Harbringer — Roleplayer Guild

Remaining quiet for the majority of the conversation, settling for listening to his comrades' gripes, he found himself oddly content. He himself remembered his days in the Noveau France infantry...supplies lines were down and they were lucky to even see a single ration pack. It was one of the reasons why he had coped better than others on Hafk. "At the very least, we had the ration bars to keep us going," he said with a small chuckle as he reminisced, "even though they taste kind of like petrol. Besides, how could I forget? We were bunked together and you kept complaining until I shoved half a bottle of cooking sherry down your gullet." As soon as he finished that sentence, the ground beneath them rocked, sending Gerard sprawling as he fell off the crate. Grabbing one of the Astelion's support struts, he pulled himself back to his feet before shooting out his other hand to grasp a flying figure by the scruff of their shirt and pulling them back to another strut. "My guess is we are under attack," he managed as he got his wind back. Looking at Wes complaining (again) he sighed. "You have 20 other shirts like that, Wes, quit your complaining, mon dieu."

BRACE FOR DISMOUNT! As soon as the voice came over the speakers, Gerard held the strut tighter, feeling the ground shift under his boots as his arms struggled to hold his weight. Dodging a plastic mug that flew by, he stepped forwards back towards his team as he grabbed any handhold he could to stabilise himself. "If we did not find alien like in the first 600 years, I doubt we would find them in this well documented area," he said plainly as he took another step forwards, grabbing the corner of a crate and hauling himself into a standing position. Looking over at Trapp as he addressed them, he gave a quick snap salute before running off towards the Marauder. Each step was a bit laboured as the ship continued to shift, but given that he had been under these conditions countless times, it was only a few more ounces of effort to stay standing. Lark gave him a thumbs up as he moved a ladder into place, signalling that all was well. Returning a small nod of appreciation, he scrambled up the ladder and vaulted into the cockpit, slotting his legs into the two pedals and feeling years of familiarity return. 

Keying a few butons and flipping various switches, Delacroix brought the slumbering giant to a state of wakefulness as data started to scroll across the projected screen. Pulling down the armorcrys cockpit cover, the numbers grew more distinct as they reached the correct focal point. "Guillotine is ready for deployment, Monsieur Trapp," he said as the creature took its first step forwards. As Trapp finished his shpiel, Gerard saw another of the egg-like capital charges approch from Wes' direction, his Disposal already removing one from the cart. Moving past and grabbing the handle of one as he formed up, he twisted the handle and depressed it, causing an extra layer of metal shielding to deploy around the anti-capital charge. "I thought you were a brave man, Monsieur Shanks," Delacroix said mockingly as he mag locked it to his hip, "are you attempting to prove me wrong?" Drawing his scatter gun, he pushed the stock into his shoulder and sighed inside the cockpit. Though he may have projected confidence outwards...He really did not look forward to the engagement...he would once more have to play the task of the reaper and harvest the lives of the Coalition.
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Death to Asgard!

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