I never liked writing a novella for my nations, hopefully I'll be able to still portray them in their entirety in the posts. In my mind you all would rather learn about my nation through narrative, but that is largely self-deception: deep down I'm just lazy.
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Don't Tread On Me
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Not that I'm complaining, I'm as eager to start as anyone and am overjoyed to be starting today, what happened to:
?
EDIT: In other news, I have decided that the official date for the start of the IC will be Monday, July 20th. Expect an IC opening post then.
?
Name: James Whitney
Age: 31
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Crew Position: First Mate
Appearance:
James is not a conventionally attractive man. He is in good condition, and stands taller than most, but these assets are counterbalanced by a host of unbecoming features. His hair is short and tangled, his face unfamiliar to a razor and boasting the resulting untidy stubble as a result. His nose has been broken more than once, and his eyes are too narrow for his liking. His skin is pale from years of shipboard living, and it pockmarked with burns and scratches his fingers are the result of his work: dexterous and clever, worn, scraped and dirty. His medium build, though being in good health and physical capability neither lends him the air of impressive danger valued by those outside the law, nor the lithe attractiveness that would aid his pursuits of the fairer sex. He wears plain clothes, victim to that common pitfall of solo spacers, a certain disregard for the state of one's attire. He wears heavy boots near everywhere he goes, and when the cold takes him his prized woolen trenchcoat, given to him by his father, keeps him warm.
ht: 6'2
wt: 170
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Biography: Born to a spacer family, Jim grew up between stations, seeing little of his father but otherwise enjoying a normal childhood. As he grew older he, for reasons including such disparate facts as his reading of Earthen political philosophy and a particularly firebrand ex-girlfriend, took the usual teenage disrespect for authority and went further, finding himself among circles which care little for the rule of law. He did not attend college, rather pursuing his interests [which largely consisted of women, drinking, firarms and grav-ball], finding work where he could.
A pair of events propelled him towards the occupation of smuggling: his father dying, leaving his ship and the ailing family business to his only son, and nearly being killed during a robbery that involved himself and several of his friends. Hard up for money and needing to pay his father's debts, he decided to tread a fine moral line: he began taking lucrative, less-than-legal jobs, always trying to avoid taking action that would directly hurt innocent people. He quickly became unfortunately acquainted with the law, and began to enjoy the adventurous life of a smuggler, carrying everything from drugs to animals to fugitives all around space, though eventually managing to transition almost entirely to arming honest civilians and the less privileged members of society, a business both lucrative and entirely in line with his outlook.
The life of a smuggler forces one to take risks and become known to the criminal element, both he did with considerable precociousness. He became known as a low-level, reliable worker, and became friends with the more agreeable shade of criminal circulating space. He found partners and lifelong acquaintances among his fellow outlaws, and met a bevy of interesting people. It was at this time he met Lin Chang, over the years becoming good friends despite their differences.
Unfortunately for James, despite nearly a decade of good luck keeping him out of the hands of the law, he fell prey to a police sting, and though escaping with his life, lost his ship and all the possessions and cargo therein. Emptying his accounts to pay for lost cargo, he found himself destitute, and turned to Lin Chang to provide an honest living, having lost much of the enjoyment he once felt at defying authority.
Age: 31
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Crew Position: First Mate
Appearance:
James is not a conventionally attractive man. He is in good condition, and stands taller than most, but these assets are counterbalanced by a host of unbecoming features. His hair is short and tangled, his face unfamiliar to a razor and boasting the resulting untidy stubble as a result. His nose has been broken more than once, and his eyes are too narrow for his liking. His skin is pale from years of shipboard living, and it pockmarked with burns and scratches his fingers are the result of his work: dexterous and clever, worn, scraped and dirty. His medium build, though being in good health and physical capability neither lends him the air of impressive danger valued by those outside the law, nor the lithe attractiveness that would aid his pursuits of the fairer sex. He wears plain clothes, victim to that common pitfall of solo spacers, a certain disregard for the state of one's attire. He wears heavy boots near everywhere he goes, and when the cold takes him his prized woolen trenchcoat, given to him by his father, keeps him warm.
ht: 6'2
wt: 170
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Biography: Born to a spacer family, Jim grew up between stations, seeing little of his father but otherwise enjoying a normal childhood. As he grew older he, for reasons including such disparate facts as his reading of Earthen political philosophy and a particularly firebrand ex-girlfriend, took the usual teenage disrespect for authority and went further, finding himself among circles which care little for the rule of law. He did not attend college, rather pursuing his interests [which largely consisted of women, drinking, firarms and grav-ball], finding work where he could.
