dryskim

Andrew looked at Marvin, noting his fellow recruit's behavior - his heroic dreams and swelling pride, Grec just sighed and went back to messing with his shoulder straps.

Grec toddled out of the Pelican, transitioning from the hard metallic 'clank-clank-clank' of boots traversing the last few feet of ramp to the soft 'squish-squish-squish' of semi-damp soil underfoot. ((Because trying to write a sound effect for normal dirt would be too difficult for amateur writer dryskim.)) The murmur from Sam about finding no familiarity in there surroundings - well, it put a damper on things rather suddenly. "Ah, ****, man. I had you pegged as the Boy Scout who could navigate by the stars," Grec said, removing a hand from his rifle's pistol grip so he could adjust the shoulder strap on his backpack. The whole thing was still lumpy and awkward and heavy, but that one shoulder strap wasn't currently biting into his shoulder like a barracuda.

Grec took a moment to run an assault gloved hand over the matte drab surface of his helmet before rolling it over and placing it on his head. The weight was a bit heavier then he'd been expecting, sliding the orange-tinted ballistic glasses over his eyes and instantly his vision was clouded with every manner of tactical display. "So, uh, who wants to be my battle-buddy?" Andrew said in between trying to figure out what the three-thousand icons clogging his vision meant. Aside from the tiny image of an MA5 with ammunition totals - nothing was exactly clear. Grec took a moment to run an assault gloved hand over the matte drab surface of his helmet before rolling it over and placing it on his head. The weight was a bit heavier then he'd been expecting, sliding the orange-tinted ballistic glasses over his eyes and instantly his vision was clouded with every manner of tactical display. "So, uh, who wants to be my battle-buddy?" Andrew said in between trying to figure out what the three-thousand icons clogging his vision meant. Aside from the tiny image of an MA5 with ammunition totals - nothing was exactly clear.

Grec glanced at Kyro - Andrew wasn't a team leader, but he'd sort of wandered up. He took a moment to collect himself before he said, "Uh, not to burst your bubble, but I don't think we're going to be getting explosives. From the looks of things, what we're currently carrying is what we're using," he shrugged slightly, "And even if we had explosives, the Staff Sergeant still hasn't gone over how to safely set that stuff up." And with that little bit of wisdom imparted, Grec started making his way back to the collection of olive-drab and woodland camouflage that was his squadmates. Now reverting to his usual demeanor and behavior, he found himself a quiet corner to hole up in. He was supposed to be grabbing up a buddy for this little walk in the woods, but he didn't exactly recognize anyone from the assembled mass as someone he labeled as his 'friend'. Then again, he'd always been ****ty at making friends.

Grec closed his eyes momentarily, he wasn't a religious man by any stretch of the imagination, but sweet Jesus, he was sending up prayers for these two. They just didn't know when to cut their loses. If the Staff Sergeant just suddenly whipped around and slapped a *****, Andrew wouldn't have batted an eyelash.

Grec glanced over Marvin went...and actually returned cradling an anti-material sniper rifle, the recruit wasn't going to comment on that one. He went back to tugging at the strap running under his arms, trying find that sweet spot of just perfect. Either he had this vest on backwards - which wasn't the case - or he'd somehow ****** something up while putting it on. With his MA5 slung over his shoulder and his brain rolling through the inevitable ****storm that would result from someone effectively stealing a portable cannon from the armory. It was sad day when Andrew had to stand in formation, telling himself that maybe D.J. the former gangbanger was the guy he wanted watching his back in a fight. The guy held disdain for full-auto, but the chances of him actually being issued something other than an MA5 older than he was were rather slim. So Grec quietly offered advice, "If you're light on the trigger, you can get single shots off. I wouldn't really get my hopes up on getting something better, they're probably saving the fancier gear for the guys on the frontlines."

