>>2994037
Actions Before Narrative Prompt: 3
Alert Status: None
>[INPUT ACTION]

>>2994039
I'll give a more complete set of options:
>Inquire more about Kyback and the gossip mongers
>Ask about their opinions on your assignment to the Yamato
>Inquire about the mood around the ship and among the staff
>Ask about their opinions on The Captain and The Officers
>Engage each member of personnel individually (Specify)
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION] (Leave, etc)
>Write-In

>>2994148
>Ask about their opinions on your assignment to the Yamato

>>2994148
>Ask about their opinions on your assignment to the Yamato

>>2994148
>>Ask about their opinions on your assignment to the Yamato

Session resuming in 2 hours and 30 minutes.

>>2994037
Awww shit OP, ur back.

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>>2995514
I've been busy managing my family's new hotel and other things. I work from my room at home, so I've been distracted with either one thing or the other. That and I spend my "relaxation time" grinding MHW.

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‘I know this might sound a little self-serving, but what do you think of our assignment to The Yamato?’

As you’d expected … none of them seemed too keen on giving you an answer. Their eyes dart from one pair to the other, unspoken, lightly-gestured prompts flying around the air to push a sacrificial lamb among them forward. Maybe you were being a little … straightforward on this. You know you’d been put on the spot by your Instructors enough to know that giving an opinion to a superior made you clench up like undiluted Yordenian Chili Mix; it was probably a little too sudden for you to drag their tongues out for a recital when you’d barely warmed the seat on your Mech.

At least that’s what you think … until Kraig steps forward, more stone-faced than he had been the last few exchanges.

‘We’re glad to have a Chapter on board, sir.’

It doesn’t take much for you to dissect the opinion and pull out its insincerity.

‘You can be honest with me, you know,’ you return, trying to sound as open as you possibly could.

Another uneasy look around. None of them look happy, even with your insistence.

‘Then … to be honest, sir, we don’t really have an opinion on it,’ Kraig replies tentatively, trying his best to remain disciplined. At least this time he sounds as honest as he declares himself to be. ‘We don’t mean any offense by it, but uh, we work with The Navy and you answer to The Aegis. From our experience, we haven’t stepped on each other’s toes as much as history says we should be … and I think with the streamlining of the military, we probably won’t. We got our own responsibilities to handle as is … what we think about each other is kinda irrelevant because of that. Or, uh … that’s what I believe, sir.’

You raise an eyebrow.

‘You’ve never had a bad brush against a Mech pilot at all?’

It’s Rickert’s turn to talk; he raises a hand, wearing an apologetic smile as your attention draws itself to him with the light rumble of forced amusement that rises from his belly.

‘Eh, we ain’t gonna say that we haven’t had our fair share of scuffles, yeah,’ Rickert begins, a guilty look falling upon his features, ‘but, uh … I think among the three of us, the only things that your Chapter’ll probably do to us is adjust our cycles again. Not gonna say there ain’t gonna be friction either, but, uh … so far, sir, to be honest, um … I don’t think we got much in the way of good or bad to say about you being here is all. Besides, like, uh, what was said, we’re kinda … one entity now, I guess? Be stupid to start a fight at all, really.’

‘So I stay out of your way and you’ll stay out of mine?’ you joke, chortling slightly as you cross your arms.

The three of them shrug simultaneously.

‘Your words, sir, not mine … uh, sir.’

Rickert gets a swift kick for his troubles.

>>2995604
Actions Before Narrative Prompt: 3
Alert Status: None
>Inquire more about Kyback and the gossip mongers
>Inquire about the mood around the ship and among the staff
>Ask about their opinions on The Captain and The Officers
>Engage each member of personnel individually (Specify)
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION] (Leave, etc)
>Write-In

>>2995610
>Head to the cafeteria.

>>2995617
This will consume 1 action.

>>2995617
sounds like a good idea,gotta get to know the crew more
>>2995632
im alright with that

>>2995632
That is fine.

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The cafeteria is practically empty.

It’s also, in all honesty, quite smelly. You’d waved your goodbyes to Kraig and his team not fifteen minutes ago … and now you think you would have scored more points of information with the bodies present in the lounge you’d left. Everyone was practically on their shift or in their quarters; you’d hardly bumped into anyone coming down here. There were still members of personnel around, of course. Two uniformed bodies present; one on each side. One man in a cap with his arms crossed looking like a statue … and another who was going over what appeared to be an array of paperwork. His load seemed to be taking up most of his small corner. Pads, paper … you wonder why he hadn’t just decided to finish up in his office. There were others, of course. A janitor was disinfecting the floor in the corner and a duo of cooks on was on the other side of one of the … you count three counters present. The hall was large enough for you to notice the vast emptiness of it all. It wasn’t quite a hangar, but it was definitely a level above the mess hall back on Rhysode. Your heel makes a light squeaking sound as you drag it on the floor, echoing loud enough for half of the small body of staff present to raise their heads. There were no drones present in the cafeteria, although there were a pair of auto-scanners lining up the walls and making the occasional beeping sound.

