John retorted at his chronologically senior, commissioned rank inferior, 'friend, "..Juice?" He smiled tauntingly again as Abe groaned and retreated briefly in search of the beverage for breakfast.  When the pitcher was sat down, John poured the glasses during the time it took his aching comrade to find his seat.  "The fish might be stirring up today.  We've got some wicked clouds, but no rain yet.  If we get that rain, there'll be a feeding frenzy out there.  Gonna be weird weather today one way or another, and I'm waiting for the wave crest predictions and tidal schedule before we make any calls on heading out to open waters.  Eat up and then call the crew and see if they're in on an outing and if so, get'em on standby.  'Course they can come early and we can grill it up and shoot the shit and be ready on a moment's notice or just fill the evening with the usual if we have to stay moored up tonight.  Have Jake bring the ice, and Tara can get the beers, and bring your plinking guns if we can't find any fish."  He lit another cigarette and puffed a few times over the course of a few minutes while Abe ate.  His eyes were locked out east at the lapping waves coming into the Chesapeake Bay.  When Abe had finished eating, John interrupted the man's peace, "When was the last time you saw your daughter Abe?  ..Call Gracey, Abe.. haven't seen her in a year; she just needs to bring herself."  He smiled half pleasantly and half tauntingly because Abe's daughter Susan had been legal for a decade now but he still treated her like she was 14.  Of course, they hardly saw each other or talked even since Abe and Victoria divorced several years back.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:56, Thu 05 May 2011.

"I keep telling you John," Replied Abe, pausing for a moment to take a sip from his juice, "Grace is like one of those artificial sweeteners they put everywhere nowadays: really sweet, and okay in small doses, but she might just kill you if you are not careful."

"I'll call the boys and tell them we are going fishing, but if you want to see Grace, you'll have to call her yourself. She sure as Hell won't come for me." He grabbed a sandwich and went so far as actually taking a half second to chew it before swallowing.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:57, Thu 05 May 2011.

John sighed, "You're as stubborn as a mule Abe, she's your daughter man, and by the time you get it through your grease monkey head of your's, she's gonna be grown, gone, and a grandma.  Tell you what, I'll let you save face, you call her and you can tell her it's all my idea, I'm the only one that wants to see her, etc etc.  Then you can go on pretending she's not your only baby girl and that she's not the reason you wake up every day.  Now get on the horn and let me get this beast prepped." He huffed up to his feet and took the table out from underneath Abe's plate, folded it's legs down and tucked it inside along with the chair.  John then dusted off the rear open deck and hunkered over to grasp the latch that opened a sealed locker used as an ice chest just the right size to store a few Marlins.  He started cleaning it out and sanitizing with a hose and some chlorine in preparation for filling it with ice, and hopefully, duhleeshush feeshies.  When Abe finished his sandwich he knew to get the chair off the deck and to get to his list of calls he has to make, or suffer the Captain's wrath.  When John's busy work of swabbing the vessel concluded, he turned his meticulous attention to testing and prepping all the poles and reels and bringing out a couple of the deck-mounted fishing chairs that face off the rear of the boat.  He plunked them in, secured them, and laid out their seatbelts in orderly presentable fashion.

When the static goods were in place, he turned his attention to the moving parts of the operation and ran the boat's engines through quick but thorough checks, oiling a couple parts.  The capacity of the bilge pumps were tested and ok'ed, along with the stability of the electrical system.  With the ship ready to go on a moment's notice, he lunged up onto the deck and headed towards the marina office to prepay on his tab for a 100 gallons of fuel and about 100 cubic feet of ice, letting them know that Jake was going to be picking most of it up.  He picked up fresh bait while he was up there and carried the large load back with hustled footsteps.  Carefully reboarding the ship he stored the bait in secure bucket bays and headed back into the ship, giving Abe the stinkeye, warning without words that if he hadn't called Gracie yet, there'd be hell for him throughout the rest of the day.

Back into his cabin he took all of a couple minutes to swap out of his jogging pants and into water-resistant khaki cargopants with a belt and several utility attachments, his fishing vest, and a boonie style hat in preparation for any rain.  Heading back into the main area, he unpacked tiny folded up rain parkas and made them ready for the others if it came to raining.  John systematically went through every cupboard and cabinet making sure all cargo was secure behind their tension lines and all doors and drawers were latched.  Passing by Abe again, he gave him the look once more and then headed out and up to the navigational controls deck and turned up the oceanic report station on the radio and gathered what intel her could about the coming day while he sat at the helm and stared out over the docks awaiting signs of his arriving crewmates.

