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The Multiverse

Wing City Spaceport

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a part of The Multiverse, by Remæus.

You have arrived at the grand Wing City Spaceport, where all space-faring traffic in and out of the city arrives. There are launch towers for older models of spacecraft, and quantum-distortion field panels for the newer gravitational assistance system.

Remæus holds sovereignty over Wing City Spaceport, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

7,088 readers have been here.

Setting

You have arrived at the grand Wing City Spaceport, where all space-faring traffic in and out of the city arrives. There are launch towers for older models of spacecraft, and quantum-distortion field panels for the newer gravitational assistance system.
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Wing City Spaceport

You have arrived at the grand Wing City Spaceport, where all space-faring traffic in and out of the city arrives. There are launch towers for older models of spacecraft, and quantum-distortion field panels for the newer gravitational assistance system.

Minimap

Wing City Spaceport is a part of Wing City.

78 Characters Here

Katie Brighton [135] "It does not matter what you do, as long as what you do is what you know is good."
Tenna [88] Merc work has its paydays. Got my ship and my rifle, and I'm good to go.
Odgerel [79] She is athletic and stands over six feet tall. Her hair hangs lose, silky black that tends to reflect blue. Her eyes are the bright blue of a welder's torch. She has two tattoos, a golden phoenix on her belly and stylized fire covering her right arm.
Tasi [75] A Lone Quarian, handy with a gun
Lexia Nitiena [70] I'm not weak. I quit. That makes me stronger than a lot of people. Even if I'm weaker than you.
Nagumi Yamata [70] Gundam Pilot and college student.
Zephan [61]
Sam Felixis [58] Drink, fight, fight again, go to bed. My day in a nutshell.
Eve-Va [58] A being who was sent out from her war torn home world in search for a way to re-Terraform her planet. She is a cruel individual who will mercilessly kill anyone who where to stand in her way. She follows a strict no outside interference policy....
Aeidail [58] She is a very wealthy and high born woman. She thinks highly of herself and is a great fighter with a blade

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Vehicles

Thunderbird IV

The Sardinia

Unnamed Terran Shuttle

Portal Spell II

Unnamed Terran Shuttle


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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
He offered her something of a smile as she spoke concerning her rest, and he knew the feeling somewhat. When you're tired enough anywhere's comfortable, and you don't move an inch. It was... difficult to explain that to the instructor when they found him that morning, so long ago, still strapped in the APC. "Well, I'm glad to hear." Wouldn't want to have a pilot who wasn't fit, after all, especially not such an endeavor. He followed her gaze to the battlecruiser, however, and listened as she directed him as to just what and what not to do.

He'd certainly try not to get lost, but on this point he made no promises. This was the first time he'd be on anything larger than a shuttle, and he looked forward to it in a way. Something of an adventure. His gaze remained, for some time, on the Heimdall, pondering its innards as Grove strode over to a nearby table, thought it shifted onto Grove as she strode away, and he asked, curiously, "... so just how do I know where to go?" The question was rather simple, and he didn't mean to sound like a smart-ass when he asked it(as it was rather honest), though it had a way of sounding humorous.

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
"Oh," Grove blinked and looked over at Marcus. "Just ask Hellen. She'll direct you where you need to go and even activate a nifty trail of light along the floor for you to follow. I guess I should have mentioned that earlier instead of letting you stand there all intimidated," the woman said with amusement touching her words. "I'll take you up in a short moment. There are some last diagnostics coming in and I need to recheck the fuel levels. Better safe than sorry," she said while reaching into a pocket to pull out a short cord. Grove plugged in side into the datapad and then the other end straight into the nape of her neck. Instantly charts and diagrams of various status reports flew into the Capsuleer's view albeit Marcus would see none of it. There was no need to stare down at the datapad and the Azrick just seemed to stare methodically at the hull of her ship.

This was the first time that Grove was actually checking up on the Heimdall since she had "acquired" it not too long ago. That was an interesting story but not one she was ready to tell just yet, especially not with port authority keeping a close watch on her—the person they believed to be a Rachel Groveshkna.