You’re not surprised. Eating in space was a big endeavor, after all. Not that you’d compare it to the thousands of years, of cycles, back, but considering that you were in an enclosed space, hygiene was a big factor to consider. Even without those lectures on safety back as when you were on the Colony Fleet, it didn’t take much for you to conclude just what rose up from an unsanitary environment … and you’d seen enough health warnings beeping and enforcement divisions to drag themselves out of a laxed state to punish even the slightest inconsideration to the possibility of danger. In fact, if there was one thing that you’d get yelled at … it was not taking the time to sort your rubbish out.

Germs were everywhere, even in space.

Being vigilant with hygiene … wasn’t an option. It was a necessity. Leftover food and rubbish from dining were the primary causes of a bad spread. You really shouldn’t have expected the cafeteria staff—the Imperial Navy—to skim on the budget when it came this. The Fleet Administrator didn’t on yours, after all.

One of the scanners beeps loudly. You hear aloud, loud curse from behind the counter.

‘Damn it, I thought you calibrated the accursed thing already!’

‘It’s set to its base count; leave it alone already!’

The duo behind the counter erupts into a heated argument. None of the others bother with them.

>Approach the man doing work
>Approach the man wearing the cap
>Approach the clean-up crew
>Approach the arguing duo
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]

>>2995820
>Approach the arguing duo

>>2995820
>>Approach the arguing duo

>>2995820
>>Approach the arguing duo

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‘You can’t change it to the base count,’ one of the cooks remarks, taking his gloves off and throwing them onto the counter. ‘If you do that, then the damn settings are gonna just assume it’s in a stable base atmosphere, you numbskull!’

‘Well forgive me, then,’ the other cook snaps right back, brandishing what you assume to be the control unit for whatever it was they were talking about. Even from here, however, you’re able to note the sarcasm in his voice. ‘I thought that the damned programming would’ve been smart enough to sort out that it was in an enclosed, artificial atmosphere!’

‘Don’t you diss me, you jack,’ his companion growls, snatching the control unit right out of his hands. ‘It was a good proposal and you know it!’

‘We could’ve invested in some proper cleaning drones!’

‘Cleaning drones are a sham! They’ve only really upgraded twice in the last two-hundred years and the last time was when my grandfather was thinkin’ up baby names for my aunt!’

‘Scanning tech hasn’t dragged itself up, either! What you got to say about that?’

‘If anything’s picked up we can do it for ourselves! The kind of stuff that doesn’t get filtered out we can settle for ourselves! Damn, Kodiak, why’re you complaining so much about this, anyway? You gave your vote—’

‘I gave you half a vote, Chandler! Half a vote! I said I’d rather have a damn scouring drone doing the cleaning!’

You think it’s about time you cut in.

‘Excuse me …’

‘WHAT?!

You’re met with a pair of glowering eyes … and two extremely ticked off cooks, who, despite their differences, wore identical, angered expressions. They were both of equal height, broadly built, wearing aprons above their work uniforms. One of them had an unkempt set of hair, barely kept in place by the band that served as a sort of makeshift fishnet-cum-hair decoration. There were what appeared to be streaks of grease upon his features, no doubt from a day behind the stove … and his friend looked no better, a deflated chef’s hat barely hanging from his head as he eyed you impatiently. You’re unsure of the range they were settled in, but if you wanted to guess, they were probably just slightly above Fisher’s age … although the dark-haired man—Kodiak or something—was probably a little bit older. He had a bit of a slouch in stance, compared to his slightly-leaning friend.

The way they were both stacked, however … neither looked like an easy dance in an alley.

If nothing else, both of them seemed quite hardened.

Which meant that treading lightly was the most sound course of action. Their irritation with you was probably quite the channel for their current frustrations … and you were loath to be a target for either of those rock hard fists the blonde one sported.

>>2996049
>'I heard you guys talking about the scanners ... mind if I take a look?' [Technical Habits]
>Chastise them for not knowing who you are
>Inquire as to what the problem is
>Apologize and leave them be
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2996055
>'I heard you guys talking about the scanners ... mind if I take a look?' [Technical Habits]

>>2996055
>>'I heard you guys talking about the scanners ... mind if I take a look?' [Technical Habits]

>>2996055
>'I heard you guys talking about the scanners ... mind if I take a look?' [Technical Habits]

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‘I heard you guys talking about the scanners … mind if I take a look?’

Their angered visages shift to that of annoyance, to that of confusion. The both of them give each other a look, skepticism immediately following up.

‘I’m pretty good with my hands,’ you continue, trying to sound as relaxed as you can manage. Both of them looked like they could knock your block off, after all (Which begged the question of their presence at such a station). ‘Maybe I could … have a look at your environmental scanners.’

They share another look.

