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Re: Descent


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Surprisingly comfortable. One would figure the seats on a military craft would be hard and bare-bones. But no, these seats were made of that memory foam used in beds. It was cushiony unless too much weight was put onto one small area, then the thing couldn't compress anymore, and things got stiff and uncomfortable. But Dimitri didn't weight enough to where that was a problem, even with a bony ass such as his. It would definitely help on the long flight from Kusanagi to Celostratus.


There weren't any windows that he could enjoy the scenic route from. It was a military shuttle, so it wasn't meant to be "tourist friendly" or anything. It was just used to pick up new recruits and get them to the crater with little hassle. They had the big, four-point harnesses to use during atmosphere descents, but they wouldn't be necessary for the lack of atmosphere on the moon. They just had to dock in the proper area and wait for the signal to walk out after parking. They had all been issued flight suits to wear, and they'd have to wear them until they got to the air-lock. Even then, all they'd be able to take off would be the helmet, since the flight suits were uniform. It was only in the residential, off duty zones that they could be casual.


At least, that's how Dimitri imagined a military-spec group such as the Soliders of Fire. He didn't know regulations on uniform use, or anything like that. That knowledge would come with the first couple of days. Hopefully. He wasn't an experienced soldier turned mercenary, so he hoped he wouldn't be any actual trouble for the Soldiers, mainly because he wanted to sue them for protection. If it came down to it, he'd have to steal a mobile suit to escape, if he was ever pursued for his previous hacking actions.


Hopefully, that would never come to pass.


When he landed at Celostratus, his first duty was to immediately get inside the air lock and wait for the process to go off. It only took a quick minute. The doors opened up to a lobby of sorts, like one would have at an airport, but smaller, and with less commotion and noise. There was also a lack of coffee and newspaper stands, which was an improvement, of course.


((I hope this is an okay start.))

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Fortunately, there were other ways to acquire coffee.


Ezekiel sipped at the small plastic cup, a tragically unworthy receptacle for such a valuable beverage. For all their bravado, there were three things that Ezekiel's fellow coordinators had never quite managed to get right; alcohol, tobacco and java. They were far too scientifical in their approach towards creating it, and unfortunately two decades of expensive research does little to replace a thousand years of practical experience. Hence, Ezekiel always ordered the imported stuff from earth - a costly habit that forced him to relish every drop he got his hands on.


So there he was now, leaning absently against the corridor wall with one hand shoved down the pocket of his dress pants and the other holding his cup thoughtfully under his nose. It was a good blend - Ecuador, perhaps. He was no connoisseur, but any soldier worth their salt knew that a cup of black could be a lifesaver during long downtimes. It was the sudden, sinking noice of airlocks depressurizing that brought him out of his reverie, the platinum-haired man raising an eyebrow as he pushed away from the wall and walked down the corridor to get a good look at the new recruits.


He emerged on a small catwalk running above the main lobby, and he leaned casually against the railing as he took another sip of his coffee and watched the latest batch who'd been seduced into service by Xavi's charismatic sales pitch. It was a mix of all kinds, as usual, and Ezekiel's lips curled into a small smile as he watched one particularily disoriented-looking fellow step out onto the platform, the kid (or young man, perhaps) looking this way and that as if trying to take it all in at once.


Rookies, Ezekiel thought to himself amusedly. The higher-ups would have so much fun with that one.

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"I guess there's no use in just looking around like a stray puppy... I'm sure someone will be giving out orders soon enough..." Dimitri sighed, not even caring to look around at anything any more. It was all rather boring, at least compared to what he had originally thought that things might be like. Things didn't seem strict at all. Not especially laid back, but still more relaxed than things would be normally. He had to wonder if there was a luggage return or if it'd be delivered to his quarters. Either way, how would he find his room? How would he know when and what to start working on? It was all too much for someone to try and figure out themselves. Maybe he was supposed to ask questions, but that could also be very annoying.


So instead, he sat down in one of the chairs, which weren't nearly as comfortable as the ones on the transport. A bit amused by that fact, Dimitri leaned back and closed his eyes. If he was inevitably going to get yelled at, he figured it should be for making lazy and just waiting. All the mercenaries had gone off in odd directions, some for the coffee, some for the halls. He had no clue what to go after. Certainly not the coffee though, it was pretty disgusting, no matter how much sugar and cream one doctored it up with. Maybe it was childish to think so, but he much preferred the lass bitter tasting drinks, and the colder drinks too. The only hot or warm liquid he could appreciate going down his throat was hot cocoa, and he hadn't had that stuff in years.


But he couldn't help the sneaking suspicion that something crappy was going to happen. Like some drill sergeant wanna-be was going to sneak up behind him and start barking orders. If that happened, he was going to drill the guy right in the face with a left hook. Dimitri was jumpy, but he could control his actions during that surprise to a certain extent, but he wanted to punch the first bastard who tried to bark orders at him. Sure, it was a mercenary faction, which may of meant military-style rules, but one good decking, and he'd have something to be proud of. And he'd still smile about it, even as he was doing a billion push-ups.

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