A pair of events propelled him towards the occupation of smuggling: his father dying, leaving his ship and the ailing family business to his only son, and nearly being killed during a robbery that involved himself and several of his friends. Hard up for money and needing to pay his father's debts, he decided to tread a fine moral line: he began taking lucrative, less-than-legal jobs, always trying to avoid taking action that would directly hurt innocent people. He quickly became unfortunately acquainted with the law, and began to enjoy the adventurous life of a smuggler, carrying everything from drugs to animals to fugitives all around space, though eventually managing to transition almost entirely to arming honest civilians and the less privileged members of society, a business both lucrative and entirely in line with his outlook.
The life of a smuggler forces one to take risks and become known to the criminal element, both he did with considerable precociousness. He became known as a low-level, reliable worker, and became friends with the more agreeable shade of criminal circulating space. He found partners and lifelong acquaintances among his fellow outlaws, and met a bevy of interesting people. It was at this time he met Lin Chang, over the years becoming good friends despite their differences.
Unfortunately for James, despite nearly a decade of good luck keeping him out of the hands of the law, he fell prey to a police sting, and though escaping with his life, lost his ship and all the possessions and cargo therein. Emptying his accounts to pay for lost cargo, he found himself destitute, and turned to Lin Chang to provide an honest living, having lost much of the enjoyment he once felt at defying authority.
Name: James Whitney
Age: 31
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Crew Position: First Mate
Appearance:
James is not a conventionally attractive man. He is in good condition, and stands taller than most, but these assets are counterbalanced by a host of unbecoming features. His hair is short and tangled, his face unfamiliar to a razor and boasting the resulting untidy stubble as a result. His nose has been broken more than once, and his eyes are too narrow for his liking. His skin is pale from years of shipboard living, and it pockmarked with burns and scratches his fingers are the result of his work: dexterous and clever, worn, scraped and dirty. His medium build, though being in good health and physical capability neither lends him the air of impressive danger valued by those outside the law, nor the lithe attractiveness that would aid his pursuits of the fairer sex. He wears plain clothes, victim to that common pitfall of solo spacers, a certain disregard for the state of one's attire. He wears heavy boots near everywhere he goes, and when the cold takes him his prized woolen trenchcoat, given to him by his father, keeps him warm.
ht: 6'2
wt: 170
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Biography: Born to a spacer family, Jim grew up between stations, seeing little of his father but otherwise enjoying a normal childhood. As he grew older he, for reasons including such disparate facts as his reading of Earthen political philosophy and a particularly firebrand ex-girlfriend, took the usual teenage disrespect for authority and went further, finding himself among circles which care little for the rule of law. He did not attend college, rather pursuing his interests [which largely consisted of women, drinking, firarms and grav-ball], finding work where he could.
A pair of events propelled him towards the occupation of smuggling: his father dying, leaving his ship and the ailing family business to his only son, and nearly being killed during a robbery that involved himself and several of his friends. Hard up for money and needing to pay his father's debts, he decided to tread a fine moral line: he began taking lucrative, less-than-legal jobs, always trying to avoid taking action that would directly hurt innocent people. He quickly became unfortunately acquainted with the law, and began to enjoy the adventurous life of a smuggler, carrying everything from drugs to animals to fugitives all around space, though eventually managing to transition almost entirely to arming honest civilians and the less privileged members of society, a business both lucrative and entirely in line with his outlook.
The life of a smuggler forces one to take risks and become known to the criminal element, both he did with considerable precociousness. He became known as a low-level, reliable worker, and became friends with the more agreeable shade of criminal circulating space. He found partners and lifelong acquaintances among his fellow outlaws, and met a bevy of interesting people. It was at this time he met Lin Chang, over the years becoming good friends despite their differences.
Unfortunately for James, despite nearly a decade of good luck keeping him out of the hands of the law, he fell prey to a police sting, and though escaping with his life, lost his ship and all the possessions and cargo therein. Emptying his accounts to pay for lost cargo, he found himself destitute, and turned to Lin Chang to provide an honest living, having lost much of the enjoyment he once felt at defying authority.