The one you recognize as Kodiak shrugs … and the one known as Chandler grunts, pulling one of the swing doors open.

‘Not like we got nothing to lose.’

You step behind the counter. Kodiak takes a knee, flipping open what appeared to be a hand-sized door on the floor.

As if in reflex, you pull out the only tool you need … and get to work.

Just another glitch to straighten out manually.

You’d done this before: it wasn’t hard. Hell, you could even say it was child’s play. Living on a ship in the vast vacuum of space had allowed some skills to come easier than others … and when the threat of imminent death was at the corner with the smallest failure, some things were invaluable in their simplicity. The man you only knew as Chandler … his gaze is felt as you’re hunched over, tabulating the values and the base toxicity. It’s a little trickier now … you didn’t want to reroute too much power to the scanning units … and it seemed like the whole matter was essentially down to—

‘Hm.’

There.

There it was. The internal indicators weren’t as aligned as believed … more thank likely from a forced reset too many. Typical, you supposed, to people who didn’t consider the unwritten guideline to troubleshooting via manual: that you don’t try all the solutions at once. The sample list of the catalog-reference writing was up on the internal monitor … you could feel the light static of flowing current as you move your hands away. If it didn’t stick, then at least for now, you realize that you’d calibrated the settings to suit that of the environment they were in. The light click of the closed panel is followed by your hands clapping together in relief … your work was done.

The system starts up again.

Light hums, no beeps … and silence.

The external indicator turns blue and designates a number.

Perfect.

‘Whoa,’ you hear Chandler exclaim, the shuffle of feet following after as he backs off to avoid his head getting bashed by your standing up straight. ‘That’s, uh, it?’

You turn around.

The one scanner didn’t seem to be beeping loudly anymore.

‘I assume so,’ you let out in a jokingly formal tone. ‘Either that or I messed the whole thing up.’

‘Nice hands,’ Kodiak returns, crossing his arms. ‘You from engineering?’

>>2996221
>‘I’m a Spacer, actually. This kind of stuff is second nature.’ (Reveal origins)
>‘Not really.’ (Vague)
>‘Knight-Commander, but don’t mind the titles.’ (Jest)
>Leave without a word
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2996222
>>‘Not really.’ (Vague)

>>2996222
>‘Knight-Commander, but don’t mind the titles.’ (Jest)

Taking my break. Continuing at 8 PM my time. Keep voting if you want to.

>>2996232
This

File: Kodiak2.gif (58 KB, 371x416)

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‘Knight-Commander, actually,’ you clarify, wiggling your eyebrows in amusement, ‘but don’t mind the titles.’

To your slight surprise, you’re not met with reverence, but … skepticism. Chandler turns to Kodiak, scrunching his nose as he appears to make an attempt at digesting the situation. Kodiak’s expression hardens … but he keeps his silence, peering at you as if looking for confirmation. You lift your identification up, declaring your designation to support your claim … and in a move that only furthers your surprise, you see Kodiak joining in on his friends skepticism, mirroring Chandler’s previous movements.

‘You’re a little young to be a Knight-Commander, aren’t you?’

At the back of your mind, you really should have considered that that would have been brought up.

‘I guess,’ you concede, shrugging slightly. The both of them were … oddly casual. Although you wouldn’t quite call them dismissive, you were kind of used to the prospect of people treating you as a celebrity of sorts; it was … oddly refreshing to see two men who spent their days toiling through meal rotations be the first to actually question your viability as the leader of a Chapter.

‘Are things really that bad with The Alliance Military?’ Kodiak questions, his expression stoic. ‘Feels a little rushed.’

‘From what I heard he was part of the defense on Rhysode … but if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be the one giving him the keys to a whole Chapter.’

You frown.

It wasn’t a jibe … probably. But it certainly sounded like one.

As if taking notice of your sudden apprehension, the both of them throw up identical salutes, eyes to the Yamato’s bulkhead. Chandler’s the first to motion to talk, stepping forward and reciting his formalities.

‘Uh, yeah, um, sorry sir, didn’t mean to sound insubordinate: I’m Specialist Gordwell and this is—’

‘Specialist Palladian, sir. We’re both part of the mess crew … as you can see.’

‘Not much of a crowd.’

‘That’s because it ain’t chow time for the rotations just yet,’ Chandler replies, smirking. ‘I think it’ll be … what? Two hours before the next bunch comes down?’

‘Three,’ Kodiak corrects him, raising a finger. ‘Good timing with that fix, too … I don’t think I’d be able to take another clean-up with that stench.’

‘Aren’t clean-ups automated?’

The both of them resume their glares at your words.

‘It would be if someone decided to bring it up at the last budget request.’

‘Hey, you gave a your vote to that too—’

‘Gentlemen,’ you call them to attention. ‘Please.’

‘Sorry,’ Chandler apologizes … more for his stepping out of line than it was to Kodiak. ‘It’s not wholly automated. Some things still need a personal touch, yeah?’