"So, what you're saying is - maybe we should try negotiating with the aliens we've been at war with for three decades?" Grec offered, "That, maybe we should just, give them whatever they're looking for?" The recruit made a vague gesture in the direction of the still playing video, he bit his lip that his speaking his mind on this subject wouldn't get him on the Staff Sergeant's ****-list, but if that was the case, so be it, "Dude, I'm pretty sure we're way past talking things over." "History doesn't exactly show promising results for talking down attempted genocide," Grec finished, trying to reorient himself back towards the videos and figure out if he could actually glean anything from the helmet-cam footage. Except the whole, what if the aliens are after something argument drew his focus elsewhere, so actually finding anything of worth in the semi-fuzzy haze of shouting, explosions, and weapons fire of various types was becoming more challenging than necessary.

Grec glanced down at the standard-issue stun grenade lying in his hands, turning it over momentarily before passing it along. He'd honestly expected it to be...well, he couldn't quite determine if it was heavier than he'd expected or if he'd expected it to be a bit lighter, he was going back and forth in his head over the whole thing. Then again, he'd never held a stun grenade in his life, so he didn't exactly have any comparisons available. Suppressing and flanking, considering this was the kindergarten of military training at this point, it wasn't exactly the definitive article on the subject. Shoot at the baddies, keep their heads down, soften them with fragmentation grenades and stuns, and then flank and finish. He didn't label himself a tactical genius on any account, but he'd picked up a fair chunk of that by playing video games and watching movies. And then, blue alligator on legs. "Questions...so far." What's the correct military response to this? Nod your head and grin? "Yeah, we're fightin' aliens, kickass," was that the standard operating procedure? Hell, it seemed like everyone collectively was having this little battle since the whole room went deathly silent almost as soon as the slide switched. Seriously, even that ghetto-banger dude.

Grec, his face smeared with a substance that burned like termite, fell into position within the block of recruits. He dunked his head into the bucket of what felt like ice water expecting the **** to wash out of his eyes and off his skin. Aside from getting himself soaking wet from the neck up, he didn't really succeed in anything worthwhile. Instead, he took to standing as told while blinking like a ************. His vision had came back more or less within a handful of minutes and his lungs didn't burn like hellfire anymore, but his sinus' would not resist the chance to pour snot and mucus down his throat in a desperate bid to drown him. As for his shooting, running, and punching - he'd managed to stumble his way through, physically abusing his punching bag adversary, lugged his doomsday pack the required distance with only moderate difficulty, and fired his salvo of rounds. He'd managed to hit paper, so he'd been told. Then again, the fact the corpsman handed him a BR55 instead of his familiar MA5 threw him for a momentary loop. Sure, the controls were more or less the same but the MA5 had a push-button safety, the whole thing delegated by trigger pull, the BR55 had a selector switch, which with an eyeful of irritation and very little prior knowledge of the weapon in question left Grec asking his new friend, the corpsman, how far he'd need to go to find the semi-automatic.

Grec looked over at Jacob, seemingly surveying him for a long moment, "Their is a difference between liking something and tolerance. So I'm tolerating the bull****, because that's how things are going to be if I hit the fleet. But I'm also not going to slap a big grin on my face and pretend that the Corps is somehow above the bull****, because it's not true and I'm not going to lull myself into pretending it is," the recruit finished off his carton of orange juice, "In short, I'd recommend toning down your excitement, the dee-eye might skull-**** you for being too happy."

"It's....alright?" Andrew managed after a few moments. To be honest, he was finding Jake a bit hard to read - maybe the dude was just really awkward around other people? Or he was more stiff and proper than an Englishmen. ((In reference to Major HawThorne)) Okay, since I'm here and I have an idea what's going on, I'll explain things to you. First of all, this RP is about the training of militia by UNSC Marines on Reach, prior to the Battle of Reach. So, based on that string of logic - your character couldn't be running operations against Covenant forces during the Battle of Reach - because the Battle of Reach hasn't occurred yet in the timeline of the RP. Two, your character - even if he was allowed to be a Spartan variant (which he isn't) - could not be a Spartan-IV, because the Spartan-IV Program to my knowledge was not in play in September of 2552. Lastly, while this isn't important because your rank is dictated by the fact that everyone is a 'recruit' (not even holding a military rank yet) - their is no conceivable way that your character could be a Lieutenant at the age of 23. Well, aside from him going to Officer Candidate School but that wasn't featured in his biography, so I'm assuming that he did not go to school. Also, he's a friendly Lone Wolf (because everyone is a Lone Wolf...) which sort of brings into question how. If he's a Lone Wolf, he's most likely anti-social which doesn't typically result in the most sunny of personalities - or relations with people. Eitherway, you at least followed the proper formatting (which some people don't) so I'll give you a cookie in that regard. The rest of it is typical for people new to roleplaying or who failed to read up on the details prior to posting. So here are my recommendations, go back to the first page of the roleplay and read that first post. It'll help you get an idea of what the aims of the roleplay are and even gives you some help with creating the application. Two, skim through the roleplay itself and take a look at some of the other applications so you can see how others have set up theirs. As for not being good at roleplaying, not much I can say there other than just keep at it. It's just like anything else, you just gotta keep at it. Hopefully, some of that was helpful and I didn't come off too heavy as a know-it-all jerk.

