Fandom Flags of Our Foul-Ups -- Main [[Open!]]

[Bealocwealm]

It was one of those things Jackalope had never understood -- Ghouls and well-educated people always pointed out how bad things were because of the War, but having no experience of life before it, Jackalope never really got how it could be that bad. It was normal, that was all.

"I assume we're doing training first, 's why we're here -- but don't ask me how it works, I really don't know. Only ever heard the basics."

More people -- quite a few more people -- were starting to file in, to claim bunks, making the tent rather crowded. But Mike definitely took spotlight, with his blunt, his astonishing introduction, his uniform. Jackalope stared, uncomprehending, and stepped back. "Er..." He hoped beyond hope this was not going to be the one training them.

As just such a person approached right behind. A woman with a cigarette in her mouth, fairly tall with short blonde hair, in full fatigues, regarded the lot of them silently. Staring at them, gathering an idea of how they each acted, before she spoke at an elevated volume, in a dull tone.

"I'm sorry, I was looking for Tent D -- but it looks like I found some sort of soda social... here, I'll take a hit of that." With which she'd snatch the blunt from the figure who'd just lit it and drop it on the ground. Perhaps a little hypocritcally, as a cigarette remained in her own fingers throughout. "Stand the hell up, recruits!"

Jackalope did so as if attached to springs, putting down the Nuka-Cola quickly, and putting several of the others in a mind that he was trying entirely too hard.

 

[Orihara]

Mike's bearing stood unfazed as the drill instructor snatched his piece and tossed it.

Man, what a waste of a good blunt. That was his last one. But that instructor...

He rose at her command and placed a hand on his hip. Neither his enthusiasm nor his smirk changed in the heat of the moment. "Alright, now we're talking! You the one that's gonna beat us up Blondie?"

Mike's eyes were cool and calm as they studied the woman in front of him, as if he were looking through her clothes. This man had a one track mind.

"You know, I can be one hell of a submissive." He said with an almost evil tone. He looked around the room again at the other recruits. They all looked unique, like an island of misfit toys kind of thing. He liked that. One of them stood out, not because of his looks, but because of his reaction to the instructor. Seeing Jackalope snap to attention made Mike grin. It was like watching a kid respond to getting scolded. Mike could tell he must be impressionable.

And it looked like the ghoul was the one who brought the soda. Props. He made himself a mental note to ask that guy to help smuggle snacks later.

The rest of the gang looked ready to go. He'd have to get to know them all later because now it was go time.

He directed his gaze back to the instructor. "What's your name killer?"

 

[Stricken Steel]

The young man stood at attention, with hands-on his sides. The Drill Instructor snagged a blunt from a punk. George kept his eyes forward, Just like one of those soldiers from pre-war black and white military movies. Jackalope seemed to get it too.
"Ma'am! Ready for training! Ma'am!" He shouted, keeping his eyes straight and his face straight. He was going to not enjoy this, already having a punk-themed guy in the squad.​

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

As the other recruits filed in to the tent, Roscoe didn't pay they much attention. Most seemed to be background characters; indistinguishable from the other troops he'd seen as he arrived. With one exception. One guy showed up with, seemingly, no regard for procedure or discipline. The appearance of not giving a shit only seemed to be emphasised when the guy pulled out a blunt. Roscoe had to admit he was surprised, he didn't think anyone still smoked that kinda thing any more. Not when there was Phsycho or Jet to get addicted to. Still, Roscoe probably would have taken him up on the offer, if the person in charge hadn't shown up.

While Roscoe wasn't as disciplined as his two new friends, he wasn't stupid either. He'd been around long enough to know that this woman meant business. That, was seemingly, not what the new guy was thinking. The new guy seemed to be trying to push this woman's buttons. Roscoe predicted that wouldn't end well. He just hoped that the rest of them wouldn't be punished for it. For now though, he just stood up at attention with the others.

 

[Bealocwealm]

Indeed until these new arrivals further distinguished themselves, it would likely be hard to note very much about them.

But this? This was definitely going to be one hell of a moment. The Sergeant didn't react much to those who, well, behaved themselves. There might have been a slight rolling of the eyes, but it was hard to say if it was towards those like Jackalope and especially George who seemed particularly enthusiastic, or to the disorganized general rising of figures that followed.

But to this guy in the Diamond City uniform? Did she even see him? Her eyes passed over him like he was a ghost now. The brown fatigues she was wearing left everything to the imagination, though it was clear Mike had quite the imagination. She took a drag off her cigarette, looking skeptically over the bunch, before adding the smoke in a bluish haze to the top layer of the tent. Her words were clearly a prepared lecture, spoken bluntly and very audibly but not shouted.