Abe took his time to call the others, leaving Grace for last. The lines were all extremely noisy, and he had to repeat himself  a few times, but eventually he manage to invite them all. Finally, he called his daughter.

And all he heard was a humming noise.

He tried again, and again he did not get through.

When john finally returned he waved the phone at him and said: "Seems the gods are not smiling on you today kid: her phone's broken or something. Don't look at me like that, try it yourself if you don't believe me!"

John yanked away Abe's cellphone and listened to the digital distortion and growled, "I hate these things.  I'll be back, make yourself useful with something.  Don't mope on me all day." He slung around and effortlessly flung himself out of the boat again and walked briskly up to the dock's landline phone and pegged in Grace's number half from memory, and half from seeing it on Abe's cell.  He let it ring and ring for half a minute until the line disconnected itself.  John couldn't help but growl and bruskly deliver the receiver back to it's perch.  A deep exasperated sigh made him aware of a growing stench in the area, but given the nature of their location, both geographically and being surrounded by urban and military installations, it was anyone's guess what today's olfactory assault was from.  John suddenly jolted upright as Tara snuck up and pinched him on the rearend before unceremoniously delivering a large case of beer into his stout chest.  He nodded confirmingly, eyed her for a moment, then demanded, "Jake?"

Tara quickly responded, "Emptying the entire Ice box at the office." and with that she was already sauntering her lanky self down the dock hugging a case of beer.  Once she'd gained just a bit of distance from John it was then that he noticed that her adorned poor-weather-hoody was mismatched with impossibly short short-shorts.  He watched for awhile until she disappeared onto his boat after passing off the beer to an eager Abe.  His attention was only regained as a loud thundering sound emanated behind him in the form of none other than Jake Bradley with a massive mound of ice bags piled ontop an obscured cart, hitting the dock's edge and rumbling accross each plank as he powered past with only an acknowledging obedience, "'Captain."  John nodded acknowledgingly and motioned Jake inviting towards the boat.

Knowing the two cases wasn't all Tara brought, he sat the case down and hustled up towards the embankment above where she'd parked and he fetched another two cases that were beside her trunk.  On his way back down he carefully slid the 3rd case down the dock with his foot and joined Jake's frenzy of loading the boat.  He handed off the alcohol to Tara who stored it away inside, and joined Jake in assaulting Abe with an onslaught of ice bags being tossed into the storage locker.  Abe was of course tasked with cutting open the bags, emptying them, spreading the ice, and so on, just as fast they could deliver it.  When the ice was offloaded, the cart only held a couple containers that Tara & Jake had transported their chosen firearm to play with today if the entertainment of failing at fishing waned.  He nodded repeatedly, but with subtlety in appreciation of the possible day they could have, distracted from the unfortunately inability to get little Gracie out here today.


PENDING:
He gave a few quick instructions for proper placement of all the carry-on, which wasn't much, and ordered Jake to cast them off as John went up to the controls and fired everything up and started guiding away from their released moorings and backed up towards the fuel pump where they quickly tag teamed receiving their payload in orderly fashion before gradually accelerating out towards the bay with a few triumphant cheers and lots of upstart enthusiastic conversations starting up below.  John slid open the side window and got the wind on his face, finally feeling at ease again as they roared forward on their aquatic chariot of respite and retreat.  Some say he even smiled, some protest that he was merely squinting sourly at the wind in his eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:58, Thu 05 May 2011.

The boat about ready to leave, Tara went back to the dock, stretched her back, and looked up: "Hey, what d'you guys make of the sky? I don't think I've ever seen this color before."

Abe walked up to her and nodded: "Heard some folks say it's some kind of solar flare or whatever. Comms are pretty screwed too, the radio is full of static, cell phones work only half the time, and John couldn't get the pay phone to connect him to Grace."

Tara looked at Abe, surprised: "You called Grace?"

"That's not what I said."

"And that's not an answer, Obi Wan." Replied Jake's, joining the conversation. Tara reminded herself that his voice wasn't really making the ground shake, it was just an impression. "We know these are the robots we are looking for. And John won't let you off the hook until you talk to her."

"Actually, Jake, it's the droids..." She said.

