The previous night, the gentle rolling of the boathouse had lulled Captain John T. Hill to sleep. Now, not seven hours later, the not-so-gentle buzzing of the alarm was rudely waking him up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:45, Tue 03 May 2011.

John sat forward with a groan and rubbed his face, down to his neck, rolling and massaging his shoulders before lashing out with weathered fingertips, sending the alarm clock flying off it's perch.  He inhaled deeply and exhaled deeper, staring blankly for awhile as his mind cleared from the fog of war, another night tainted with vivid memories from any number of his prior full contact engagements.  Glancing over at the tinted portholes, he noted the dark skies, though they were almost always some hue of purple through these windows.  He reached up to a strong steel curtain bar and flung himself out of bed and stumbled towards the head (bathroom) with a cough and a practiced reaction of spitting off into the sink as he goes to drain himself.  Pissing away the morning no-handed, he lights a cigarette before he's finished, taking a pause to do a thorough mouthwash rinse.. possibly pointless as he went back to the cigarette and sauntered towards the wide glass deck doors, calling for his dog, "Huey.. Huey!  ...." he sighed with exasperation with realization that his best friend on four legs had passed during his last tour of duty.  He wasn't there, never got to say goodbye, and still hadn't adapted to the loss and still expected his furry companion to be there whenever he woke up.  These days, his home was a floating fortress of solitude.

Though not quite so solitary this morning, he couldn't recall exactly what day it was, but the fact that he was on his boat and not in the barracks, the fact that his head was buzzing, and the fact that his Chief Flight Engineer was sleeping upside down half off his couch lead him to the conclusion that regardless of what day it was, they were obviously offduty today and got their drank on last night.  His disorientation was cured as he walked past one of the ship's speakers tuned into the oceanic weather reports told him it was Thursday and that today wasn't going to be the fairest weather.  Apparently this morning's cloud coverage was stretching horizon to horizon with an ominous glow as it obscured the sun.  His footfalls were light as he passed by and suddenly tugged strategically at his friend's foot, flopping him off the couch unceremoniously and blurting, "Wake up you fucking bum." He chortled tauntingly at his comrade's lesser capability of handling the liquor or early rising comfort, but most especially at the combination of the two failings.

Reaching the large glass doors he slid them open abruptly and reached up to grasp the header and peered out with awe at the uniquely colored morning sky that warned of an uncomfortable day ahead.  His keen eyes scanned the horizon for a familiar red orb rising the east, but it was lost in the stretch of indigo stratus.  He stared and appreciated for awhile as he finished his cigarette, nodding confirmingly to himself when the moment had passed, the spent butt being flicked out aimlessly before he turned back inside.

"Eggs?"

He moved into the galley kitchen and flipped a griddle on to medium high, sprayed it with a buttery something, fetched 4 eggs out of the fridge, 4 strips of bacon, and 4 pieces of bread.  He peppered everything as it all cooked at once in preparation to make two double decker bacon egg sandwiches.  He would've made 4 sandwiches but he only had a 4 slot toaster, and doing another cycle of toasting would be a waste of his precious time.  It didn't take more than 5 minutes and he was plating breakfast for him and his groaning companion.  He took the plates out to the rear deck and sat at a small table and waited for his friend to join him, ready to chastise him in an instant if he forgets to bring the juice out.  Sitting restfully, he feasted and stared at the clouds with calculating interest, wondering if it'd be a good day for fishing.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:27, Tue 03 May 2011.

In his stern commanding gruff he barked, "Food.  Now.  Juice or barnacle duty!"  He inhaled his breakfast sandwich in voracious fashion, a habit for most military men.  His eyes rolled back as he rested, staring up at the brewing clouds, noting an odd lack of rain or lightning.  It wasn't long before passing marina patrons, likely fellow soldiers at this hour of the day, were rambling about solar flares.  John's fingertips laced together and he rested his hands atop his smooth dome.

Abraham Lincoln Washington von Kluge, Abe to one and all, rose from his stupor with a moan. "Jeez kid... Do you have to be so loud? Can't an old man get some rest on his day off?"

Pointing out the many problems in that sentence was a funny exercise. The fact that John hadn't been a kid in a while? That Abe, at 40-odd was more fit than a number of 30-somethings despite his drinking habit? Or that "jeez kid" was not exactly proper form when addressing a hierarchical superior?
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:26, Wed 04 May 2011.