Fandom Metro: The Promised Land IC

[Rusty of Shackleford]

The Argo
10:23 A.M.
4 Hours Out of Moscow

The Argo had left Moscow early, at around 6:00 A.M. Their first destination was St. Petersburg, or whatever was left of it, which, using some records that survived the War, showed that it was around an 8 hour ride from Moscow by train, which they happened to be using. By now, the protocol for running an expedition had been established: at all times, two of the Spartan's would stand outside and check the radiation, just so that there wouldn't be any surprises. They'd also be on the lookout for anything of interest: settlements, damaged tracks, etc. It was an easy job all around, and it just so happened that today, the two brave Spartan's assigned to this task were Alek and Fritz. The Rookie and the Fuckup...everyone else was either relaxing, keeping the engine running, or maintaining and doing inventory on everyone's gear. The air was crisp and fresh, a far cry from the tunnels of the Metro. It felt like the barren landscape went on forever, the sun rising high into the sky as it beamed it's rays down on the wasteland that surrounded the Argo.

Alek let out a sigh as he stared out into the distance, the cold Russian air blasting against his face as the roar of the locomotive chugged behind him. He stood at the front end of the train, taking in that fresh air for the first time in...forever, literally. Alek had spent his entire life in the Metro, always wondering what the surface was like. He always listened to his father's stories about it, how beautiful it was, and how it was destroyed. By who depended on how his father was feeling that day. Sometimes it was those damned left wingers, whoever they were, sometimes it was the Americans...it hardly mattered. Everyone was to blame for what the world had become.

The young Spartan looked through his binoculars to see nothing but empty wasteland, yelling to the screwup somewhere outside, "You see anything, Sir? I've got nothing on my end." He couldn't help but see the tragic beauty of this. Even in it's broken, charred state, the world was still beautiful. Not even the folly of man could keep nature down. If anything, nature adapted to erase the cancer known as humanity. Or at least that's what Alek's father always said. The Rookie lowered his binoculars, turning to Fritz as he asked, "So, what do you think is in St. Petersburg? The maps say if didn't get hit as hard as Moscow, but...still." Alek couldn't help but feel uneasy. This was his first expedition into the unknown. Most of his Spartan training was in the cramped, stuffy tunnels of the Metro. But this... he'd have to re-adapt to this. He remembered reading about St. Petersburg, about it's decadance, and how that decadance gave rise to the Red's, how they slaughtered the entire royal family. Alek had this aching feeling that...maybe history would repeat itself, as it always did. I mean, even after the world had ended, the Nazi's and Red's were still fighting, so it was obvious that nothing would stop humanity's desire to conquer itself.
Togy
Dante Redgrave
Becker
ThatGuyWithSouvlaki
idiot
screaming armadillo
Beutelwolf
Boombox
Slav​

 

[Beutelwolf]

Yuri kept to himself most of the time. Between the new air and the roar of the train, he felt every muscle in his body relax. For the first time since D6, he was free. The scars of the metro and the eyes of the Reds were behind him. For the first time since he was a kid, he could breathe. As much as he loved the surface though, he stuck to the small nook that was his cabin.

The dirty glass window was slid open letting the breathable air in and some light, but other than that the room was dark.

He didn’t bring much with him, but he also didn’t bother to unpack anything. Really he only had one backpack with him. He had been on the run for too long and the Argo felt too good to be true. It was like an oxygen high or too many shots of vodka. One day he’d wake up and find himself clinging to the shadows like usual. He was even too nervous to try and sleep. Yuri just stared blankly at the wall for most of their current progress. But the silence in his head was maddening. Taking a deep breath he stepped out of the cabin and moved to the main area of the train.

He saw the two Spartans and chose to exit the train on the side opposite of them. Leaning back against the engine’s metal wall, Yuri took a deeb breath of the fresh air and silently watched the scenery flood by. Surely the rest of the world wasn’t as bad as Moscow?