Age: 31
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Crew Position: First Mate
Appearance:
James is not a conventionally attractive man. He is in good condition, and stands taller than most, but these assets are counterbalanced by a host of unbecoming features. His hair is short and tangled, his face unfamiliar to a razor and boasting the resulting untidy stubble as a result. His nose has been broken more than once, and his eyes are too narrow for his liking. His skin is pale from years of shipboard living, and it pockmarked with burns and scratches his fingers are the result of his work: dexterous and clever, worn, scraped and dirty. His medium build, though being in good health and physical capability neither lends him the air of impressive danger valued by those outside the law, nor the lithe attractiveness that would aid his pursuits of the fairer sex. He wears plain clothes, victim to that common pitfall of solo spacers, a certain disregard for the state of one's attire. He wears heavy boots near everywhere he goes, and when the cold takes him his prized woolen trenchcoat, given to him by his father, keeps him warm.
ht: 6'2
wt: 170
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Biography: Born to a spacer family, Jim grew up between stations, seeing little of his father but otherwise enjoying a normal childhood. As he grew older he, for reasons including such disparate facts as his reading of Earthen political philosophy and a particularly firebrand ex-girlfriend, took the usual teenage disrespect for authority and went further, finding himself among circles which care little for the rule of law. He did not attend college, rather pursuing his interests [which largely consisted of women, drinking, firarms and grav-ball], finding work where he could.
A pair of events propelled him towards the occupation of smuggling: his father dying, leaving his ship and the ailing family business to his only son, and nearly being killed during a robbery that involved himself and several of his friends. Hard up for money and needing to pay his father's debts, he decided to tread a fine moral line: he began taking lucrative, less-than-legal jobs, always trying to avoid taking action that would directly hurt innocent people. He quickly became unfortunately acquainted with the law, and began to enjoy the adventurous life of a smuggler, carrying everything from drugs to animals to fugitives all around space, though eventually managing to transition almost entirely to arming honest civilians and the less privileged members of society, a business both lucrative and entirely in line with his outlook.
The life of a smuggler forces one to take risks and become known to the criminal element, both he did with considerable precociousness. He became known as a low-level, reliable worker, and became friends with the more agreeable shade of criminal circulating space. He found partners and lifelong acquaintances among his fellow outlaws, and met a bevy of interesting people. It was at this time he met Lin Chang, over the years becoming good friends despite their differences.
Unfortunately for James, despite nearly a decade of good luck keeping him out of the hands of the law, he fell prey to a police sting, and though escaping with his life, lost his ship and all the possessions and cargo therein. Emptying his accounts to pay for lost cargo, he found himself destitute, and turned to Lin Chang to provide an honest living, having lost much of the enjoyment he once felt at defying authority.
Readjustment
Claes watched the spectacle outside her door with a deal of mirth. Bayaz was useful, no doubt, and had a way with the recruits, but appreciation of specific talents does not immediately engender fondness, and for his personality and adjacent reasons she found herself rather enjoying watching him soil himself.
Laurence was considerably less amused, as evidenced by his drawn sword, but that was to be expected. With the incident resolved, the smooth grey blade found itself back in its scabbard, and the furious, near-purple face of her Personnel Major stood across her desk, sputtering with incredulous fury only now being subdued by what appeared to be a rather significant force of will.
"General, what the fuck was that?"
Claes was as calm as ever, not batting an eye at the profanity and uncharacteristic disrespect.
"I am aware of your situation, Major, though I had hoped it would be less of a problem. I do not expect you to like our new Lieutenant, but you will treat her as any other officer, and show her no impolite behavior."
The Major did not look pleased with the response. "Treat her as any other officer? Then I'll have her hang for that, threatening and striking an officer!"
Laurence's serious countenance showed the faintest sign of incredulous amusement at the word 'striking', but the General paid him no mind, and he made no motion to interject.
"You know very well that will not happen. She will prove crucial in these next weeks, whether we like it or not. I will speak to her directly informing her of how things are done in the Winds, do not trouble yourself."
Bayaz's temperament seemed to cool ever so slightly, but as he made to speak, the General cut him off.
