the fight for the fighting, she fought to keep people breathing for another day. Already one was able to walk in an infirmary and those who died? The bodies were shifted and never seen again. Burial was no longer an option, the Confederacy had told them. Seirye might've been fresh out from her degree and a green pilot, but there was a knowledge in her expression. Behind the cheer and optimism. If someone happened, she would undoubtedly pull down the walls of Jericho to fix it.

DarkianMaker High Moon Braddington Hextremus Pacificus pilgrim_ SirDerpingtonIV

 

[KhazTheGiraffe]

Bodii sat listening intently to the Volpyr. The emotion in her voice was not lost on the giant Automated, neither was the compassion he felt towards her. It was clear that Angrissi had a difficult time making it to this stage in her life from both physical hardship and social hardship. Bodii made a note to help her feel more welcomed; however, at this moment he found himself having a difficult time coming up with a response as he did not wish to insult her. She had made such a big deal about strangers insulting her that he was afraid to do it accidentally. With great uncertainty, he decided to respond to Durall.

"I am from ISO 3." He whirred. Although, to say that was an overstatement. It was much fairer to say that he was manufactured there. Bodii had spent a very small amount of time on the cold, metallic planet. It was a factory planet with the sole purpose of produces Automated for the war effort. As soon the last bolt on his metal shell was tightened, he was immediately shipped off to his first military base. A more pessimistic and rational being in his position would say that he had no home, but alas, Bodii was anything but.

The conversation was put on hold when the human who spoke strangely made a grand entrance to their table. The man showed an interest in Angrissi's home space station due to fact that he had apparently lived there. This station was clearly a very interesting place with many interesting life-forms according to the very brief yet curious experiences McTavish and Angrissi shared. Bodii had always wanted to learn how to pickpocket, and he fully believed that the only reason he would never do it is that he would feel bad about stealing; not because he was a 10-foot robot that was about as stealthy as an elephant.

The more the human talked, the more Bodii realized he was speaking English just with a very funny way of pronouncing words. He had to concentrate hard to make out what he was saying and was taken aback when he realized that the human was addressing him. Although, it seemed that he was unaware that Bodii was an Automated based on his comment.

"I am Automated. I do not drink milk." Bodii sympathized with the human. He, too, occasionally had difficulties identifying different species. He mimicked the man, who had now introduced himself as Scottie, and raised his now almost empty mug of luke-warm water.

"What is an 'I r o n P i g'" He asked Scottie, his display swirling with a soft-yellow curiosity. He gently grabbed the man's hand, fully covering it with his own, and held it for an awkward amount of time.

idalie lilcherrykitten Pavan

 

[DarkianMaker]

Noramar Seddu-Xaa​

She got an itching that Capelli was kind of out of place in a fighter squadron, but seeing with what she has been dumped in a unit she isn't even surprised. "Capelli, ideally for power naps you don't lie down but do them whilst you sit." She said to the young yet very polite human. Odd, her file stated her as Dominion. Then the girl asked something about gasoline and Noramar was about to ask what gasoline even is before Hruska the Kurresh joined their conversation saying that gasoline isn't advised as a drink, but instead said water might be a good idea. He clearly missed the memo about unboiled water being funky on this station, then again, most of these people just arrived. She wanted to offer Capelli to get her some tea when the girl started talking about how she's been drinking gasoline for years and has been fine but something about not telling her dead father. Oh boy. Then the girl was being nice again and gave both her and Hruska well-meant compliments even though they'd be rather lackluster coming from someone with a different mental construct. Then there was the question about high heels. High heels, the arbitrary and unhealthy fashion among human females and sometimes males to show you're a desirable mate. "No Capelli, I don't wear high heels, I just happen to be taller than humans by nature." She said with a smile before continuing with a chuckle. "I'd say stronger too but humans like McTavish make me doubt that statement." The girl might be a bit simple but she's quite refreshing from either the bigoted Dominion humans or the completely soiled other humans, she actually began to like Capelli's care-free approach.

An Aiur medic showed up in the cafeteria and introduced herself. Cute thing really and she's here as a squadron member so that's a major bonus point over other Aiur. She then stated she was conducting some physical and mental check-ups before they would be fully deployed. Logical to do, last thing we need is somebody to be in no condition to fly or have someone lose their mind in the middle of battle. Then her name came up, she even double checked but it was her name. That's a first, most Aiur or Humans don't get my name right the first time, cudos to that one. She called out to the elf. "Right here Yllagwyn." She then gently squeezed Capelli's shoulder and said. "When I come back I'll get you a good cup of tea." She then walked over to Stitches with her cup of tea still in her hand. "So, shall we get started then Corporal?" She asked calmly as she took a sip from her still hot tea.

idalie Hextremus pilgrim_