Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Inkidu on 02-07-2013, 21:02:38</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Inkidu</strong> on <strong>02-07-2013, 21:02:38</strong>
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				The <em>U.S.S. Georgetown</em> airship carrier is on loan to the office of joint allied operations. Designed by the Japanese and built by the U.S the carrier has been retrofitted by the British and the other allied nations to serve as the mobile base for the top secret commando operations the allied powers have decided to conduct. It has many amenities and facilities that numerous ships in the combined navies and air corps would kill for. Its prototype aether-engine allow fast and relatively quiet space travel as well as in-atmosphere maneuvers. She doesn't carry as many planes as an unmodified air carrier because it makes room for an extended armory and machine bay as well as additional living facilities.<br><br>It has numerous armaments and can take on just about any C.P. ship in a one-on-one fight. She is geared more toward the covert operations that the commandos are called upon to execute. Mobile and powerful it is the ideal base for the best of the best in the allied forces. It has a flight deck and four decks bellow that. <br><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">Flight Deck</span></strong><br><br>Contains the hangars and deck for gyrocoptors and aeroplanes. <br><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">1st Command and Control</span></strong><br><br>A deck that is the only way up to the bridge that overlooks the flight deck. <br><br><strong>Communications:</strong> This room is the nerve center for the whole ship. This room controls the information coming into the ship as well as the communications transmitted throughout the ship itself. All comm traffic comes through this place. It is covered in wires and wireless sets as well as radar displays. It used to be in the bridge proper but that presented a juicy target for bombers. Now the stations in the bridge are merely readouts or bridge communications to other parts of the streets. <br><br><strong>Briefing Room:</strong> A no-nonsense room with chairs, a podium, and a projector for slides. It is simply the place where officers or operative are briefed on missions. It is one of the most secure places on the ship because of the sensitive nature of the goings on within. <br><br><strong>Infirmary:</strong> In a pinch this sterile bright place can hold about half the crew of the <em>Georgetown</em>. It has every modern amenity that most hospitals would covet. It also has its own refrigeration, independent of the mess hall's. <br><br><span class="bbc_u"><strong>2nd. Crew Deck</strong></span><br><br><strong>Living Quarters</strong> While enlisted and officers sleep on the same deck officers (including the commandos regardless of rank) get their own small cabins that contain a single small bed (barely enough for two people). A book shelf, small desk and wardrobe with room for a footlocker. There is storage space beneath the bed and a small porthole window. <br><br><strong>Mess:</strong> A large communal mess that can seat a whole shift of enlisted and officers. It's a clinical and clean place where people come to eat rations or even fresh food at time. Despite the communal nature there are reserved tables for officers and commandos. It is reminiscent of a cafeteria. Alcohol is rationed and kept in the officer's club. <br><br><strong>Officers Club:</strong> The recreation room for commandos and officers. It's fairly posh and contains a wet bar, small library, films and projectors, pool tables, and pinball machines, and a small dance floor and record player with collection. It is for off duty people to unwind and relax. It has several sofas and soft chairs. It's not brand new, but it's better than the sterile metal confines of the rest of the ship. <br><br><strong>Gymnasium:</strong> This room contains a large in-ground pool that can double as a reserve water supply (it's boiled and filtered) and every modern exercise amenity including treadmills and stationary bikes as well as weight machines (free weights are too dangerous). It also contains solarium beds. <br><br><strong>Bath Facilities:</strong> Like a giant gym shower there is no segregation for men and women. The walls are lined with small shelves and shower heads. They are switched to steam when there is no atmosphere to take into its condensers. The sanitary facilities are much more private, being portioned into booths. There are also two lavatories, one for men, and the other for women. <br><br><span class="bbc_u"><strong>3rd Engine Room</strong></span> <br><br>This decks is entirely devoted the aether and diesel engines. It also contains all the facilities for plumbing and sanitation. It's cramped and tight quartered. The engineering staff usually doesn't like the non-mechanically inclined scurrying around unless they absolutely have to be. <br><br><span class="bbc_u"><strong>4th Armory and Ordinance Deck</strong></span>[/b]<br><br><strong>Armory:</strong> This room is shelves and brackets. It contains all of the armaments currently available for the <em>Georgetown</em>. It contains all the arms, ammo, and parts for the ship and her personnel. <br><br><strong>Garage:</strong> Contains all ground vehicles and powered armor that is currently aboard the <em>Georgetown</em>. IT usually has a few combat motorcycles and light vehicles but can carry one of the large titan-class landships if need be. <br><br><strong>Shooting Range:</strong> For target practice with non explosive ordinance only. It contains five stalls and all of the equipment needed to keep in tip-top shape. <br><hr><br><strong><span class="bbc_u">Rules for Posting</span></strong><br><br>-There is no post order here, but keep away from double posts.<br>-Use the profile template provided in the Character Sheet Thread.<br>-When the alarm sounds for a mission or under an attack your character is understood to be finishing up whatever they're doing posthaste. <br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Inkidu</strong> on <strong>02-07-2013, 21:06:51</strong>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Inkidu</strong> on <strong>02-07-2013, 21:07:22</strong>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sara Nilsson</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 03:53:50</strong>