"Dismissed, Major. Do not reprimand your subordinates outside too harshly, I will need morale as high as possible before we set out."
Clearly frustrated, the Major turned and left, the door slamming with a volume just above acceptable. Laurence reclaimed his seat after their last guest departed, and Claes resumed her relaxed posture. A smirk returning to his face as he adjusted in the uncomfortable seat.
"That must have been difficult for you, General. I'm surprised you didn't chop her hand off, all considered."
"That particular facet of this conversation is not to leave the room, Captain Candlestick."
"Oh of course. She was, at least, less presumptuous than Councilor Decatus, though of all things I did not expect lesbianism from one of the most dangerous convicts on this island."
"On matters of presumption, I doubt we'll ever see Decatus' like again. Though, at least then we had the last laugh, so to speak."
Laurence's mouth ticked up at their shared memory of a particularly spectacular victory several years ago, of which Councilor Decatus was an 'unfortunate casualty'. Claes continued. "To be perfectly honest, however, neither did I. It is certainly fortuitous; I'll look into any possible utility."
A suggestive glance from the reclined Colonel was met with an unimpressed, stern glare, and wilted quickly, his expression quickly matching the seriousness of his commanding officer's. He spoke without the previous joviality, his voice lowering ever so slightly to deny the ever-present specter of listeners at the door.
"Bayaz is going to be a problem, General."
"Bayaz has been a problem since I promoted him, Laurence, and I am well aware of it. This may simply be the straw that breaks the horse's back. Do you have any suggestions for new personnel officers?"
"A few, General."
"Excellent: keep them to your self. I'll keep a watch on the situation. Don't act on this until I give the word."
"Absolutely, General. Though, I find myself in the unfortunate position of agreeing with the man. A lack of discipline in a junior officer is a dangerous thing; proper procedure must be followed, especially in this case."
"She seemed cordial enough with me, Laurence, and I don't think it is for that reason. I'll give her a unit under Sim: he has more than enough sub-commanders that our new friend would find acceptable. I somehow doubt we can begrudge a berserker for finding our friend the Major less than acceptable."
"In fairness, I'd have probably hit the man by now too."
"Exactly. A gentle reminder and a hospitable commander and all will be well, I'm sure.". Claes slapped the table as if to forcibly close the issue, and moved on with vigor. "Anyways, the moon is far too high to bother with such things. Go fetch one of the Vensavi First Seedings from the Cellar: whatever that smoke was, the stench it left needs a fruity accompaniment, and I suspect you need a rematch"
Laurence rose, nodding as he did so, and left with a smile. Claes shifted around until she was as comfortable as possible, and closed her eyes, once again enjoying that most rare state of being at ease.
Claes watched the spectacle outside her door with a deal of mirth. Bayaz was useful, no doubt, and had a way with the recruits, but appreciation of specific talents does not immediately engender fondness, and for his personality and adjacent reasons she found herself rather enjoying watching him soil himself.
Laurence was considerably less amused, as evidenced by his drawn sword, but that was to be expected. With the incident resolved, the smooth grey blade found itself back in its scabbard, and the furious, near-purple face of her Personnel Major stood across her desk, sputtering with incredulous fury only now being subdued by what appeared to be a rather significant force of will.
"General, what the fuck was that?"
Claes was as calm as ever, not batting an eye at the profanity and uncharacteristic disrespect.
"I am aware of your situation, Major, though I had hoped it would be less of a problem. I do not expect you to like our new Lieutenant, but you will treat her as any other officer, and show her no impolite behavior."
The Major did not look pleased with the response. "Treat her as any other officer? Then I'll have her hang for that, threatening and striking an officer!"
Laurence's serious countenance showed the faintest sign of incredulous amusement at the word 'striking', but the General paid him no mind, and he made no motion to interject.
"You know very well that will not happen. She will prove crucial in these next weeks, whether we like it or not. I will speak to her directly informing her of how things are done in the Winds, do not trouble yourself."
Bayaz's temperament seemed to cool ever so slightly, but as he made to speak, the General cut him off.
"Dismissed, Major. Do not reprimand your subordinates outside too harshly, I will need morale as high as possible before we set out."
