Surviving The Game
Surviving the Game
Summary: Castor and Panda discuss military life.
Date: PHD 140
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)
Players:
Castor..Panda..

Castor Leda sits beside a laundry machine quietly reading a book. His feet are placed up on a different washer and Leda for his part seems to be relaxed since he is the only person in the Laundry room at the moment. He flips another page and he lets off a soft hmmm as todays book is on ancient mythology.

Like a camouflaged Claus, the infamous Lance Coolie comes in with a sack on his back. Well, it's actually his marpat blouse, buttoned and folded into a laundry bag of sorts. He throws his hips and shrugs to toss the bag atop a laundry machine like a hip-tossed uke, letting out a little snicker—one that catches sheepishly as he takes notice of the man reading. "Yo, sorry boss."

"What about Lance Corporal?" He asks curiously as he closes his book to pay more attention to the man as he enters however his feet stay where they are as he is close to his laundry which is currently spinning in a the washer beside him. He then says, "And it looks like you have quite a bit of laundry to do." He muses as he notes the heft of the bag and the strength of the man carrying it.

"Makin ruckitations," the Leonian murmurs, starting to unpack his laundry into the machine. "Naw, I only got eight changes of clothes, and we don't damn wear Dress or Khakis but on special days," Panda grunts, throwing two sets of marblacks and one marpat, along with assorted underthings. None of them frilly, sorry.

Leda nods his head, "Relax Lance Corporal, no reason to appologize to me." He then asks, "Though, if you tell me your size I might be able to get you something else to wear that is regulation." He then says, "Or you could always talk to your SO and try to find out what is left. We aren't out of clothing just yet." For his part Leda's laundry is fairly normal looking, yup, nothing frilly, lacy, or scandalous moving through the wash. "Besides neither one of us are on duty…though, if Corporal Jacobs finds you again you might be in deep water."

"Frak that, man, I don't need more'n this!" He's passionate about it, throwing the laundry powder in so hard he has to fish the scoop back out. "I got EIGHT changes of clothes. We picked up some people back there…" Panda comes out of the washer and, for once, gives Castor a look as earnest as his grunt. "I may've been drunk as all shit the past few months, but we picked up people who hardly had one. Gave all my civvie shit away, when they was staying in the cargo bay."

Castor grins, "Relax Ajtai, I don't have any civilian clothes either." He then rubs his chin as he places his book down on the washer currently working on his clothes, "I'm just saying if you need something let me know." He then stops and he says, "You know, if you don't mind my saying so, your sister cares about you a great deal." He then says, "And she is a very good friend of mine, I like to think of her as the younger sister I never had…my point is that she needs you as much as you need her and that is a rare and beautiful gift."

Panda sheepishly glances away, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry man, I just get so… agitated, people thinkin' and actin' like everything'll be back to normal if 'we just pretend and believe really really hard!'" The last bit is said in a falsetto, followed by an immediately regretted punch that both turns on the washer and splits his knuckle right good.

Leda brings his feet down as a sign of respect, "I understand Ajtai. Though, you make a point things won't go back to normal. Not in the state we are in, though, if by some miracle we can beat the metal we might have a chance." He then looks over at his laundry, "The trick is not letting it get to you, not like this, it may sound cliche but save your anger for the enemy." He then smiles slightly, "Because right now, a big badass marine like yourself is one of the best weapons we have."

"Aww, I'm gomma cwy," Pandorian mumbles around his knuckle as he chews off the skin tag. The fist is then pressed against the hip of his pants to stem the mild bleeding. "Ain't shit special about me, man, I just can't die some disgraceful way." He leans against the washer, his head lifting slightly as he muses. "It's gonna be big, so Kitty'll walk by and people be like, 'Oh, oh shit, that's who I was telling you about! That sexy bitch is the one whose brother died chewing through a toaster's neck with his teeth!'"

Leda studies Pandorian, "You and your sister survived the end of the Colonies as we know it. You are one of the last human survivors and you have skills needed to protect humanity. I would say that makes you very special." He then says, "And death, well, death is a funny thing. Everyone has a bullet with their name on it, though the trick is you die of old age before it can find you." He then says, "And I would rather the conversation to be more like, 'Wait, Kitty's brother is the guy who chewed through a toasters neck and he survived to rip the arm off of another toster just to beat it to death.'"

Pandorian plays the patrician, inclining his head to Leda's soft vow. If there's any humour or patronization in the pilot's voice, he certainly doesn't notice it. "Yeah, well, he shoulda' been Fleet is all I'm sayin'. Or maybe I just ain't meant for shipboard duty. Hrnh." He tugs his blouse and starts to unbutton it. "Supplemental 36-2903 states that in his immediate work area, a Marine is allowed to remove his blouse for convenience. Medical Attachment 18 reminds all commanders that when not assigned a specific duty, that is, off-shift, Marines and Crewmen are assigned the job of mentally, physically, and spiritually preparing for their next duty shift." He performs a sharp about-face, holding up the blouse. "So long as I have this with me off-duty, I'm covered. Soooomebody went to NCO Academy tooo!"