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				(http://www.vixenrose.com/hosting/files/253/stuff%20for%20rp/10233RussianJoytoy.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ludmilla<br><strong>Location</strong> U.S.S. Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing</strong> open<br><hr><br>Her heels seem to echo loudly along the hallway as she tries to find her bunk, dressed in her dress uniform so a simple brown skirt and jacket with somewhat scuffed high heels. Her bag slung across a shoulder and she frowns at the sign in front of her, of course it was in English! And her spoken English was bad enough never mind her written. "Why is this ship so big! And confusing." she grumbles to herself in Russian and tries to look at the little map again, she never expected to be assigned to a ship like this and everything was so alien.<br><br>"Ma'am? Do you need any help?" A young sailor looks at her and snaps a sharp salute at her which she answers with one of her own, she looks at him curiously. his uniform crisp and fits him very well, short brown hair that just begs for a hand to play with it. He reminds her a lot of Dimitri and a short stab of pain hits her deep inside, ruthlessly she pushes those thought aside and nods to him.<br><br>"yes please, I am trying to find my assigned bunk but I fear I am hopelessly lost." She holds up her slip of paper and hopes he can make some sense out of it, "Russian I take it by the uniform and accent? Welcome aboard Ma'am, and you are quite close just go down those stairs behind you turn to the right and then down four intersections." He reaches up to the pipes running along the ceiling, "we usually use these for navigation, as you can see they are colour coded to help the engineers keeping everything in working order. And once you learn what tube goes where it is much easier to find your way Ma'am."<br><br>She looks back at the stairs that she just came up from and sighs, "I just came from there! Thank you very much, I won't keep you from your duties sailor but.. thank you." She smiles warmly and feels a lot better already, at least someone on this enormous vessel is nice and friendly towards her. She already faced some slight hostility when people noticed her uniform, or maybe they just don't like women on the ship. She isn't sure which.<br><br>She follows his directions and this time she finds the bunk assigned to her and with a loud sigh she sinks down on the soft bed and smiles in surprise, it might be hard on their standards but growing up in Russia well.. you have a very different frame of reference. But it sure feels good to sit down, her back is starting to bother her and experience has taught her that if she doesn't rest it soon she will start getting spasms. The operation may have replaced her crushed vertebra with cast steel ones but they cant do much for the nerves. She digs into her bag and takes out a bottle of vodka she managed to sneak with her and takes a mouthful, like all russians she drinks vodka like it is water, but it sure takes the edge off the pain.<br><br>"Dimitri, you would like this place I think. You always had such a fascination with engines, I can't even begin to comprehend how this monster can even more. I miss you so much, why did you have to die?"<br><br>The rain is pouring down into the trenches, the mud deep enough to have your entire boots sink down if you remained standing for too long. The germans had been hitting them hard lately and most of the troops where exhausted by now, for the umpteenth time she checks her ammunition drum and slams it back into the rifle as Dimitri laughs at her nervous tick.<br><br>"Don't worry love, we will make it." She smiles warmly at him, he is so breathtakingly beautiful. Those brown eyes she so easily found herself drowning in, the short hair that she loves to caress and play with. It helps that he gives wonderful backrubs that eases the pain in her torn back, and of course that he is such a sweet gentle lover. Even when he took her virginity she hardly felt any pain at all, just pure pleasure.<br><br>The whistling of incoming artillery shells breaks her woolgathering and before she can scream out a warning the entire world explodes in mud and fire, a direct hit in their section of the trenches and the rain suddenly has bodyparts in it. She wipes mud away from her face and sees Dimitri, almost torn in half from the blast of the shell. Steam rising where the glowing metal shards are imbedded deep into his body.<br><br>"I miss you love." She mumbles as the flashback vanishes , little tears forming in her eyes as she lays down on the bunk listening to the constant hum aboard the ship. "So very much."<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caela</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 05:49:03</strong>
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				(http://i980.photobucket.com/albums/ae282/caela_ecub/Brunettes/2b6d4b82-ee87-4cd8-acc5-78fce3d1386c_zps0804c722.jpg)<br><hr><br><strong>Name:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><strong>Location</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Any<br><hr><br>Sam let a small sigh part her lips as she settled into a chair behind her desk in the infirmary.&nbsp; In the corner behind her was her duffle, she hadn't even bothered trying to find her own room yet, but had headed straight for the one place that would be <em>hers</em>. Well, not entirely hers, she had no doubt that on a ship this large there must be at least one other Doctor, and she should have a few nurses, maybe a couple of techs - she prayed there was at least one scrub tech or scrub nurse for when trauma's happened, having to train people in aseptic surgical technique on the fly was a pain in the ass! - but mostly it would be hers.<br><br>On the desk before her was a stack of paperwork that proved it. She had stacks of medical files for every crewman on the ship, to familiarize herself with over the next few weeks. She would have <em>weeks</em> worth of reading even when she wasn't on duty, but when she was done she would know every allergy, every biomechanical or genetic enhancement, every childhood injury contained in all those stacks of paper.<br><br>And then she'd likely get another assignment. Just once she'd like an assignment long enough to actually get to know the <em>people</em> behind the paper.<br><br>Looking around the, state-of-the-art, infirmary she had to smile slightly and shook her head gently. Grabbing her duffle she slung it over her shoulder, grabbed the top 15 files off of the top of the stack on her desk. She might as well start reading while she hunted up her room. Flipping one folder open she started reading, glancing up only to read the signs that would guide her through the ship and counting on her uniform to keep people out of her way...and not realizing that she missed two turns and had made a large circle until she glanced up and realized she was passing the Infirmary once more!<br><br>Growling softly in the back of her throat, at her own foolishness, and began again...this time paying attention to where she was going.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lezna</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 06:10:43</strong>