 

[idiot]

[class=variables] --accent: #693482; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/474x/6f/fe/87/6ffe870edb34672ace459ffeb19e889e.jpg'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]Emilia Kazakov. [/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll] One month prior. The blades in Emilia's hands were seemingly along for the ride as she danced and floated around the training room. Blades dug and sliced into the punching bags with precision and expertise. Her ponytail was a flurry of black, sweat beading on her forehead. A slow clap erupted the silence, causing Emilia to stop dead in her tracks. Letting out a huff, she placed the blades into her waistband, approaching the figure in the doorway. "Beautiful as always, princess." The older man smiled, pulling at the fine lines surrounding his mouth. Emilia noted how unnatural and strange it was when the man smiled. Holding out his hand, two cloudly pills were situated in the centre. Nodding diligently, a spark of nerves and excitement ran through her body like electricity. He didn't need to say anything, she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. Approaching the man, she took the cyanide capsules from his palm before he continued, "Time to make me proud." Pocketing them, Emilia saluted the man with ease, straightening her back like a pole. "Of course, father. I won't fail." Emilia's Russian accent was thick, her pale blue eyes meeting her father's before he left the room.

***​

Present. Squatting down, Emilia wiped the sweat forming on her forehead. Hair matted and sticking to her face, the engine roared and chugged fiercely. Emilia's pale skin glowed a bright orange, dressed in the usual dark cargo pants and matching cropped, tank top. She had abandoned her jacket in her quarters considering the immense heat oozing from the engine. Wrench in hand, with a toolbox situated next to her, Emilia tinkered away on the train's engine. The Argo, the captain called it. Emilia had kept to herself since boarding the train for the expedition, which had a goal of finding somewhere above ground that would be a nice place to settle. That reminded her, she needed to establish contact once she was back in her quarters. [/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
N/A. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
N/A.[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
the argo: engine compartment.[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
content. [/div] [/div] [/div] [/div]

fated

[class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 410px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 410px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]

 

[Boombox]

For Dima the change of scenery was mediocre at best, he was in the Argo’s armory, if it could be called as such. A small corner by the stairs leading up to the Captain’s. Dima made this into a little workshop with on hand tools orderly displayed on the table.

The routine was the same, he was disassembling and checking the crew’s weapons for the last time before they venture beyond the Moscow outskirts, giving the guns a thin oiling.

Beside him lay crates of ammunition sorted out into calibers, overall it seems like they were stocked well but it would only be a matter of months until they had to start scavenging. With that thought running through his head Dima finished checking the last kalash and shouted out into the train.

“Argo, come get your guns!”

 

[Togy]

The Argo
Adler "Fritz" Fischer​

As the train trundled on with Fritz and Alek stood at the very head, Fritz leaned against the railing, lazily waving his radometer in wide arcs in front of him to pretend like he was doing his job. Blowing out a misty breath of air, Fritz set down the device and began to rub his numb fingers together. Falling snow was splattering across pretty much everything as the train rolled forward, coating most surfaces in a thin layer of freezing moisture. Huffing angrily, Fritz shoved his hands into his jacket for warmth. What dick put fingerless gloves into his winter clothing pack? Only getting a Beanie and no Balaclava was bad enough.

Perking up at a question aimed towards him, Fritz squinted at Alek. Shrugging, Fritz said in his German accent "I have no idea man, but I just hope it's not this friggin' cold. And I bet I'm not the only one hoping for that either. I passed a guy doing lookout duty outside on my way here, and they weren't wearing a jacket or anything. Just a sweater. No gloves, no hat. I saw actual icycles forming on their beard". He didn't even have his lighter to warm up. He forgot it back at his bunk when the Sarge woke him up to spend four hours outside in a Russian nuclear winter, which is obviously way worse than a regular nuclear winter.

"We'll probably have to go mano e mano with whatever is there though, because that's just how it goes apparently" Fritz said, grimacing at the thought. He couldn't picture himself being much use in a fight if he were honest.

Interactions: Rusty of Shackleford

 

[Slav]

Linas stumbled out of his room, sporting a bottle of mushroom vodka in his left hand. "Looks like I had a little bit toooo muchh." Linas said to himself, his speech slightly slurred. He tried walking a bit down a hallway in the train but just ended leaning up against side. He slowly collapsed against the wall and just sat there in the hallway. He heard Dima's voice ring out through the train, giving Linas an idea. He'd pay Dima a visit. The Lithuanian man tried his best to get up but collapsed back down. After a few attempts he was able to get onto his feet and after looking towards the direction of where he had to go, it felt like he had to travel miles.

