Speeches
Marine Talk
Summary: Farkas, Meris and Gars talk in the Berthing
Date: 34 ACH
Related Logs: none
Players:
Farkas..Meris..Gars..

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Marine Enlisted Berthings Genesis - Deck 10
34 ACH 6285 Souls


Marine Enlisted berthings are setup with bunks on either side of the area. Each bunk holds two marines and lockers are between the bunks for their personal items. A table sits in the center of the room with six chairs around it for use in recreation or studying. There is also a shower and changing room off this area.
----< Condition Three - Duty Area >----—-
Contents: Farkas Gars Meris Marine Bunks Triad Deck Wireless 1425
— OFF
Exits: [O] Corridor
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"I guess if you cant figure that one out, Lance, the Cylons probably did us all a favor be resetting our gene-pool" Gars says as if not really giving a damn, as if the pictures in the magazine are more important than the conversation at this moment.

Making his way into the Marine Berthing is the venerable Farkas, who has taken the time to hit the mess hall for some chow. Despite being off duty for quite some time now, he keeps his uniform in pristine check. The aura of menace comes along with him as he steers his course over towards his bunk, with a little nod towards each of the Marines in here.

Meris shrugs, pointing out, "Your plastic girl's probably dead."

"Sergeant" Gars says to Farkas more as an aknowledgement than anything else. The, a brief glance at Meris before turning his attention back to the magazine as he flips another page. "Good thing there's a picture then, isn't it? The wonders of civilization; pictures of family, friends, loved ones… and gorgeous naked women standing in line to be exploited. Hoorah, Lance… Hoorah."

Farkas opens up his locker and mentaly goes over its contents, each sock perfectly rolled up, each set of undies and his uniforms. Making sure noone has been in his locker. Letting the Lance and the Corporal chat away for the moment, taking the temperature of the room to so speak.

Meris grunts, folding her arms across her chest again. "I suppose you only have the naked women magazines, huh? Nothing else?"

"Why?" Gars asks, never looking up from the pages. "You looking for magazines with pics of some dingalings in 'em? I think you'll find those kinds of magazines in the pilots berthings, Lance."

Meris rolls her eyes. "How about magazines with other stuff in? Celebrities. Sports. Fashion. Cars."

Farkas adjusts his uniform once he is satisfied his locker has been untampered with and slowly turns to look at both Gars and Meris as they bicker over…The old Sergeant squints his eyes as he sees what kind of Magazine is being discussed.
One step is all it takes, one step which ends with a boot stomping into the ground, to bring the Sergeant over to Gars.
The Magazine is ripped out his the Corporals hands and held in the air, for Sergeant Farkas to study quickly. "Corporal, you sad pathetic excuse of a Caprican scumbag..Your not worthy to wear the uniform of my beloved Corps. See I dont belive in bigotry, I dont see difference between the Sexes, cause in the Corp, you are all just equally worthless. You dont live up to the standards of a killer, your nothing but a Magot..DID I NOT TELL YOU the RULES for this kind of MAGAZINE!" Oh Lo and behold, Sergeant Farkas raises his voice for the first time since he boarded this ship.

Looking over at Farkas, Gars seems a bit perplexed at first, not having anticipated any such reaction. "I believe such magazines were limited to berthings only… Or if, then Lance Corporal Ramiro, was in my vicinity, sergeant." The corporal takes a look around the room, "And I do believe we are in the berthings, sergeant."

Meris doesn't take any time at all in hurriedly pulling herself to her feet. It's an automatic reaction when that tone of voice goes off. She braces herself, chin held high, and stares off into the distance, quick before /she/ gets picked on.

Farkas rolls up the magazine and keeps it in his hand, very much like a good ol'hitting rod as he looks over Gars for a moment. "Staa-aa-aand-ards..Corporal..By this time tomorrow, I fully expect you to be clean shaven, trimed hair and live up to your beloved Corp." he growls before he looks over towards Meris and tilts his head. "Did you make Corporal, Lance..Now front and center..by me..Yesterday."

Gars takes his feet down from the table and leans his elbows against the same as he drinks from his canteen, watching the scene unfold for now.

Meris takes a couple of strides until she's in front of Farkas, looming over him and staring a good few inches over his head, generally blocking the smaller man from view. "Sergeant?"

Farkas doesnt flinch, size doesnt matter, it's what he kept telling his son back in the days, as he looks up at Meris as she stands before him. The rolled up magazine is slammed into the table, mere inches away from Gars's arms. "See..I am the -asshole- of this Corp, I've killed more people then the rest of this Corp can put together, I've shat cylon parts after spending months in the trenches in the first war. I killed so many toasters, I pissed lubricant oil..Now, is this argument of yours..about Nekkid women and a Man's package..Straight answer Lance."