"I'm sorry Marcus," Grove said with a sigh, and turned to him with a despaired look before dropping her gaze down to the ground. It seemed something was wrong, but what exactly that was was unknown for that time being.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
A ship's AI, he assumed, such an odd concept that he still wasn't entirely familiar with, but one that surely made living on board one of these things much more bearable. He offered another light smile as he looked back to the ship as she continued. It had a utilitarian air to it, not like so many of the other vessels, designed with aesthetics in mind. He had, in his younger days, given some thought to space travel and going across the stars, though that was before the Terran Conflict, before things got unpleasant. He sighed, thinking of such days, back when one could study the concepts of an Alcubierre drive without actually being able to go out and see one, much less be on board a ship and watching it work.

It was mind boggling, his old childhood dreams of going out and about the stars being only a stone's throw away.

She offered to take him up in the ship after she dealt with some data, Marcus replying in kind, "Not a problem." He was enjoying the scenery anyway, his eye's focus being switched often between the ship and its pilot, the latter proving to be oddly interesting. She was utilizing a datapad, but... not, at the same time. Grove was a mysterious woman, the last of the so-called Capsuleers, or at least the first generation. For a moment his mind wandered on how they were able to do such things, though it was interrupted with her words -- an apology -- and he turned about again, his eyes having recently shifted back to the vessel.

"Sorry? What for?..." His face wasn't worried so much as it was confused, the apology, to his knowledge, having no precedent in conversation. Looking to the Capsuleer with an expression of curiosity, his brow furrowed once more as he added, "... nothing's the matter, is there?"

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
"Sure there is," Grove said while placing a hand on her hip and huffing out an annoyed sigh. "Last night ... I passed out on you while we were having a deep and meaningful conversation, I think. I don't exactly remember all that was said but I know that things were said. So, if I offended you in anyway, I blame the damn Stovnoski and its truth-serum-like abilities. Oh stars," she paused after making a realization," I didn't like ... come on to you or anything did I," she finished in a questioning tone. Though, if she was honest, Grove shouldn't blame herself as Marcus wasn't all that bad looking and his temperament was ... different. He kind of reminded Grove of her—Oh god. I'm thinking dirty thoughts about a man that reminds me of my father, Markus.

Grove didn't know it but a rather disgusted look came over her face while she stared at the Terran. It soon shifted into horror as her thoughts continue down that path for a moment longer. "I think I'm gonna be sick. We better ... go, yeah, we should just go get you settled in even though we won't be making the launch tonight. Still too many preparations that need to be finished, and some of the stock needs to be resupplied. Nothing to do with weapons, so it shouldn't take past a day or two," Grove said while intentionally keeping her eyes off of Marcus and while her cheeks flared up cherry red.

"... gross," she mumbled to herself while holding her stomach with her free hand and making way to the lift which would take them up to the entry hatch.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
"I..." He began, unsure just how to state that nothing unpleasant transpired, much less her offending him. If anything, the conversation had done him a world of good, the compassion, however light or brief, that Grove had offered him opening his eyes to things around him. "... you didn't offend me, Grove, and-" A pause followed her question of her making any move towards him, his own mind not sure how to treat it other than, "No, you didn't."

Were it not that she seemed so upset by this, as her face soon revealed, he would've found it rather amusing. The topic of her getting sick caused her some worry and he approached with a start, probably not the best choice considering the might put the contents of her stomach on him, looking with some slight alarm to her. Marcus remained silent for most of her tirade, watching as the woman seemed to have some sort of internal upheaval, one, he hoped, wouldn't end with any sort of projectile vomiting.

Following after her as best he could, he spoke after she had finished, waiting several seconds before doing so, "I'm sorry, Grove, whatever it was, I..." His choice of words seemed lacking at this, the only thing coming to his mind, being as he didn't know exactly what had offended her so, escaped his lips, "... didn't mean to."

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
"—No. Don't apologise, M-Marcus," Grove had a little difficulty in saying the name," its ... nothing to do with you." It was a lie, obviously. Whether the Terran was able to pick up on this falsehood was all left up to the level of his perception of micro-expressions and body language habits. Grove had a good poker face but it wasn't always good. "I think I just ate some bad breakfast or something," continued the lie as the Capsuleer hadn't even eaten all day due to the want to be out in space.

Reaching the hatch, Grove popped the airlock and ushered Marcus through into an extremely white room.

Decontamination Process Begin.


"Override," the woman simply said to stop the long and arduous process of crap that she didn't believe was necessary. People were meant to get germs and build up immunities. She had to do it almost every single time she Rebirthed and Grove hadn't once died from a virus or a communicable disease. Opening the internal hatch, the pilot rushed Marcus inside the hull of the ship where a long hallway lit up.