He slowly made his way down the train towards the direction of Dima's voice. He had one hand on the wall to make sure that he'd be able to walk upright. Linas felt like he was walking for miles and that the train seemed to get longer. In some sort of a miracle, Linas was able to make to Dima's corner. No, don't do it. Linas raised the bottle up to his lips and took another swig. You bastard. Linas stood there leaning trying to collect his thoughts, there wasn't many. "Hh...how's my girl doing?" He tried asking without a slur with a little success. Linas tried take another sip but failed to properly bring the bottle up to his mouth.

Interactions: Boombox

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Svesdana shuffled across the back of on of the second carriage of the train. That half of the carriage she had claimed as an infirmary and her own quarters and had spent her time since leaving Moscow: taking stock of her supplies and making sure the place was appropriate for its job. Not hard work but took a while especially as she was working on only one good leg and had to have a hand occupied with a cane. Still stubborn and too prideful to ask for help she somehow managed to get things done. It was hardly 100% sanitary, she would not perform open heart surgery here but for military wounds and light illness it would do. Medical supplied were an issue, no surprises there. The battle of d6 have left little supplied from the bunker and salvages from the surface had turned up less each day. If there were one or two bad injuries she could handle but if another big fight occurred, she wasnt so sure. She will have to improvise quite a bit.

The memory of d6 was still fresh in her mind, the dead, the screaming injured on both sides. It was chaos, pure chaos like nothing she had seen before. She was pulled into a hundred directions from the screams of help and medic, bullets firing at her and she's having to fire back. It was so chaotic she at one point she found herself working on a red injured soldier. Then came the explosion, searing pain of fire on her face and the stabbing pain of shrapnel entering her body. It was only a couple of seconds, but she still remembered it from time to time clear as day.

With the work done, she stepped out of her makeshift infirmary and made her way towards the front of the train. She found her way to Dima's area and sighed at the sight of Lima. Stinking of mushroom vodka and clearly under his effects. "Been in the vodka, private?" She asked with the authorities manner of an officer. She was no captain anymore but that didnt mean she could not pull rank when she wanted to. "You know we used to whip drunks in the old days. before the bomb."She lied.

Slav

 

[screaming armadillo]

Like most others aboard the Argo, the ruined world above the tight tunnels and cramped stations of the metro was a foreign entity to Viktor. In the brief glimpses through windows he could witness the haunting beauty of Moscow and the terrifyingly vastness so unknown to him. It was a ravaged land enveloped by decay and the hands of time along with whatever beast lurk the territory. Yet even in this bleak landscape was the hope for a future outside the dark tunnels they had hidden away for so long. At least that is what others have said, Viktor didn’t have enough quiet moments to get sentimental. Especially since one of his comrades has turned out to be a near hopeless drunk.

That fact brought a sigh from the guard who now realized he had gone too long without checking on Linus. By now it must be too late to drag the heavy-duty private away from the mushroom juice and toward something even mildly productive. All Viktor could do now is hope that there isn’t a suit of metal stumbling along the train cars causing problems. That would probably get both their asses grilled until the Argo made it to St. Petersburg and beyond. Thankfully the rumble of the locomotive and the general activity inside did well to conceal Viktor’s swears as he returned to patrolling the cars.

 

[Dante Redgrave]

Commander Shadow Fang(CSF):
I already had my weapons in my commander's cabin. My two pistols where extremely rare, and one of a kind. So I didn't really trust anyone with them. My cabin was outfitted with custom every thing. As I had learned a little bit about carpentry from my best friend that had came from a long line of Carpenters. She taught, and helped me build things to put in my cabin. As she wanted me to be able to always remember her by something. For we never knew if we was ever going to see each other again. So we said fuck it, and redesigned my entire cabin. So we had built my bed frame, my two door wardrobe, my trunk which sits at the end of the bed, and holds a couple crates full of ammo that sit at the right end of it. Which the lid was made inorder to hold all my weapons attachments.

