Queen's Court

[Isa Romero]

It had been three months since Isa was given her new title and command.  She had worked for this, this is what she wanted. Standing in her quarters she looked down at the frame she was holding, a picture of Marco, her Step Father, or only father she really knew. Isa never really knew her real father, sure he was around but not present.  Marco was the that raised her, he took care of her, showed her how to be soldier, it certainly took more than the training her mother put her through.  Putting the frame down Isa looked up in the mirror and smoothed back her hair, it was up in  a tight bun currently, regulations dictated it.  Not a hair out of place.  She pulled down on her blazer forcefully to straighten out and wrinkle that was out of line and squared her jaw.  She took a deep breath in, closed her eyes and nodded opening them and turning toward the door.


Her hand hovered momentarily knowing what waited for her outside of that door. The pressure, never knowing if she was making the right decision, how she came across.  Not that it should matter, but it did. We're they listening to her? Did they respect her.  She heard her mother's voice in her head You'd be better off finding a man to take care of you than trying to be one. She clenched her jaw and turned the knob, swiftly exiting her room and closing the door behind her. 

Isa walked with purpose, passing crewman left and right, stopping to salute her. She never made eye contact, it would've shown weakness. It wasn't a long walk, maybe a few feet, but even so it felt like an eternity. Her jaw clenched still, the only sound coming through was the clicking of her boots and her heart beat, finally reaching the bridge. Walking through the door frame she ducked gracefully, thank you mother, to avoid hitting her head.  Isa stood with her hands behind her, one hand holding the wrist of the other,

"Captain on deck!" A crewman cried, she didn't really care who.  The sound of boots clicked in unison as they saluted her.

"At ease." They released and went back to their ship duties,  Isa moved forward to the helm standing next to her friend, and pilot Mel, "How are we doing Mel?" She continued to look forward as she addressed the pilot, staring into the abyss.

[Melody]

She was suffocating, she was sure of it. There were too many straps and buttons and this damned hat was too floppy. Had the Alliance had their uniforms designed by the same shmuck who made chef's uniforms? And nurse's scrubs? Where was the pizzazz and the elegance? She looked like a rectangle swathed in grey fabric with some bondage strap crossed over her chest, her hat pinned into place so the unnecessarily baggy material wouldn't slide off her smoothed out hair, the brim of it resting against her too tight bun at the back of her head.

Melody sat with her arms crossed over her chest at the helm of Captain Isa's new ship, her featured pulled down in a perpetual frown as her baby blues scanned the readouts and made alterations as necessary. While this boat wasn't anywhere near as enjoyable to fly as her Foxbat had been, its perks outweighed its drawbacks. Just barely, she thought to herself, a finger hooking around the tight collar of her uniform and tugging it to make breathing easier. In some attempt to fight against the strict regulations, Melody had pulled one strand of mildly waved almond brown hair free of her bun, letting it frame one side of her face.

"Captain on deck!" A crewman cried.

The pilot turned her head a moment to gaze in the Captain's direction, the barest hint of a smile pulling at one corner of her lips. She looked good, in control, like a proper Captain. Of course, she stood with the others, not one to disrespect one of the few friends she had and one of the only people in power she respected. When they were given permission, Melody sat back down and turned to the console.

"How are we doing Mel?" Isa asked.

"Peachy, Captain," she answered, speaking lowly so the others wouldn't hear her clear lack of formal language. Mel turned her head and grinned up at her friend, looking her over and slyly offering her a thumbs up in approval, hiding it against her own chest. With the slightest clearing of her throat, the pilot looked forward again, fingers running deftly over the controls, keying in processes and checking the status of their current course. "We're just a few minutes out, should be touching down shortly," she informed her, the display showing their distance from Ariel and one of their ports. Ariel was officially a place for the Alliance to pick up the cargo necessary to run a ship without hiccup, and they were likely going to be settling down to pick up fresh medical supplies and replenishing their food stores. Melody had no interest in why they were officially heading there.

[Rashy Pete]

Dirtside.

"I'm bored." Olo's eyes drifted from the behemoth of critical components he barely understood taking up the vast majority of the aptly named Engine Room to a yellow stain on his heavy, greasy, brown coveralls. A look of confusion crossed his face as he tried to determine whether he bothered to wash his clothes since the last time he consumed mustard. Looking back at the ship's engine and seeing nothing of import, Olo's brows arched as if struck by a sudden epiphany. "Huh. Maybe I'm tired." Olo turned to look at his constant companion, a dingy, gray, mustachioed Persian long hair with tufts of matted and missing fur. "What do you think, Rasputin?" Olo's feline friend mewed dismissively and slowly dropped his head to the floor as he lay on the noisy and humid room's grated floor vent. The engineer of sorts scratched at the yellow spot on his clothes. "Sure, but you're always hungry." Olo sniffed and then licked the spot on his collar, testing the taste. "...Yeah, that ain't mustard."

Breath heaved from Olo's lungs as he sat on the floor next to Rasputin. Rummaging through his tool bag, he produced an oil filter wrench and stared through the circular open end. "Gonna be honest, Ras. I got no idea what this thing does." The cat mewed and purred in response. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Olo sighed and stretched out, trying to get as comfortable as the cat on the hard metal floor. "A nap does sound good." Snagging a padded blanket he tended to lay on while working beneath an engine or a waste disposal unit, Olo balled it up as a pillow behind his head and closed his eyes. After several seconds, his breathing began to even and steady itself before pausing momentarily as a final thought crossed his mind. "Hey, Ras. When's the last time you ate mustard?"

[Izak Archer]

Crete Class Carrier Malta
5th Naval Task Force
Orbit of Ariel

The sound of Izak's boots echoed around the corridor as he made his way to his duty station – the Malta's fire control bridge. From there, he was responsible for the defensive guns of the entire vessel. Many people would find this an intimidating responsibility, but Izak did not. In fact, he found it dull at times. Serving on the senior staff of such a large vessel, though prestigious, came with minimal action, excessive formalities, and mountains of recordkeeping. This monotony could last for days at a time.

Today was one of those days.

But before he could continue, he had to inform his fire control officers of their shore leave schedules. The gunners, who were mostly enlisted personnel, were given their leave schedules in an announcement given by the admiral a few hours earlier.

As he drew nearer the lift at the end of the corridor, he was saluted by a pair of pilots and returned the gesture. What once was something exciting was just another formality that made up his day to day life. He stepped into the lift and flicked on his Datapad. Today was his lucky day. He was to join the quartermaster in assuring that the munitions for the Malta and her fighter crews were loaded 'properly and on schedule' after the massive ship landed.
"So much for R and R,"/b] he muttered  to himself. The lift got to his floor and he squeezed pass a group of junior officers with a quick salute. If I have to do that one more time... He breathed a sigh of relief as he got to the fire control bridge and opened the doors.

"COMMANDER ON DECK!" That was the shout that greeted him, followed by the sound of his nearly two dozen officers rose from their seats. "At ease," he said as the doors closed. "Alright everyone, I have your leave schedules right here to send to your Datapads." The men and women under his command exchanged smiles. "It's no Sihnon, but without extravagant food and a fancy red-light district, it should keep Carter out of trouble," he said in a comedic tone as the rest of the room laughed. The man he referred to just shook his head and smiled.

"On the upside, I hear the bioluminescent lake is nice. I trust all of you to stay out of trouble, and I have one order for you. Have a drink for me at the first bar you find. I'll be at the supply depot making sure our gunners have bullets and our pilots have their missiles." He swiped his Datapad and sent their schedule to them. "Enjoy your time dirtside ladies and gentlemen, you've earned it. We land in three hours."