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"Shakespeare's talking about morale! Henry's troops are surrounded but he's moving among them to keep their spirits up."
Don't sweat it, Corwin. We'll make it through together." He turns to Jacqueline, and then looks down at his hands "Yeah. that was crazy. I wonder how it works... Will it work on metal? Organics? My flight is pretty direct, but this is something else entirely."
Bill falls in alongside Corwin as they head to the locker rooms. As he walks, he looks over at his squad mate gravely. He speaks in what borders on monotone "I am pressuring you now socially. As you can tell, it is tremendous social pressure, and you are very disconcerted by it. <pause> I have now completed the social pressure, much to your relief." He then chuckles and bumps a companionable shoulder into Corwin as they walk. When he speaks, it is in his normal voice. "There. That's out of the way." "You better watch your ass with that W-O. With all of them, or you'll get your ass in a sling." "Come on. This suit makes me sweat like a moose and I smell like an ass-crack that's been dead for a week! Shower-time!"
Bill chuckles. "I think I need to practice tunneling a little more for next time." He cracks his knuckles and dabs at a trickle of blood creeping down his forehead, examining the blood on his glove quizzically. "I really could have hurt myself there, couldn't I? Weird..."
"Ugh... Ow..." Bill rises unsteadily to his feet, places his hands upon the cracked plug, and tunnels through it to complete the course.
Bill sets down in a runner's stance at the starting line, and, upon receiving the signal, takes off at full flight speed town the first leg of the track. This time, knowing where the switches are, he has less trepidation about speeding past them. He flies over the climbing obstacles, through the jungle gym, and down the straightaways, flipping switches as he goes. He slows for sharper turns, careful to not skirt outside the course. He is slowed considerably by the water course, which precludes the use of his flight ability, but he emerges and speeds along the one kilometer run (beach sand swirling in his wake) to the tree climbing obstacles, floating from switch to switch. He completes the course and decides to do something risky with his newfound ability. He extends his hands in front of him and flies directly at the Plug at combat speed, willing himself to tunnel through it on the move. He really hopes this works...
Bill flushed, realizing that he had allowed himself to become distracted by his thoughts. His cheeks still red, he responds: "To improve our skill in movement using our different movement powers, and to..." he struggles for a moment "...learn which abilities are better to use in different contexts."
Bill raises his hand. "WO Foucaut, can we run the course again?"
Bill has been distracted since he crumbled the plug. During much of the time waiting, he held pieces of rubble in his hand, exploring his new sense of the arrangement of matter. He wondered about his new ability. Could he reshape matter? Could he break it down in a controlled fashion? Could he make it explode? He could sense "flaws" in the arrangement of the stones he held, and if he concentrated a bit he could break the fist sized stones in his hands down to... smaller stones. He looks up when given the order to field strip his weapon, dusts off his hands on his utility pants, and gets to work. WO Foucoat: "Younger. You could have flown over the Walls - flown from switch to switch - and yet you didn't. You also could have flown through the Woodpile tunnels instead of climbing around on it. Explain." He clambers to his feet to address the Warrant Officer. "For the walls, I thought part of the point was to climb them. I didn't want to solve all my problems with flying, but if it's all about speed and flipping switches, I'll remember that for next time. "As for the woodpile..." Bill clears his throat. "I haven't had much practice maneuvering through tight spaces, and I didn't know the way through. I wanted to find some of the shortcuts you mentioned too." The cadet nods, jutting his jaw out and clenching his dusty fists. "I'll take the course at top speed next time, Ma'am." And he thought of a way to do just that, though it wasn't going to be easy.
I'm still game.
Bill will move through the Woodpile in a conventional fashion, noting potential shortcuts to be exploited later as he goes. He will fly at combat speed and at low altitude through the Maze, hovering in place to flip the switches. Emerging from the maze, he will proceed through the Third Run at top speed, landing to flip the switch before heading into the water under the Pier. His flight is no help here, so he will swim through, pausing for a few moments periodically to recover before diving to flip switches. Coming to the Race, Bill smiles at the wide open space before him, crouches, and takes off at a breakneck pace, his arms stretched in front of his face, his hands balled into fists. He is somewhat winded when he comes to the Fourth Run, which he flies through at combat speed in order to not actually break his neck making the sharp turns. He then pauses for a minute to recover, stretching his hands over his head like he was taught in Recruit Training to help train his lungs. The fatigue brought on by sustained flight is a strange sensation: palpably physical, but unaccompanied by muscle fatigue.
