Indeed the seven tracks were easy enough. Piloting sounded like Espio's field, although Marco suspected that the chameleon might prefer to go through some schooling again just in case. Communications was probably Grell's thing. Command and Science however were both of interest to Marco at this point.
Still, it was hard to ask the right questions without giving away his hand entirely. Even in Balamb Garden where Marco was almost flamboyantly open about his career choice as a pirate, he still had to downplay it a lot. And his experience hadn't counted for anything. How many times had he wanted to kick Squall in the face? Right. And asking about any large group of enemy was going to be complex of course, but since the Crux Fleet was already deemed thieves, at minimum that put Wadit on an organized level, and the Crux Fleet on a nomadic one.
Marco rubbed his chin in thought and held up a finger. "What do the Wadjit think we've stolen?" The 'We' might be premature, but he might as well roll with it. They were being offered a fantastic deal in exchange for whatever help they could get, and Marco absolutely did not fancy his family's chances in space alone. And until he could find the others, this was going to be a good place for a base of operations. A second finger went up, "How large an area do they claim as their territory?" Everywhere possibly. Or maybe just every planet in the travelable vicinity, or maybe just the valuable planets. Later Marco was going to shake his head at how easily he adjusted his thinking from islands to continents and now to stars. Strange, really. But he didn't have time for that now. A third finger, "And are they as homogenous as the lot in this room," a vague gesture to everyone in the briefing room recently arrived and encompassing several different races and species, "Or is it prejudicially motivated?" Someone had to ask it. Especially given the situation in Balamb and his own world and family.
"And while I might be interested in helping the military, I'll need to see a code of laws first." And whether they required uniforms. Because like hell was he going to wear a uniform again. "I've led sixteen hundred unruly men for the last three decades," because trying to command pirates was a lot harder than marines, no matter what anyone thought. Marines were taught to take orders, pirates argued at any suggestion they didn't like, and that included Marco himself. Which was the other problem, Marco wasn't ever going to take an order from someone he didn't respect, or an order he couldn't respect. "I've been in second in command of fifty thousand men," the Whitebeard allies were extensive, and Marco didn't want to think about the pressure of that all falling on his head 'now.' Whenever he did decide to go back home... hahaha which probably wouldn't be until he could manipulate himself into an alternate universe where Ace and Thatch were alive, at this point. "And I've unfortunately spent the last four years at a Mercenary Academy where I led both a Disciplinary Committee and a smaller more obedient group."
Marco figured he might as well get the credentials out there early before they pulled some Zabala shit and made him start all over again. "However," because there was definitely going to be a however, and Marco figured he might as well make it loud and clear for the sake of the rest of the new people in the room too, "I won't take commands I don't agree with, and I won't follow someone I don't respect. I've only ever had one captain's orders I'd follow, and I find people do a lot better with orders from someone they trust to fight for their goals than someone with a secret agenda." That was also for Espio's sake, even if the chameleon was keeping quiet so far. Although Marco was certain Espio was going to work in a quip or two about the rank deal. Marco had never gotten over the constant series of insulting demotions. And he never would.
"With all due respect, sir," Marco gave a polite nod to their speaker, "I appreciate the opportunity you're offering, and I'll be glad to help you out as I can." He half expected Grell and Espio to give him away on that one. Truthfully, he meant it too, but given how much he'd freaked out at first that morning, his words probably didn't quite match his usual rebellious attitude that had included a lunchroom riot and frequently yelling 'fuck the cops' and 'down with the man' even when the man was a woman. And Marco didn't help people for no reason. He had a million and one good reasons to help here, however, which was why he offered it. "But I want to know what I'm getting into. And when you say we might be pirates..."
A truly GIANT grin split Marco's face, "I hope that means a modicum of freedom, eh?" Still, he gave an almost non-sarcastic salute with two fingers and a far more formal nod of his head. "Though I am quite sorry for your losses." As someone who had dealt with too many deaths of his own in command, and that of his father, captain, and the only person he took orders from, he could definitely sympathize. It was a warning sign too. The risks of what he was so casually playing with. What the Scutum-Crux Fleet was playing with, as well.
