A slightly smaller Mess

Laurence: "Do try to be polite to my acolytes, Father."

Byrne: "That they failed is a testament."

Edwards: aye, don't worry. I'll be gentle.

Caiber: aye... A lot of your... 'astartes' fell to my blade.

Laurence: "More for your sake than theirs. One of them has a cannon."

Byrne: "As there are some aboard this very ship, i would keep that close to your chest."

Proper post is on page 3.

Mac has made his way back to the small cargo bay that the Legion has claimed for itself, crutch-less, and limping more than he's proud of. He slaps his hand into the controls for the newly acquired door, eliciting a whine from the hydraulics, and a half foot of movement apart. He hits the button a few more times for good measure, before the door is forced open from the other side. The grinning face of mute, the Legion's thoughtfully named tongueless giant, appears in the gap between the two slabs of plasteel. Putting his back to one, and a foot to the other, the musclebound heavy weapons trooper widens the gap to the point Mac can easily walk though, suppressing his limp to the best of his ability. It wouldn't do to look weak in front of men like these.

From the girders in the ceiling, a pair of strange 'emplacements' as best they could be described, hang. What appear to be tangled messes of camo netting, sandbags, and flakboard, one in either far corner of the room, are in fact bandit's haunts. Barrels poke from both of his nests, one being a length of pipe, the other a long las. And without watching him get up there, even mac couldn't tell which is which today.

Mute, for his part, wanders back over to tend to his heavy stubber. Though succeeded by the extraordinary gift he received from the astartes aboard, a jenny haniver creation of a heavy bolter and heavy flamer, the man continues to fawn over his old weapon of choice. Since being aboard the inquisitors ship, the legion had shown its usual flare for 'appropriating' equipment, and Mute had quickly gained a full complement of spare barrels, and more ammunition than he could care to fire.

Speaking of kleptomaniacs, Hakken, the most despicable of present company, the entire ship, included, had three sets of the legion's power armour on their chests, with the backpacks removed, and various panels removed. And more interestingly, a wide variety of 'Pharmaceuticals' arrayed around himself, in such volume that appears to encompass an entire medicae office's stock. Kneeling amongst the mess, he's being watched by lucy, who is stood watching, presumably ensuring her armour is stocked with at least some genuine medical products, and not just combat drugs.

there is a clanging series of footsteps approaching the room

A few hands drop to weapons, but, in a surprising show of progress, only bandit actually aims one at the door, a slight twitch of the barrel indicating his suspicion.

At which point the familiar, beautifally crafted and intricate overlapping plates of Anne's plate carapace armour, become visible as the crusader enters the doorway

Meanwhile, Hera walks into the armoury in her usual regalia, returning practice weapons to the place. Interesting in as much, that she had obviously not trained with her own men.

Mac turns stiffly on his heel, and the barrel of bandit's rifle does not follow her. "Ah, Anne, always a pleasure."

She notices an armoured and trenchcoated figure in the corner, doing something she can't quite make out. He hasn't noticed her yet.

Anne: Mac *smiles* How's your leg?

Hera returns her equipment, a blunt sabre and padded tunic, and walks slowly towards the man, hands clasped loosely behind her back.

Mac: "Ah, not so bad. Usable."

the man, hearing the footsteps, glances back over his shoulder, revealing the white skull visage over his rebreather. Seeing the inquisitor, he immediately spins on his heel and snaps to attention, saluting hera.

Anne: *chuckles* I can tell.

Hera nods politely to his salute, and suppresses her surprise. "At ease."

Mac: "And yourself?"

"Yes ma'am"

Anne: wouldn't be up and about if I didn't feel better.

Hera: "I was only curious as to what you were doing, huddled in the corner."

Mac: "you say that, but you were all for leaping out of your cot with bits still hanging off."

"...cleaning an heirloom...ma'am"

she smiles warmly "I'm not one to let a little thing like dismemberment get me down"

She nods again, "Very good, Carry on."

Mac smirks in response. "You'll end up like that father of Hera's the way you carry on."

she catches a glimpse of what he was cleaning... it appears to be a metal skull shaped helmet, with a very distinct look to it

Anne: Not yet I won't.

She glimpses it as she turns, then turns slowly back. "Say... That looks rather like a traitor's helmet."

Mac: "Guns exist, thats all im sayin."

"It is, ma'am. Heretic Enforcer's helmet. My father tore it from its owner's corpse at vraks."

Anne: don't do much good against my storm shield.

"A good memento. Let it be a reminder of duty."