I was laying in bed asleep, and had heard a weird noise that sounded like an animals wine. It would wake me up, and I'd roll over poping my eyes open. My hand shooting up under my pillow to my pistol. Before pulling it out, and looking around. Not hearing anything I would get up out of bed, and walk over to the window closeing it. Before going back over to my bed and making it. Afterwards, I'd walk over to the two door wardrobe that was separated into two sections by a board running down the center of it. The left door I would need my key for. It held my Custom Commander Spartan Armor inside it. My suit was custom made for me on the day I had turned 17. It had quite a few upgrades, and I could always get more added. It has full body internal thermal lining to keep me warm while wearing it. As I litterly can only wear my boxers, and my sleeveless shirt under it. It was heavily insulated to keep me warm for up to 48 consecutive hours. The suit covers my entire body completely leaving no place unprotected. The outside is made out of some kind of material that makes it really hard for even a shotgun to penetrate. As it takes 50 of the highest caliber size, the highest damage dealing, and fired from point blank range. At the same time though it's light weight, and comfortable to where it feels like I'm wearing simple clothing. It's very easy to maneuver as it has nothing stopping any sort of movement. Anything I could do with it off I can do it with it on. As it was made from my design. There is three things that the suit does give me a boost on while wearing it. Which is my Strength, Speed, and Reaction Time. (Realistically it's just my OC thinking it enhances them, but it's actually him using his full strength and speed. He's faster with his reaction time as he is actually paying attention rather than not really paying attention. So no actual enhancer's on it.)

After reaching forward, and grabbing the right handle. I'd twist it, and pull on it opening up the right side. I'd take the hanger that had my pants on it out, before moving it to the front of my clothes. My belt was already ran through the loops of my pants. I'd take my sleeveless shirt out next putting it behind my pants, and infront of my leather jacket. My Leather Jacket had my fingerless gloves inside the left Pocket. My face mask was inside the right pocket, and my shades on the hanger itself. I'd pick my shoes up out of the floor, and grab the hangers. I was already wearing my boxers, and my socks where inside my shoes. I'd walk over to the bed, and lay my Clothes on it before before putting my pants on, and fastening my belt after putting my holster that goes along the square of back on my belt. I'd take my shirt and throw it on before sitting down and putting my socks on. Before putting my shoes on, and standing back up putting my Leather Jacket on zipping it up. I'd take my gloves out of my pocket, and put them on. Before I stuck my shades in my empty pocket. I'd take my pistols making sure the clips were full before holstering them. After, I'd take four additional clips. Two for each pistol, and making sure that they was full. I'd then stick them inside my pocket with my shades taking them out, and putting them on.

I'd walk over to the door, and walkout locking it behind me, before heading to the engine car wondering how the works going, I'd enter the car, and see Emilia. Which would bring a smile to my face. "How has your trip on the Argo been so far Emilia?"

 

[idiot]

[class=variables] --accent: #693482; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/474x/6f/fe/87/6ffe870edb34672ace459ffeb19e889e.jpg'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]Emilia Kazakov. [/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll] The engine's roar left Emilia unaware of the footsteps approaching, the only warning as the voice began. Immediately, Emilia launched up from her squat, whipping around with precision to face the figure, wrench tight in hand. A sigh of relief filled her, seeing the figure was none other than the commander. Then again, the thought of the commander did allow for a slither of nerves to make their way through her body. However, those nerves didn't show. Emilia offered a slight smile to the commander, aware he was watching her. Running her forearm along her glistening forehead; opting to pull her matted hair from her face and pulling it back into a ponytail. "Ah, commander. The engine is keeping me warm and is good company." Emilia began, her pale blue eyes studied the commander. She knew of his history and achievements; Emilia did her research before starting this mission. "She is an intricate beauty, nothing like I've worked on before." Emilia patted the pipes to her side, the wrench loosening its grip in her opposing hand. "If you don't mind me noticing, commander, you're quite young. I expected some old man." Playing dumb, Emilia pretended she didn't know of his father's high rank and the fact commander was promoted at the young age of seventeen. Emilia's striking, blue eyes never left the commander's gaze, constantly studying and sizing him up. [/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
commander shadow fang. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
Dante Redgrave [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
the argo: engine compartment.[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
alert. [/div] [/div] [/div] [/div]

fated

[class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 410px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 410px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]

 

[Dante Redgrave]

