Alvarez chuckled, "how Altruistic of you..." he gestured. "Keep the pressure on them."
Walking away he reached the situation table, pointing to the fighters and looking at Warner. "Remove them from play, Commander... helm, keep us bow on, but roll the ship... use the yaw and pitch to foil their aim."
"The Coalition has no problem with a person accumulating wealth, on the condition that he not exploit others in the pursuit of others in its accumulation. No, you can be wealthy as you please, but should you use that wealth to suppress your fellow man, then that is where we have problems."
He cleared his throat, "final question, esse, are you ready, homes?"
The Trotsky's main weapons sank their teeth into the corsair's flank, "have you ever, and I mean EVER had the desire to dress up like a fluffy bunny, or put on frilly panties and prance around after hours?"
He cackled as he sunk one last pulse shot into the Praefect, it quickly followed up by a small salvo of various other shots. The barrage tipped the cruiser's hull past critical mass, the core going hyper before detonating terrificly. Before answering the question he looked up at the Captain, a grin over his features.
"I'm a gakin' Newcastle miner, sir. 'Course I do! Only people 'at do it more are lumberjacks."
A man walked up from the hangar, his hair was short, brown, and a little messy, he was wearing a pair of tattered brown cargo-pants, a faded t-shirt, it was gray, but was obviously a darker colour previously, over his shirt he was wearing an old, brown leather jacket, his boots were, as the rest of his attire, old and tattered, he had no visible weapons, his face indicating he was middle-aged. He had the oddest eyes, they were hazel, but occasionally a flash of neon green would pass across the retina, as if he had some kind of implantation done.
The man came up to the 'waiting room', looking around to find no seats that weren't covered in blood, or otherwise 'bad' to sit on, he sighed, and leaned against the wall, waiting to be called.
A small shuttle began its approach for Hanger-03 of the CPW-Trotsky. Slowly, it landed in the hanger and out stepped Daemon Steele a man that looked to be in his twenties. Daemon looked around and noticed many people going about their business, few even looked at him and those that did gave a disapproving look. Daemon noticed a pair of Marines standing guard to the door that gave access to the rest of the ship and approached them.
"Good Evening, I'm looking for the Recruitment Station. I was told it was onboard."
The Marines gave Daemon a sharp look and replied in a cold and somewhat annoyed voice.
"Down the hall and to your right. Follow the signs."
Daemon nodded and proceeded to follow the directions. After a few minutes of walking he finally found the Recruitment Station and entered. He noticed several applicants sitting down in a line of chairs to his right and he also noticed a woman sitting behind a desk looking slightly annoyed, as if she hated dealing with the recruits. Daemon slowly walked up to the secretaries desk.
"Evening, my name is Daemon Steele Captain of the Ironic Gentleman. Atleast, what's left of it. I'm here to apply. I was told that the Coalition was looking for recruits and I think I've ample motivation. My motivation being that my entire ship was destroyed by an incompetent captain. One of your Commanders, Angie Broch was there to witness the destruction of my vessel ."
The woman flicked her eyes at him regarding him with little interest. She merely pointed at the line of chairs where the other applicants were.
"Sit and wait."
Daemon did as he was told and proceeded to sit down beside the other applicants. He took the time to look around the room and noticed blood stains covering much of the room. He picked up a magazine and began reading. The wait had only just begun.
A youngish-type fellow hobbled up next to Steele, past the secretary's desk and laughed boisterously, sitting down.
"Ho! Forgive my associates melodrama!" he said to the woman at the desk while slapping Steele's back.
"However, he is correct. We have business," growing serious and shifty-eyed and stood up again quickly and abruptly, pacing around the waiting room and moseying slowly towards the front desk.
"I will not waste your time echoing the account of my associate, but I will tell you what I seek.
I wish to eliminate him; his ilk. I wish for there to remain no black plume as a token for the lie his soul hath spoken. 'Criminal'. He shall see no sunny face nor be greeted with silver laughter, for herein lies a man who shall be happy never after. If your cause is as you say, then our goals are similar, I think. The credit is weak where anger and a means are present, so my previous occupation as a merchant will be of little consequence. The Paddy of two days ago is dead for all intents and purposes.
And, if it matters, I no longer hold any worldly possessions. This suits your ideals, yes?"
"I believe the Madame Broch might speak of the account. And vouch for my purity of intent."
He looked up suddenly, quickly gaining a spark of awareness that was previously absent. He inhaled sharply as if to mutter an apology for the tirade before deciding against it and reclaiming his seat next to Steele. He leaned forward and stared absentmindedly at a bloody wall; thoughts of lament haunting the black corners of his mind.
As the battle wore down Ben disconnected from the Squadron's communications, but not before giving the RTB order, with that he gave the Hispanic Captain a sharp salute, taking off the headset, grabbing his pistol from the Captain he left to the offices once more.
Walking through the halls he sighed, rubbing his temples, as he entered the lobby he noted several new people, walking by Alicia as she manned her desk he muttered.
"Alicia...Please sent a gallon of Coffee to my office...I need somethin' to perk me up...And get me another Applicant." he muttered as he stepped into his office, once more rounding his desk when inside and sinking into his chair, the pistol in his right hand weighting heavily...
Pushing through the door, Nikolai Marczov wiped his soaked brown hair out of his eyes, and looked around. The entrance hall was impressive, beautiful almost. Looking back down, he strode across the floor the secretaries desk.
Looking up from her work, she guessed what he was here for. His proud stance said it all, he was here to apply for the Coalitions military forces, coolly, she asked him for his name, as she had done many times before with other applicants. More often than not, she would see the same applicants dragged out the back door after a failed interview.
Nikolai stroked a strand of hair out of his eyes again before speaking quietly, as to not disturb anyone nearby from their work. "Nikolai Marczov miss." He drummed his fingers on the table while waiting for a response from the secretary.
After a few quick taps on her keyboard, she looked back up again, a curt smile adorning her lips. When she spoke, it was with the same clinical coolness as before. "Right over there Mr. Marczov." Pointing to an empty seat at the back of a line of other chairs, where other applicants awaited the call to their interviews.
As Nikolai strode confidently toward his chair, he couldn't help but notice how varied the other applicants were, young, old, handsome, ugly, nervous, excited, fearful, confident, there was an entire plethora of emotion in this tiny little line of ordinary people. Coughing a little, he sat down on the red leather seat, and waited for his name to be called.
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