Grec half-shrugged, "Yeah, I dunno about that athlete part," the recruit made a show of poking his belly with a pair of fingers, "I've always been a bit doughy." Andrew cast the new guy a glance, "Well, you certainly have a particular way of talking," he mused, but deciding to not begin this meeting of the minds with 'JACKASS' firmly stamped on his forehead in red ink, he made a show of introducing himself, "Andrew Grec."

Grec glanced up from his tray of breakfast slop, "Huh? Oh, yeah, you can sit there, I don't care." The recruit shrugged as Dwyer settled down across the table from him. To be honest, the guy had a point - everyone else was pretty damn tall and rippling with muscle. Andrew? Eh, not so much. "Yeah, I just settled for losing a couple pounds before I turned in my sheet," he joked, "Cut down on my doughnut intake, that sort of thing."

Fresh from his two minutes of shower time, which consisted of getting wet and then getting out of the shower, Grec followed behind the others at a semi-lumbering pace, pausing momentarily at each fresh plot of food to quietly assess before tossing it on his tray. None of it really looked terribly good and it probably tasted worse than public school food, but as the gigantic gang-banger said, food was food. And then the even more gigantic Russian brought up how cake was unhealthy for an oversized dude like himself. As much as Andrew just wanted to turn around and tell the dude to quit talking so loud, effectively bellowing over the shorter recruit's shoulder to give DJ his pro-tips, the comparatively tiny recruit decided the hell with it and went to find himself his own seat, a bit aways from the others. Within a moment of sitting down he'd decided his order of battle, terrorizing his meal one side at a time and leaving the biscuit as the lone survivor. If in doubt, he could shove the biscuit into his mouth as he walked out the door and choke it down some point. And with that in mind, he went to work on whatever mystery meat was the prominent feature of his plate.

Grec, who had his dozen magzines laid out carefully in-front of his firing position took a moment to give his new baby one final once over. It took him a bit to figure out why in hell a rifle would need a power button, painfully long when he finally hit the button and figured out what the fuss was all about - it turned the LED screen on and off. If he wasn't holding a nine pound death machine in his unworthy hands, he'd have punched himself in the genitals. Well, not really, but his stupidity deserved as much. Anyway, now standing with a fully-loaded magazine of 7.62x51mm, Grec realized just how damn heavy a full magazine was. It was like holding a brick. With the bolt still locked back so he could visually confirm the chamber was empty, he slotted in his first magazine. The mag slid into the slot like a dream, and he gave it a slight slap to make sure it was fully seated before giving the charging handle a firm slap with the heel of his hand. Now locked and cocked, the recruit adjusted his stance, making sure to lean a bit into the rifle. Now with a fully-loaded magazine in the rear, the MA5 felt awkward and back heavy but he figured he'd eventually get used to the heft. His trigger finger clicked the safety to the 'off' position, and his finger eased to the trigger. The MA5 lacked any fire selection, being merely 'SAFE' and 'FIRE', so the recruit was careful to merely squeeze the trigger rather than give it a sharp tug. This was the first time he'd ever held an automatic weapon, let alone fired one, he didn't exactly want his first range experience to be him pumping a fully thirty-two round magazine into the dust. The trigger finally broke, the rifle kicked, and a hole appeared in the paper downrange. Grec's aim was a bit off, his first shot hitting a little low, dissatisfied, he adjusted his aim accordingly and fired again.