#september-pilot

“Lest you forget, Captain,” Douglas backtalked with a dumb smile on his face, “I’m not a member of ORE or the Militia. I’m a 6-4 liaison. I answer to Gates.”

@september-pilot - Continued from here

Douglas was always one to appreciate the benefits of a planetside base. All in all, it was a fresh experience instead of a stale one. Fresh oxygen from a real atmosphere, instead of synthesized oxygen from a life support system. Fresh water from lakes, instead of water reclaimed from the crew’s piss. The food wasn’t too much of an improvement, though - then again, Eileen was able to work miracles behind the canteen’s scenes, and cooking was probably the one thing the Monaco’s crew were spoiled on.

VEGA, for his part, appreciated that in idle times when maintenance wasn’t due he would be allowed to leave the base and roam. Most of his time spent outside of combat situations was holed up in a hangar bay, and the Titan had a well-developed sense of wanderlust that he indulged in whenever he got the opportunity.

Of course, it was late. The Monarch was in the hangar bay when a familiar IFF tag entered his field of awareness; RY-9904. VEGA watched as the Titan entered the bay, showing the signs of a long and well-fought campaign. Douglas was in town at the moment; the Titan decided it would be more prudent to delay informing him until he came back.

Until September, RY’s Pilot, began performing repair work. Long past when she should have taken a break. With clear signs of injury. RY was protesting, but she didn’t seem to listen. The Monarch thought for a moment, then decided she needed a human touch.

He was halfway over to the medbay when September found him. Indeed, with a black eye, the scar on his face reopened, and some blood dribbling down from his mouth, he looked like shit, before you took into account the hastily wrapped gunshot wound on his chest.

His response to what the other Pilot had said was to laugh. “Yeah, don’t worry - she’s dead. VEGA kind of kicked her off of me. I’m almost sure he tore her in half. Not a pretty sight, huh?”

He thought he’d found a quiet enough place to hide and vent, but as soon as he heard somebody approaching he stifled his sobs and started breathing deeply. Get yourself under control, man.

By the time he’d managed to calm himself down, the interloper had finally come into view. Of all the people, it was September. Thank God, he thought. It’d be hell to explain this to a Grunt. They wouldn’t believe the death gods are human, too.

Douglas is lightly awoken when he feels somebody slip into bed. He picks out the scars before anything else and relaxes - it’s only September.

And she’s curling up against him, shivering. She’s cold. A little sweaty, too. The Pilot reciprocated the embrace, knowing full well what that meant.

“Whoa!”

He barely catches the plush as September lobs it at him. It’s a huge bear, almost as big as an actual bear. Soft, squishy - to September’s exacting specifications.

(he should know - he’s seen september’s stash)

You mean like the one time Douglas bolted a Jump drive to his armor, then FTL jumped himself right into ARES Division’s headquarters to punch General Marder in the face?

Then hopped across the galaxy on a murder spree, offing everyone important in the IMC before Jumping to Earth, capping all of IMC High Command, and returning to the Frontier just in time for drinks at Barker’s.