The engine's roar left Emilia unaware of the footsteps approaching, the only warning as the voice began. Immediately, Emilia launched up from her squat, whipping around with precision to face the figure, wrench tight in hand. A sigh of relief filled her, seeing the figure was none other than the commander. Then again, the thought of the commander did allow for a slither of nerves to make their way through her body. However, those nerves didn't show. Emilia offered a slight smile to the commander, aware he was watching her. Running her forearm along her glistening forehead; opting to pull her matted hair from her face and pulling it back into a ponytail. "Ah, commander. The engine is keeping me warm and is good company." Emilia began, her pale blue eyes studied the commander. She knew of his history and achievements; Emilia did her research before starting this mission. "She is an intricate beauty, nothing like I've worked on before." Emilia patted the pipes to her side, the wrench loosening its grip in her opposing hand. "If you don't mind me noticing, commander, you're quite young. I expected some old man." Playing dumb, Emilia pretended she didn't know of his father's high rank and the fact commander was promoted at the young age of seventeen. Emilia's striking, blue eyes never left the commander's gaze, constantly studying and sizing him up.

Fang would look her up and down once or twice before looking into her blue eyes. Nearly getting lost in the beauty of them. Well nearly getting lost in her beauty in general. So I would blush a little as I would smile at her deciding that she is fairly cute. "Yes, I am quit young as I am in my late 20's, but have been a commander since the age of 17. Youngest commander in our entire history, and that probably would have been my father you was expecting. You gonna be able to survive, even though you've got me the much better looking one?"

 

[Slav]

"Maybe I like getting whipped." Linas said drunkenly winking at Svesdana. Linas was finding it increasingly hard to keep himself on his feet, he was swaying back and forth trying to keep his eyes on Sves..Sve... he was having a hard time remembering her name. This time, he was able to successfully take another swig of the drink, finally finishing off the bottle. "I would have ssaved some for you milady bbut the bottle kept on beckoning me to drink it. Now it's empty and I have nothing to give you my love." He said with a massive grin, his swaying from side to side quite memorising. He liked messing with the crew and he knew that they just loved his drunken stupors. His head now began to start spinning. He reached his hand out and began leaning on the wall, his drunkeness just seemed to keep getting worse.

Interactions: ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

 

[Boombox]

“Not again...”

Dima said just loud enough for Linas to catch a hint of his disappointment, reaching to withdraw Linas’ firearm off the table and to the farthest corner. The Sergeant straightened himself on his chair and cleared his throat,

“You are not going to have guns on you in that state, Private. Shit-... I should have you disciplined for this! Just because we aren’t at base doesn’t mean you can drink yourself into a fuckin’ stupor!”

Dima kept on barking for a few minutes before waving his hand in dismissal and turned to the Doctor with a hearty smile, face still red from yelling with his voice even cracking slightly.

“Kravshenko! Good to see you, here for your equipment?”

Slav ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Svesdana took a deep breath as if trying not to get angry at the private. Sves was always an easy going person, quick with hr own teasing and flirtations and not much for standing on ceremony. Still she knew about time and place for things and had little patience for idiots. Being tired from setting up the infirmary did not help her patience either. "Oh how can i live with myself now without your mushroom vodka with your spittle." She said sarcastic before hearing Dima great her. She smiled at Dima and nodded. "Hey Sarge. Yeah, my usual Lolife and maybe a flamethrower to burn the smell of alcohol from the private and hopefully wipe the smile of his face." She turned back to Linas and frowned. "Dont worry about him i will take him to the new commander, lets she how he handles drunks."

 

[Becker]

Sergei 'Starik' Kerensky


Boombox Slav ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

Completely unaware of the gathering crowd within the workshop area of the train, Sergei was content to himself within his little office, stirring up a valuable can of pre-war goulash. Using a foldable fork, he prodded the chunks of meat to ensure it is thoroughly cooked and hot. The savoury yet slight-acidic smell would bring a warm relief to any hard-worker. Reaching into a nearby satchel bag, he retrieved a few pieces of homemade bread that he purchased from a passing merchant a few days prior to them setting off on this fantastic journey. Smiling to himself that at least he's got some comforts to last for a few days, the old man carefully spoons a few blobs of the thick, steaming hot goulash using the fork and creates a sort of sandwich using the bread. Licking his fingers clean, Sergei took the sandwich with both hands and prepares himself for a bit that he's been waiting for all morning. Suddenly he takes note of the growing number of voices outside in the workshop and peers at his sliding door to the world outside his office. Caught between his curiosity for conversation and his desire for a good meal, Sergei pondered for a moment as pieces of goulash slowly dripped free from this mess of a sandwich and began to gather on his makeshift desk ~ constructed from piles of books and a 'borrowed' door.

