Marines, Post-Meeting

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OOC Date: August 14, 2011
IC Date: March 31, 2128

After the teleconference, a trio of SGTs join the LT for a meet and greet of a sort.

Chrysalis' Surface, Base Camp

A wide field of red-gold grass, miles across and miles wide. At the center is a vast lake of serene blue water. Forest-covered steps protect the plateau on one side, while steep mountains rise up on the opposite side of the lake. Two large white tents have been erected a short distance from the lake; three shuttles flank them, as do a row of generators.

Outside of the shuttle, everyone except for the XO and Doctor file out. Dominic steps out of the shuttle, walking away from the shuttle enough to give those inside some privacy before stepping to the side to wait for the other two Marines. Judging from the look on his face, he's not happy with the outcome of the meeting. He pulls out a hand rolled cigarette, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he lights it, takes a drag and exhales the smoke.

First Lieutenant Dominic Daniel L'Anse stands 6'2" tall and has a well toned and muscular build. His black hair is cut short and has a receding hairline. Dark eyes stare out with a hint of mischief in them. His jaw line and strong chin are covered with a five o'clock shadow as if he's missed a shave. He speaks with a distinctive English accent.

He wears the standard EA Marines uniform, though everything is in the proper place, the uniform is worn with some sense of personal style. Not everything about the uniform is to regulation standards. The uniform is cut to serve his size and allow for unrestricted movement. The uniform is completely black with a dark green stripe running along the outer seam of both upper and lower halves.

Unlike the Navy uniform, this one has more reinforced armor. On his left breast is the First Lieutenant's rank insignia, the silver pin a little diminished with grime. His feet are covered by a pair of worn and beat up boots that have, somehow, still held together. His comm unit is attached to his right wrist and a silver chain hangs from his neck and disappears into his uniform.

And judging from the look on Sgt. St. Clair's face, he doesn't quite know what to /make/ of the meeting. Being rudely interrupted from dreamless slumber and shoved into a decontamination shower is one thing, but talk of robot spiders and semi-defunct tentacular races, with no frame of reference, is something else entirely. A faintly mournful glance is given his superior's cigarette as he comes to a halt opposite. "Orders?" is murmured, half question, half rumination, as he squints into the fading discs of the twin suns. His accent pulls the word, like taffy, into a long and drawn-out pair of syllables.

Sgt. Never Sisti stands with her rifle slung over her shoulder, small pack resting against her leg. She shades her eyes from the afternoon sun, one hand pressed to her brow. In another situation, it could be an extraordinarily lazy salute. It certainly slides into one as she turns and notes the MCO. The salute drops just as quickly, and she hikes over the few strides it takes to join the First Lieutenant. "Eltee." Her voice is a bit rough from disuse. Her nostrils flare slightly as she inhales a deep breath just as she stops in range of a puff of cigarette smoke. A hint of a smile tics the corner of her mouth as she catches St. Clair's expression, but she doesn't comment. Her eyes tick to the louie, then back to her fellow sergeant as she gets a load of the accent.

Dominic looks to the others as they arrive, pulling his tobacco pouch out and offers it to the other two. "First things first. What did they tell you when they brought you out before they sent you down here?" He asks them both as he studies the two. "I'd also like to know a bit about you guys. I haven't had much time to go over your files myself like I usually would. What's your specialties?"

There's a soft huff from Jeremiah; not quite a chuckle, not quite a snort. "Told us we were to get our asses down to Chrysalis, on account of a teleconference that might concern us," he replies. Slow, drawling, lazy: not quite the bayou, but an accent that wouldn't go amiss in a ritzy Louisiana gentleman's club. Hazel eyes ever so briefly find Dominic's as he reaches for a cigarette - if one is being offered. "Counterintelligence, sir." Suh. Then a crooked grin as he tucks one of the hand-rolled cigarettes between his lips. "Thank you." His eyes flit across to Never, and finally give the woman a once-over. Slowly, like everything else he seems to do.

"Cheers." Rather than going for any pre-rolled ciggies that might be hiding under the lip of the pouch, Never plucks out a paper and a pinch of tobacco to busy her hands while the shit is shot. She defers to St. Clair before glancing down to run her thumbs over the carefully tipped paper, nimble fingers trap the plant matter in a tight wrap. It's a moment after he's finished dragging out those words that she pauses, perhaps to filter that through her brain and dredge up a meaning. Finally, she says, "Coldies and rollies, sir." Her accent is a generic sort of U.S. nothing rounded off with distinct hints of elsewhere. A grin flashes slightly crooked teeth. "Stealth and damage." The first pair of specs was probably a jest. The second, not so much. "Survival." She glances around briefly, perhaps checking for spiders. "… Regular digger stuff. Side of yabber."