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Still, it was hard to ask the right questions without giving away his hand entirely. Even in Balamb Garden where Marco was almost flamboyantly open about his career choice as a pirate, he still had to downplay it a lot. And his experience hadn't counted for anything. How many times had he wanted to kick Squall in the face? Right. And asking about any large group of enemy was going to be complex of course, but since the Crux Fleet was already deemed thieves, at minimum that put Wadit on an organized level, and the Crux Fleet on a nomadic one.
Marco rubbed his chin in thought and held up a finger. "What do the Wadjit think we've stolen?" The 'We' might be premature, but he might as well roll with it. They were being offered a fantastic deal in exchange for whatever help they could get, and Marco absolutely did not fancy his family's chances in space alone. And until he could find the others, this was going to be a good place for a base of operations. A second finger went up, "How large an area do they claim as their territory?" Everywhere possibly. Or maybe just every planet in the travelable vicinity, or maybe just the valuable planets. Later Marco was going to shake his head at how easily he adjusted his thinking from islands to continents and now to stars. Strange, really. But he didn't have time for that now. A third finger, "And are they as homogenous as the lot in this room," a vague gesture to everyone in the briefing room recently arrived and encompassing several different races and species, "Or is it prejudicially motivated?" Someone had to ask it. Especially given the situation in Balamb and his own world and family.
"And while I might be interested in helping the military, I'll need to see a code of laws first." And whether they required uniforms. Because like hell was he going to wear a uniform again. "I've led sixteen hundred unruly men for the last three decades," because trying to command pirates was a lot harder than marines, no matter what anyone thought. Marines were taught to take orders, pirates argued at any suggestion they didn't like, and that included Marco himself. Which was the other problem, Marco wasn't ever going to take an order from someone he didn't respect, or an order he couldn't respect. "I've been in second in command of fifty thousand men," the Whitebeard allies were extensive, and Marco didn't want to think about the pressure of that all falling on his head 'now.' Whenever he did decide to go back home... hahaha which probably wouldn't be until he could manipulate himself into an alternate universe where Ace and Thatch were alive, at this point. "And I've unfortunately spent the last four years at a Mercenary Academy where I led both a Disciplinary Committee and a smaller more obedient group."
Marco figured he might as well get the credentials out there early before they pulled some Zabala shit and made him start all over again. "However," because there was definitely going to be a however, and Marco figured he might as well make it loud and clear for the sake of the rest of the new people in the room too, "I won't take commands I don't agree with, and I won't follow someone I don't respect. I've only ever had one captain's orders I'd follow, and I find people do a lot better with orders from someone they trust to fight for their goals than someone with a secret agenda." That was also for Espio's sake, even if the chameleon was keeping quiet so far. Although Marco was certain Espio was going to work in a quip or two about the rank deal. Marco had never gotten over the constant series of insulting demotions. And he never would.
"With all due respect, sir," Marco gave a polite nod to their speaker, "I appreciate the opportunity you're offering, and I'll be glad to help you out as I can." He half expected Grell and Espio to give him away on that one. Truthfully, he meant it too, but given how much he'd freaked out at first that morning, his words probably didn't quite match his usual rebellious attitude that had included a lunchroom riot and frequently yelling 'fuck the cops' and 'down with the man' even when the man was a woman. And Marco didn't help people for no reason. He had a million and one good reasons to help here, however, which was why he offered it. "But I want to know what I'm getting into. And when you say we might be pirates..."
A truly GIANT grin split Marco's face, "I hope that means a modicum of freedom, eh?" Still, he gave an almost non-sarcastic salute with two fingers and a far more formal nod of his head. "Though I am quite sorry for your losses." As someone who had dealt with too many deaths of his own in command, and that of his father, captain, and the only person he took orders from, he could definitely sympathize. It was a warning sign too. The risks of what he was so casually playing with. What the Scutum-Crux Fleet was playing with, as well.