Post by Berlioz Lamond on Dec 11, 2013 22:51:52 GMT -5
12/1/3358
Despite what you'd usually think, Berlioz often found the best place for a quiet moment was actually in the cafeteria, even during the busy lunch or dinner hours. Apparently a significant portion of troopers on board the Dauntless Fury would eat meals outside of the usual times, so the number of people in the hall at one time wouldn't change by a noticeable amount until several hours had passed. This meant he could usually get away with enjoying his meal, however much he could, in relative peace. Tuning out the ambient noise of people and the monitors looping the most recently received news was something he'd taught himself to do relatively early during the long empty days on warships between deployments.
It was during these times that Berlioz could wind down to a degree, the large size of the hall meant that there was a reasonable amount of space between him and the other troopers, unlike in the Infantry Berth where you were in relative close proximity to the other members of your squad. When you were that close to other people it was hard to block them out, they'd be too close, too loud, too clear for him to just switch off. Then again, he thought to himself, if I can sleep through a kinetic weapon strike, why can't I ignore a conversation 3 metres away from me? But now I can't even sleep without the help of the medication that Dr. Baker gives me, that's sli- His train of thought was instantly derailed when the sound of footsteps rang out behind him. Dropping his fork and whipping round, he caught wrist of the man who'd been half a second away from clapping him on the back with an open palm. "Holy shit man! What the fuck's got you so on edge?"
The hand and wrist belonged to another SDC trooper, thankfully not a superior officer. Another trooper stood close behind him, a thin wry grin on his dark face. "Sorry" muttered Berlioz, releasing his grip and beginning to turn back to his food. "Oh no we can't have that now can we 'Mr. Army Transfer'" Fuck. The single expletive resounding through his head as he realised isolating himself from everyone else made him a prime target for those with less savoury intentions. "Yah see, we were on the same bird that you came in on, me and my buddy here had just passed training on that world and were disappointed to see some second-rate Army dog in the same uniform", the sneer in the trooper's tone was enough to set Berlioz's skin on fire. He turned his head slowly to size the man and his friend up. The first was shorter than he was, maybe 5'7", with short black hair that had noticeable amounts of product in. Not a particularly heavy build, perhaps around the same weight class that Berlioz was in. The trooper behind him on the other hand was a tall dark skinned man wearing a black vest shirt with the majority of his hair shaved off, the grin still plastered across his face.
Berlioz sighed, he really didn't want to have to deal with this, not right now anyway. "What does me being ex-Army have to do with anything?" Said Berlioz, taking the diplomatic route before resorting to anything else. The first trooper who'd been doing all the talking so far, Private Colpin if he read his uniform correctly, moved around the table, eyes fixed on Berlioz. "Well see, we were told that the SDC were the best. That nobody else could even hope to compare, but here you sit. Someone from the Regular Army shouldn't have the right to fight alongside those who were obviously good enough for the SDC from the start!" He was obviously keeping his voice in check but the harsh edge got the message across, Berlioz wasn't welcome on this ship.
Colpin's partner stayed behind Berlioz as Colpin moved around to sit opposite him, pushing Berlioz's food further down the table and proceeded to lean across, "But enough about that, if you're Army, then you should have some good stuff to tell us right? I mean we always heard about all the great work you do on the outer worlds. Subdue any insurrections? Hmmmm?" The same slight grin his partner had been sporting this whole time appeared on Colpin's face now. Under the table, even Berlioz's short nails began to cut into his palms. Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep- He let out a long breath. The same question that PFC Vinigan had asked him, this time without the innocence of someone just trying to get to know you better, this time with the intention of getting under his skin.
It worked.
Praying the background noise was enough to mask it, he lashed out with his right hand, grabbing the front of Colpin's uniform and dragging him half over the table so his face was maybe 3 inches away from Berlioz's. "Alright then how's this for good stuff, you know what happens to a child's body when it's shot with a 7.62mm round from an M68C9 Rifle? It's a bit different from when you shoot an adult" The look on Colpin's face went from smug to outright shock in a second, the lack of movement behind him made Berlioz think that his friend was also slightly stunned. "When you shoot an adult, they're heavier, usually wearing body armour and have that drive, that determination to shoot back, to fight you with everything they have. But a child, they don't normally get given equipment from actual guerrilla fighters, they might pick up a rifle from the ground, thinking it's a toy, or they saw their fathers fighting and wanted to be just like daddy" Colpin was starting to shake his head now, realising just how hard he'd kicked the hornet's nest. Berlioz gripped tighter and pulled him even closer, ignoring the few heads that had turned his way.
"Well see", he said, emulating the verbal tic Colpin had earlier displayed, "when you shoot a child, they have no will to fight. They weren't meant to be in that war. A child doesn't shoot back when shot. They lie on the floor and cry as they bleed out. They call out for their mama, their papa to come take the pain away and you can't do anything but regret every single time you pull the trigger".
He shoved the pale Colpin back and dragged the plate with the semi-cold food on back in front of him. He didn't look up as the man in front of him rapidly got up and walked past him, back towards his friend. "Come on man, let's leave this fuckin' freak" Berlioz didn't look back after them, but sat pushing the food around on the plate until it became a brown mess. He wasn't really thinking about the food at that point, his thoughts were going back years ago.