Kodiak grumbles in response, crossing his arms and glaring at the columns of tables. If he had anything to say, he wasn't about to say it.

>>2996660
>'I don't mean to sound egotistical, but the both of you are probably the first Navy guys to not, uh, revere me.'
>'So what's the grub like on this ship?'
>'You two known each other long?' (Personal inquiry)
>'Well, keep up the good work.' (Drop the conversation)
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

No one playing. I'm calling it. See you tomorrow morning.

>>2996684
Get out of here faggot

>>2996663
>>2996663
So what's the grub like on this ship?'
>'You two known each other long?' (Personal inquir

>>2996663
>'So what's the grub like on this ship?'

>>2996663
>>'So what's the grub like on this ship?'

>>2996701
This

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‘So what’s the grub like on this ship?’

The both of them glance at each other again. It must be some kind of odd tic that developed over years or something … a kind of married at the hip that you got from people who were around each other for too long. Some kind of brain wave must have connected between the two, because it doesn’t take long for them to round their gazes onto you.

‘Nothing special, right? Standard proteins and vitamins and minerals for maximum efficiency,’ Chandler answers matter-of-factly. ‘Alpha-Beta Nutrient Rec Allocations and a few preservation containers for the occasional reverie break.’

Kodiak nods in return. ‘Nothing beyond the standard by Battlegroup standards.’

You nod. ‘So basically just the same monotony anywhere else, huh?’

To your surprise, you’re greeted by an indignant huff at your slightly sarcastic take; Chandler Gordwell is the one who takes the fore. ‘I don’t know if it just hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but this isn’t exactly what you’d put up for an application digging for luxuries … although, considering just what branch you’re from, sir, the concept’ll probably take a while to digest.’

‘Some bitterness there?’ you joke, not offended at all.

Kodiak laughs, hands on his hips.

‘Not at all, Knight-Commander,’ he clarifies, wearing a slight smile, ‘but you do realize just what the perception of The Aegis and its members is to the public, don’t you?’

You grimace slightly. You did know; all too well, in fact.

‘I’m not arguing against that … but wouldn’t the monotony kind of stick to the crew a little? I know that there’s the occasional treat that you have stashed back there, I’m just saying that maybe you can change things up once in a while to make it less, uh … tedious for the rest of the Yamato?’

A smirk is what you get for your suggestion.

‘Didn’t know that The Aegis taught culinary responsibilities.’

‘Not trying to step on anyone’s toes, but … you know, shouldn’t there be, um, something that actually breaks the norm that doesn’t just sound like a weekend candy bar for a job well done?’

The both of them stare at each other again … and then turn back to you.

‘If you’re talking about ale rations, we got plenty of those,’ Kodiak informs you, creasing his brows. ‘Wait, we’re not under probation again, are we?’

Probation?

‘No, no, I’m just curious is all … been a while since I’ve been on a ship and I just wanted to check how the operations were being handled,’ you return, shaking your head and raising your hands in a placating gesture. ‘Sorry if I sound like a bit of a busybody. Just … you know, it’s just something that I have an elbow and an eye on, you know?’

‘Elbow and an eye?’

Spacer expression, you almost reply. Almost.

>>2998389
>Reveal the origins of the saying anyway
>Clarify yourself on your interest further
>Inquire further about Chandler and Kodiak
>Leave the conversation
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2998392
>>Clarify yourself on your interest further

>>2998392
>Clarify yourself on your interest further

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‘I’m just saying maybe a little more variation wouldn’t hurt,’ you clarify yourself, rounding back on the crux of the point. ‘I mean, like I said, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes here’—a light grumble can be heard from Gordwell’s throat—‘but considering that you guys already look all in with the haul you’ve dragged by so far, maybe … it wouldn’t hurt to invest a little bit more to break from the norm?’

‘What, you’re willing to foot the bill, Knight-Commander?’ Chandler states coolly.

You wince.

‘That’s not what I meant … but you guys never really thought about changing things around a little?’

‘Nope,’ Kodiak declares, taking the same stance as his companion. It looked like that was that. ‘That kind of thinking’s a little idealistic. Regardless of positions … we’re still working on a limited supply cache in application. It’s not a unique discussion that you’ve brought up. In the end, it’s down to how much space we got and just how much we’re able to actually allocate for the extras. There’s only so much you can fit between six standard months of supplies on a strict rotation.’

You concede the point. ‘Yeah, I guess. Sorry to butt in on it.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Chandler reassures you, crossing his arms and nodding sagely. ‘You probably meant well.’

Now he was just taking the piss out of it.

‘It’s something we’ll consider on the whole,’ Kodiak responds, nodding. ‘But in the end … well, we can only do what we can.’

You nod again.

‘I understand.’