Clearly frustrated, the Major turned and left, the door slamming with a volume just above acceptable. Laurence reclaimed his seat after their last guest departed, and Claes resumed her relaxed posture. A smirk returning to his face as he adjusted in the uncomfortable seat.
"That must have been difficult for you, General. I'm surprised you didn't chop her hand off, all considered."
"That particular facet of this conversation is not to leave the room, Captain Candlestick."
"Oh of course. She was, at least, less presumptuous than Councilor Decatus, though of all things I did not expect lesbianism from one of the most dangerous convicts on this island."
"On matters of presumption, I doubt we'll ever see Decatus' like again. Though, at least then we had the last laugh, so to speak."
Laurence's mouth ticked up at their shared memory of a particularly spectacular victory several years ago, of which Councilor Decatus was an 'unfortunate casualty'. Claes continued. "To be perfectly honest, however, neither did I. It is certainly fortuitous; I'll look into any possible utility."
A suggestive glance from the reclined Colonel was met with an unimpressed, stern glare, and wilted quickly, his expression quickly matching the seriousness of his commanding officer's. He spoke without the previous joviality, his voice lowering ever so slightly to deny the ever-present specter of listeners at the door.
"Bayaz is going to be a problem, General."
"Bayaz has been a problem since I promoted him, Laurence, and I am well aware of it. This may simply be the straw that breaks the horse's back. Do you have any suggestions for new personnel officers?"
"A few, General."
"Excellent: keep them to your self. I'll keep a watch on the situation. Don't act on this until I give the word."
"Absolutely, General. Though, I find myself in the unfortunate position of agreeing with the man. A lack of discipline in a junior officer is a dangerous thing; proper procedure must be followed, especially in this case."
"She seemed cordial enough with me, Laurence, and I don't think it is for that reason. I'll give her a unit under Sim: he has more than enough sub-commanders that our new friend would find acceptable. I somehow doubt we can begrudge a berserker for finding our friend the Major less than acceptable."
"In fairness, I'd have probably hit the man by now too."
"Exactly. A gentle reminder and a hospitable commander and all will be well, I'm sure.". Claes slapped the table as if to forcibly close the issue, and moved on with vigor. "Anyways, the moon is far too high to bother with such things. Go fetch one of the Vensavi First Seedings from the Cellar: whatever that smoke was, the stench it left needs a fruity accompaniment, and I suspect you need a rematch"
Laurence rose, nodding as he did so, and left with a smile. Claes shifted around until she was as comfortable as possible, and closed her eyes, once again enjoying that most rare state of being at ease.
Oh man that is a dangerous row to hoe with me. Let me crack open my old friend 'ship_names.txt' and pull out a sampler.
That can totally work, I'll get started on my sheet after you throw up your own.
I must have missed that, super sorry. I just saw Captain in the list of crew positions after a too-cursory glance and figured it was open. My apologies, I'll tune him slightly and get him fit for XO duty. Probably lessen the desire to go legitimate and heighten his legal troubles, have some sob story about his ship getting impounded and a precious cargo confiscated, leaving him penniless.
God I've had a really hard time for some reason coming up with a new concept for a character, now that my generic "nobly-dishonorably discharged commodore" isn't going to happen.
I think I'd still like to make a Captain, so I figure I'll run this new idea by you:
Reformed arms smuggler: believes strongly in everyone's right to defend themselves with any means available, and made a living selling firearms to non-criminal elements looking for safety, running against legal institutions who disapprove of his actions. Strongly moralistic, with an emphasis in not only his own life but his general philosophical outlook on freedom and its necessity/merit/status as a right for all thinking beings. Enthusiastic part-time gunsmith, decided after one too many close calls to go legitimate and broaden his trading prospects, and now flies his old smuggling ship legitimately, a freelance trader looking for profitable contracts and not afraid of a little danger in his endeavors. Probably brash, strongly moralistic, relatively traditional with a particular rhetorical interest in history, deep down a thrill seeker and adrenaline junkie despite what he may tell himself. VERY strong distaste for government or what he perceives as tyranny, but rejects the anarchy so prevalent among spacers and tries to, in all situations, avoid violence, despite his shameful love of danger.
