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crux_fleet2014-05-01 08:50 pm
crux_npcs) wrote in crux_fleet2014-05-01 08:50 pm
Entry tags:
0008: NEW ARRIVAL BRIEFING
Who: New Arrivals, Graham Baker
Where: Briefing Room
When: Late afternoon, Aprilo 29th
Warnings: None
When awakening, the immediate surroundings are swarming with activity and very chaotic. The people in the medical ward are polite and understanding, but firmly refuse to answer questions until the briefing. Especially not after some group of kooks earlier decided that they'd throw a tantrum and bug out of the hospital before anything can get said. Either given hospital outfits resembling very comfortable pajamas, drone bodies, or their own bodies, they are escorted by polite, unyielding people in red and black uniforms to the briefing room. Fortunately for the robots, things are much more organized.
The Briefing room is large. Not enough to accommodate a giant, but spacious enough for several dozen people. The tiles are black and featureless while the walls are nice, soothing colors. The chairs are high-backed and well-cushioned, more like comforting eggs floating a foot or so off the ground than anything else. Set into the ceiling and floor near the front is a large holographic projector. The floor in front of each seat also has a smaller projector, allowing people to see what the bigger device is showing without having to angle for a view. As of now, it merely displays a rotating pyramid.
Ten members of Security line the walls and various exits, looking rather displeased to be here. Graham Baker, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit, stands at the head of the room with an easy smile, seemingly unbothered by any previous ruckus.
[Questions to the NPCs will go in the briefing thread. The rest of the post is there for people to mill about and do whatever with. The mods will not be doing hangar/medical awakenings unless it's specifically asked for.]
Where: Briefing Room
When: Late afternoon, Aprilo 29th
Warnings: None
When awakening, the immediate surroundings are swarming with activity and very chaotic. The people in the medical ward are polite and understanding, but firmly refuse to answer questions until the briefing. Especially not after some group of kooks earlier decided that they'd throw a tantrum and bug out of the hospital before anything can get said. Either given hospital outfits resembling very comfortable pajamas, drone bodies, or their own bodies, they are escorted by polite, unyielding people in red and black uniforms to the briefing room. Fortunately for the robots, things are much more organized.
The Briefing room is large. Not enough to accommodate a giant, but spacious enough for several dozen people. The tiles are black and featureless while the walls are nice, soothing colors. The chairs are high-backed and well-cushioned, more like comforting eggs floating a foot or so off the ground than anything else. Set into the ceiling and floor near the front is a large holographic projector. The floor in front of each seat also has a smaller projector, allowing people to see what the bigger device is showing without having to angle for a view. As of now, it merely displays a rotating pyramid.
Ten members of Security line the walls and various exits, looking rather displeased to be here. Graham Baker, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit, stands at the head of the room with an easy smile, seemingly unbothered by any previous ruckus.
[Questions to the NPCs will go in the briefing thread. The rest of the post is there for people to mill about and do whatever with. The mods will not be doing hangar/medical awakenings unless it's specifically asked for.]
no subject
"As for your work experience... Well, we generally take your word for it. You've still got to go through training, of course, though it's more accelerated than someone starting from scratch." He leans in conspiratorially. "Of course, if you're lying, it usually comes out in mid-training. But so far we haven't gotten many willing to take that risk." Honestly, they hadn't gotten any. But sometimes a little white lie was best.
"...As for the Wadjit, well. They don't really think we're pirates, but we might as well be." Graham shrugs. "Again, they're a very complicated subject. What, exactly, do you want to know?"
no subject
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.
no subject
He brings up the map of the Wadj territory again. "This represents around sixteen thousand lightyears. Pardon me, but I'm going to assume you don't know exactly how fast that is. As you're human, I'll also assume you're from Earth. Light takes eight and a half minutes to reach from the sun to the earth. A lightyear is, probably obviously, the distance light can move in a year. It takes light eight and a half minutes to travel one hundred and fifty million kilometers, and the Wadjit claim more than sixteen thousand times that as their territory."
Graham holds up a finger. "Note the use of 'claim'. They like to put up the front of an empire ruled by an iron grip, but their military resources are thin and primitive compared to ours. There are many independent systems even in the territory they claim, consisting of different races, such as you asked. Some of them ally themselves with the Wadjit. Few resist. Few have the power, of course." He pauses and decides to stop there. He could go on for quite a bit, and the man had more questions.
He waits patiently for Marco to finish rattling off his (admittedly impressive) list of credentials. And then... That catch. He smiles and nods, accepting Marco's condolences easily enough. "The Fleet is big on freedom, but... Well, even with your experience, the military tends to frown on, ah. Cowboy Captains. The military might not be for you. Still." He tries to smile relaxingly. "You'll find any information on laws and such you want in either the library or on your comm device, when you pick it up. Like I said earlier, you're being granted temporary citizenship, so it's in our best interests to make sure you know what is and isn't illegal, am I right?"