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				(http://royoyo.com/images/2009/05/mens-short-brown-hair-style.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Jacob Hammond<br><strong>Location:</strong> Living Quarters, shooting range <br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>This was certainly going to take some Getting used to, Everywhere he walked he was saluted which annoyed him to no end. Being 20 he was the youngest of this little commando experiment so he considered himself to be the lowest in rank and experience so being saluted was something he didn't expect. Flung over his shoulder was a bag full of only his bare necessities in the other hand he held a briefcase, he was currently wearing what he would call his casual wear which was his military garb the only oddity was the Grey fedora hat sitting on his head. <br><br>Finally finding his bunk which was situated a few beds from another soldier by her appearance not matching that of the other Sailors he assumed that she was one of his fellow commandos. "Russian no doubt" he spoke to himself his Australian accent rather thick, after looking her over he turned to his bed and started to unpack. <br><br>Opening the briefcase he started to connect pieces together it took a while this process took a lot of care rushing it was just asking for trouble. The Howard S20 was the newest in a brand new line of Sniper rifles it was designed for superior accuracy in distance. However this being said it did have a small problem the recoil was enough to shatter the shoulder of any normal person having his bones lined with Titanium made the recoil feel lick a light punch. <br><br>Finally finished with his construction Jacob gave the woman one last look before making his was out of the living quarters and to the shooting range he had studied this ship's map when he found out he was to join it's crew so he knew where everything was. Some might think he was a organised person for doing this however he did it simply to avoid asking for directions after all he preferred to keep to himself. <br><br>After taking a few flights of stairs he was in the shooting range setting up it was an impressive range much better than anywhere else he had ever been too before. Targets moved up and he'd shoot them down they weren't that far however they didn't stay up long so this was more a test of reaction than how far he could shoot. Something one might see as unusual that one may point out was the fact that the scope of the rifle wasn't put into place.<br><br>Having lost an eye in a battle a few months back Jacob's eyes was replaced with a new Japanese instrument which was essentially a scope eye. Getting used to this he started to use actual scopes less and less relying more on his eye which he found to be more accurate.<br><br>Once out of practice ammo he decided taking a break would probably be a good idea, taking a seat he rested his rifle down rubbing his shoulder sure recoil didn't destroy his shoulder but it still bruised it pretty badly. "excuse me sir? is something the matter?" A sailor asked giving him a kind of concerned look which he returned by standing up, getting another clip of practice ammo and returning to firing. Being someone who enjoyed privacy He never liked chatting that being said he did care for people just in his own 'unique' way.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>1SAZ</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 09:32:43</strong>
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				(http://in.bookmyshow.com/entertainment/wp-content/uploads/image/BMS%20Reviews/GB%20solo.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ian MacBride<br><strong>Location</strong> Living Quarters, Engineering, Armory<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Open<br><hr><br>"Prisoner on deck!" It was no surprise to Ian how he was being treated as he was moved from his cell in London to one clandestine location after another before finally reaching his destination. When being accused of insubordination and murder, you learn quite quickly to get used to chains and large metal cuffs on your wrists, as well as a full compliment of soldiers making sure you don't do something insane. It didn't help that Ian was also used to being the caged lion being poked by sticks. Just about each time they did a guard change, some rookie tries to get to close and poke just a bit too much, and each time he ended up with a bloodied nose and his weapon disassembled into a pile of junk.<br><br>"Lads, can aye have a smoke?" Ian asked as the four guards pushed him into a room that he assumed would be his cell before shutting the door behind the Scot. The room was dark, the lights remaining off til Ian rose to his feet once more and searched for the switch on the wall. As he did, he discovered that he was not in a cell, but in a furnished room fit for his previous rank. "Aye don' believe me eyes..." he said to himself, only for the sound of metal hitting the deck ringing out in response. As Ian looked at his wrists, he found himself freed of his bonds, which automatically made him suspicious.<br><br>As Ian looked about the room, he soon found a desk with a note upon it, the seal of the British Crown keeping it shut, and a Webley Mark XI autorevolver sat next to it in a holster upon a belt. Taking the note in hand, he broke the seal only to be surprised by the contents of the letter.<br><br><em>Major MacBride, you have been tentatively reinstated to the British Army, with all ranks and privileges once held, on the condition you fulfill your service to the crown as part of a special operations group. Should you fail to follow orders, or make an attempt to escape, you will be shot on sight as a deserter. Should you fail to complete your mission, you will be returned to the brig for a future trial. Should you succeed, however, you will be allowed full reinstatement or honorable discharge with no consequences. Orders are from the highest authority.</em><br><br>The letter was short and to the point, and it made it clear that he had no choice in the matter. He would either follow orders like a good soldier, or die. The options were fairly limited. Turning about on his heel, he headed to the small locker near the bed bolted into the wall and pulled out a tan British military uniform, sighing as he laid it out on the mattress. Undressing from his prisoner clothes, he quickly slipped on the uniform before grabbing the belt from the desk with what would once again be his service revolver. Drawing the weapon from the holster, he tipped it up and open to check for live rounds before clasping it shut once more. Slipping the sidearm back into it's holster, he took a deep breath before heading out of the room, following the line of pipes about till he found his way to the engineering deck.