Castor raises an eyebrow for a moment at the mention of Jacobs being fleet and this makes him smile, "Well, he might be fleet someday." He then says, "And you might too." He then doubles back to explain himself, "And I don't mean that as an insult, I mean you might make leadership someday." He then looks over as the regs are gone through, "Ajtai, I don't care if you take off your damn shirt if it needs to be washed it needs to be washed." It would seem like he has some sense of normalacy about him despite being a fleet officer, "And if this helps you prepare for the next shift then go for it." He says, "And what was NCO academy like?" He asks curiously, "I mean, Officer Training was something else and then flight school."

"No offence taken," he assures, then grins at the middle bit. "Ain't dirty, just didn't wanna drag a bag around like some slicksleeve Private." Wow, all this attention focused on him, and it's not the bad kind! The grunt is starting to swell up—finally found a Petty Officer who understands the place of Marines as fonts of wisdom and smartitude!

That's why the last question leaves him speechless, jaw hanging open like a condemned man on the gallows.

"Back when I was a nugget and even when I was an Ensign I kept focusing on the regs, man oh man, did I focus on the regs. I worked my ass off and now I'm a JiG I've been sitting here ever since." He then says with a bit of mirth, "Worlds oldest JiG, I wonder if that means I'm the worlds best JiG." He then says, "Though really what was it like, I'm curious?" Leda asks since he really does want to know, "I mean, if the rumors are true you guys are given the sorts of training that breaks lesser man and in your case it brings out the strongest parts of someone."

"B'dum, b'daw, it, uhm…" He doesn't shiver, no, but Leda could be forgiven for later remembering him doing so; the body language is very close. "It, uh, well sir, it's a bit differnt, see, uh, as Privates we mostly just learn to shut the frrer, shut our mouth and t'ask the uh, the noncoms about that kinda shi-stuff." Panda shrugs, an awkward thing to see while his body transitions to attention. "Learn more about fightin', see, and if you survive to Lance Coolie ya pick up on the regs, thenLance Corporal, I meanand then after makin Corporal you got to do NCO Academy to be eligible for Sergeant, so after NCOA you basically are, that's why they call 'em Buck Sergeant, you can rate on Privates and Lances Lance Corporals…"

Leda looks at Pandorian, "Ajtai, relax, we are off duty and talking. It is okay." He senses the awkwardness for Pandorian and he says, "And you can curse too. Aparently you've never heard the shit that comes out of Red Squad Berthings, it just might be enough to make even Elder blush." He then says, "And I'm glad to see that you studied hard since you clearly know what you are supposed to do." He then says, "And as for Corporal Jacobs, it was a crying shame the other day. Kitty didn't like what the Corporal did but she couldn't counterman an order so she and I just sort of watched." He then says, "Well, we could have but that would have been a whole different ball game with a lot of dick measuring and someone would go home with frakking hurt feelings and an axe to grind."

"Yessir." He relaxes, to an extent. He listens, the officer's voice holding a calming honesty to it. "Jacobs was right, technically. It's just, shit, sir," Panda groans, lifting the hand from his hip to look at it again. "It's that 'technically' that separates Marine culture from Fleet culture. Good on you for not whippin' it out, though. Sir."

Leda offers, "Jacobs was in an off duty area as were you and while not technically in military regs you were dressed. I'd say he was just frakking with you though it might have honestly bothered him." He then takes a moment to says, "And while he was in his rights, your sister and I didn't like it. Though, that isn't to say Jacobs is a bad guy. He is a good man and he has saved many people here. So, I can't say what was going on in his mind but I can say that he does save people." He shrugs, "So, you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both…and that is the way things are."

Panda listens; if he looks a bit sour, at least it's a sign he's calmed down. While the JiG speaks he contemplates his hand. The Marine leans forward to give the injury a lick, and immediately regrets it as the annoying blood dribbles again, forcing him to press that fist against his hip. "You sound like a Corp'ral, sir." His eyes flicker up to the other man. "That's a good thing."

Leda considers it, "You know, I considered joining the CMC. Though I made the bonehead choice of following my brother into the fleet." He then shrugs, "Who knows, maybe I could have made Corporal." He then says, "Though, in my opinion Ajtai, CMC and Fleet same damn thing just from different perspectives." He then grins, "Even though your brothers and sisters whip our ass all over the ring during the dance."

"Somebody gotta drive us around," Ajtai grunts, but flashes a bright smile. "There's a saying in the Corps, that a Captaina Marine Captainis a commissioned Corporal. I mean, nobody even pretends a butterbar's more than a Private. Can't give effective orders without the sayso of a Major or better. But Captain? That's where game-time starts."

Castor smirks, "I'm not a Raptor-jock but yeah someone has to fly us around." he then says admirably, "Which is why tactical is so important, without them we would never go any where." He then says, "and yeah, I hope you make Captain since you have a good heart, like your sister." He then adds, "Just, don't follow the example of others and follow your own path in command."

"Frak that, career enlisted. Maybe retire a Gunny, max. Cute little sugar-momma Navy wife, like a Leftenant…" Panda throws his head back and laughs a sharp, hearty laugh. "Well, that -was- the plan, right?"

Castor considers his career and he says, "We are where we are." He then chuckles and says, "I don't have a plan, I make it up as I go along." He then watches as his laundry hits the dryer and he begins putting his laundry into his laundry bag, "Ajtai, take it easy…we all have plans though who knows how they will end?" and with that he is gone.

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