Cerberov

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

Well. That was an overly familiar tone if she'd ever heard one, Maia thought. It wasn't actually that surprising, considering he probably had more than a bit of history with the company, and the rest of them were pretty much fresh meat picked up from the grocer. Still. Something to note, if this arrangement became long-term.

"Nothing I shouldn't. Ma'am." With that, Maia turned away, strolling up to Mad Dog. Sterling new machine, even with the bit of wear on it. And her customization. Well... if you could call it customization. Aside from the snarling dog face on the chest piece, there were other eclectic bits and bobs to it. Doodles, put down during a boring day of recon. Motivational sayings from former squadmates she refused to admit were near and dear. A bunch of inane scrawling that crossed down her FRAME with little rhyme nor reason, like she was looking at the walls of some loony in an asylum, defacing the walls of their prison.

"Mad Dog" indeed.

That brief bit of introspection and admiration finished, it was time to actually get to work.

The cockpit wasn't exactly cozy. It was just the stock model, with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to every nook and cranny. She'd thankfully cleared out all the bottles and cups from earlier, when she decided to enjoy her down time before the briefing. Having a bunch of crap rattling in your cockpit was possibly a safety hazard, and definitely a distraction.

Speaking of distractions, the hangover was kicking back into full gear, pushing back against the aspirin with full, unrelenting force. SHe was never a fan of the whole "hair of the dog" technique, but hey, some things can't be helped.

Maia took a belt from her hip flask, some low-quality rum she couldn't name in a lineup. She was so used to liquor of its caliber she was able to actively suppress her body rebelling against the toxic crap she was pouring into it. With a shake of her head, she surveyed the controls. Gauges were all normal. No overheating, readings were normal, reactor was as fresh as it could be. She remembered loading up with her guns and her rockets before the mission. No need to change, they probably weren't meeting anything heavy enough to need the extra firepower.

"Leventis reporting. Mad Dog online."

Endymion: Symphony of Echoes [Sci-FI Squad based Horror-ish w/ Exploration elements] (Always Accepting)

Well, if it isn't quite started, mind if I step right in?

No pictures, but I'll try to be very descriptive. I doubt I'll find any, because the concept I'm coming up with is rather out there.

Google Picture War

Not the same type, but...

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

Somebody has to be, in this line of work!

@Aristo

After the initial roughness, his sunny disposition and genuine enthusiasm will probably end up rubbing off on the team. Considering the crowd, it would definitely help.

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

To be fair, Maia just kind of hates anyone outgoing, and Isabella's reaction seemed less like hate and more like surprise and amusement. No one else has really commented.

If it helps, I like your character, OOC. He's very cheery for a hired gun.

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

Maia sat still in her chair, hands steepled in front of her face and trying her best to not look hung over. As her first real run as a regular in a mercenary company, she knew she had to listen in order to get ahead. And so she pushed past an ache in her head, and tried her best to listen to her prospective new CO. But of course, her listening was really in the loosest sense of the word. Her eyes glazed over at the generous statements Bentz made about the Panthers, and the mention of company this, corp that almost turned her off of listening entirely. The only things that stuck were the logo she had to watch out for, and the map. And really, that's all she needed.

The second the initial briefing was up, she was beginning to stand just as Benson decided to give a dissertation about how, no, he'd rather not be in the front lines because he's a logistics specialist. The obvious "you take orders from me" response and his fire back made Maia sit right back down, rubbing a temple with the heel of her hand and frowning. Looks like she had already found someone especially to keep her distance.

As she sat, she decided to survey the rest of the group, trying to draw some conclusion about them. Her headache didn't exactly help her form any opinions.

Benson, she could already tell, was the go-getter assertive type. Her least favorite. Jason... she didn't know. He seemed quiet, which was good enough, although that could change. Ryder seemed more quiet, a real stoic warrior type, conscious of her appearance too. And Maia could tell that if nothing else, Ryder also had her scars. If she didn't monologue about the rules of nature or whatever things would be just dandy. She caught Isabella scanning at the same time as her, and tried to seem nonchalant. Edward was huge, but that's all she could glean.

Lots of people missing parts of their body. At least Maia counted herself lucky for that, even if she was falling to pieces.