<br><br>Strolling around the engineering deck, Ian felt more at home than he had in years. It had been some time since the hiss of steam and the sound of metal clanking filled his ears with their joyous song. The lights of various instruments and gauges were the only source of illumination as he dug deeper into the bowls of the ship till he found the reason he headed to this deck. The aether-engine hummed with the none too delicate sound of life as it awaited a destination to travel to. It was truly a sight to behold, and clearly much more advance than the ones that Ian worked on as a member of the combat engineer corp.<br><br>As nostalgia wore away, the Highlander made his way down yet another floor into lowest part of the ship, taking his time to get acquainted with the layout of the ship before entering the Armory. State of the art and fully stocked with only the best of the best, Ian smirked a bit as he pondered the various pieces of infantry armament that were held inside. American, British, Russian, Japanese, French, every possible man portable arm was held in quantity enough to arm every person on the ship and enough parts to build half as many more. Ian quickly took hold of a British service rifle, a newer model Lee Enfield assault rifle, clearly built similarly to the now ancient rifle Ian had trained with many years before. The thumb hole stock and barrel shroud were of note, as well as the thirty round magazine of .404 British that had become the standard round of the Empire in the past 40 years. All the comforts of old, with the developments that the Army relied on. How British.<br><br>Setting the rifle down, he picked up a carbine version of the same rifle and headed over to a work bench near by, giving it his traditional once over before taking a look at the parts he had available. If he was going to be working on this ship, he might as well have the equipment he wanted the way he wanted it in the field. "At least i's no' some Jap twig..." he mumbled about the rifle as he grabbed a low powered scope and gave it a quick glance through the lenses. It could always be worse, he could still be stuck in a cell, he supposed.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wargtass</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 12:09:07</strong>
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				(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7dd1oHkY31rargk6o1_500.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><strong>Location:</strong> Approaching the USS Georgetown, ending up in the infirmary.<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><hr>The thrusters along the base of the ailerons gave a short burst as the red plane made a roll on its axis to align itself towards the large carrier. It was hard to believe that Ilya had never been into space just a few weeks back. He was already flying like an ace. It had been a mess to get used to the quirky controls of flying in a vacuum, but in the end it was all about learning to fly again. And it wasn't that hard the second time around. Another burst from the pitch brought it in line with the flight deck. He pulled on the collar of the fur lined leather jacket that he wore over the sealed jumpsuit and corrected the goggles of his rebreather as he came in for the final approach. "Red Eagle coming in for landing, over." The was a moment of silence before the reply came. "Negative, Red Eagle, runway is cluttered, there is no room, over." The pilot raised a brow as he corrected the speed and pitch one last time. "Nonsense, there's plenty of room between the bomber and the fuel-tanker." He could hear a sting of panic in the operators voice as his plane came in for the final approach. "That's only a few feet of leeway! If you crash you'll..." Ilya flicked the radio off. He didn't need to hear any buts and ifs. Especially since the operator was right. He had two feet to play with. As the landing gear touched down on the deck people threw themselves out of his way. He bounced, once, twice, rolled towards his intended place between the two highly volatile objects. The break-thrusters fired off, Ilya in full control instead of trusting the autopilot's clockwork sensors. The large red craft slid to a halt a full feet on both sides to the bomber and tanker. "Pizdet'..." he muttered under his breath as he started to get out of his harness "...cluttered my ass."<br><br>The rear-mounted bubble canopy swung open and Ilya climbed out of the cockpit, his knees a little weak as gravity had returned to them somewhere along the way on the flight deck. Technicians were running towards his plane as he swung his legs over the side of the cockpit and onto the swept wing. These new Standardized Allied Fighter Planes were impressive in its performance but a bit too fragile for his own tastes. There was only a thin line along the base of the wing where you could actually stand, everywhere else you would permanently damage the aerodynamic symmetry of the craft. He pulled the rebreather helmet off his head as the techs swarmed around him and shook his head. He was startled by the shrill gasp from one of the females. <br><br>"You're Ilya Faustin, right?" She held her hands in front of her mouth and the other techs seemed to look upon him with a little more awe now. "The Winged Hero of the Proletariat?" He frowned a little and pulled his duffle out from behind the cockpit-seat. "Not anymore, no." He jumped down from the wing and made his way through the crowd towards the control tower. There was already a bunch of officers gathered around its base, watching him with arms crossed as he approached. He sighed heavily. He already knew what they had to say. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Faustin, impressive display." The smiling captain with his broad Texas accent threw him off his guard and he raised a brow as he stopped dead in his tracks. No yelling about regulations or how he had endangered thousands with his maverick tricks? "The Admiral would like to..." "It will have to wait, Captain. I've been flying from Helsinki non-stop. I need a check-up for blood clots. Could one of the ensigns show me to the infirmary?"<br><br>The captain looked a little disappointed, but finally gave a curt nod. Faustin did have a reputation for always making room for his profession first and foremost. "Of course, Lieutenant. I'll tell the Admiral you'll be with him in a while." An ensign saluted Ilya and started off towards the infirmary, the pilot looking back to the captain with a salute of his own in his stride. "Make that this evening, it'll give me a chance to catch an hour or two of sleep." The steep railed steps took him and the ensign down a level, where activity was reaching a fever pitch. Pulling his long fingers through his slick black hair Ilya gripped his duffle bag tighter. He was paying so much attention to not collide with someone that he actually managed to do so. Paper fluttered through the air in front of him and through the printed white sheets he saw the surprised face of a very beautiful woman. He stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. How had he not seen her coming?<br><br>"Chyort voz'mi! I'm so sorry, let me help you with that!"