"Who cares?" His eyes caught sight of a girl cycling toward them. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Oh yeah." She said. "She seems to be heading for John..."

"Better him than us..." He looked up at the sky: "You think it's gonna rain?"

Tara opened her mouth to reply, and before she could say a single world she was soaked from head to toe. It was as if someone had suddenly poured a bucket of water as big as the sky.

She spit out the half mouthful of water that the wind had pushed into her mouth in the short second she had been to surprised to close it, and said: "Probably."

Within seconds, they were all thoroughly dripping wet in the cold wind. Tara removed her hoody to reveal a light-grey vest, which was also already thoroughly soaked. The outline of bra underneath was clearly visible as she walked steadily, pointedly, to the inside of the boathouse.

The initial downpour abated after just a few seconds, and turned into heavy rain, light rain, and finally no rain, all in no more than thirty seconds.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:53, Fri 06 May 2011.

Anupama backpedalled on her cycle for a few stroked as she rounded the corner of the street and onto the long road that led to the marina and then followed the coastline of the peninsular that made up the bulk of the fort. Despite the relative cool of the early morning she felt uncomfortably warm but she continued her journey.

She really wanted to see how the solar panels she had rigged up on her bike would recharge during sub-optimal periods of daylight and the weak light of the dawn had been the logical time to try her first experiment. As she rode along the road she noticed a few people making preparations at one of the boats that bobbed at the moorings.

Pam slowed her bike down and rested her foot on the floor for balance. She looked over to where she saw a man making preparations of some sort and she called out, "Good morning, Sir. It's a lovely morning isn't it?"

A fierce gust of wind buffeted Pam as she was speaking. She lost her balance and fell to the floor with her bike landing on top of her. The deluge of rain soaked her thoroughly and she lay there, dripping wet and pinned by her cycle.

John looked over to the end of the docks to an outgoing woman shouting over to him sarcastically.  He was finishing loading with Jake when he replied, "It's not exactly what we were hoping for, but we're prepared for anything.  You probably shouldn't ride along dockside in weather like this, you're liable to get blown over... LIKE THAT!" He pushed off the last case he was holding, and rushed down the dock to grip the bicycle forcefully and fling it off atop of her.  He looked her over swiftly and assessed she'd been gouged by one of her ridiculous attachments and he wasted no time in scooping her up into his stocky arms and marching her down Row F of the docks and handing her off to Jake who was in the boat waiting, and Abe had already fetched out the first aid kit without John having to say a word.  They all ducked inside as Anupama was delivered to the cushioned bench and her superficial but lengthy wound was disinfected, treated, and sealed.

Not sure whether she was dizzy from the fall or the swift action of the man that had taken her aboard a strange boat, Pam remained passive whilst the grizzled older man dressed her wound and then looked around her, she said, "Thank you for your aid. My name is Anupama Sivapathasundaram but Pam is absolutely fine. My father is a contractor with the Army Auditors and we're staying on base whilst he finishes the contract."

She paused to push some straying strands of her damp hair off her forehead and asked, "Do you know where my bicycle is? It has some rather delicate equipment on it and I'd like to see if it has survived my rescuer throwing it across the road. I hadn't intended doing trauma tests on the apparatus this soon, but circumstances often dictate that we shange our plans to fit them."

The bustling group surrounding her paused at her introduction and in near unison they greeted with a unanimous, "Pam!"

John nodded and his gravely voice educated, "We're all well aware of who your father is 'Pam, I'm Captain John Hill and this is my flight crew, your father comes up in the logistics of our joint command operations." He reached out for a towel Tara was delivering into his hand and he roughed up Pam's hair to help her get dried off.  The lack of sun making it's way through today left the morning chill lingering in the Bay, and he wasn't about to let anyone get sick on his watch.  He barked an order at Abe to monitor the radio for reports regarding the freak weather and to report back to him with the forecast.  Meanwhile he left Pam to drying off while he looked out the windows with critical eyes, scanning everything, from the waves to the sky and all that laid in between.

He motioned for Jake to kick up foul weather maneuvers and set him hustling to; lock down the ice locker, start up the pumps, and deploy the deck's overhead awning along with the clear plastic flaps that box off the entire rearend of the boat that was open.  He wasn't keen on another rush of rain like that of potentially longer duration flooding out his boat.  The boat had stellar pumps and ample flow runoffs, but it was a matter of maintaining health, safety, and function more than a true worry of capsizing.  This was a seaworthy vessel afterall.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you Captain Hill," Pam replied.