>'I don't mean to sound egotistical, but the both of you are probably the first Navy guys to not, uh, revere me.'
>'You two known each other long?' (Personal inquiry)
>'Well, keep up the good work.' (Drop the conversation)
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2998461
>>'You two known each other long?' (Personal inquiry)

>>2998461
>'You two known each other long?' (Personal inquiry)

>>2998477
>>2998478
Small spoiler: if you'd chosen another background, you would have been able to turn this into a task/quest of sorts. As a Spacer, you don't have the connections.

>>2998499
eh makes sense

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You can’t help but feel that it was a little personal, but … well, you couldn’t keep your curiosity in check, either. The both of them were amazingly in-sync for a pair that seemed content muttering insults at one another in a manner akin to an exchange of cannon barrages. You shift slightly before leaning on the counter, placing your hand on the surface as you curiously gaze at the both of them … who had their own eyes on you.

‘I’m sorry if this cuts in a little bit more, but how long have the both of you known each other?’

The both of them share another glance again.

‘Since we were … no, since I was thirteen and he was fifteen, I think,’ Chandler replies, stroking his chin again. ‘We’re both from Pydoneus-Beta. You heard about it?’

You’d never been … but you knew about Pydoneous-Beta. It was one of the few worlds that served as an economic front for the Trade Houses … one of them, of course, that your friend belonged to. Pydoneus-Beta was located in a system with a dwarf as its star system. Your Colony Fleet had sent out emissary barges for trade once in a while when passing through the comparative vicinity of the system and your family members had gone with them, coming back with horror stories of just how some of the Trade Houses dealt on their business frontlines. Being in the relative vicinity of worlds with rich resources … you really couldn’t see the Trade Houses doing otherwise.

But what had gotten to you, though, was the sheer magnitude of the congestion on Pydoneus-Beta. Some levels apparently even had artificial filtration engines the size of starships. As much as you loved the enclosed spaces of your Colony Fleet … it wasn’t something that you wanted to experience in an environment with natural gravity.

‘I’m familiar.’

‘The reality’s a lot worse than the stories,’ Kodiak replies seriously. ‘Urban crimerates are controlled, but the deeper down in the levels you get, the less likely Imperial enforcement’s willing to come in to save the day … and my family had a restaurant just above the dives. Wasn’t easy toeing that line when you’re not sure if the Houses were going to trade up, buy you out or decide that your sector was expendable. And if it wasn’t that, it was the crime leaking out from underneath.’

‘I was one of the mid-level bureaucrat kids. Dad was an agent of an agent and, uh … one day I decided to be a little adventurous, you know, go off the beaten path.’

‘You mean you tried to impress a bunch of teenagers wearing cheap leather jackets.’

‘Hey!’

‘There are less stupid ways to declare teenage rebellion, Chandler.’

‘It’s been eighteen years! Is that seriously what you’re going to take about me to the podium?’

Kodiak chuckles.

‘Yes.’

>>2998530
>‘I’m familiar.’>Interrupt them; divert topic (Specify)
>Reroute them back to the focus of the conversation
>Continue watching their back and forth
>Leave
>[INPUT EXTERNAL ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2998534
>Continue watching their back and forth

>>2998534
>>Continue watching their back and forth

>>2998534
and its almost 6am here in burgerland
so this is my last prompt for the night

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Chandler raises his hands, exasperated.

‘You’re talking about it like I’m the only one that screwed up that day on the planet!’

‘I didn’t see any other pre-teens gullible enough to follow a group of wannabe tough guys that thought they still had spots on their foreheads,’ Kodiak declares teasingly, his smirk slightly diminished but still very much present. ‘How did your dad take it when I dragged you back up to the complex? Mind jogging my memory on that?’

Chandler’s face turns red.

‘I’ll jog your memory you palooka!’

He swipes at his friend … who easily sidesteps and smacks the back of his assailant’s fist to one side, the momentum almost causing Chandler to stumble, at least until he steps back and regains his balance. Chandler hunches over, his arms cocked back to throw up another strike … but Kodiak, who’s probably used to the explosion of physical violence, only snickers at his friends indignant state. You’re unsure of what to do. You want to step in and establish your authority by drawing up discipline, but … judging by what was already going on, this was (more than likely) a routine between the two specialists than it was a genuine argument.

‘Yech,’ Chandler declares, looking away.

‘He was trying to impress a few kids in school that he could cut it with the bad boy crowd,’ Kodiak explains further. ‘Somehow he managed to tag along with some of the upperclassmen down the levels to get a few sticks to … earn his stripes.’

You scrunch your nose, staring at Chandler.

‘Sticks? Really?’

‘I was young and reckless.’

‘You’re still reckless,’ Kodiak grumbles, raising a finger. ‘And you still drag me into your convenience schemes on a basis that I’d really not be involved in.’

Chandler throws a gesture up. You can undoubtedly say it wasn’t a polite one.

‘So that’s how you met, then?’

‘The gang he tagged along with played tough guy on my street. I was working filling in for my dad’s usual crew back then … and they ended up getting the real tough guys on the street angry.’

Kodiak rubs his chin.