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RedEve</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 13:28:40</strong>
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				(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/49/Dexie_Toshman.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Dexie Toshman<br><strong>Location:</strong> Living quarters<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>Dexie stretched her body out on the bunk. She had been on board the ship for several days now, and the lack of activity was starting to weigh on her. She was fine as long as she was occupied by work, bus he wasn’t very good with boredom. She had spent the day prior in the gym, pulling the weight machines and giving a hammering to the punching bag. She leapt to her feet and headed into the adjoining shower room. <br><br>The place was currently deserted and she let the water run after stripping out of her sports bra and shorts. She applied the soap to her body and washed her hair. By the time she was done, she felt slightly more relaxed. Dexie fixed her uniform out of her locker. She could only ever wear her formal attire when she wasn’t on missions. As such, she felt awkward when she was out of civilian clothes. There was something reassuring about the many skins and attires she slipped into when she was abroad, to the point where her own uniform felt slightly alien. <br><br>After giving herself a last appraising look in the mirror, she crossed the distance from her living quarters to the mess hall. She lined up at the end of the short queue that had formed for breakfast. She settled upon two slices of white bread, marmalade and what was passing for scrambled eggs. The large mug of black coffee was what she had truly been craving. She found herself a vacant table and started eating in quiet, leafing through a briefing folder in the process. The information she was going through wasn’t linked to any of her currently active missions, it was a series of status reports she had requested about a prior posting. The names on the page were matched by the faces in her mind, of contacts, associates, safe house owners and other operatives.<br><br>She was on her second mug of coffee by the time she finished her reading and slammed the folder shut. She stared around the mess hall in the hope of seeing a familiar face, and possibly having a conversation that might distract her mind for a bit. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Inkidu</strong> on <strong>04-07-2013, 16:38:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://uponamidnightdreary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/il_570xN.198641974.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Athena Barberis<br><strong>Location:</strong> Bridge, going to briefing room<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>Her metal fingers drummed on the console in front of her. <br><br>She heard the squawking over the wireless as the Red Eagle decided to push on to land. The Grecian brunette shook her head. She would deal with it later. She called back the profiles to mind. The hodgepodge of careers and profiles that culminated into such a strange group of people. They were supposed the be the Allied Powers' newest initiative to break the stalemate that had persisted for almost a century. Athena didn't know if she believed in this latest gambit. The Pluto Disaster last year seemed to say otherwise. Two whole armies and navies gone. All of the exploratory teams came back with nothing, not corpses, not wreckage, just nothing. <br><br>She held her arms behind her back. She was a coldly attractive woman Her uniform hugged her amazonian figure around all the right curves, but she was easily the oldest person on this ship, besides the relic of course. Perhaps she should pay him a visit, It's not every day you get to see a living legend after all. <br><br>"Get the hotshot's plane stowed and button the <em>Georgetown</em>, we're going vacuum-side." she ordered turning her back on the bridge. Shutters began lowering over all the glass (even the little portholes on the cabins). The aether engine began to warm up and the carrier began its upward descent for past the Earth's atmosphere. <br><br>"Aye-aye, captain." a sailor responded. <br><br>She went to an intercom and pressed a button, "Yamahiro, sound the general quarters, we're headed to Luna. Get the commandos into the briefing room, please." <br><br>A french-accented voice came back brightly, "Aye-aye, ma'am." <br><br>With the carrier en route to Luna, "XO is in command." she said before leaving, and there was a collective aye-aye. Walking with her head held high she almost strutted to the briefing room. She stood behind the podium and waited for the commandos to show up. She had films and slides to load into the projector. She didn't trust anyone else on the ship with such sensitive data.<br><br>When that was all done she stood like a statue from her birth nations antiquity, arms folded behind her back. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caela</strong> on <strong>05-07-2013, 22:43:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://i980.photobucket.com/albums/ae282/caela_ecub/Brunettes/2b6d4b82-ee87-4cd8-acc5-78fce3d1386c_zps0804c722.jpg)<br><hr><br><strong>Name:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><strong>Location:</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><hr><br><em>"Chyort voz'mi! I'm so sorry, let me help you with that!"</em><br><br>Sam was actually still blinking in surprise and trying to figure out what had just happened when the man she'd run right into started picking up papers that had scattered all over the floor! It was the sight of the papers, her medical files, that got her moving more than anything. Instantly she was grateful that most of the files had metal tabs to help hold the papers inside the appropriate folders, so very few loose pages had actually hit the floor, but that didn't stop there from being a mess of folders now scattered before her and a few loose sheets of notepaper that she was going to have to try and piece back into the proper folders.<br><br>"No need to apologize. If I'd been watching where I was walking, instead of trying to get caught up on medical files and walking at the same time, I would have seen you and been able to sidestep appropriately. Since the fault is most likely my own, I'll apologize to <em>you</em> and thank you for the help in picking up my mess," she added as she stood upright and held out an arm toward the man before her, clearly expecting him to had her her files.