"Captain Groveshkna Onboard. All Han—"

"Oh hush Hellen. Show Marcus where the male quarters are and light up a path," she said before turning to the Terran. It was hard to meet his gaze squarely, but she managed. "Make yourself at home, I have a few things to do on flight deck and then down to maintenance deck. I'll meet you for chow. Hellen will announce when its ready, or when its supposed to be ready. We don't have a chef but its pretty easy to prepare meals onboard," Grove explained while a thin red line appeared on the floor and pulsed in the direction that Marcus needed to travel.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around. Feel free to explore," the Azrican woman said before taking off at a fast pace down the corridor in the opposite direction. Now it was just Marcus all alone in a Battlecruiser with nothing but waiting to be done.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
The woman's response held little ground with him as he began, very much so, to believe that it did have something to do with him. This bad breakfast seemed to crop up most conveniently only after his arrival, and he was sure that there was some poor bastard still out there in the spaceport willing to attest to her fine physical condition. Instead, he simply stood by, waiting first in the white decon chamber before being shown into the ship at large, his eyes distracting him for a moment from his thoughts.

It certainly wasn't what he was expecting. Quite different from the dark, cramped quarters he had been thinking would await him. Though Grove soon started speaking concerning food and whatnot, though by now he was more concerned with looking to her. Something was amiss, as he had been noting for the past few minutes, though she had a good way of hiding just what it was. It wasn't like reading drunk or guilty E-2s back on base. She had a bit more experience with these things. Marcus' gaze trailed after her as she departed, only noticing, with her disappearance the red line which had made itself present on the floor.

Curious. Regardless of what occupied his mind, he thought it to be a rather intriguing feature, and so, with nothing better to do, the gray-clad man soon strode off along the line, his combat boots' rubber soles making little noise as the traversed the eerily empty hallways of the Heimdall.

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
For the rest of the day, Grove had left Marcus on his own while she continued to prepare the ship to leave Terra. Most of it was spent shouting at bay workers who were delivering supplies. It was hard work to get a ship up and running as fast as the Azrick was without a crew, but somehow she was pulling it off. Grove had been around the block a few times and knew how to get people to hustle when the time called for it. Though, she didn't exactly understand why she was pressing so hard to get things finished. After all, this was a literal suicide mission. The sole purpose of this flight was to take Marcus out to the Razorbacks so he could do stars knew what, and die.

It wasn't until the Terran sun had set on the horizon that Grove made it back onto the ship and onto the flight deck. The woman sat in the commanding seat and propped her boots up on the console in front of her before closing her eyes. It wasn't too long after that soft snoring was heard. It wasn't too surprising that Grove had fallen asleep due to her hard work, and it was actually comical the way she was lounging limp in the chair, mouth hanging agape. The woman was an utter wreck.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
The Heimdall class was quite a specimen, proving to be entertainment enough for Marcus as, once he had settled in to his temporary quarters on the beast, he spent most of the remaining time exploring what he could. Cautiously he ventured, making sure to memorize landmarks and such so that he wouldn't get lost, and he looked at what he could of the place, still not believing in the back of his mind that he was actually on a space-craft... and if his mind served him right in its assumptions, a warship. His giddiness was, of course, curtailed by the disturbing vacancy of the place. It seemed quite lonely.

He wondered, as he paced its many hallways and corridors, how Grove could stand it.

Time was of little issue to Sheffield, though he knew that it had been several hours as he backtracked about the place, always returning to his quarters every thirty minutes or so, and he finally decided that perhaps he would venture where Grove went. It'd been some time, of course. She likely got done what she needed for the day.

Anything was better than being left with one's thoughts.

His exploration of this place was a bit less cautious that his last, the day's ventures likely would've been much easier had he just asked the AI to direct him to a locale, and he didn't bother with memorization so much. It wasn't but an hour or so until he happened upon the bridge, or so it looked, and with an odd expression, could hear the sound of breathing upon entering the place. Upon further examination, it seemed that Grove was present, albeit asleep in a most unflattering manner. Marcus, for the moment, preferred not to interrupt her, looking to the bridge at large as he moved away as silently as he could muster.

It wasn't every day you got to be on the bridge of a combat vessel, you know.