I think I'd still like to make a Captain, so I figure I'll run this new idea by you:
Reformed arms smuggler: believes strongly in everyone's right to defend themselves with any means available, and made a living selling firearms to non-criminal elements looking for safety, running against legal institutions who disapprove of his actions. Strongly moralistic, with an emphasis in not only his own life but his general philosophical outlook on freedom and its necessity/merit/status as a right for all thinking beings. Enthusiastic part-time gunsmith, decided after one too many close calls to go legitimate and broaden his trading prospects, and now flies his old smuggling ship legitimately, a freelance trader looking for profitable contracts and not afraid of a little danger in his endeavors. Probably brash, strongly moralistic, relatively traditional with a particular rhetorical interest in history, deep down a thrill seeker and adrenaline junkie despite what he may tell himself. VERY strong distaste for government or what he perceives as tyranny, but rejects the anarchy so prevalent among spacers and tries to, in all situations, avoid violence, despite his shameful love of danger.
In
The Ministry of magic has fallen- they are coming- A Harry Potter RP
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Billy's emotional state could justifiably be blamed on his adrenaline-addled mind still clawing its way out of the brief shock of combat, but even Billy would say that such an appraisal would be too apologetic. His flash of irritation bordering on anger at the scolding he had received, and his subsequent irate response was heartfelt and quick coming.
"The Chief Staff disagree, Mr.Blackwell. I hope you understand the consequences of such a position.". Billy wondered how long such prosaic rules of engagement would last: taking hostiles alive was a terrible, difficult and above all deadly proposition for those abiding by it, and though Billy had no authority to change the rules of engagement he felt obligated to save the lives of those under his protection, as is the officer's first and foremost duty. He absentmindedly hoped that the extra second of the cruciatus curse did not inflict any further harm on Lisa, knowing full well the physiological effects of the 'Unforgivable' spell. He wanted to help, but knew he didn't have the skill that would be needed to try to lessen the effects of such a dangerous incantation. Waving down a medic, he strode towards the debriefing man, settling frustratedly down by his rebuker, his frustration only exacerbated by his assurance that his actions were correct. At the very least, Brass would agree that his attempt to quickly dispose of aggressive hostile elements posing extreme threat to himself and his allies was justified, and what command thinks is never something a soldier should ignore.
As the man spoke, he began the litany of combat charms. Kinetic energy redirectors. Sensory displacement charms. Transfiguration counterspells and magical energy sinks. Breath filtration and flash protection, along with numerous different pain dampeners. Automatic apparition would be useless, but at least that stopped him having to remember to cast apparition-blockers. By the time Billy was done with his routine preparation he was down nearly a third of his magical reserves, and smarting at the lack of a proper TOE, not only transfiguration-resistant bullets but now energy-restoration potions. It was only as a result of a hundred hurried nights in the field that he managed to multitask the casting of this litany with receiving the debriefing of the wounded man in front of him.
"The Chief Staff disagree, Mr.Blackwell. I hope you understand the consequences of such a position.". Billy wondered how long such prosaic rules of engagement would last: taking hostiles alive was a terrible, difficult and above all deadly proposition for those abiding by it, and though Billy had no authority to change the rules of engagement he felt obligated to save the lives of those under his protection, as is the officer's first and foremost duty. He absentmindedly hoped that the extra second of the cruciatus curse did not inflict any further harm on Lisa, knowing full well the physiological effects of the 'Unforgivable' spell. He wanted to help, but knew he didn't have the skill that would be needed to try to lessen the effects of such a dangerous incantation. Waving down a medic, he strode towards the debriefing man, settling frustratedly down by his rebuker, his frustration only exacerbated by his assurance that his actions were correct. At the very least, Brass would agree that his attempt to quickly dispose of aggressive hostile elements posing extreme threat to himself and his allies was justified, and what command thinks is never something a soldier should ignore.
As the man spoke, he began the litany of combat charms. Kinetic energy redirectors. Sensory displacement charms. Transfiguration counterspells and magical energy sinks. Breath filtration and flash protection, along with numerous different pain dampeners. Automatic apparition would be useless, but at least that stopped him having to remember to cast apparition-blockers. By the time Billy was done with his routine preparation he was down nearly a third of his magical reserves, and smarting at the lack of a proper TOE, not only transfiguration-resistant bullets but now energy-restoration potions. It was only as a result of a hundred hurried nights in the field that he managed to multitask the casting of this litany with receiving the debriefing of the wounded man in front of him.
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