‘If I’m being honest, I thought he was a girl with that hair.’

‘You stinking bastard.’

‘Well, long story short,’ Kodiak continues, not missing a beat, ‘I ended up putting myself in a brawl I really shouldn’t have been in in the first place thinking a bunch of burly teenagers were about to have their way with a grammar school girl—’

‘One more. Just one more, Kodiak …’

‘—and got my ass kicked for it. Not that he came out unscathed either, mind. Lesson learned.’

You hear a mumble of reluctant agreement.

‘Anyway … my father came and kicked everyone’s butts and called his father in … and next thing I know, we’re classmates in an upper level grammar school.'

>>2998584
>'Classmates?' (Point out the inconsistency)
>'That's it? How'd you guys end up here?' (Request to elaborate)
>Stop the conversation
>Leave
>[INPUT ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2998585
>'Classmates?' (Point out the inconsistency)

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‘Classmates?’ you point out, frowning. There was a bit of an inconsistency there. ‘You guys aren’t the same age … are you?’

‘I’m about two years older than him, yeah,’ Kodiak affirms, nodding. ‘I had to drop out of school … not that it made any difference levels down. The numbers for crime are below the standard, but … that’s only when you’re in full view of Imperial law enforcement. For schools under the belt, you were as prepared for a university getting as you were ready for a kinetic shot to the face. My father didn’t think it was beneficial … even if he hoped that I was going to be one of the few that managed to dig themselves out of that hole. Decided that I’d do better managing my dad’s affairs and opening the store over taking the lift and maybe getting my qualifications. Not that they’d see any use if you’re from the sub-sectors at lower levels … that is, until his father decided that he was indebted enough to put me through the rest of my schooling.’

‘His father?’

Chandler, now getting the brunt of attention, scowls, pink on his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck.

‘Chandler’s father was one of the mid-level bureaucrats for a Trade House. Nothing big; he was a contractor more than he was a full-time employee … and me getting a gash and a femur lost in a free-for-all, well, my dad decided it was as good a ticket for me to make something better out of myself.’

The blond nods sagely.

‘Took some time for us to actually get our heads together on whether we wanted to go full service or finish our qualifications for the professional courses … but, well, neither of us wanted anything to do with a Trade House on Pydoneus-Beta, so as soon as the option went up, we decided to lump ourselves with the civilian contracting program. Hopefully make some coin, give something back to the Empire … maybe actually see how the rest of the galaxy’s like while we’re at it.’

‘How’d you end up being Specialists, then?’

The both of them glance at each other again.

‘Well, at first, uh … we kind of decided to do that whole professional service thing and just use it to give us a leg up on starting our own business,’ Chandler starts, sounding a little … embarrassed. ‘But one way or another, almost every Naval vessel and crew we served with kind of got the head cook getting knocked by one whammy or the other … and before we knew it, we had our service checkboxes filled out. We’ve served on … how many fronts have we served on?’

‘Three theaters on the rim,’ Kodiak answers, scowling. ‘Not counting the ships. Active duty didn’t agree with most of them, I think. This’ll be our second tenure as designated Specialists … and hopefully we’ll have enough saved up by the end to finally open up on a Paradise World.’

‘We’re gettin’ there!’

They give each other high-fives.

>>2999210
>'You're planning to open up a business on a Paradise World?'
>'The both of you sound like you don't want anything to do with Trade Houses.'
>'Good luck, gentlemen. Nice talking with you.' (Leave)
>[INPUT ACTION]
>Write-In

>>2999212
>Nice goal to have. Not sure how much help I can be, but if you want to experiment with recipes I wouldn't mind taste testing.

>>2999235
sounds good to me

>>2999235
This

It's Friday, so no session today. Do what you want do.

>>2999235
>>2999246
>>3000412
Again, missed out on a potential Quest due to your background.

PSA: Mech’s got some stuff that popped up so theres gonna be abit of a delay.

Please wait warmly as robutts blow up.

This is Mechanic. I'm posting from my phone and informing you folk that I'm still waiting on my ban to be lifted for apparently using an exit node.

Was going to do the giveaway today. You can thank the Discord for putting me in a foul enough mood to cancel it outright. I'll be running in a tick. Prompt up soon. Also had a bit of an argument with a mod over my constant ban status. No resolution so far.

File: Cafe.jpg (970 KB, 1500x1000)

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You feel like you’d peeled open enough of their hours. Even if the next meal rotation was a way off, dragging it along anymore than you already did … well, there was a little bit of apprehension on your part when it came to taking people’s time. You’d learned not to do that in your not-too-long-ago student days … and if there was anything that stuck with you, it was your adherence to the concept of knowing when enough was, indeed, enough. You push yourself off the counter, dusting your elbows off and throwing a friendly smile at the two men, who, in another lifetime, would have been your seniors as you worked your logistical best towards a more visible career.

That, however, didn’t mean that those with more mud on their boots didn’t have anything to offer you otherwise.