<br><br>As she waited a light of recognition flashed through her eyes as well and she found herself rattling off without really thinking of it, Lt. Ilya G. Faustin. Sketchy medical record from the Russian government which, in my experience, means more about something they <em>don't</em> want you to know, than about what's there. United Allies records are far more thorough and there's nothing in them to indicated a necessary visit to the Infirmary in the near future, barring injury of course," she added almost as an afterthought and then blinked and shook her head, her eyes rolling up as she realized she'd been speaking about the man as if he were a <em>file</em> instead of a person.<br><br>With a rueful expression she shook her head once more and fought down a blush that wanted to creep up her cheeks, "And I owe you another apology. Your file happened to be the one I was reading when we ran into each other and putting a real person with a file helps cement the information in my head. It's not so weird when I do it during an actual exam, I promise. I'm Dr. Samantha Jamieson," she added before juggling her files into one arm and this time holding her hand out to shake in a proper introduction.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wargtass</strong> on <strong>06-07-2013, 00:27:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7dd1oHkY31rargk6o1_500.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><strong>Location:</strong> USS Georgetown, outside the Infirmary<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><hr>Ilya scrambled to gather up the papers and stood up. His frown changed to a smile, to a confused raised brow and back to a frown again in a few seconds. She sounded like she was giving a lecture, rather mechanical. That she was giving a lecture on the nature of his medical journal just served to put him a little on edge. Why was she reading up on him? And the comment about the Russian records just served to further narrow his eyes in suspicion. Then he realized it might just be a coincident. He gave an awkward smile when he realized she was waiting for him to hand her the files.<br><br>"I... yes, here you go." He handed them over and looked around. No one seemed to take notice of their little scene. "I was heading down to get my routine check-up. I just spent three hours past the recommended flight length in vacuum. Well, in an aeroplane. Clots and all that..."<br><br>He stopped and gave a little sigh as he tried to compose himself. He was rambling. That was no good. He might slip up. "Dr Jamieson, was it?" He took her hand in a firm grasp and shook it. He still had his leather gloves on, which was a little rude of him. Perhaps that was just a Russian thing. "I'm just a little exhausted from the flight here, not really making any sense..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sara Nilsson</strong> on <strong>06-07-2013, 04:13:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://www.vixenrose.com/hosting/files/253/stuff%20for%20rp/10233RussianJoytoy.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ludmila Silvestrov<br><strong>Location</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Open<br><hr><br>It wasn't until the intercom squeaked that she realized she must have fallen asleep, her hands clutching a small tin frame with a picture of a young man in uniform. "You wait here Dimitri, seems like the commanding officer is impatient to meet the new cannon fodder." She presses her lips softly against the faded photograph and places it on her little table, her eyes sad as she reaches for her jacket and slips it on slowly buttoning it up. As she sees the shutter drop down over the porthole she can't help but feel a little shudder of fear, "great.. does that mean we are.." Her face pales a bit when she realizes where they are heading.<br><br>"Saints preserve us, please." She isn't a very religious person but the thought of being out in space scares her, ok so this isn't a Russian vessel so probably a bit more reliable but still, she has blown up enough things to know how fragile engines really are.<br><br>"Ah well, time to see&nbsp; what our CO is like and what our new friends are like eh?" A last look in the mirror to make sure she is presentable and she grabs the little map she has of the ship to try and find the briefing room.<br><br>"No Ma'am, you need to go up a level and then turn right, this just leads to the mens head. And while I am sure a lot of the guys would appreciate a woman in there.." The sailor chuckles softly as her face turns a beet red, "Oh.. I am sorry.. eh.. up a level you said? And follow red? gotcha.. thank you! I don't know how anyone can find their way in this place." She quickly turns to hide her furiously blushing face and hurries away on loud heels, "Signs, in russian is what this place needs! Or I will go mad!"<br><br>At last she finds the briefing room and heads inside, seems it is only her and a tall greek looking woman with an eyepatch. Not a bad looking woman at that, "Ma'am" Ludmilla salutes crisply "Lieutenant Ludmila Silvestrov reporting in as ordered."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>1SAZ</strong> on <strong>06-07-2013, 09:02:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://in.bookmyshow.com/entertainment/wp-content/uploads/image/BMS%20Reviews/GB%20solo.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ian MacBride<br><strong>Location</strong> Armory, Briefing room<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Athena Barberis, Ludmila Silvestrov<br><hr><br>As the call came over the intercoms, Ian had just finished preparing his new rifle for service, after trying out a number of various optics and other parts that the ship had in stock. While various scopes would have been acceptable, he finally settled on adjusting the standard sights of the rifle and giving it a tune up to meet more rugged standards. Stowing the weapon, Ian sighed before leaving the armory for the upper decks, glad that the standard layout of American ships hadn't changed in nearly fifty years. Technology updated, but an engine still remained in the bowls of the ship and the command deck remained at the top.<br><br>As he headed towards the briefing room, he noted a pair that seemed slightly out of place aboard the prim and proper airship standing outside the infirmary. As his right hand clenched, his metal fingers scraped and ground against the palm of the prosthetic limb, a reminder of why he tended to avoid hospitals and infirmaries as of late. While the regular check up was unavoidable when a prisoner of your own state, it still irked him to be in the presence of such places. Nodding as he past the two, he continued down the hall while slipping his arms behind his back to hopefully conceal the false arm he had to his right.<br><br>As Ian reached his destination, a cold chill ran up his spine, a flash of nostalgia to the day that he would remember quite clearly, yet history would interpret quite differently. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he took a slow and deep breath before entering slowly. Noting the two women standing inside, Ian took a moment to take in the details of the two. One, rather clearly Greek and standing with the air of confidence that marked her position upon the vessel, and with the marks of time spent in the field in the form of prosthetics and an eye-patch upon her face. The other, Russian judging by her uniform and stance, seemed to be green to him, though most soldiers in the field these days did by comparison to the Highlander veteran.<br><br>"Mornin' Lassies, Major MacBride, as ordered. Either of ye 'ave a smoke? I's been months since me last, and aye 'ardly think i'd be righ' tah keep a man from 'is daily vice," he said, formally at first through his thick Scottish accent before switching to a much less formal tone. Walking towards one of the chairs contained in the room, Ian took a seat before kicking his feet up rather aloofly, sighing softly as he got comfortable. "Oh, an' ocheen bree-at-nay er somethin' lass. 'Bout the only Russian aye know. Tha' an' Vodka." Ian gave a playful wink at his comment to the Russian woman, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say through his thick accent and horrible Russian. He had a vague understanding of the language, though it was only enough to get him through training with a Russian tank column and a few nights in Russian owned bars.<br><hr>(Writer Note: Ochin Priyatna means "Nice to meet you" in Russian. Or at least, that's as close I can get spelling it in English.)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>RedEve</strong> on <strong>06-07-2013, 11:41:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/49/Dexie_Toshman.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Dexie Toshman<br><strong>Location:</strong> Briefing room<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>Dexie heard the call over the intercom to join the rest of the group in the briefing room and was relieved she could finally get back into the thick of it. She walked the several corridors and climbed a few ladders to arrive on the appropriate deck. When she arrived at the briefing room, she noticed that a couple of people were already inside. She made a salute to Captain Barberis <strong>“Ma’am”</strong> then merely nodded in acknowledgement to the two others already present, a woman in a Russian uniform and a man who had already taken a seat and looked mightily pleased with himself. <strong>“Good morning. Lieutenant Toshman, nice to make your acquaintance.” </strong>She took a seat of her own opposite the man and rolled her neck around a little more to chase the last tiredness from her mind before the briefing started in earnest. <br><br>She was nervous, which often times coincided with a soreness in the place where she had once taken a bullet to the leg. Her nervous tick was to rub the spot through her trousers, which was what she was doing now. She was rather curious as to the nature of the mission but wasn’t going to ask any questions of the captain prior to her having given her briefing, and that wouldn’t happen when the rest of the unit arrived. She wondered how many more of them there would be, and what background they would have. With their destination now known – Luna – she was trying to figure out what her role would be. An operative like her was more valuable where there was a large civilian population around in which she could disappear. There was no point in breaking her mind over it, as she was about to be given all the information she need, and probably more than she had use for. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lezna</strong> on <strong>06-07-2013, 15:03:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://royoyo.com/images/2009/05/mens-short-brown-hair-style.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Jacob Hammond<br><strong>Location</strong> Briefing room<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Open<br><hr><br>Taking a few more shots Jacob eventually heard the call over the intercom for the commandos to meet in the briefing room, Sighing he took a final shot before leaving the range to make his way to his new comrades. Believing that he didn't have enough time to return to his bed and dissemble his rifle he decided to take it with him he inwardly chuckled thinking he may make somewhat of an impression. <br><br>Jacob had read up to some extent on his new team they were impressive people in their own right. Making his way to the Briefing room he found that there were already voices coming from inside "looks like I'm a little late" he sighed looking down making sure he was presentable. Pushing the door he stepped inside and saluted "Colonel Jacob Hammond" was his simple gretting before taking a seat by a long brown haired girl while gently resting the rifle against his chair. Remembering&nbsp; the fedora on his head he removed it and rested it on the barrel of his rifle he was unaware if it was rude to wear a hat whilst he was being briefed. <br><br>Looking around he took the opportunity to take in this new team of his some looked like they had seen a lot of battle, His eye caught the woman with an odd eye patch 'they can replace my eye but not her's?' he thought to himself. Shrugging Jacob made himself comfortable waiting to be addressed gently leaning back on his chair.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caela</strong> on <strong>07-07-2013, 02:54:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://i980.photobucket.com/albums/ae282/caela_ecub/Brunettes/2b6d4b82-ee87-4cd8-acc5-78fce3d1386c_zps0804c722.jpg)<br><hr><br><strong>Name:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><strong>Location:</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><hr><br>Sam actually let a grin curl her lips hearing him stammer and ramble as much as she was. Laughing gently at both of them she turned slightly, her free arm sweeping toward the direction of the Infirmary, "I just got here myself and am now trying to cram a ships worth of medical files into my brain...so I'll forgive your rambling as long as you forgive mine."<br><br>She ignored the fact that he shook her hand with his gloves on. Some people would be offended or consider it rude, but she was just as tired as he was and it wasn't as if it was particularly polite of her to be juggling a bunch of files and trying to shake hands at the same time either.&nbsp; She supposed a few lapses in manners, so long as they were deliberate acts of rudeness, could be overlooked.<br><br>"Why don't we get you to the Infirmary and get you checked out before we find our way up to the Briefing Room. Much as I don't want to give the CO reason to be pissed at me, I don't like the idea of one of my Officers dropping on the flight deck because they threw a clot either. I think pulling Doctor's prerogative this once will probably be all right." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wargtass</strong> on <strong>08-07-2013, 19:39:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7dd1oHkY31rargk6o1_500.