Gars recoils as the magazine comes down, though more to get out of the way than being startled. Sipping water from the standard issue canteen, he keeps his peace for now, simply watching.

"Sergeant, this Lance Corporal was asking if the Corporal might have any other magazines with sports in them, Sergeant," Meris calls out, her words measured and slow for all the volume. "If his magazines have men's dangly parts in that's his own business."

Farkas nods his head slowly. "Lance Corporal, alot of things can go wrong..like Bakery, Cold Chow, fraternezation..But one thing you can always count on is that Corporal Gars, is very much like a Penis..See a Penis has drive and clarity, but they are not clever. They smell action, and dive head long in. See he thought he smelled action and tropped his trousers so to speak. But he's got it all wrong, there is no action here..Only a grouchy ol Sergeant who'll make him look like he was born a woman." he mutters as he stands there with the rolled up magazine in his hand. "The morale of the story is..Dicks are Dicks, only good when it comes to action..You dont talk to your Penis, you smack it around at times when it gets you in trouble, and only…Only depend on it to function and you pray it will, once action comes by..and Gars is just like that..You want Magazines, you go to the Library on the Carina or you ask a Marine who is not mentaly formed after a Male genitalia."

Gars arches an eyebrow as he listens to the Sergeant, his canteen held halfway to his lips as he comes to a halt in all things, including thought. He may not have been startled by the magazine hitting the table, but he does seem a bit astonished over what was just said. Then again… Mean old wardogs like Farkas tend to be that way, so Gars in the end continued to sip water from the canteen.

Meris listens to the tirade in silence, waiting until he's quite finished before adding her, "Yes Sergeant, I'll go to the library, Sergeant." Not a look spared towards the official Corps dick.

Farkas tilts his head. "Well you could also ask me for a sports magazine, unless you consider me mentaly challanged and more akin to a Dick then a proper Marine." he narrows his eyes as he looks down towards Gars sitting by the table and then back towards Meris. "My bunk, there are magazines in the top shelf..feel free Lance, but I want them back."

Gars says nothing. Leaning back, he drinks his water and folds a boot up on a thigh and relaxes in the chair.

Meris nods once. "Yes, Sergeant. Thank you, Sergeant," comes her response. As trained. She pauses a brief moment to see if there's any more, then turns for the bunk in question and the stack of magazines there. Even if she didn't want a magazine, she's going to damn well find one now.

Farkas looks after Meris for a moment longer and then looks towards Gars, one needs to be impartial and can't just chew out one Marine. "Corporal Gars, is it the lack of Cylons in this room that makes you seek another engagement with your fellow Marines, or is is longing to touch a womans body after reading those dirty magazines that makes you do anything to squeeze in a hug with the Lance Corporal here?"

Sipping the canteen, Gars then leaves it on the table and leans back into the chair. "Neither, sergeant. I was simply making casual conversation with the Lance Corporal over the odds men have with scoring with certain women, hot and ugly alike. A subject started by the Lance Corporal, as it happens, sergeant. I was merely polite to follow up on the subject at hand."

Meris neither confirms nor denies the rumour, digging through the magazines for something /other/ than bloody Pyramid.

Farkas wrinkles his nose as he studies Gars. "Reseting the Gene-pool is a word I rarely find in casual conversatins.." he grunts. "I've told you once that you crossed the line..Unlike Sergeant Ramiro or Sergeant Eli, I wont call for the MP's to handle you../You/ will be civil towards you fellow Marines..Or I'll rid the gene-pool myself, we clear?"

"With all due respect, sergeant" Gars says and looks up at Farkas. "Since you dont know what me and the Lance were talking about by the time you stepped inside, all you can 'Handle' right now is Jack and shit.. And Jack left town. Had it not been for the magazine, you wouldnt have come over here. Now, me and the Lance had a casual conversation, between the two of us, and I was just as civil as she was, sergeant. Now you hang on to that magazine all you want, but before you start shit on my off-duty hours, you better get your facts straight. On duty, you can chew me out all you want. But now, over this… Sergeant, its over and finished. So let it go."

"Jack may have left town, Corporal, but Shit still remains.." Farkas mutters and then nods his head. "And dont be smart with me, Gars..You know for a frak sure just what I'm talking about..Your a day out of the brig, and I'm keeping my eye on you to ensure you dont frak up../You/ are not me, and men like /you/ are needed in the coming fights..So keeps you yapper shut, or be nice and civil..The Marines on this vessel don't talk Marine talk, they talk Navy Talk..and like you said, they dont even read the kind of magazines we do..I may fraking well be the only one that understands where you come from." he turns to head back to his bunk. "Off duty or not..demoted as we are, my pins still says Sergeant and yours Corporal."

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