Dominic's accent isn't as thick as Jeremiah's but the English accent is still there somewhat. He nods his head once in response to the thanks. "No problem." Once they've both got their tobacco fix, he puts the pouch away. "We've got some more in the tents, so help yourself." At the news that they weren't told anything, he just chuckles. "Well, then we've got a lot to talk about. Short version, we woke up early to find a message that said Earth was invaded and presumed lost. We were given up to an alien race called the Devourers. In order to be free from them, we entered a wormhole and sent across the galaxy. We're probably the last of the Marines." He pauses here to take a drag from his cigarette and let the information sink in.

On the surface, Jeremiah looks pretty much like your standard pencil pusher. Unremarkable in appearance, he gives off an air of perpetual boredom with himself and with the universe. Dark hair peppering toward grey and starting to recede at the temples, and hazel eyes betraying a faint glint of shrewd intensity manage to make him look older than his thirty-six years. He's somewhere in the vicinity of six feet, and not quite two hundred pounds; his slight paunch suggests he's not afraid of overindulging in food on occasion, and underindulging on working out.

On duty, he wears the standard Marine combat blacks: snug-fitting kevlar nanite smart-mesh topped off with gloves and reinforced boots, and made bulkier by the armoured plates sewn into key areas. The pins on his left breast pocket denote him to hold the rank of Sergeant.

Made in the image of the Marine Corps, there is little that, on passing glance, sets Sergeant Xavier Santiago apart from the average jarhead. He stands an inch or two over 6 feet in height, with the wide shoulders and solid frame they might issue along with uniforms and service weapons. What he possesses is a lean, hard quality, something subtle and feral and ever hungry. It shows in his eyes, which are brown, and is displayed in the subtle unkemptness of his appearance: his short-cropped hair is ever so slightly longer than regulation demands, and there is a hint of a five o'clock shadow that darkens his jaw. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, his complexion is naturally dusky and still seems to harbor some of the sun's extra bronzing.

His uniform is cut and fitted to regulation standards. Whatever his personal habits might otherwise entail, that bunch of black with its green piping and armor plating is properly fitted. His rank pin and boots might have been polished once, but they have begun to lose their luster, a matte sheen replacing the gloss of both metal and leather.

Jeremiah begins patting down his gear for his nonexistent lighter while Dominic elucidates. The cigarette trapped between his lips nearly falls out when Earth being lost is casually mentioned, and his eyes drag back to the First Lieutenant. Brows slowly furrowing together, he extracts the cig between two fingers and murmurs, "No shit. Well I'll be damned." His mouth twists into a brief, rueful smile. "Forgive me for asking, but.. what in God's name is our plan now?"

Never flicks her tongue over the edge of the paper and seals up the bits. She tucks it between her lips and fishes around her pockets for the lighter, in an unintentional mirror of St. Clair. Surely she tucked a lighter into a pocket. One of them ought to come up with one sooner rather than later, yeah? Her spidery hands still at the pocket checks as Dom fills in the blanks about Earth. The revelation has to sink into her brain through a few barriers, you see. Accent, stasis brain, etc. One might expect a reply laden with profanity, but the silence from Sgt. Sisti drags on a couple of beats. She flicks her fingers through uneven fringe, and musses her dark hair even more. Her hands drop to her sides. Apparently the other Sgt's brain moves a bit faster than hers. The unlit rollie dangles from her lips unmoving, then bobs slightly as she says, "That'd be right."

Dominic reaches into a pocket to give Jeremiah a lighter before he chuckles at the man's reaction and then his question. He looks at the area around them before he extends his arms out to motion to it all. "You're looking at it. This is hopefully our new home, but the squids have thrown a wrench in it. We need to get the walls finished, so if you can assist with that. If you want, I'm taking volunteers to go on the search through the jungle. We'll also need help getting the Navy folk trained up on the weaponry we've got here too."

About now is a good time for Sergeant Santiago to roll around and finish off the trio. He still looks a little bit worse for the wear that he has experienced on this planet; he's still a little more red than bronzed, a little more boiled lobster than oiled Marine fighting machine, but it's better than it was. Whatever it is, it isn't enough to keep him from his appointed rounds, or coming around the shuttle as the case may be, approaching from the general direction of a construction party in that general direction. He comes to a complete halt upon spying the collective and straightens up a little, dropping the rifle that was resting across his shoulders back over one arm to salute Dominic. "El Capitan doesn't brief the frosties?" To round out the collection of accents, his is Colombian, and just thick enough to verify that when he starts cussing it spills out in venomous Spanish.

