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Thomas was not particularly artistic. Nor was he insanely creative, under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances. These were special circumstances, and he was getting creative, for one simple reason: he was going to need more ammo than he had. Now he was trying to find secure ways to carry more power cells, and it was starting to look interesting. He'd managed to find a pair of leather belts, which he had attached a great deal of duct tape to and so turned them into bandoliers, which he was currently filling with Bro magazines. Once that was full, he would consider if he had enough room and enough weight capacity to add more pockets of one variety or another. He intended to go in and out without leaving once for ammunition.

Having filled his pockets, he decided to run a little test, and began jumping about as high as he could. After half a minute, none of the power cells had liberated themselves from their containers. Next he got up a run, tucked in his head, and threw himself into a roll. When he came up from his roll, he checked his packs again - nothing. Not a thing had come clear. He tried again, tossing himself left, right; sprinting, stopping, vaulting walls. Nothing came clear, and that was perfect. He turned back to the ammo station, picked up another roll of duct tape, and prepared to start again.

Thomas shrugged at Clarissa. "If I don't do it, I'll lose cells. If I lose cells, it's going to be a lot worse than straining. I prefer pulling a muscle than having a muscle torn out with an energy bolt." Grabbing a few cells, Thomas began to securely duct tape them straight onto his stomach, each individually so that the cell would be ripped clean off when it was needed. Onto his thighs, onto his arms. He even considered placing them on the backs of his hands, but that would limit movement. He glanced back up at the woman. "You a medic or something?"" he inquired laconically.

((okay shall be lame and uninvolved post ;D))

Sehene was taken to the medical area, to first have the Drathonian disguise removed from her person, now that her last mission was over. On the way there she was kept from being around as many people as possible; the soldiers didn't exactly want to see a Drathonian on board the ship designed to destroy them. She zoned out almost the entire time, still worrying about the inappropriate way she had acted on the field. The process took about an hour altogether. First they removed the tail, spinal, feet and hand attachments, then the skin, greenish colouring, eyes, and vocal cord modifiers. They checked her over for any injuries, and made sure to heal the arm wound, leaving only a bandage over a paste designed to ensure complete skin healing.

She sat for quite some time by herself on the medical bed, gazing at the various medics and patients coming by. She was moping, somehow hoping that it would make her feel better, although she knew it wouldn't. She sighed and resigned to go to her tent, or...something. She signed out of the medical area, and wandered to her area, grimacing when she realized she was still wearing the patient 'apron'. She changed, cleaned herself up and grabbed a bite to eat, but then realized that all she had now to do was mope yet again. Perhaps she should apologize to the captain? But she never caught his name. She would have to search it up in a database.

Jack turned and greeted Kai with a hearty bellow. "Well, hey, kiddo!" He slapped Kai on the back, just hard enough for it to hurt a bit... or maybe a lot. He was feeling energized after his intensive, near-death surgery. Who cared if he felt like his body was going to explode, felt great. His mind on his body, his stomach gave a deadly growl. "Hmm. I just remembered, I don't think I've put much into myself today. Put out plenty of blood, but I could go for some gruel right about now." he mumbled, a bit ignorant of the fact that Hendlow was busted up.

Garrett smirked. "Food sounds great. I'm sure they could use this space for someone more messed up than me. It was ashame you couldn't make it, Jack. It was right up your alley. Explosions, flashbangs, new Drathonian weaponry, and more Drathonians than you could empty a Bro on. Right up your alley." He stood up, careful not to move his injured limb too much, and gestured with the good arm. "Let's go get something to eat." Then he looked at Meigan. "Think you can make it to the mess, soldier? Or would you like us to bring you something?"

"Ah, I have missed the feeling of being around fighters," Steven said taking a deep breath. Thinking back to the past few days, he figured it had been somewhere around two days since he had been in a fighter, and two days was much longer than Steven would have proffered. Through the hazy light of the spot lights used to light the field Steven found his fighter, and he was very pleased to see that it was his fighter. It had been probably a week since he had seen it and both a wave a of excitement and of shock shot through him. His scimitar was filthy! His scimitar, the very fighter he flew when he first became a pilot, the fighter he spent every free moment primping and preening, the fighter that felt as much a member of his family as his grandparents back home! He knew he was overreacting, but his disposition wasn't made any better when he finally saw the engineer leaning against the fighter. He felt his left eye twitch. Not even hearing what the engineer asked, Steven gave the man a spiteful, unblinking stare. "What have you done to my ship?" he asked the engineer while maintaining the stare.

After hearing this, the only way Steven Was able to maintain his frustration was by reminding himself that it was looked down upon in the military to stab a fellow soldier. "You...how...why did...grr," Steven stuttered out of frustration. The knife he carried for obligatory reasons felt very compelling now. He shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. Doing his best to make a forced smile, which looked more like a snarl and mixed with the spiteful stare and twitching left eye Steven looked borderline devilish, finally he managed to speak coherently,
"*sigh* Thank you for taking care of refitting my scimitar. Next time though, I would ask you and the other engineers to leave the well being of my fighter to me. I feel better when I know what is going into with my fighter, so I like doing thing with my own hands," he said to the engineer. It was a lie of course. Although he did like to do things himself, it wasn't because he didn't trust the engineers, it was just that to him the feeling of having someone else work on his ship was like the feeling a parent gets when their child gets abducted by a cult. Taking another deep breath he managed to regain himself.
"So, where is the rest of my squadron?" Steven asked in an attempt to recapture the excitement of preparing for take off.

((Kai I normal write it in Open Office which is an open source Microsoft Office by Sun Microsystems A.K.A. Java))

On the T.R.S. Chaos, Dante sol was saying his last good byes. He had visited the sick bay, the bridge, and garage. The last place he needed to check was the mess hall. When he got there, he was surprised. A going away party was being held in his honor. He could tell that they spent a lot of money. There was real fruit, a roasted bird which Dante didn't know, and a cake. It made Dante not want to wonder how much did it cost or how many regulations were broken to get the stuff there. They we're having fun and two speeches were spoken. One by the ship's Admiral and the other by Captain John Weller: Dante's adopted father. When the party was done Dante tried to help with the clean up but was told by John to let them handle it. When it was time to go Dante had two suitcases. One suitcase was fulled with clothes; while, the other one was filled with book discs. As he got to the transport ship, John was standing in front of the door with a gold object in his right hand. As Dante approached John said, “Look how you've grown in fourteen years. I'm glad to be the one to call you son. Here take this.” John lifted his right hand and showed a gold pocket watch. John continued, “It has been passed down from my family form generation to generations for over 400 years and I wish you to have it.” Before Dante could start to protest, John lifted his hand gently to stop him. “You will take the watch. Thats an order.” Dante replied with the only words he could, “Yes Sir.” Dante took the watch, looked at it, and then they embraced. Dante whispered in his ear, “I love you dad.” John replied, “Same here.” Dante headed on to the transport ship and headed to the base.