As she continued to get dry, maybe less damp would be a better description of it, she thought to herself, she watched the officer prepare his craft for the weather.

Tara came out of the bathroom with a hair dryer. Her vest was still damp but less so than just a few minutes earlier. She plugged the thing in the nearest outlet and handed it to Pam. "Here, that'll help."

As she backed off, she accidentally stepped on Jake's foot...

He pushed her.

She grabbed him.

A moment later, Jake was lifting Tara in mid-air by her throat.

A moment after that, her legs were tightening around Jake's neck .

The entire thing had taken less than two seconds, and surprised the heck out of everybody, including the two protagonists.

"Uhm... Sorry I stepped on your foot?" Tara's voice was a little strangled due to Jake's tight grip on her neck.

"Yeah... No problem." As her legs let go of his head, Jake eased Tara to the floor: "Maybe we should both cut back on the coffee, or something."

"Right, good idea. How many have you had today?" She massaged her neck.

"None, actually."

"Me neither. Maybe we need more coffee, then?"

"I'll... Go make some."
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:32, Fri 13 May 2011.

As Jake left, Abe turned to look at Tara: "Okay, what the hell was that about?"

Tara shook her head, still confused: "I accidentally stepped on Jake's foot, I opened my mouth to apologize... And I did. Except somewhere in between I apparently also did a lot of other stuff."


Abe lifted an eyebrow: "Are you telling me that you don't remember any of it?"

"No, no, I remember it all, it's just... You know when something slaps you and you slap them back without thinking? Something like that."

John's attentive surveying of the environment didn't last long before distraction erupted within the boat, bringing him quickly away from the boat's edge and to the doorway, "What the hell's going on in here?  Behave children!" He stepped inside, still looking off to the side out the windows at the docks.  The abrupt and abnormal weather was leaving an unsettling vibe in everyone's bones, stomachs, mind's, so on and so forth; whatever vibe sensing organ they personally utilize.

Apparently, John's crew weren't the only ones being affected by the odd weather: on the docks, a fight had broken out between two guys, and in just a few seconds two more had jumped in the fray, and they all seemed quite intent on beating the living crap out of one another...

OOC: Civilians and/or military?  If military, any particular details like personal familiarity, ranks, etc.

John leaned his head outside the boat to investigate the ruckas which a quick doubleback into the boat revealed wasn't his folks again.  Glancing left briefly, then honing in by his ears and common sense given the layout of the marina, he leaned further to peer to the right around the boat's structure.  He muttered with aggrivation under his breath, "Son of a bitch..  This is gonna be a shitty day." He thrust his shoulders back, releasing the upper deck he was holding onto while he was leaning and turned back inside the boat and promptly fetched out his Beretta 92FS.  He held the holster/belt/magazines combo in a few fingers on one hand while loading it, chambering a 9mm round, and unsafetying it before bringing it to aim up in the sky, angled towards an unpopulated area, and let loose a KABLAM that pierced the morning air harshly followed by his stern reprimand, "YO!  CALM THE FUCK DOWN!  His crew mates gathered at the windows or out on the rear deck with him to investigate/participate.

Calming down the people on the docks proved a little more difficult than it should have been - for a moment John had a really bad feeling that he might have to actually use his sidearm - but with some help from his crew, especially Jake, he managed to get the situation back under control.

Everybody seemed as surprised at their own behavior as Tara and Jake had been.

There was little time to reflect upon those oddities, though, because the radio suddenly woke up: among ungodly amounts of static, Jake could make out that a large swarm of stinging insects was roaming the fort, and there had been numerous people attacked and hospitalized already.

The swarm was apparently acting very aggressively and very oddly, moving fast, and the only advice given was to go inside a building or vehicle, lock doors and windows, and close all air vents.

Putting some water between themselves and the insects seemed like a good idea,and it fit with their plans anyway. The only hitch was Pam, but the simple fact was that she would be much safer on the boat than back at the fort - she certainly couldn't go around on her bike with a swarm of dangerous insects attacking people...