Jeremiah's certainly no well-oiled fighting machine. There's a hint of it here and there in the odd gesture, the way he carries himself, but he hasn't even fondled his rifle once. His gaze shifts briefly to the arriving Colombian, squinting at him for a few seconds from behind the tinted glasses strapped to his head. Then back to Dominic. His cigarette is lit and the lighter passed back, one gloved hand up to shield his face from the suns. "Sure, sir." Suh. Lazy like molasses. "I'll come along on the search. Got some training material I can dig up, on the weaponry? Ain't my specialty, but I'll do what I can."

Given the choice between training Navy and a sweaty march, the choice is simple. "Wouldn't mind a stroll," Never says. Tender, space paled skin be damned. There's sun to be had, air to breathe, and things to tromp all over. She nods to Santiago as he pulls up to the group. "See you've had a sunbake." Her tone suggests she wouldn't mind one herself. She rolls her shoulders and grimaces slightly. "Swear them tanks close in on ya once they're sealed." At least she and the new thaw are on the same page about the the search party. She leans in to intercept the lighter on the way back to the louie. She doesn't say anything about it, just insinuates herself, thank you.

Dominic smirks and nods. "Great. That's two." He says, looking back to Xavier. "What about you? Wanna go out for another camping trip with the rest of the family?" He asks, looking back to the Sergeant who is trying to be a seafood dish. At Jeremiah's question, he shakes his head. "No. The new ones didn't come with any. The older guys will help you get comfortable with the new energy weapons. The other weapons should be familiar to you guys. You guys can even take out a buggie to see the area, but we've got a half-mile perimeter that we have to stay in for now."

"I'll pack my puppy tent," answers Xavier drolly. "Are we going to hunt the chupacabra?" Never gets a look, up and down, head to toe, and then a little shake of his head. "The planet tried to cook me, and failed. Maybe next time. And the energy weapons are simple enough. They kick less than most assault rifles, and make bigger holes. There is range out back for target practice; the squids are putting hours in and rounds down, if you want some easy competition." His teeth show briefly in what passes for a grin, wolfish and sharp.

"Understood, sir," replies the bespectacled St. Clair, in regards to taking a buggy out to survey the perimeter. He checks his rifle briefly, then tucks the cig back between his lips and retreats a pace from the First Lieutenant. "I'd like to take a look, if you don't mind, 'fore it gets too dark." The other two Sergeants get a nod apiece, and then he's ambling off without quite waiting to be dismissed.

"Half ain't bad. Give us a chance to stretch." Never's eyes flick to Santiago as she gets that look right after he mentions the Chupacabra. Her eyebrows tick up, amusement clear on her lips. "Must be faster than you look as it came out a fail-bake." She flicks the lighter and touches the flame to her ciggie. "Have to be off my face 'fore hitting the range with squids, give 'em a fair go." She tosses the lighter back to the Lieutenant with a grunt to warn him it's headed his way. "Side from attempted flambe," she nods to Santiago, then glances over at the Lieutenant again. "We watching for specifics?" She reaches up to rub her left shoulder, fingers dipping just under the plated uniform she wears. What else could there be on top of tentacles, robot spiders, and potential plague?

Dominic nods his head to Jeremiah at the request. "Sure. Go for it and show 'em what we can do." He chuckles as he looks back to Xavier, shaking his head. "No, they want to try to play nice and try to communicate with them first instead of blow the shit out of them. So, we're going to explore the jungle this time." He says with a soft smirk. "It'll be a change of scenery for you. Now you won't see what's coming." He then turns his attention to Never at her question. "Not really. Just seeing what's out there and if there's anything else that would keep us from settling here. Maybe we'll get lucky and have to kill something so we can have some real meat." He seems to think about the last real meat he had, lightly licking his lips at the memory.

Xavier turns that same sharp look on Never. It's probably amusement, but it's toothy. It's also short-lived, since the Lt. seems bent on crushing his spirits. "Well, fuck me. They saw my video, yes? They -saw- the creatures, their carvings, their little fucking spider?" This seeps all the good humor out of him, and not even the promise of getting to go back out elevates his mood back up. Here follows some of that quiet, rapid Spanish. Apparently it's safer to curse the brass when they can't understand what you're saying. When it passes he rolls his shoulders and shakes his head. "The mountains were boring anyway. I used up all my self control not dropping grenades in that hole."

Never shrugs off her rifle and leans it up against a nearby crate. She reaches up her arms and crosses them behind her head, taking the opportunity to have a stretch while she smokes. Several things pop along her spine, in her shoulder, and at least one elbow. Her expression eases a bit more with each one. The influx of nicotine into her bloodstream is certainly welcome, too. "Be sure to bring my knife on patrol," she notes, at the mention of potential meaty bits. Her spirits remain high, that faint quirk at her lips. Maybe she enjoys watching the el-tee crushing Latin spirit. Could be the rollie and the relaxation just as easily. "That was you with the wobbly hand camera?" Spider cam, ugh. Her expression twitches, but returns to that ghost of a satisfied smirk a moment later. Seems to be her neutral face when outside brass-filled teleconferences or medical. "Grenades," she echoes, as if she'd forgotten all about them, and the return of said to her field of awareness is a balm indeed.