Back to the boy he left dying on a dirt road in a town he never learned the name of.
Despite what you'd usually think, Berlioz often found the best place for a quiet moment was actually in the cafeteria, even during the busy lunch or dinner hours. Apparently a significant portion of troopers on board the Dauntless Fury would eat meals outside of the usual times, so the number of people in the hall at one time wouldn't change by a noticeable amount until several hours had passed. This meant he could usually get away with enjoying his meal, however much he could, in relative peace. Tuning out the ambient noise of people and the monitors looping the most recently received news was something he'd taught himself to do relatively early during the long empty days on warships between deployments.
It was during these times that Berlioz could wind down to a degree, the large size of the hall meant that there was a reasonable amount of space between him and the other troopers, unlike in the Infantry Berth where you were in relative close proximity to the other members of your squad. When you were that close to other people it was hard to block them out, they'd be too close, too loud, too clear for him to just switch off. Then again, he thought to himself, if I can sleep through a kinetic weapon strike, why can't I ignore a conversation 3 metres away from me? But now I can't even sleep without the help of the medication that Dr. Baker gives me, that's sli- His train of thought was instantly derailed when the sound of footsteps rang out behind him. Dropping his fork and whipping round, he caught wrist of the man who'd been half a second away from clapping him on the back with an open palm. "Holy shit man! What the fuck's got you so on edge?"
The hand and wrist belonged to another SDC trooper, thankfully not a superior officer. Another trooper stood close behind him, a thin wry grin on his dark face. "Sorry" muttered Berlioz, releasing his grip and beginning to turn back to his food. "Oh no we can't have that now can we 'Mr. Army Transfer'" Fuck. The single expletive resounding through his head as he realised isolating himself from everyone else made him a prime target for those with less savoury intentions. "Yah see, we were on the same bird that you came in on, me and my buddy here had just passed training on that world and were disappointed to see some second-rate Army dog in the same uniform", the sneer in the trooper's tone was enough to set Berlioz's skin on fire. He turned his head slowly to size the man and his friend up. The first was shorter than he was, maybe 5'7", with short black hair that had noticeable amounts of product in. Not a particularly heavy build, perhaps around the same weight class that Berlioz was in. The trooper behind him on the other hand was a tall dark skinned man wearing a black vest shirt with the majority of his hair shaved off, the grin still plastered across his face.
Berlioz sighed, he really didn't want to have to deal with this, not right now anyway. "What does me being ex-Army have to do with anything?" Said Berlioz, taking the diplomatic route before resorting to anything else. The first trooper who'd been doing all the talking so far, Private Colpin if he read his uniform correctly, moved around the table, eyes fixed on Berlioz. "Well see, we were told that the SDC were the best. That nobody else could even hope to compare, but here you sit. Someone from the Regular Army shouldn't have the right to fight alongside those who were obviously good enough for the SDC from the start!" He was obviously keeping his voice in check but the harsh edge got the message across, Berlioz wasn't welcome on this ship.
Colpin's partner stayed behind Berlioz as Colpin moved around to sit opposite him, pushing Berlioz's food further down the table and proceeded to lean across, "But enough about that, if you're Army, then you should have some good stuff to tell us right? I mean we always heard about all the great work you do on the outer worlds. Subdue any insurrections? Hmmmm?" The same slight grin his partner had been sporting this whole time appeared on Colpin's face now. Under the table, even Berlioz's short nails began to cut into his palms. Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep- He let out a long breath. The same question that PFC Vinigan had asked him, this time without the innocence of someone just trying to get to know you better, this time with the intention of getting under his skin.
It worked.
Praying the background noise was enough to mask it, he lashed out with his right hand, grabbing the front of Colpin's uniform and dragging him half over the table so his face was maybe 3 inches away from Berlioz's. "Alright then how's this for good stuff, you know what happens to a child's body when it's shot with a 7.62mm round from an M68C9 Rifle? It's a bit different from when you shoot an adult" The look on Colpin's face went from smug to outright shock in a second, the lack of movement behind him made Berlioz think that his friend was also slightly stunned. "When you shoot an adult, they're heavier, usually wearing body armour and have that drive, that determination to shoot back, to fight you with everything they have. But a child, they don't normally get given equipment from actual guerrilla fighters, they might pick up a rifle from the ground, thinking it's a toy, or they saw their fathers fighting and wanted to be just like daddy" Colpin was starting to shake his head now, realising just how hard he'd kicked the hornet's nest. Berlioz gripped tighter and pulled him even closer, ignoring the few heads that had turned his way.
"Well see", he said, emulating the verbal tic Colpin had earlier displayed, "when you shoot a child, they have no will to fight. They weren't meant to be in that war. A child doesn't shoot back when shot. They lie on the floor and cry as they bleed out. They call out for their mama, their papa to come take the pain away and you can't do anything but regret every single time you pull the trigger".
He shoved the pale Colpin back and dragged the plate with the semi-cold food on back in front of him. He didn't look up as the man in front of him rapidly got up and walked past him, back towards his friend. "Come on man, let's leave this fuckin' freak" Berlioz didn't look back after them, but sat pushing the food around on the plate until it became a brown mess. He wasn't really thinking about the food at that point, his thoughts were going back years ago.
Back to the boy he left dying on a dirt road in a town he never learned the name of.
) 