"Ay.. Blyat.."

The old man looked down his overalls to find a piece of meat sliding it's way down to freedom, leaving a grey trail of sauce to mark it's escape. Letting out a faint-sigh, Sergei placed the sandwich down upon the desk and went about using his not-so-clean fingers to wipe away the fresh stains to his clothing. It would be fair to say that he's a complete stranger to proper cuisine, having spent most of his early years within the Red Line Army as a combat engineer. The old man preferred the taste of a rough meal, whether that be because his body has grown used to processing already processed food or just out of a sense of nostalgia for he felt in his prime amongst fellow soldiers, huddled around a fireplace near the frontlines.

Sergei decided he'd already spent enough time indulging in a enjoyable recollection of past events and headed outwards from his office, only to be greeted by the sight of a stumbling Linas, Dima relieving the workshop of a possible negligent discharge via alcohol and our resident doctor making a subtle suggestion of flambeing the poor Private. All in all, just another day on the Argo.

"Kravchenko, Dima, let's not be too eager to throw the little wolf under the rails. We're going to need every man and woman on this trip in one piece if we're to arrive West-ward in good time. Rather, let's give him the chance to sober up and to gather himself. Given our new surroundings, i'm not at all surprised if people are feeling stressed at everything going on."

Sergei paused momentarily, turning away from the group and heading back into his office. After a few moments of rumbling around place, he finally returns with a bleach white tin cup in one hand and a black bottle in the other. Giving the bottle a few shakes as the liquid inside bubbled and squeaked to be let out of it's prison, the old man faintly grinned as he poured the obnoxious, brown liquid into the cup and offered it over to Linas. Thinking back on the rancid taste of this 'cure', Sergei neglected to inform Linas as he felt it'll go down better if the Private wasn't prepared for the rather unpleasant consequences.

"Here my boy, this'll put some hairs on your chest. It's an old concoction made of vitamin powders, grounded pasta, aspirin and a healthy dose of salt. Red line service teaches you a thing or two about not appearing drunk in front of the commissars, given we had the fascists on one side and our commanding officers stood behind us, ready to execute anyone that appeared 'un-steady in the face of the enemy'. Drinking is one of many ways we coped, I even recall someone trying to smoke a mushroom... not that it had the desired result."

Looking around briefly, he placed the bottle to oneside and ventured with a noticeable limp in his walk further into Dima's workshop. Glancing over the stockpiles of weaponry that the plucky soldier had been working on, Sergei ran his hand over one of the rifles, bringing his fingers to his face for further inspection.

"Dima, you've done well. A fair coating of oil and everything looks spotless... I hope our little project will give you a greater challenge when we have the time but for now, i'd suggest you take a well deserved break and get something to eat ~ I can oversee the armoury for a bit. Perhaps you take our friend Linas here with you, the commander may be already up to his neck in managing this train and so it might be best that he doesn't have to deal with a bit of unruliness."

Patting Dima on the shoulder as praise for the man's dedication to over-seeing the armoury, Sergei smiled fondly of his apprentice and made his pride show. Having unknowingly left a notable black stain of oil on the man's shoulder, he turned to speak to the Doctor; referring to his earlier suggestion.

"Wouldn't you agree, Doc? Better for us to police ourselves than to bother the Commander with such minor things. We aught' to look after one-another than to be so quick to judge and condemn. If he asks where Linas is then we'll just say that it took longer than expected for his rifle to be made ready ~ my responsibility as 'I' had misplaced his weapon's bolt and thus the automatic weapon he uses would've been useless without it. Hopefully however, the young-man will be ready for duty well before our Commander suspects anything."

