ABS FIESTA REDUX

[Badger]

here to their.

your character is so drunk its affecting you

[Ad Bot]

[CypherX]

Gustav Thomsen breathes!

[Gojira]

"Oh. Looks like eggs and some kind of coffee."
I take a plate of eggs and bacon, get myself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker, then head to the nearest table and sit down.

[Mr. Hurricane]

Since I guess its a whole new day now.


Jaakko sits in the barracks communal stuffter, blasting ass with the drunk stuffs and admiring the plethora of phallic symbols and writing on the stall wall. They appear to be left by the former Malantan inhabitants. He wonders if all Matlanan(?) pilots were fruits. Jaakko, freed from most forms of self ridicule and inhibition by a pounding headache and hangover, adds his own bit of poetry to the wall.

Here I now sit,
I took a chance,
Forced a fart,
And stuff my pants,

The handwriting can't be traced back to him. It's kind of scratchy. Dare anybody else try to scribble a poem onto the rough, plastic stall walls with a pen.

[CypherX]

is three posts all we can manage? really?

[Tayasaurus]

is three posts all we can manage? really?

Terraria kinda takes you over you know

[CypherX]

Terraria kinda takes you over you know

i don't, no

[Badger]

waiting for something to happen

Walt continues to mingle with the techs and help with repairs

[Qwepir]

Roger winces. This was camp...?

of course it's not grade A camping setup you loving moron. This isn't summer camp in the palestra wilderness.

He offers his right hand "Hi, i'm Roger Whitsky, or bastard or what you prefer. I'll be your prisoner of war today."

Nobody takes you up on your handshake.
Coaxoch and Paladius set you up with a sling for your arm and some painkillers for your ribs and legs, and reassure you that they'll be handling the watch shifts. As the sun goes down, the wildlife around you begins to sound even more restless, and you find it difficult to get any actual sleep. (You can try to strike up conversation with one of them now or just skip to the next day).

Jaakko, freed from most forms of self ridicule and inhibition by a pounding headache and hangover, adds his own bit of poetry to the wall.

Jakko's headache is made even worse by the sound of a very close-by CRAM going off for what must be the umpteenth loving time this morning.

[Mr. Hurricane]

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMM

Jaakko's splitting headache tunes in on frequency and sound of the CRAM and generates pain accordingly. He winces in agony.

Mercanans have missile CRAM and the Kinths have Laser CRAM, and Aesthia is stuck with good old slug-throwing, pondering, clunky, raucous, loud obnoxious, bullstuff stuffty loving CRAM batteries.

Jaakko takes out his pen and scribbles, "Welcome to Mjolnir Sqaudron, please leave morale in the porcelain basin provided, flush accordingly." onto the wall.

He then translates it into Mercanan. The script is rough, but the message is the same.

[Lockebox]

Coaxoch and Paladius set you up with a sling for your arm and some painkillers for your ribs and legs, and reassure you that they'll be handling the watch shifts. As the sun goes down, the wildlife around you begins to sound even more restless, and you find it difficult to get any actual sleep. (You can try to strike up conversation with one of them now or just skip to the next day).

Roger rests leaned up against a tree, keeping his eye on the treeline for anything wanting to make a quick snack of him. The fire that was put up should last them for the night but without upkeep things might come crawling in. He looks at the barely dynamic duo and wonders to himself why he just didn't stay up in the tree to wait for rescue. Spores couldn't have been that bad right? Either way, Roger needed a way to pass the time. He pulls out a small notebook and goes over his collected information. He's gotten so far and now he's here. Leaving her unattended is perhaps the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

He quickly pockets the notebook again.

"Got any marshmallows?" He jokes lightly.

[Qwepir]

Roger rests leaned up against a tree, keeping his eye on the treeline for anything wanting to make a quick snack of him. The fire that was put up should last them for the night but without upkeep things might come crawling in. He looks at the barely dynamic duo and wonders to himself why he just didn't stay up in the tree to wait for rescue. Spores couldn't have been that bad right? Either way, Roger needed a way to pass the time. He pulls out a small notebook and goes over his collected information. He's gotten so far and now he's here. Leaving her unattended is perhaps the worst thing to have ever happened to him.

He quickly pockets the notebook again.

"Got any marshmallows?" He jokes lightly.

Coaxoch is currently taking her turn to sleep, so you're stuck with the humorless Imperial rookie.
: No, but if you really need something to eat you can take some of my rations.

He reaches into his bag and tosses you a plastic drinking pouch with a screw-on cap. Depicted on it is the expected Imperial iconographic wankery, accompanied by a whole lot of text in a language you don't know.

Mercanans have missile CRAM

not entirely sure how effective it would be to use missiles to intercept mortars and shells

[Lockebox]

Coaxoch is currently taking her turn to sleep, so you're stuck with the humorless Imperial rookie.
: No, but if you really need something to eat you can take some of my rations.

Roger looks at the mysterious food package dumbly.

"Alright it was a joke but thanks."

Roger pulls off the cap and tastes the contents.

[Operator¹]

On  the trip still

[xxxxkill]

not entirely sure how effective it would be to use missiles to intercept mortars and shells

Hurricane bolters with smart rounds, obviously.