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
As soon as Marcus stepped foot on the bridge, the Capsleer began to stir from her nap. Just the simple shift in air density and movement was enough to alarm her back into a conscious state. It would have been a different story if Grove had not jacked herself to the ship—literally. Opening one blue eye, and then the other, she spotted Marcus admiring the grand-eau of the Heimdall's most exciting room. It didn't take her long to straighten up and run the back of her hand across her mouth, while planting her feet back on deck.

"I see you finally found me. Amazing, isn't she," Grove asked with a proud smile on her face, one full of excitement and confidence. Using the arms of her chair as support, the Capsuleer lifted herself from the seat. It was than that the connection Grove had to the ship was obvious; she was literally connected. Wires were plugged into the ports which ran along the woman's spine and transmitted signals from the ship to her own spinal cord. The thickest lay at the base of her neck which seemed to restrict Grove's head moment if not just the speed in which she turned her head.

And then with a simple flex of a finger, the consoles which surrounded them lit up and sprang to life. It was a beautiful sight for Grove and in her earlier years, it had always made her tear up a little bit when she stepped on the bridge of a ship.

"Now maybe you understand why I don't think too highly on death. I enjoy my job too much," Grove said with small laughter trailing behind. "Being able to pilot the best ships is worth a thousand deaths and a thousand more miserable lives."

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
With a quick movement his gaze was shot to her, looking with curiosity as it seemed the woman was quite literally attached the ship. With his astute mind, the Terran figured that this, likely, was what made her a Capsuleer. "Quite so... I spent the time since you left me exploring and I still feel like there's something new to every corner." Marcus certainly didn't expect the display of her power, however, as soon the whole bridge was alight with activity, the displays evoked with a simply twitch of her finger.

He couldn't help but inhale sharply, after a moment's hesitation of course, at the sight.

"... and you can just do it?" The vague question was as best of one he could offer, the correct terms escaping him at the moment, preferring rather to enjoy the view with which he was provided. "... pilot anything, I mean?"

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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Marcus's question was met with great humor. Terrans were an amusing people. "Yeah," Grove started out," I can pilot any ship whether its outfitted for a Capsuleer or not. We were made for starships, but the more adept and passionate of my kind can pilot even the most ancient hunks of crap. We can do other things as well, but I won't bore you with all of that shit. Honestly, its boring," she stated while reaching towards her spine with a hand. Nonchalantly, Grove began to disconnect herself, pulling the plugs from her body with ease. It wasn't until she needed to pull out the mainline that the Azrick woman used both hands to tug it out.

A sticky clear fluid leaked out from Grove's access point which she apologized for."I'm sorry. Its gross to watch me do this. Usually it makes people who aren't used to it pass out or throw up. Especially since its such a long rod," she said while waving it around. It was at least a good four inches long. Grove set the instrument down and pulled a rag from her pocket to wipe down the back of her neck as her free hand powered down the bridge. As the lights dimmed down, she turned to Marcus and asked," You ready to go get some grub?"

It was like her stomach was just waiting for the mention of food. It gave a loud rumble which caused an unpleasant expression to cross Grove's face.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
The thought that one could pilot any and everything that they came across was rather fascinating to him, that they could interface, somehow, with it and manipulate it to their designs. Quite curious, as he soon mused on the subject, "It must be rather freeing." The intrigue that the displays held with him captivated him for a few moments, not looking, initially, to Grove as she went about her business with the wiring and such. When he did, however, he recoiled somewhat at the sight of her removing the greatest of the plugs, though he felt little internal reaction.

It was unusual, to put it lightly, but not truly disgusting. Needles, now that would've set him on edge.

"It's... not a problem." His eyes struck straight for the rod, it being the subject and whatnot, and with his brow furrowed once more he contemplated what it would feel like to bear such a thing in one's body. A blink or two put the thought from his mind as he soon concentrated on her words, especially since they concerned dining. "I'd be delighted." came the quick reply, Marcus leaving the bridge as it was as he backtracked to the door, waiting largely on Grove before setting out.

He was still rather unfamiliar with how things worked on a starship.

