Post by EriChar on Feb 10, 2013 10:51:06 GMT -5
[/justify][/blockquote]Oliver Smith, Daniel Huston, Landon Spector, Max Beumer, Ted Cheever, Lonnie Hultgren, Tameka Lease, Panda Mann, Amy Corprew, Mathew Howey, Vergil von Fuerst, Nelson Rugh, Julianne Minelli, Lakisha Metzgar, Allan Swigert… Flicking through a wad of personnel profiles thick enough to make a sizeable dent in any head it was smacked against, the white haired marine sat at a small desk in what was one of the more stable buildings on the Illusian Marine Base softly stroking the gathering strands of dark stubble that coated the area around his mouth. With a pair weeks having passed since the dreadful attack that had devastated the surroundings, the speed and efficiency that the soldier force of the World Government at the very least inspired a sense of satisfaction, even if a whole lot of the time their ethics did not, and the base was looking like the strong and proud symbol of ‘Justice’ that it once had. Marine engineers and craftsmen that had survived the attack were supplemented by the forces drawn in from the bases in the surrounding Western Blue, and thanks to their tireless and near constant efforts of these artisan’s, the man who poured over this documentation was now afforded a solid roof over his head as he did so, rather than the wafting canvas of a tent.
Even with pictures, you can’t get an image of their potential… Exhaling in frustration, the White Hunter allowed the loosely gripped papers to fall back down onto the desk in front of him, as he pulled a pair of cigars from the bandoleer-like reams of thick Cubans that wrapped around his jacket, rubbing his forehead with the index finger of his other hand. Who would have thought that bolstering one’s forces would prove to be so stressful? Unlike the rest of his team, who he’d assigned a short period of R&R, so they could recover from wounds suffered in defence of this land, the workaholic that is the man known as Smoker would never have afforded such a chance for inactivity. While his own wounds were healing up, the commander himself spent his time taking care of the bane of all Marine’s existence; paperwork. As one can no doubt imagine, the sinking of one’s command incurred a severe amount of administration, and while his crew had seen large advancements in authority thanks to their actions, they had also become undermanned for the task that had been assigned due to such advancement.
I’ve been idle for too long… Streams of smoke now billowing softly from the tips of the twin cigars nestled between the Marine’s molars, Commodore, rather Rear Admiral Smoker as he was now, couldn’t help but feel a sense of restlessness; some were suited to desk work and that sort of thing, but this man was not, he preferred to be chasing down criminals and evildoers, rather than doing the paperwork to facilitate such actions.
Finally stole Baxter away from me, huh? Lamenting the loss of his first officer, the White Hunter’s trusted right hand, to the promotion chain and his own command, the pile of due paperwork was not the only reason he missed the now Captain Baxter, but certainly played a part of it. It had been a necessary manoeuvre in the defeat of Arashio to let Baxter ‘show off’ by commanding the White Maiden in the defence of Illusia, but it had placed the officer as a clear candidate to replace one of the many captains that had been lost in recent times, and with the changes in high command that those same times had seen, it was hard for even a Rear Admiral to stand in the way of such a request. As much of a maverick and trouble causer that Smoker was, it had been near impossible even for him to keep the capable captain in his hand still, particularly when he currently had no officially assigned ship or active duties to tie Baxter to.
Maybe one of these guys will be good with admin? Glancing over the strewn stack of Marine profiles again, Rear Admiral Smoker sucked in the smoke from his thick bucks as he tousled the hair on top of his head, still attempting to spy a diamond or two within these charcoal write ups to inspire him.
I bet that base commander had his hand in this… Having had the names and details of these men and women passed along to him by the clerks of the Illusian command, the White Hunter couldn’t help but feel that the blandness of the descriptions and details were a direct result of Smoker’s earlier snub in the battle. While all of the officers and enlisted within the Marine force were supposedly ‘friends’, the Rear Admiral’s experiences led him to believe that a great number were far worse than a lot of the ‘enemies’ he had fought; petty and bureaucratic, they would strike at your back with their knives before ever daring to face you head on. The underhandedness was something that Rear Admiral Smoker had never developed a taste for, and was probably the reason why he’d never been interested in a role at Marine HQ; that place seemed like a den of corruption and malice, particularly so since Sengoku had stepped down. The Marines were changing, and Smoker wasn’t sure he liked who they were becoming.
Sighing again, this time with breath filled with the whiteness of smoke from his cigar, the former Commodore stood up and strolled across his temporary office, scooping up the loosely ‘Y’ shaped weapon he had leaning next to his coat stand. For a second or two, the eyes of Smoker lingered on something else as he slid his weapon into the holster on his back; a pristine white coat hanging on the hook nearest to him, emblazoned with the word ‘Justice’. Decidedly decadent, the coat was decorated with golden tassels on the shoulders, hanging downward like threads of gold to imply authority of command, and was not really a rare sight amongst the Marine forces; many bore the ‘coat of justice’ over their shoulders as a sign of their authority, but Smoker himself never had. While his own jacket had the same words embroidered into its back, for one reason or another, the White Hunter had always felt uncomfortable about wearing this item of apparel over his shoulders, and did so today as well, choosing to leave it hanging their than drape it over his shoulders as he left his office.
So, where should we start then? Flipping through the profiles that he had brought with him, Smoker had decided that the only way to get a real gauge on someone’s character was to meet them in person; if he had to get new Marines, he wanted to be damn sure they weren’t part of this new wave of characters that seemed to be swelling within the organisation...