Typical of the old man, he'd take a bullet for any of them if it meant being a part of the group. Whilst he was retired from active-duty, his years of experience as a soldier flowed from him whether it be intentional or not. Looking at Linas, it reminded him of his younger years as a conscript in the Red Line Army. Seeing such death, destruction and hardship is enough to drive any man to drink, it took alot of time and dedication for Sergei to overcome his own addictions but not all of them. Still to this day the old man has a first-aid box hidden away in his office, filled to the brim with enough Morphine to take-down a horse but keeping such a secret is not always easy in such confined quarters.​

 

[idiot]

[class=variables] --accent: #693482; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/474x/6f/fe/87/6ffe870edb34672ace459ffeb19e889e.jpg'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=bkg] [div class=sidebar][/div] [div class=header]Emilia Kazakov. [/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll] Emilia watched his eyes drag up and down her figure and the rosiness colouring his cheeks. Men truly are simple creatures, Emilia noted. "Ah, a commander since you were...17?" Acting surprised by the news, she kept her pale blue eyes targetted on his every move. "That is quite an achievement, commander, I'm honoured to be working under you." Lingering on the word 'under', Emilia was no rookie to seduction; in fact, she was trained in seduction and manipulation tactics. She was also aware of her beauty, which if the situation arose, she would use to her advantage. In such a harsh and unforgiving world, it was crucial to use everything in your arsenal. Wrench in hand, her combat boots clunked against the grating floor with each step. Once at the commander's side, she lifted her head so their eyes met. "I'm sure I can make do with you, commander." Softly spoken, with a sultry smile painted on Emilia's lips as she walked past the commander. A deliberate sway in her hips, she slowly climbed the few stairs behind him. Emilia knew she would have the commander wrapped around her finger in no time. Leaving the commander in the engine compartment, Emilia made her way into the corridor of the train, hearing voices up ahead. [/div][/div] [div class=tagbar] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
commander shadow fang. [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]tags[/div]
Dante Redgrave [/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]location[/div]
the argo: engine compartment.[/div] [div class=tagcont][div class=tag]mood[/div]
alert. [/div] [/div] [/div] [/div]

fated

[class=bkg] height: 475px; width: 555px; background: #ededed; margin: auto; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=sidebar] height: 445px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 10px; top: 15px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; [/class] [class=header] font-size: 30px; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); width: max-content; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; [/class] [class=post] width: 320px; height: 410px; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 11px; text-align: justify; position: relative; left: 125px; top: -440px; white-space: pre-wrap; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; width: 100%; height: 100%; padding-right: 25px; [/class] [class=tagbar] height: 410px; width: 100px; position: relative; left: 445px; top: -850px; display: flex; justify-content: space-evenly; flex-direction: column; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=tagcont] height: max-content; width: 100px; position: relative; [/class] [class=tag] font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); font-size: 13px; text-align: center; display: inline; [/class]

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Sves saw Sergei enter and sighed as he seemed to take command of the group. She smirked as he began to talk up an alternative regarding dealing with the drunk. "Always the peacemaker." She commented finally shaking her head in exasperation. She couldnt complain about Sergei's manner, he had got her out of trouble plenty of times with it. Still she could say it wasn't irritating at time. She let go of the drunk and moved to the side. As she took a step on the injured legs, something went wrong with the way she set her foot down and felt a stepping pain go up her upper thigh. She groaned and stumbled a little. She greet her teeth as she tried hard not call out as she rested on to a nearby wall.

She took a couple of seconds to regain her composure, not paying any attention to any concern for her health. She turned to Sergei. "I am going to need to talk to you about something when you have the chance. No rush though. "She said trying hard to pretend there was no pain. It wasnt regarding her pain, more to check whether he had any supplied for the infirmary. She knew him well enough to know he might have his own stash.

 

[Slav]

Linas stared at the cup for a few moments before reluctantly accepting it. The cup looked as if it was filled with death. Wanting to get it over with, he chugged what was in the cup and his face immediately had a sour reaction. "Jesus Christ, I'd rather be whipped then drink that again." Linas said, his body still recoiling from the awful taste of the concoction. He didn't expect the drink to immediately kick in. Linas just stood there swaying back and forth. Mentions of the commander did nothing to deter Linas. "Why can't the misses take me? Dima's not really known for his delicate hands." He said slightly fumbling over his words. He tried standing up and taking a step but quickly found that walking a few steps would be a great challenge.

Linas gave off a loud laugh, "One small step for man, one giant leap for....." He said trying to take another step but quickly realized that he was overconfident in his ability to walk. He tripped over himself and hit the ground with a thud. The man was now out cold, lying on the floor of the train. Linas's face still had a smile on it even though he was out cold. He was a mess but when he wasn't drunk, he was an outstanding member of the group. For now, he was fumbling drunk fucking idiot.

Interactions: ThatGuyWithSouvlaki Becker Boombox