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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#, as written by Prose
Grove was more than happy that Marcus was willing to grab some chow. It would have been a bit depressing to eat alone on an empty ship so the company was valued. However, the Azrick woman still would have gone with or without him. It put a smile on her face and a little haste into her step. "Well, good. I haven't eaten anything all day long," Grove said which gave more suspicion to the fact that she had been lying earlier. "Who knows, we might even have a little alcohol on board if I am correct and that shipment came in today. I can't really remember. Its all a blur," she said while taking the lead and exiting the bridge.

Walking down what seemed to be corridor after corridor, Grove took a left into a wide cafeteria room lined with several tables. The kitchen lay just past a buffet serving line and the woman wasted no time making it into the cold storage units. It wasn't too long after the door closed on her that she appeared with two frozen bags of unidentifiable ... food. "I hope you're starving like I am and have a good appetite. We're having steak tonight!"

Grove danced her way over to the grill as happy as she could be. It was a side of the Capsuleer that no one ever got the chance to see aside from a singular person; a person that was left far behind in Lara's past. She even started to sing while the grill fired up and the steaks auto-defrosted.

"Never did like all that fancy cooking shit most ships have. I tend to stick with a good ol' fashion industrial sized grill and oven. In my opinion, it makes food taste much better rather then ... dehydrated or whatever they do to food these days to keep it fresh. Never was much into the science of it, I just like eating."

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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#, as written by Ottoman
The walk seemed to be a bit less tedious with Grove's company, even as miniscule as the feeling might've seemed before. It was nice to have something else moving in the place besides himself, imbued him with a sense of relevance. Besides, walking through the place alone could get damn creepy, he figured. He was excited at the possibility of food, however, and the quickness in his step was descended largely from a situation similar to Lara's, her words not lost on him as he had pondered her state during his adventures.

The detail concerning her 'bad breakfast' especially.

Delayed were the thoughts, though, as they entered the cafeteria, which only emphasized the feeling of loneliness present on the vessel, Marcus greeting the sight with a sigh. His gaze didn't follow Grove, however, and he was startled somewhat as she produced the meals, if they could be called such in their current state. Answering the rhetorical question with a smile and a shrug, he followed her, standing by as he watched her start on the meal, leaning against a counter as he did.

Odd that she seemed so cheerful, despite the rather depressing story she had shared the night prior.

"Anything's better than rations, in my experience." It was true, being as that was largely what he lived off of in the years since the glassing, the thought of a cooked meal forcing his mouth to begin watering, if only a hint. "... place looks odd empty." He mused on the state of the cafeteria, taking a break from looking to the cheerful Azrik, adopting a reflective expression as he did.

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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"I suppose it does look empty. Usually I have a crew running around on my ships but I haven't had one since the glassing incident here. I was quite attached to that group. Very proficient and they knew what not to do, like touch things," Grove said before continuing," Though, I do have to admit, even though I'm alone quite a bit these days, there is a comfort in it. Not so alone anymore though." The woman smiled and stared down at the sizzling prime cuts of meat.

She then turned and took a long look at Marcus with a quizzical stare. Grove still could not figure this man out. Again she thought upon how she didn't understand the want to die without the ability to come back from it. There had been a few suicidal incidents on her ship before, but Marcus didn't appear at all like the others had. It must have been difficult for him to hide his pain so well. Grove released a sigh and turned back to preparing their meal.

"You know, I still don't know much about you. As I recall, I was the one talking more than you last night and that whole meeting was for me to get to know you a bit better. I think it ended up the other way around, don't you think, Marcus," Grove asked him while glancing at him in her peripheral vision.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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Thoughts that, at one time, there was a crew occupying this hall garnered a drop in Marcus' chest, saddened to think that those who once called this place home were gone now, like much of Terra, without a trace. Echoes. That's all so much was anymore. Her finishing remark concerning the state of the place did bring a smile to his face, though he was, for the moment, more concerned with imagining what the place must've looked like before the intervention of such evil powers as the Aschen. Happier days, he thought to himself. Happier days.

Grove's next words did garner a more active reaction from him as he glanced back to her, offering a slight nasal huff in lieu of a chuckle. "... I suppose it did, didn't it?" He offered a faint smile, "Sorry about that. I guess..." He trailed off for a moment, Marcus' mind thinking on how best to remedy the situation, "... fire away. Considering I'm already here, there's nothing to lose."