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><strong>Location:</strong> USS Georgetown, outside the Infirmary<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><hr>Ilya was glad that he was at least not making a complete fool of himself. He straightened up and regained his very professional composure, slamming the heels of his boots together with a crack like a gunshot and bending his body in a ninety degree angle at the hip before straightening up again. His face was set in stone now, the very image of a grim Russian officer in the Czar's Imperial Armed Forces.<br><br>"If our commander is waiting for us we should not waste time. The check up can wait until after the briefing. I promise I 'll give you moment's notice in case I suffer any symptoms." His voice had taken on a very dry and mechanical tone and his eyes had lost some of its spark. It tormented him deeply to put on this display. He was so tempted to call her <em>Tovaritch Doktor</em> and give her a friendly pat on the back like in the good old days of the Revolution. That is before it all went to hell and the <em>politruks</em> began firing upon their own. He managed a genuine smile though when he offered her his arm in a rather archaic fashion suitable for the conservative Czarists.<br><br>"Shall we, Doctor?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caela</strong> on <strong>10-07-2013, 02:24:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://i980.photobucket.com/albums/ae282/caela_ecub/Brunettes/2b6d4b82-ee87-4cd8-acc5-78fce3d1386c_zps0804c722.jpg)<br><hr><br><strong>Name:</strong> Samantha Jamieson<br><strong>Location:</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> Ilya G. Faustin<br><hr><br>Taking the offered arm, Sam returned Ilya's smile with one of her own, "Then we won't keep our Commander waiting, however, if you start to feel the slightest bit out of sorts we head straight to the Infirmary, and you get that check up as soon as the briefing is over," she added, her voice slightly stern but managing to be warm at the same time. <br><br>Clutching her files against her chest with her free arms she glanced up and down the corridors open to them before glancing at Ilya once more and asking, in a tone filled with amusement, "Do you know which way to go?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Inkidu</strong> on <strong>10-07-2013, 20:41:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://uponamidnightdreary.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/il_570xN.198641974.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Athena Barberis<br><strong>Location:</strong> Briefing Room<br><strong>Addressing:</strong> All the commandos aboard the <em>Georgetown</em><br><hr><br>"That's Captain Lassie, to you." she said tersely but she pulled out a tin of thin cigars and offered him one. Like most genetically modified individuals alcohol had no effect on enhanced metabolisms. She offered him a light as well. She returned Toshman's and Silvestrov's salutes. At least there wer some that had a sense of military decorum. It was nice, even though she could hardly enforce the formalities of military life to a group of people, some of them... very unorthodox. If they could get the job done then she didn't want to mess with their individual quirks and idiosyncrasies.<br><br>"We've got time, but I want to give you your briefing so you can get whatever you think you'll need from the armory." she clicked the button and the slide changed. We're headed to Luna to throw you people into the deep end." she said, "We're going to be dropping you behind the combined Austrian-German front in the Sea of Tranquility. You'll go in and split into two groups."<br><br>She clicked a slide and presented two targets, "Capt. Toshman, Lt. Faustin, and Maj. McBride are going to objective Alpha." she pointed to the westernmost target, "We have it on good authority that there is a C.P. secret research facility. It supposedly contains information on the C.P. powered-armor projects and weakness to those Hellhound Class walkers that are tearing up our fortifications in Russia. Being the infiltration specialist Capt. Toshman is lead of the group. Once you've procured everything you can carry you will proceed to this hanger and commandeer an aircraft to return to the <em>Georgetown</em>."<br><br>The woman continued, "Team two will be everyone else. Hammond, you're in charge of the team. Your job is to attack these targets if possible." she pointed them out, "Blowing these up will create a distraction for the covert team and hopefully allow the main Lunar army in the area a breakthrough. Don't be a hero, if things get hairy pull out back toward friendly territory. These are optional objectives and consist of one supply dump and an armor depot, as well as a small manufacturing base that supplies the front with ammunition."<br><br>She stood with her hands behind her back, "Any questions, ladies and gentlemen?" she said, "Oh, and one more thing. You'll be testing out a new delivery system for troops as... parachutes don't work in zero G and a landing will be too dangerous." she gave a rather lupine smile.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Est Pro Patria Mori (Hub Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sara Nilsson</strong> on <strong>13-07-2013, 22:13:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://www.vixenrose.com/hosting/files/253/stuff%20for%20rp/10233RussianJoytoy.jpg)<br><br><strong>Name:</strong> Ludmila Silvestrov<br><strong>Location</strong> USS Georgetown<br><strong>Addressing</strong> Open<br><hr><br>She listens intently to the briefing, and it hadn't passed her by that it was only her and one more that actually had saluted. Interesting in what that told her about her new friends, either very arrogant or just troublemakers with no regard for the chain of command. Both things could cause no end of trouble during a mission, oh she has no illusion that she herself isn't exactly a model soldier but she will be a professional during a mission. Now if.. accidents happen outside of a mission, well that doesn't harm anyone.. well.. ok.. not a lot of people anyway. She still has no love for the more overly zealous Russian commanders that treat their soldiers like nothing more then bullet sponges.<br><br>When the Captain asks if there are any question she stands up with a smart click of her booted heels, "Ma'am, do you have access to some plans of the secondary objectives? Would make blowing them up easier but if not I am sure I can improvise Ma'am."<br><br>She sits down again and tries to keep her eyes from wandering over the Captain in what would be a very inappropriate manner but the woman sure has a natural charisma that seems to ooze out of her, that and Ludmilla has to admit the Captain is very attractive.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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