At the actual end of the briefing, Maia stood up and snapped a half-hearted salute to the CO. She walked quickly out of the room, popping an aspirin as she did so. It was going to be a long, long day.

Even the crudely drawn snarling dog face she'd painted on Mad Dog's front panels during a bender didn't dissuade her from this opinion.

Bernard popping out of the cockpit suddenly was enough to snap Maia right out of her hangover, however. And nearly out of her skin, considering how she visibly jumped at his appearance.

"Gah!" she exclaimed, before quickly straightening herself out and flattening her expression. Now was the time to deflect possible signs of weakness with humor. "So... how was the nap?"

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

Maia Leventis

Name: Maia Leventis
Age: 32
Gender: Female
Disposition: Two things are seen as an inevitability by Maia: that something bad will happen, and that she will be the one to clean it up.

Living a hardscrabble life, first as a refugee and then as a merc fighting her way to a better life, has caused Maia to take a generally dismal and bleak outlook on life. In order to keep from cracking under the negativity, she has a small list of mental defenses. The first being bad jokes, the second being hedonism, the third being anger. Anything past anger, and she starts to break down.

Living a desperate life tends to make you distance yourself from others. Maia has a hard time saying anything meaningful, or sharing anything personal, with anyone else. She doesn't mind working with others as long as they keep their distance, and respect her space. She'd rather not think of anyone that dies in the line of duty as a friend, if she can help it.

She is very sensitive to changes in her environment: noises (even if inaudible to others), bright light, and quick motions bother her.

She also has an addictive personality, and is rather irresponsible with her money.
Background: Even before the war, things weren't exactly great for the inhabitants of the PU's northern territories. Maia Leventis was born in a small mining town nearing the end of its mineral reserves. Once the mines dried up, the mining company rolled into town. They gave the townsfolk a few months to either find another vein, or be forcibly relocated to an industrial center. Maia's family chose neither. They chose to flee over the strait, into OSU territory. That was when the troubles really started.

Turns out the nice men that helped her family cross weren't so nice. They were used as free migrant labor in an underground narcotics manufacture for five years, until a raid by the local police ended their business. Maia was fourteen years old at the time.

She was made a ward of the state after the destruction of the drug den resulted in the deaths of her parents, since they couldn't find anyone to claim her in the PU. In spite of her rough past, she drove on, and eventually earned the right to call herself an Osbanian citizen. After a brief and hectic stint in the Osbanian military that ended up in her dishonorable discharge due to mental health, she became a freelance mercenary, working first as infantry for eight years, and eventually earning enough to afford her own FRAME. At her age, however, she's decided that being a freelancer is too little pay for too much risk. She's hoping that her stay with the Panthers will provide her with the financial security she needs.

After all, cigarettes, booze and video games won't buy themselves.
Appearance: 5'6, dark-skinned, with an aquiline nose, brown eyes, and sharp facial features with curly black hair and bushy black eyebrows. Her eyes have nigh-perpetual bags under them, and there are more wrinkles on her than her age would suggest. She has a muscular and reasonably toned frame, although an unhealthy lifestyle is definitely starting to take its toll on her waistline. She has a burn scar on her forehead, and a slash mark on her collar bone from a close call she'd rather not talk about.
Inventory:
.45 automatic handgun, "Certified Asshole" carved onto the slide.
Plain steel hipflask, usually containing the cheapest rotgut she can find.
Cigarettes. One pack a day.
Funds: 55750
Other: Suffering from undiagnosed post-tramatic stress disorder.

Mad Dog

Name: ACS-3G Zaruga, "Mad Dog"
Height: 4.1 meters
Weight: 5230 kg
Armor: 20 mm durasteel alloy
Speed (Walk): 65 kph
Speed (Skate): 91.6 kph
Sensor range: 5 km
Communication range: 25 km
Operating range: 600 km
Extra Systems: ECM suite, laser target designator
Power: 130
Weight: 80

Armaments:

Equipped:
AFC-40/L Autocannon x2 (16)
MG27 Light Machinegun x2 (4)
LP-90 Light Rocket Launcher (24)
(6 spare weight)

Storage:
MGR-2A Anti-tank Missile (20)

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

@Aristo
Guessing I should post my sheet in the Characters tab?