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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Oh crap. Grove didn't expect to be the one to have to ask the questions. She figured Marcus would have just started rambling on about things like she did. Not every person was the same and she realized this. Grove had just hoped she didn't have to be the leader in just about everything on this expedition, especially the personal things. Usually personal subjects were a two way road but it seemed that Grove always had to hold Marcus's hand and lead him in the right direction. Maybe that was just the way suicidal men operated; they didn't have any direction for life or even the more simple subjects like conversation—fear to take initiative, perhaps?

"Oh, uh, well, I suppose ... you could talk about your career in the Terran military. Like what you do, outstanding memories. Hell, I'd even settle just knowing your favorite color, I suppose. You're the one that said this ship looked empty, so why don't you help to fill it back up with some pointless conversation, hm?" Grove's tone was light and amused. It was strange having someone on her ship and not having to give them constant orders to have to appear as the authoritarian figure. It was refreshing.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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His career? Well, that was an easy enough place to begin, though he waited for her to finish speaking before he began, what he figured, would be a tirade of lackluster quality to Grove. The topics of colors and pointless conversation did garner something of a smile from him, perhaps brought forth by both positive interaction and the furthering of his goals. Commenting as she finished, he actually attempted a jab at humor, looking to her still as he started, "It's orange, by the way."

The encounter had a way of brightening his mood, and he largely blamed both Grove and the excitement of the trip ahead. "... as said, I enlisted in the wake of the Terran Conflict. I didn't feel safe with leaving Ilsa or Alexander..." The pause came as he searched for another word, though it also came with both of the names, his look hardening as it shifted to the floor then the cafeteria at large. "... unprotected. Went in basic. No special deals, I didn't want anything special."

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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Orange. That was unexpected. Horrible choice of a favorite color, Grove thought to herself while poking at the steaks with a fork. Orange was a little happy for her tastes and a bit too bright. It was also not powerful enough in her opinion. Now the color red. That was a different story. Red spoke volumes by just existing. Her thoughts strayed from the subject of the visible light spectrum as Marcus began speaking about his military career.

Ilsa. Alexander.

Those two names mentioned and the following explanation made Grove come to the conclusion that they had been his family. It sent a pang of depression through Grove but she held her composure. The last thing the woman wanted was for dinner to be ruined. To turn her thoughts away from it, she threw herself back into the conversation at hand.

"So why no special deals? Most Terrans seem to join the military to become the most badass Aschen killing machine there is alive. I met a few and they ... well, let's just say that I didn't stay in their company for too long. Its hilarious when a Scatteran female can embarrass a Terran male like I did that day, but I won't go into that story. You're the one that supposed to be talking, not me," Grove said while forking the fat steaks onto a serving plate.

"Finally," Grove exclaimed in glory," they're finished and we can eat. I'm starving. Here, take this out into the dining area while I grab us a few more things and we'll continue the conversation out there." She didn't pause for one second to say anything more or give direction. Oh no, the woman was already fetching down a pair of plates and started to dig in a storage compartment for something else. Most likely it was alcohol as Grove wasn't too keen on vegetables, or anything that didn't come off of a living creature.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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"I'm not really exemplary material." The explanation was offered accompanied by a shrug, as Marcus really didn't think of himself as any sort of super-soldier or specially imbued individual. The one thing he knew he could do and contribute as was being a rifleman, and he knew that international business probably had little place in the Terran military. How fun it was to try and get one's university work to transfer over with that sort of area of study.

Sheffield had little chance more to respond as soon he was directed to take up the meal and ferry it to the dining area, an act which he swiftly obliged with, eager himself to get started on something to eat. Quickly the man shuffled out to the place and set things down, across the table as was customary, and took up the seat farther from the kitchen -- if it could be called such, he figured the term galley was more accurate. It was in this short lapse of conversation that he gave a thought raised by Lara some time to stew in his mind.

Aschen killing machine. It was true that they certainly needed the killing, but he was in no shape to do it. Fair fights were an anomaly with that bastard race, and he was just a rifleman. That'd be a nice thing to be, regardless, an Aschen killing machine. One could dream, though...

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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It took a few runs for Grove to finally get everything required set out on the table that Marcus had chosen for them to have their meal together. By the time she was finished—which took no more than two minutes—the woman plopped herself down in the available seat, leaned forward and set down a familiar bottle down on the middle of the table. "That stuff is quite addictive. Every since Hadden," there was a hesitation before Grove continued," ... Ever since he introduced Stovnoski to me, I really haven't been able to stand much else. It may be Oriyak but they know their alcohol." Not even two seconds after she finished speaking did Grove have a large portion of steak shoved in her mouth. Literally, shoved in her mouth. Grove had many things left desired for her mannerisms. She was a capsuleer and she could do as she pleased.