‘Not a bad goal to have,’ you say, trying to sound as supportive as you can manage. ‘Not sure how much help I can be, but if you want to try some recipes out … I believe I can volunteer my Chapter’s tastebuds to your kitchen.’

They share another glance.

This one lasts a little longer than than the one before.

‘Something wrong?’ you inquire, wondering if there was something that you’d somehow overlooked.

Kodiak’s the first to recover.

‘No, nothing at all, sir, it’s just …’

He doesn’t manage to finish his words, however.

‘Aren’t you, you know … being just a little bit informal here?’ Chandler asks, sounding very much confused. ‘I mean, uh … isn’t this kind of out of your usual scope of, uh … work?’

Your reply is easy to come by.

‘Not at all,’ you chortle, amusement ringing in your intonation. ‘This is just how I work, Specialist.’

The both of them stare at you … before mimicking your amusement, holding their hands up before dropping into identical salutes. You could swear that the both of them shared some sort of thought-bridge, the way they worked.

‘Then we’re happy to work with you, sir.’

You’re all too glad to return their gesture. You hadn’t had time to socialize with much of the Yamato’s staff … but if they were all as friendly as the two Specialists, you can only be glad to have been posted here. There was still an apprehension of sorts around, what with the amalgamation of certain departments, the compromise of jurisdictions and the like … and the less toes you’d step on in your fledgling career, the better.

The both of them get back to their routine as you step out from behind the counter, finding the area a lot more … scarce than it already was: the cleaning crew had left during your little introductory session with the Specialists, as did the man in the hat. The only one left in the wide area was a studious-looking officer bent over his work at a table, mumbling to himself as he toiled away.

You still had some time to kill, you think.

>>3013263
Curfew Rotation In: 2 units
Alert Status: None
>Go to a location
>Seek out staff (Specify)
>Consider localized options
>[INPUT ACTION]
>Write-In

>>3013272
>Seek out staff: Maldante

>>3013272
>>Go to a location
>Weapons Training and Martial Practice Center [AKA “Gym”]

>>3013272
>>3013644
sure why not this?

>>3013643
>>3013644
>>3013694

I thought you guys didn't want to play. I went out at the hour mark.

>>3014053
i forgot to turn on auto-update so i didnt see the prompt till like 2 hours later
and im the one who tells the others that a prompt is up

>>3014060
granted most of us that play are asleep right now and im headin that way
send a message to someone when you're about to run and most of us will be there

>>3014063
well those that can be

File: Empty Gym.jpg (55 KB, 760x530)

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The Weapons Training and Martial Practice Center—the gym—is, for all intents and purposes … empty.

Or rather, the conditioning hall is. Strength and weight machines lay unused as drones swooped around scanning for any impurities for them to clean up. You see one of the staff members assigned to maintenance and clean up to one side of the relatively small chamber, their back to you as they went about with their work. You place your hand on one of the horizontal machines, wincing as memories of days past come back … accompanied by a brutal reminder of the year of supplementary conditioning that you had to put yourself through. As much as your more toned arms appreciated the aesthetic and practical gains made, you have no intention of wanting to return to Sanza’s warnings echoing in your ears more brutally than any drill instructor could manage. No; not at all.

The chains ring slightly as you give the device a nostalgic tug, chuckling as you fix an eye on the weight allocation: whoever had put the thing to use had set it close to max. You’d never been able to do that before, even with the gains you’d made. Not that it wasn’t on your mind, of course. What man didn’t want to break his own limits once in a while?

You give the handle another pull.

A light wobble, but ultimately no movement.

Another glance around: no one but that one staff member in the corner with their back to you, as it was before.

Perhaps the Weapons Range could offer you some semblance of company.

Or the Martial Practice chamber.

>Martial Practice Chamber
>Weapons Range
>Continue to loiter
>[INPUT ACTION]
>Leave
>Write-In

>>3026628
>>Weapons Range

The weapons range is as you expect it to be.

Sixth booths, an electronically-locked weapons cabinet and a stretch of ten meters with two scanning units and a safety drone that the armament was probably electronically chained to. The bare minimum.

What was unexpected, however … was its lone inhabitant.

The weaponry deployed is kinetic, so it’s as noisy as you expect. The click and release of the rifle in the hands of its user comes in bursts. Having sat through the dredge of weapon discipline for two whole electives, you’re able to recognize the sound to belong to a weapon built for multi-purpose usage over a specific task. It’s a primary armament, standard issue; probably something that you could find in the survival kit at the back of a Mech … maybe a little downhill. The bursts are loud and imprecise, but the man behind the trigger is anything but.

Your friend Emilio parks himself in one of the booths, the kinetic weapon letting loose with brief stops to re-center his sights.

With those earmuffs on, you’re unsure of whether he can hear you even if you call out to him from this range.

As he turns to face you, unloading the magazine—definitely below the standard grade—you find you don’t need to.