Dominic nods his head to Xavier, chuckling softly. "Yeah. They played it in the meeting with the Captain. So, they know exactly what they're up against." He shrugs before he smirks at the mention of Grenades. "I thought about taking a pack of explosives to the cave, set them down as we go deep in and blow up as much of the tunnels and the squids as possible, though it's a suicide mission." He looks to Never and nods. "Maybe we should hold some grenade and explosives training. Would be nice to blow something to shit."

Xavier can only shake his head, though he glowers as he does so; it darkens his gaze and pitches him almost toward a glare of the self-righteous kind that can only come from the prophet whose warning isn't heeded. Something about having honor everywhere but in your hometown, or something. He offers a singular nod to Never, but it's almost an afterthought, or a prelude to other conversation. "Standard recon video rig. If it shakes is because I was crawling too close to hostiles for comfort. As for blowing up the caves… there were many tunnels, and it was deep. My exit would have been compromised. But yes. I want to shoot someone more satisfying than grass targets."

"Oorah, Lieutenant." Never grins around her smoke, which is nearly gone. She takes a last deep drag then pinches it out. Yes, she licks her fingers first. Don't judge. "I'm a big fan of the direct approach, myself." Her inflection doesn't change with the words, but she does finish up her stretch now that the smoke's done. "Give 'em the flick if they don't know how to play nice." She pauses for a moment, tucks the leftovers from her rollie into a random pocket, and eyes Santiago. "Little wobbly on the pozzy, Sergeant?" Her grin widens.

Dominic nods. "Yeah. I'm getting tired of building walks and shooting grass myself. That's what I'm hoping this little venture into the jungle will cure all that." He says, glancing down to the forgotten cigarette in hand as Never snuffs hers out. He flicks off the built in ash and takes another drag of the cigarette before dropping it and crushing it beneath his boot. "Who knows. Maybe we'll come across some hidden ancient ruins or something."

Language… fail. Xavier gives Never a deadpan stare for a few ticks, brow furrowed as he attempts to parse what she said last. "No habla, chica," he answers blithely when he finally gives up. His rifle gets a pat though; the one he's carrying is Earth-made, possibly a far cry from the usual alien laser issue that some people have been packing around, but it's fond. Maybe creepy, even. "Any excuse to go out is good for me, El-Tee," he goes on, changing subjects and embracing the easier of the two. "Anything is possible here, yes? Those things in the cave had technology. Maybe they did not always live in caves."

Never tucks a small mint leaf into her mouth and rolls it across her teeth, bruising the leaf to release a pungent taste and sharp scent. "Tourist destination, eh? Be sure to bring some tinnies and tucker." She rubs a hand over her face and glances around, mussing the fringe that falls across her brow even further. To Santiago, she says, "Pleasure." To meet you, one would assume. Or 'to confuse you'. Either way, doesn't matter much, charmer that she is. Sgt. Never Sisti officially looks like she's just rolled out of bed. "Feel like a feral," she mutters, mostly to herself. "Where's the dunny?" She holds up a hand after a beat. "Just a tick. I'll suss it myself." With that, she promptly turns and starts off toward the lake.

Dominic nods his head as he looks to Never as she starts to head out. "Take things easy for a day or two. You still need to save your strength. Tell that to the other one too. Need anything, I have an open door policy. Just come find me." He says before he looks back to Xavier. "I'd like you to go ahead and get some ideas to make this excursion smoother. You've got the most experience outside the half-mile zone, so you're really the best qualified."

Now, see, Xavier was content to let Never go on her merry way, but when she starts rambling on in what sounds like a foreign language again he looks at her sidelong. It's almost wary, as if he can't decide whether she actually talks like that, or whether she's trying to take advantage of the fact that he, at least, very obviously has no idea what the hell she's going on about. Thus his attention is slow in getting back to Dominic, and the nod that he gives is a little more distracted than is usually proper to give one's commanding officer. "Make sure everyone has carabiners in their kits. As for the rest… is alien planet. We can pretend that anything that looks hostile is hostile."

Never's hand goes up in what could be a wave, acknowledgement of the el-tee, or simply a statement of being. It probably doesn't matter, as the conversation carries on. She glances over her shoulder, but keeps right on going, and flashes a grin before she turns back to the path at hand. There's probably nothing dangerous in the lake. Someone would have warned her. Surely.

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