That steak was the most delicious thing Grove had eaten in a long time. She may not have been some four star Terran or Azrick chef, but the woman could cook a very decent piece of meat. Grove could have almost cried from the it tasted. Hopefully Marcus was enjoying his just as much as she was.

After a swallow, Grove continued their conversation," So, why don't you consider yourself anything special? Is it because your Terran, or ... what. I'm curious to know. As for me, the whole world knows that I am full of myself but hey, given my profession, I think I have the right to brag and boast a bit. But I'd be lying to myself if I said that was the only reason. Sure its a reason to be proud of myself, but what a person does isn't enough. Its mainly my charming personality." She laughed and then returned back to her juicy steak, almost diving at it with her fork and knife like some predator on the hunt.

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Character Portrait: Marcus Sheffield
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The steak belonging to the Anglo-Turk across from her was only cut into once she had done so to her own, the man looking curiously to the meat as he began to carve it up before taking a bit of any of it, ending only when he had subdued and organized roughly half of it, at which point he offered her a glance. Picking back up from where they left, he explained his reasoning considering his nature as best he could, giving it some thought before beginning, "I have no technical skills, nothing fancy." He impaled one of the cuts with his fork at this, "Doesn't take much to hump a rifle and pull a trigger."

Marcus gave little heed to Grove's manners, or lack thereof, as he placed his own morsel into his mouth in a much gentler manner, though he savored it all the same. It had been years since he had a decent steak that wasn't rehydrated from a ration pack. "It's quite good." Inserting in the compliment in a lull in both his explanation and eating, he soon picked back up from where he left off. "... and, to be honest, I don't want to be special. Especially in the service."

He sighed, thinking to his friends who went on to bigger and better things, at least those who weren't dead already. "Being special, different, in the service makes you a target. A rifleman," he shrugged, as if to gesture to himself, "stands just as good a chance as making it as the next."

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Character Portrait: Lara Grove
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"It seems from your point of view that being a rifleman isn't all that exciting ... but, from my point of view I think it sounds pretty special. Not everyone can point a weapon at another person or multiple people and shoot. My first time in combat, our ship was boarded and overtaken by pirates, whatever you want to call them. I was trapped by my hardlink into the ship so I couldn't go anywhere without harming myself or others. When they breeched the command room, I had only one choice and that was to shoot the enemy. But, when it came down to it, it wasn't me that fired the first shot. I came out missing half of my right leg, and two thirds of the crew."

"During that entire cycle I kept thinking to myself,' Would it have been different if I had grown the balls to defend the ship?'. Honestly, I still don't know the answer to that question and I never will. So you see, anyone that can fire at their enemy without hesitation is pretty ... pretty fuckin' awesome in my book," Grove said while musing on that memory a moment longer—as long as it took to fork down a few more pieces of steak.

"People are strange. They get stuck in one point of view and only focus on how they see things. I guess that's another unique thing about being a capsuleer, you understand how another person might not see things the way that you do. But that didn't come to me for a long ass time, probably not until I was in my fifties."

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To think that his profession, the base-line for the military, was, to someone, important, did a little for him. They were proud, to be sure, as they were the queen of battle. Nothing happened without them. He tried, however, to maintain his focus, rather not letting his mind wander as she related to him another story of her own. Taking his cup, a rather bland looking beige mug that looked to be made out of some sort of plastic, he poured himself something of a reserve of the Stovnoski, taking a slight sip of it as she continued, making quite a good point.

Time did put a perspective on things, just in his case it wasn't the most positive of filters. The closing remark caused his mind some action, though, as he had to actively try to remember that he was dealing with, as much as appearances might suggest otherwise, a seventy year old woman. "Well," he offered as she finished, "I'm glad that you think so. Liked the job so much I decided to stay." More humor, or so he tried. Rather he could never find the will to advance beyond corporal, and the constant citations for drunkenness didn't help him. Though the lack of seniority in Terran personnel meant that he was a valuable commodity, a troop from before the Glassing, and such a release from his service was, at best, unlikely any time soon.