Mac: "Don't stop you gettin shot in the back though, does it?"

he nods
"It always is ma'am. He was in the 9th infantry company, part of the force who was able to break through the first enemy line."

Anne: armour helps there.

"Quite a scrap, or so I've heard it told."

Mac: "Lasguns, sure, but the kind of shit we see nowadays?"

"It was. The owner of this helmet took my father's arm."

Anne: It's kept me alive so far.

"Ah, good soldier. Nothing so honourable as to risk life and limb for the emperor."

Mac: "We're going against astartes again next though, i don't rate carapace against bolters."

"One thing is more honourable, ma'am"

Anne: I do.

"It is better to live, and continue to fight for the emperor. I want every man under my command to die of old age, with a dozen medals."

Mac: "Mad as a bag of hammers, you are."

"If I do not die in battle, then I did not risk my life enough."


anne smirks at that

"Kill for the emperor, and live so you might kill again. Dying is a waste of the emperors gift of life to you. I shan't hear such defeatist talk in face of the enemy again."

Mac: "Anyway, I assume you're looking for jack, right?"

the kreiger is silent, but he salutes

Anne: that and I had nothing better to do.

"It must be a shock to you, the difference in culture. But we have far too few men here to spend them. Each man must account for a dozen of the enemy, and return alive if it can be managed."

Mac: "Well, sad to dissapoint on both accounts, but I've no clue where the man is, and we've got pretty much bigger all to do ourselves. Sat about cooling our heels till this beast drops from warp"

he pauses, then, after seeming to take a deep breath for the sake of his confidence, he speaks
"Do you know what this skull I wear means ma'am?"

Anne: ah.

"That you are a dead man walking, I know the stories."

Mac: "Yeah, well.." he turns half about to yell over his shoulder "Hakken come tell the damn story again."

Hakken rises from his work, and walks over, he's taller than mac, and more heavily muscled and scared. He sniffs as he begins the recount. "Well after he'd done killing all the xenos in the bloody place, he dragged out you two, saw ye to the chop shop, then buggered off. Left armour in the middle of floor. Probly in the vents again if you's askin me."

"I am already dead ma'am. I made peace with that fact long ago."

Anne: that...yeah that sounds like him.

"As was I. But I have found new purpose. A penal legion, is more damned a service than even yours."

Hakken: "Man likes vents" he shrugs noncommittaly

"I cannot shirk my duty ma'am. Even if I wanted to. I am of kreig. To die in battle is the only reason I was born."

Anne: yeah... he does.

"As is every man and woman of the guard. I don't doubt that this duty will see each of my men spent in time, and myself. But to resign oneself to it, that is not the way I have it."

Mac steps a little closer, and lowers his voice. "Rumours spread quick around a ship, it's pretty common known."

"you are asking me to be something counter to who I am. To the ideals that killed my sister, my father, his father before him. To the ideals and edicts of Jurten himself, the only things that can bring our people from the darkness and the blackest sin that is our existence."

OOC I do not know what mac means

"Then I shan't ask you to believe it. Only keep your thoughts to yourself, obey orders, and take a billet out of the way of the other men. Talk like that will flag morale quicker than any traitor attack could."

Mac rolls his eyes somewhat "You and jack... that you... yknow."

he pauses for a moment.
"Thankyou ma'am."

Anne:...oh.

"Where are you billeted at present?"

Mac: "Yeah. I assume that's why he's actin all weird."

"I am not, ma'am."

Anne: that would...figure

"You aren't billeted? Where have you been sleeping?"

Mac: "Askin for his sake, an, as his commander I suppose. Do you reckon he'll be alright soon? We never seen him like this"

"Wherever I can find space ma'am"

Anne: I... honestly don't know.

"Right. Follow me soldier."

Mac: "Well shit. He'll come down to fight I reckon at least."

he grabs his weapon and salutes again

Anne: sorry.

"We shall find you a bunk."

Mac: "eh, we'll manage."

he follows, silently

Anne doesn't reply, unease written all over her face.

"It is absurd in the extreme, having a listed man sleeping in doorways when we have bunks aplenty." She says as she walks down the corridor

Mac: "I'll tell him you came by, when he shows."

"I was not assigned a bunk, ma'am. Therefore I could not take one."

Anne: thanks mac.

back on the planet's surface, the majority of the heldrakes abandon their harrying of the crashed ship, heading towards the city instead, while a small flock remain high above, simply observing the wreckage for now...

meanwhile Laurence is informed of not only the incoming heldrakes, but other strike craft such as fire raptors and hell talons, with heavy fighter escort, descending directly towards not only the lines but the artillery positions