Is "The Race" in section 8 specifically a swimming challenge, or can any movement be used?
Bill steps up to the starting line and takes a runner's crouch. When the WO blows her whistle, he flies forward at top speed with a swirl of dust and a faint whooshing sound. He covers the first 80 meters in a flash, then slows to land in front of the first switch, flipping it. He repeats this process for the rest of the First Run. It is inefficient, but he is not comfortable enough with his flying to try to take a turn at top speed and flip a switch. He moves through The Walls in a fairly conventional fashion, quickly (but not supernaturally) climbing the ladders and flipping the switches. He only uses his power to cushion his fall when dropping from the obstacles to keep from rolling his ankle or suffering a similar injury. Bill then flies at combat speed though the beginning of the Second Run, flipping both switches, and then kicks his speed into high dear for the rest of the run, speeding through the softer turns and trying his hand at the sharper ones. Turns:
Somewhat winded, and facing the challenge of the rebar tunnels, Bill pauses for a minute to catch his breath.
Bill steps up to the Warrant Officer, eager to go next.
Bill raises his hand and speaks when called upon. "You mention that we will use our Abilities on this course. Will we be able to start flying, or running, or teleporting or whatever at the start, or will there be... I don't know... signs or something telling us when to use them?
Bill's stomach does a flip at Kreis' reference to the video from earlier, but he takes his napkin off his food, wads it up, and dutifully if unenthusiastically begins to eat the rest of his meal. Kreis: "Hey, Younger, what's chewing your tail?" Bill swallows hard and looks over at the Cadet Sergeant. "This is no time to complain or doubt. We'll see how this goes." "It's just a lot to process, Cadet Sergeant."
Bill swallows hard, wipes his mouth, and drops his napkin atop his half eaten food. He looks over his steepled fingers into the middle distance. "We can't just be weapons." he thought to himself. "We have to be something more. We have to know more than just combat. An engineer might have saved some of those cadets. Heck, a fireman might have. We can save more lives if we know how to do more than fight!" His jaw clenches as he thinks, but he says nothing.
Bill looks over at the Cadet Sergeants, chewing slowly and waiting for an answer.
Bill smiles and begins eating. After Costas finishes her explanation, he mutters to those seated near him: "This is going to be awesome."
Bill takes a set at the table, but asks a question before he tucks in to his meal. "Cadet Sergeant, what sort of training will we be starting with?"
Bill starts unpacking and organizing his gear. As he works, the tension gradually releases his shoulders.
Bill shakes his head to clear it and speaks with markedly less vigor. "Yes, Cadet Sergeant." He grabs his gear and heads out of the room.
Bill starts and looks up at Bruce, then into the common room when his name is called. "Present Cadet Sergeant!" He claps. Bruce on the shoulder as they leave the room. "Thank you."
Bill, a vaguely haunted look in his eye, slips his PIT into a cargo pocket, still staring off into the middle distance.
Bill opens the video and unwholesome sounds begin to come from his PIT. A look of stark revulsion crosses his face, and he puts a hand to his mouth as his gut reels at the gory scene he's watching. He manages to keep his gorge down, but all color drains from his face. "Oh my G-" :stomach lurches: He collects himself enough to close the video, at which point he simply stairs at the blank screen for a long moment, shaking his head uncomprehendingly.
He is so engrossed in what he has just seen that he doesn't notice what is going on around him. That is never good in the field, so it's likely a bad idea in training.
Bill opens up the 'core tactical combat information' tab, skims the table of contents, sits on his bunk and starts reading.