Amongst the frenzy of activity onboard and off, bodies eventually found themselves back in place (With Pam's bike retrieved when the peacemakers made their way back up the docks to separate the upstarts) with purpose in tending to a semblance of the day's original plan.  John returned to the boat last, as usual, departing land with a reprimanding stinkeye to all in sight.  He flung his surly self up onto the deck and paused only briefly to check in on Pam, who Tara was tending to.  He stared like he was speaking, but only his eyes and gruff caring expression spoke his interest in Pam's recovery, nodding indicatively towards the retrieved bike to distract her while he maneuvered off to the ladder on the rear deck.  He bounded upwards forcefully and switched his comms on to monitor and report the situation that'd occurred but was quickly cut off and muted by a wide announcement confirming the plague of bugs descending on the area.  John made the typical sort of judgment call he'd been entrusted with throughout his career, and decided they were leaving port without question or discussion.  With a crank of a key and delicate maneuvering of a jury rigged throttle the massive boat began to rumble and vibrate from below as a retired  T55-L-712 turboshaft engine, left over from the retrofits to  T55-L-714A's, began to spin up row after row of impellers as hundreds, then thousands of horsepower came to bear upon command.  John already had them gradually on the move during the warm up and their departure from dock was almost unnoticed amongst the hustle and bustle.  Their launch into the bay and out towards sea was quite informative to the power they were underway with as the boat surged forward hard, displacing a massive 20 foot plume of seawater behind them and near knocking everyone off their perches/feet.  John himself was always preparedly wedged into his console to keep upright during such strong maneuvers.   It didn't take more than a handful of minutes before their incidents on the docks had melted away into the rear view and they were forcefully cutting through the waves out to open sea.  Jake was of a mind to give not a shit but one as he searched out the icebox and retrieved beers for all, and promptly/precisely delivered them as any master of logistics would.

John's gruffness was replaced by a more pleasant, though still rugged disposition, as a smile might very well be fighting to split his lips as the ocean's wind picked up in his face; however tainted by the odd weather as it may be.

Pam's head still reeled from whatever had affected her earlier. The ache intensified as she watched John trying to nurse the engines back to life. As the machinery seemed to scream out to her, she got up and helped the others to bring the engines to a spluttering semblance of their once magnificent roar.

She looked out over the land as the ache between her eyes receded. She turned toward John and said, "OK, Skipper, so what's next?"

"Next.." John began to inform as he return to the deck after they were sufficiently at sea, and handed off a beer and a heavy duty fishing pole to Pam, and continued, "..We get tipsy and try not to fall overboard."  He clutched the top of her bottle with weathered fingertips and popped the cap off with a flick and then proceeded to coax her towards the rear of the deck facing off towards the coast on the horizon.  He was maneuvering her into position near the rails with the pole holders and such, instructing position and preparations with vague but accurate gestures, "Ever done any sport fishing before young lady?"

Pam looked at the beer and said, "Thanks for the offer but I can't drink. I know it's illegal anyway but it's against my religion, Dad'd be extremely angry if he smelt beer on me. Fishing? That sounds fun, show me how it's done."

John retorted in acknowledgement, "Great, more for Jake's moping ass that hasn't caught anything in half a year.." He retrieved the bottle from the tiny hand and lobbed it over to Jake, who's attention had been caught by the reminded of his poor luck bearing reward from the seas.  John pulled up a long skinny door flap on the deck and pivoted up the pole for which a seat and harness was anchored to, patting it inviting for Pam to hop up into to be strapped in.  So began the early days' sport fishing lessons with intermittent rambling of tips, rules, anecdotes, and random taunting amongst the group as stories became rampantly sidetracked into digressions of focus.  The hours of the morning ticked by and many fine fishies were plucked from the eerily calm waters.  An ice box was filled up with the haul, and a prime choice was selected for lunch preparations on the spot.

About the time 12-1 pulled around, the deck was being cleared and chairs were being turned inwards as the deck table was setup for the feast.  The rowdy rabble settled into typical places, with a usually empty place filled by the young lady who soon was under questioning as mind's returned from the fog of the mornings' delightful activities, "So when are you expected home?" John inquired with a smirky snort as he looked off over the ocean to the coastline.

Pam shrugged, "Dad's on a big project that'll keep him at work overnight. I was going to spend the night with Sally Henderson: Captain Henderson's daughter but if we can call them and Dad I can stay out fishing."

She looked back at the shore, "That's if we can get the radio working. What do you think is happening? Is such a catastrophic failure of all your systems something you've experienced before? I've seen you working on your gear: you're good, very good, this shouldn't be happening to kit you've looked after."