"Welcome to Camp Golf. NCR has a handful of barracks in the Mojave, and this is probably the worst of them to be a recruit in. Many of the men and women serving here are the best and brightest -- Rangers. Chief Hanlon, mastermind of the Battle of Hoover Dam -- the first Battle of Hoover Dam, that is. We all know there's going to be a second. Unfortunately, you are not the best and brightest. I won't lie to you -- if NCR knew what to do with you, you'd be training at Camp McCarran, not here. I get the dregs," she noted, in a deprecating tone. It was not complete or convincing; there was a slight satisfaction to it, as if she was happy to receive the dregs.

"Now I've heard at least one of you considers themselves a real funny guy." As if she hadn't seen if with her own eyes and was going entirely off of hearsay. "I'm glad we have a glutton for punishment in the crew, but whoever it is," (She continued to leave Mike unaknowledged, not even looking through him now --) "Had better check with the rest that they don't mind. If you make trouble, you make trouble for everyone. That's how it'll be when you go out into that wide world and fight some Legion, and that's how it'll be here."

She didn't pause to see how Mike reacted to this news. "First order of business -- I want to figure out where we're starting from. I'm Drill Sergeant Ames. You will address me as Drill Sergeant or Sergeant Ames." She waited, very briefly, for a response -- Jackalope, at least, did not provide any. "Follow me. We're going to the obstacle course, dregs."

 

[Orihara]

"Right away, Sargeant Ames~" Mike chirped as he started to pretend to follow the other recruits out of the tent, watching to make sure the Sargeant was out before sneaking off to the side and waiting for the space to be empty.

When the rest were gone, Mike slipped over to where that bitch dropped his blunt and picked it up. Couldn't leave that unsmoked, by the goddess. He tucked it away in his boot and then grabbed two bottles of nuka cola from Roscoe's bag. He crushed one and tossed the other under his pillow. Then, he cut his arm and used his blood to draw a pentagram under his bunk.

He'd have to get ahold of something from the Sargeant to put in the middle. But that would be later, he was sure someone would go looking for him if he stayed behind any longer. He hurried out of the tent and caught up with the group, staying hidden in the back but inching his way to someone in particular.

"Hey, what was it? Ghoulio? Ghussolini? Ghombucha?" Mike snickered, putting an arm around Roscoe's shoulder. "I got a business proposition for ya, if... holy fuck, hold that thought." As if a switch had flipped, he let go of the shoulder and shoved ahead.

He could see the obstacle course drawing near as everyone matched toward it. It was everything he imagined it to be and more, definitely a step up in size and difficulty from what they had in Diamond City. He dug his way forward through the group so he could get in front and take a good look at it.

"What a marvel!" He squeaked, pushing the last recruit in front of him out of the way. "This is where we're gonna train?! I'm ready for the pain!" He looked like he was bouncing like a kid in a candy store. "Smokin' Sarge, can I go first?" He continued, his hands balled and quaking with excitement. "Or are you gonna step on my head and make me watch the others?" He purred deviously. "Either way's a win for me!"

Meanwhile, somewhere else, somewhere close but far, in the middle of nowhere, somebody who is nobody is up to nothing that is something...

 

[Stricken Steel]

"Sergeant Ames, ma'am. Are we going to be qualified for certain roles based on our performances in the course?" George asked as he walked quickly, staying in line with the group. The punk guy disappeared for a few minutes, then suspiciously shown up again as if nothing had happened.
When they arrived, The punk-like kid in the modified baseball catcher suit began to squeak his words excitedly. George leaned towards Jackalope and whispered.
"Hey man, I think that punk-kid is up to something. He's really up to something, the first day in."​

 

[DapperCharmer2.0]

Roscoe had to admit that hearing Sargent Ames call them dreggs wasn't the most pleasant feeling in the world. But, at the same time, he was glad that she wasn't bringing attention to the fact that he was a ghoul. Of course, that mentality might come later, but for now she seemed to see him as just another one of the recruits that she was going to he training; that made Roscoe smile ever so slightly.

Though, the smile faded as the delinquent began making nicknames for him; was just calling him by his name such a chore. Of course, he might have just forgotten. So Roscoe was about to remind him, but was interrupted by the mention of proposition. Roscoe had to admit that it was intriguing, but before he could hear more they were at the course.

Roscoe looked up at it, it didn't seem so hard; definitely a lot easier than outrunning death claws malfunctioning power armour. But perhaps the course would surprise him. So Roscoe just stood back and waited for instructions.