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

@Cerberov
Your sheets look good, although I'll mention the stock Zaruga can only hold 50 extra weight. (130-80=50) You can buy a surplus of equipment, although you'll only be equipping an amount equal to your weight threshold. All your equipment put together has a value of 64 weight, so some of it will have to stay at home while the FRAME is in the field.

@Aristo

Ah, now I understand.

I'll probably keep the equipment the way it is, in case I get a heavier mech or want to swap or feel the need to swap components. In the meanwhile, I'll separate the Armaments into Equipped and Storage.

FRAMEs (Mech combat, political intrigue & corporate struggles)

Alright. Here's what I've got.

Maia Leventis

Name: Maia Leventis
Age: 32
Gender: Female
Disposition: Two things are seen as an inevitability by Maia: that something bad will happen, and that she will be the one to clean it up.

Living a hardscrabble life, first as a refugee and then as a merc fighting her way to a better life, has caused Maia to take a generally dismal and bleak outlook on life. In order to keep from cracking under the negativity, she has a small list of mental defenses. The first being bad jokes, the second being hedonism, the third being anger. Anything past anger, and she starts to break down.

Living a desperate life tends to make you distance yourself from others. Maia has a hard time saying anything meaningful, or sharing anything personal, with anyone else. She doesn't mind working with others as long as they keep their distance, and respect her space. She'd rather not think of anyone that dies in the line of duty as a friend, if she can help it.

She is very sensitive to changes in her environment: noises (even if inaudible to others), bright light, and quick motions bother her.

She also has an addictive personality, and is rather irresponsible with her money.
Background: Even before the war, things weren't exactly great for the inhabitants of the PU's northern territories. Maia Leventis was born in a small mining town nearing the end of its mineral reserves. Once the mines dried up, the mining company rolled into town. They gave the townsfolk a few months to either find another vein, or be forcibly relocated to an industrial center. Maia's family chose neither. They chose to flee over the strait, into OSU territory. That was when the troubles really started.

Turns out the nice men that helped her family cross weren't so nice. They were used as free migrant labor in an underground narcotics manufacture for five years, until a raid by the local police ended their business. Maia was fourteen years old at the time.

She was made a ward of the state after the destruction of the drug den resulted in the deaths of her parents, since they couldn't find anyone to claim her in the PU. In spite of her rough past, she drove on, and eventually earned the right to call herself an Osbanian citizen. After a brief and hectic stint in the Osbanian military that ended up in her dishonorable discharge due to mental health, she became a freelance mercenary, working first as infantry for eight years, and eventually earning enough to afford her own FRAME. At her age, however, she's decided that being a freelancer is too little pay for too much risk. She's hoping that her stay with the Panthers will provide her with the financial security she needs.

After all, cigarettes, booze and video games won't buy themselves.
Appearance: 5'6, dark-skinned, with an aquiline nose, brown eyes, and sharp facial features with curly black hair and bushy black eyebrows. Her eyes have nigh-perpetual bags under them, and there are more wrinkles on her than her age would suggest. She has a muscular and reasonably toned frame, although an unhealthy lifestyle is definitely starting to take its toll on her waistline. She has a burn scar on her forehead, and a slash mark on her collar bone from a close call she'd rather not talk about.
Inventory:
.45 automatic handgun, "Certified Asshole" carved onto the slide.
Plain steel hipflask, usually containing the cheapest rotgut she can find.
Cigarettes. One pack a day.
Funds: 55750
Other: Suffering from undiagnosed post-tramatic stress disorder.

Mad Dog

Name: ACS-3G Zaruga, "Mad Dog"
Height: 4.1 meters
Weight: 5230 kg
Armor: 20 mm durasteel alloy
Speed (Walk): 65 kph
Speed (Skate): 91.6 kph
Sensor range: 5 km
Communication range: 25 km
Operating range: 600 km
Extra Systems: ECM suite, laser target designator
Power: 130
Weight: 80

Armaments:

Equipped:
AFC-40/L Autocannon x2 (16)
MG27 Light Machinegun x2 (4)
LP-90 Light Rocket Launcher (24)
(6 spare weight)

Storage:
MGR-2A Anti-tank Missile (20)