He looks up as Bruce walks past him through the door. "Sure. Mine's on the right." He indicates the desk near Bruce's chosen bunk. "They've got PITs for us. Just touch it and the imprint prompts will come up." He starts a bit as Bas walk in behind him. To Bas:
Bill heads into the first room on the right, slides his locker on the rightmost bunk, and looks around the room. When his gaze lights upon the PIT, he cautiously takes it up. He starts a bit when prompted for a thumb and voice print, but he provides each in turn. "Sweet." Once the PIT is unlocked, he begins noodling with it's functions.
Also, the military is decidedly mission oriented. When there is a mission (or "job") it is imperative that you do whatever it takes to complete the mission.
Bill grins at the display of motivation and shivers as a chill goes up his spine.
Bill's fair cheeks redden as he is corrected, but he clenches his jaw in an attempt to maintain his bearing as he follows directions. Dammit! It should be easier to handle these things, as strong as we are! This is going to take some getting used to. Looking around, he is comforted somewhat by others having trouble, and chuckles when he notices that some of the smaller girls had no trouble at all. Who knows with Threading? They could be the strongest of us all.
Not that I am going to make a stink about mishandling a footlocker, but are we working with our original stats, or the threaded stats on the PDFs on the google drive?
Bill handles his locker without embarrassing himself.
"Then we obey. We do what it takes to get through. All of us." Bill looks around at his squad mates. "There's more at stake here than our feelings or our pride. People need us." He looks to the cadet sergeant. "No powers unless under orders from a non-com or officer. Stick together as a unit. Follow orders from cadet NCO's, unless they violate the first two orders. Great. Done. No problem."
"How long is the trip, Cadet-Sergeant?"
Bill perks up. "My dad was a Marine too, but he got out fifteen years before the Thunder. Shrapnel in his back.". He chuckles. "The Hymn was a lullaby in our family."
The conversation having stalled, Bill sits on his locker, drumming his fingers on the lid absently.
-Bill is tall (5'7) for a 13 year old (though not bizarrely so), and his frame hints at the size he will grow into. His Irish heritage shows in his dark hair, fair skin, and the splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His blue eyes are thoughtful, and dart around nervously when he thinks he has said or done something foolish.
"Exactly!" Bill said, gesturing at Jodie. "Who knows what gear we might need to use on missions, or what alien tech we might come up against?"
... Anyways, it says that 5'4" is the average height for a thirteen year old boy, and that most of those they measured were between 4'10" and 5'11". So use that info as you will. Then call Bill 5'7, 120lbs. He comes from tall people, and he's gearing up for a growth spurt once puberty hits.
Bill nods. "It'd be better to have the skills and nod need them than to need the skills and not have them, don't you think?"
I had an error pointed out to me: Bill would not be anywhere near six feet. I was concentrating on the characters being thirteen (I knew several six foot thirteen year olds growing up) and not pre-pubescence, which is the requirement for Threading described in the campaign material. Bill is about 5'4.
Bill Looks from Bas to Bruce and back again. "There's more to being a soldier than just fighting, even when you have... whatever abilities we'll develop."
Bill laughed from a few feet away. "I had one of those! It was a cartoon dog, but then turned into a toothy monster when it ate the cookies!" He stood up, stretching and cracking his knuckles over his head. He stands nearly six feet, with broad shoulders and large hands and feet that promise more growth, but with a softness in the eyes that betrays his youth. "Ugh, that freaking bus ride. And now the train!" As he speaks, he squats down on his haunches and bounces before popping back up. "Do you guys think there will be any tech training, or will it all be combat and conditioning? I don't like the idea of just being a superpowered meathead."
Bill shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what he is allowed to say. Besides: he doesn't know all that much about his abilities other than being a little faster and a little stronger. That, and the flying, or course. He takes a water bottle from his cargo pocket and drinks half of it in one go.
Bill laughs. "You put a cat through that kind of pain, you can rest assured it will piss on everything you own, whenever it can, for as long as it lives." He pauses a moment "Can animals even Thread?"
Bill sets his locker down and sits upon it, taking off his cover and scratching the short bristles of his hair. "Man, I would not want to see the inside of the locker that cat was shipped in..." he says to everyone and no one in particular.
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