Brave New World

[Davin Jusik]

Pilot Officer Collin Calhoun sat in the mess hall of the Star Destroyer Indomitable Will, suspiciously eyeing the various First Order Military personnel that shuffled around him. Habits gained from years of incarceration tended to stay with a man as long as they walked the galaxy. He still kept a small knife inside of his Navy issued boot on his right foot, centered to where even under a suspicious eye one wouldn't catch the discrepancy until it was too late. The relatively large human sat alone. Having only recently gained his wings and still floating about in the bureaucratic mess that was the First Order's Assignment Department had left him aloof for at least a week and a half. His fresh out the academy cut, piercing predatory gaze, and mess of scars and tattoos only set to further alienate him from his comrades. Blood and Honor sat in slightly faded ink just above his right collar and a wide scar that moved from the top of the left side of his head downward to his uniform covered breast were often the first impression the male gave, which among a traditionalist crowd could be a tad off putting.

Collin had been surprised to the point of dumbfoundedness when he'd arrived in First Order space and essentially just shown up at a Military Recruitment Center unannounced when the recruiter grinned from ear to ear at the mere sight of him. After going over his history of violence, prejudice against aliens, and partial reformation at the hands of Prison officials they'd accepted him almost immediately. The initial placement had been the Stormtrooper Corp for obvious reasons, but had been switched shortly after his physical and reflex tests. The Academy had been especially tough on him, being placed in a training regiment exclusively for foreign nationals and reformed criminals. They were beaten harder, pushed harder, and treated as scum for the better part of three months before being granted the privilege of attending the technical portion of Flight Training with native born members of the Order. Many nights he felt the fists of his instructors crash into his stomach while enduring streams of abuse. The training had helped him control his reactions under pressure without resorting to the barbarism that'd gotten him thus far in life. He only tried to strike his trainer once and ended up completing training with a broken wrist and bruised rib. Hence the major difference between Pub and FO schools of thought, for his tenure in the Pub Military he was simply removed for disobedience, where the FO Instructors had understood Collin's nature and challenged him on those grounds, winning both his respect and obedience. In Flight School he'd been selected for Interceptor Training based on his temperament and general zeal, he treated the First Order as he did his original childhood gang, willing to kill and more without question in their service. He thought briefly of his former life and felt a surge of pride flow through his being. If only his folks could see what he'd become.

He thought of these things as he ate silently and alone, shoveling quick mouthfuls in and hovering over his tray like an animal guarding a freshly caught meal.

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

Starfighter Corps Colonel and transient passenger aboard the Indomitable Will - one of the many Star Destroyers forming the backbone of the First Order's naval might, Roderik von Brinkerhoff, strode into the mess hall with a sense of casualness instead of purpose. It was the military's version of a paid vacation, he thought to himself while carrying on an idle bit of conversation with the man keeping pace beside him - also wearing the uniform of a Starfighter Corps officer, and wearing the insignia of Captain, [member="Nils Brenner"].

The two made their way through the cafeteria-style food line, grabbing various orders.

"Garrisoning on Dosuun doesn't seem so bad right around now." He joked to Nils as he observed the final contents of his meal tray. Starship food couldn't contend with the fresh Avalonian seafood and other delicacies that they invariably ordered from off-base.

As the two left the line and searched for a place to sit and eat, and to continue their banter, Roderik noticed a lone man clad in the same starfighter pilot uniform attire. The Colonel nodded in [member="Collin Calhoun"]'s direction, indicating to Nils that they would head in that direction.

 

[Davin Jusik]

[member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] [member="Nils Brenner"]

There was a slight shift of shade in the sea of stark gray and white utility uniforms that made up the majority of the folk milling about, Navy and Stormtrooper Corp respectively, with two black shapes. The color Collin himself wore, that of the Starfighter Corp. He took quick note of the rank on their collars and gave out a polite "Sirs." As the pair approached. Though it probably sounded a bit guttural coming from the beast of a man before them.

The former gang member viewed the Corp as an extension of the crew he'd ran with in his youth, giving it his total undying loyalty. With the First Order on a whole serving as a steady parental hand that kept him in line. This unique combination meant that he truly respected the nuances of lawful authority when he background would suggest the complete opposite to be true, to the point where the veneer didn't break even when his superiors talked to him casually. He continued eating in silence.

