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Author Topic: Camp Crashing  (Read 4071 times)

Re: Camp Crashing
« Reply #15 on: January 28, 2019, 01:58:16 AM »
Erwin was thus far unimpressed. Was the firebrand he heard about among them? Or was there another?

Their own secrecy was, in his eyes, paramount. Survey Corps members would be enough of a distraction. There was no need to distract them any further by revealing which specific members they were.

Erwin clasped his hand behind his back and stared out at the training area. “Let us see what they are made of,” he turned to the training officer. “I eagerly await the cadets’ performance.”

Re: Camp Crashing
« Reply #16 on: January 28, 2019, 11:37:10 PM »
Mordred smirked, more than ready to get this show on the road. "Oh, you're in for a treat, commander." He said simply, before turning his back and striding up to the cadets. Despite being so short, he made being intimidating look easy.

"Oi, brats! Today we're going to be doing something a little different, so mind you pay attention to what I'm saying! I'll only say this once, so if you don't hear, too bad for you. Today is a test of sorts, to see how far you've come along. Not aptitude testing, as this is me personally wanting to see what you can do." He started, eyes scanning the group of cadets. He saw the apprehension on their faces and grinned. Ah, he lived for this. These cadets were in for a wild ride.

"This will take place in the entire surrounding area. The point of the test will to avoid being captured by me until noon. That gives you roughly 2 hours from the point I finish this speech. Now, you're probably wondering about rules. The rules are simple: you can't physically attack me, and you can't leave the grounds. If I capture you you are to return Here, and wait for the time limit to be up. In order to capture you I must wrap this red ribbon around your arm." Mordred explained, still with that same evil smile on his face.

Re: Camp Crashing
« Reply #17 on: February 01, 2019, 10:45:57 PM »
The sky was dark overhead, the clouds thick with the promise of rain, while a rising easterly wind forewarned of the approaching storm. Lingering at the stable yard, in the shadows of the veranda, Laria would be protected when the first raindrops began to fall.

It was the sound of hoofbeats that snagged her attention, pulling her gaze away from the saddle that she had slung over a stable door. The riders were cloaked and hooded anonymously in green, the Wings of Freedom adorning their backs. Her eyes trailed almost hungrily over the blue and white stitching, yearning burning so deep within her that, for a brief moment, it eclipsed her curiosity entirely.

And then she saw him - or didn't, not exactly. The giveaway was not only his considerable height, but the way he presented himself. His gait was purposeful, the breadth of his powerful body hinted at beneath the folds of green fabric. Confident and strong, he moved with natural authority. She had served alongside and beneath the Commander for years, time enough that she did not need to see his face to know him. The glint of blond hair glimpsed beneath the hood - along with the signal to the others - confirmed what she already knew, yet somehow her surprise was not lessened.

Hello again, Erwin Smith.

The Thirteenth Commander - and didn't he wear that unlucky number well?

Laria was unable to keep from smiling, her lips lifting into a lopsided smirk. As tempting as it was to approach immediately, she held back, watching and listening, catching only snippets of the exchange. Meticulously rolling a cigarette with delicate fingers, the horsewoman wondered vaguely if Nanaba or Gunther - or any of her other friends or ex-comrades - were amongst the Commander's entourage.

The instructor had thoughtfully placed the cigarette between her lips when she caught the word ‘prodigy’. Immediately she wrinkled her nose in disdain, repulsed by her colleague's conceit. As far as Laria was concerned, Mordred's undeniable talent for ODM manoeuvres was far outweighed by his petulance, and by his unkindness which all too often bordered on cruelty. Because of this, any interaction she had with him was kept as brief and as professional as possible.

It was a curious thing, really. Almost everyone who ended up in the Training Corps, at least within an instructing capacity, was damaged in one way or another. Laria knew that better than anyone. She shifted almost self-consciously at that thought, the stormy light glinting coldly against the metal of her leg brace. Given that Mordred was able-bodied, she had to wonder if his deficiency lay elsewhere. And if he was as exceptional as he clearly believed himself to be, surely there was no possibility that the commanders of the three military regiments would have allowed him to squander himself in the Training Corps…?

Ah, but such decisions were taken by soldiers on far higher pay grades than her own.

Still smirking, feeling excitement blend with nostalgia, Laria brushed her musings to one side. Pursing her lips, she lit her cigarette and savoured a long, slow draw, watching intently as the Scouts followed Instructor Hart out of the yard.


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