‘Having fun?’ you call out, throwing a casual hand up.

You’re met with a disapproving glance as he takes the earmuffs off.

‘Aren’t you being a little too casual, Knight-Commander?’

>‘Probably.’ (Nonchalant)
>‘I think we’ve known each other long enough to know where personal and professional don’t intersect.’ (Clarify)
>‘I suppose.’ (Agree)
>Write-In

>>3026970
>‘I think we’ve known each other long enough to know where personal and professional don’t intersect.’ (Clarify)

File: Emilio.jpg (7 KB, 300x225)

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‘I think we’ve known each other long enough to know where the divide of personal and professional lies,’ you return, raising your hands and giving a light, playful shrug. ‘It’s not as if I’ve written down a clause for you to acknowledge your designated inferiority in formal script.’

Emilio chortles, setting the weapon down on the counter. ‘Didn’t know Spacers could make sense of bureaucratic hodgepodges all on their own.’

‘It just takes some keys and effort,’ you return, amused, before gesturing towards the gun on the counter. ‘How does it fire?’

‘Terribly,’ Emilio answers, lifting the gun and grazing his fingers over the safety. ‘Suffers from an overheating cycle on too low a threshold. It’s got three firing modes, but it handles terribly on the other two. Better off with a weapon built for purpose than holding onto this in a firefight. Versatile, but at the same time, too imprecise and with little velocity.’

He rotates the gun for your convenience.

Having heard the rounds go off, your agreement is all but set.

‘It’s a footnote more than a statement, but for the production schedule, it’s an efficient model for its purpose. It’s not something you’d assign to a ground unit as a primary armament, but it works as something you put in an emergency kit. A weapon with a difficulty grade so minute anyone can use it. A gun for the sake of being a gun over a gun over a gun made for the sake of fighting a war.’

Emilio sets it down again.

‘Was there something you wanted to … see me about?’

>‘No, just … getting used to the ship. Feeling out the facilities. Getting to know people and all that.’
>‘You told anyone you’re from a Trade House?’
>‘Nothing in particular, but while we’re on the subject … what were you up to for that month?’
>‘I was actually wondering … how’s the crew doing?’
>[INPUT ACTION]
>Leave
>Write-In

>>3027210
>I was exploring the ship, came around saw you, so I'd figure I'd say hi.
>That gun sounds like the new mechs they are giving the more veteran units.

>>3027210
>>‘No, just … getting used to the ship. Feeling out the facilities. Getting to know people and all that.’

‘Had some time on my hands; just thought I’d finally give the Yamato that self-propped tour I promised myself.’

‘This has nothing at all to do with the fact that you were running up and down the second level trying to find a working bathroom stall?’

You wince.

‘That too,’ the confession sounds, leaving your lips as you rub the back of your neck. Convenience was definitely on the minds of the ship’s architects and engineers, but … with miles upon miles of corridors fitted upon a ship that was a leviathan itself? You had half a mind to dig up a ditch and do your business during some of the meetings. ‘But really, been a busy few days … and the last thing I want is to end up in a cargo hold in some forgotten corner of this beast.’

Your friend chuckles, placing his hands on his hip. ‘”Missing Knight-Commander found huddled in a corner in Reserve Storage Chamber 45; subsisted on crackers and decade-old beer”. Quite a headline for the gossip pages.’

‘I got more than enough on my plate trying to manage the Chapter,’ you sigh. ‘I don’t need reminders on the stark possibility of my eventual embarrassment, Reinweld.’

‘Just a little reminder that a bigger reputation doesn’t change what you are behind it,’ Emilio jokes, picking the rifle off the counter. ‘It just makes you a bigger target.’

He turns his attention to the gun, peering at the

As he calibrates the weapon, you can’t help but throw an unimpressed gaze to the wide nozzle and fat barrel. It certainly looked like it was built to withstand the apocalypse. Fat and clumsily built … but otherwise robust enough to do the bare minimum that it strove to meet. Definitely a survival kit weapon instead of a primary armament. A gun for the sake of having a gun by your side; an emergency weapon, not a first choice. A generation behind and still doing the business. Considering just what you were piloting and the parallels … perhaps that roll of judgment was a little harsh.

The fact that it was at best a man-stopper instead of a proper assault weapon, however, had you wondering if it’d do better in the hands of enforcement units on populated worlds over being part of a survival for the Navy, which, now, by association, technically meant you and your Chapter. It just didn’t look or sound that impressive.

Emilio agreeing with the sentiment only hardened your stance.

‘You think that they’ll sign off on a recall and reissue with these if they’re in our survival kits?’

Emilio looks up, shaking your head … and throwing you the gun. You snatch it right out of the air.

It’s as you expect. Average weight, clumsy engineering; hard materials that made it akin to a pallet spreader over a straight shooter.

‘What do you think?’ Emilio asks.

>Support the design
>Denigrate the design
>Show indifference
>Write-In