 

[Progflaw99]

Nils still wasn't quite used to the weight, both literal and figurative, of the rank pinned on his uniform though he was sure many officers felt that way. Thrust into the maw of the world, responsibility heaped higher and higher upon their shoulders over the years. Arguably Nils was one of the youngest Captains in the First Order but he'd earned it. Or at least that's what everyone told him.

His feet followed the Colonel in unison, a habit from his academy days. Left, right, left. They'd made their way quickly through the corridors, first stop? The chow hall. Nils was famished. Naturally gifted, or cursed depending on who you talked to, with a high metabolism Nils was famished. As they shuffled through the line accumulating a few different lumps of various colored foods the interceptor pilot narrowed his eyes trying to read the labels on the other side of the glass. Roasted... something. Fried... something. Must have been something from a trading vessel, whatever it was it didn't look all that appetizing.

Once in flight training he'd managed to sneak into the mess with a few of his fellow cadets and they'd stumbled across food storage. The crates they'd seen were marked "For Prison Use Only". He'd heard the rumors but until then he'd thought that's all they were. Apparently not. The other part of him didn't particularly care. Food was food. Nils looked up as the Colonel commented on their food choices and he was forced to agree.

"Aww c'mon Colonel, that desk sounds like it's getting to ya old man." He grinned.

In a more private setting like this Nils felt he could be a bit more relaxed with his old mentor despite their difference in rank. He was sure to keep it strictly professional once the gears were turning and the feet were to the fire but right now, all bets were off. That being said, taking another look at the food they'd slopped on his plate, a perfectly seared steak from one of his favorite steakhouses on Dosuun did sound pretty good. As he looked to his left, Roderik nudged him. His gaze matched the senior pilot's, landing on a familiarly clad pilot across the way. As they approached the table he was seated at he greeted them, nodding in return.

"You mind if we join you?" He motioned with his tray to an empty space across from the man. "Nils Brenner, nice to meet you."

[member="Collin Calhoun"] | [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"]​

 

[Davin Jusik]

"Not at all Captain." Collin replied to [member="Nils Brenner"] in between a mouthful of whatever meat like substance served as his meal's entree. He gave what might appear to some as a critical gaze to both Nils and [member="Roderik von Brinkerhoff"] as the former introduced himself, sizing them up in a rather unconscious manner and processing the information in his subconscious for possible use at a later date. It was a habit bred from years of coming into conflict with those outside himself. A quick glance at their unit patches showed they were not only in the same unit, but a part of what was considered by many to be the most prestigious group operating within the Starfighter Corp. The 100th. There was a rather disproportionate number of Cadre at the Academy who had at one time or another been through the organization, further adding to the validity of the mythos surrounding them. If one managed to fly a TIE for long enough and with enough accomplishment to net an Instructor position they were worth listening to. Particularly for a unit that saw as much action as the folks' before him did.

Nothing at all like the sniveling Pub Drill Sergeants he'd encountered, some of which had been woefully out of shape to have the nerve to command folk half their age to do anything. He again took note at the physical differences that seemed to run between those that followed the ideology of Republics and those that chose High Human Culture. Their degeneracy inevitably spread to their fighting men and women. Disgusting.

"And you sir, Calhoun." He continued, fulfilling the socially acceptable greeting one was expected to impart when another took the trouble to tell you their name.

 

[Roderik von Brinkerhoff]

"Roderik von Brinkerhoff." He replied, omitting his rank, which [member="Collin Calhoun"] would have undoubtedly detected with his mark 1 eyeballs already. It wasn't in Roderik's nature to be aggressively boastful or needlessly intimidating when it came to any facet of his life, least of all around the subordinates that it could be argued he genuinely cared for; each one despite any personal faults - and occasionally because of.

At the same time he followed suit with [member="Nils Brenner"], setting his own food tray down adjacent to the two pilots; one familiar, the another a new acquaintance.

"Is this your ship?" He inquired with a friendly tone to the Pilot Officer. A question as to whether or not this was his station, or if the man was a transiting officer not unlike himself, and his Captain-compatriot. Roderik had noticed a lot of transiting pilots on this vessel so far. They're probably ferrying replacement pilots. He thought of the Indomitable Will they were aboard.