|
Post by Rhinn on May 20, 2011 17:30:41 GMT -5
Maggie’s apartment had been done in a contemporary open floor plan with dark brown/black wood for the kitchen cabinets and a matching color of paint on the walls. The place can best be described as “sparse”… Maggie was never one for having too much stuff. If she wasn’t using it, then she didn’t keep it. The outbreak intensified that, so except for a few personal belongings and furniture, the place is bare. Being on the 7th level, it is high enough out to give her a good view of the surrounding area. Wall to ceiling windows let in a lot of light and give airiness to the small apartment. It is an open concept plan with the only interior walls being for the bathroom and bedroom. The kitchen flows into the dining room then into the living room and a balcony runs the outside of the windows, giving her a fair sized patio The one feature that she does love is the open 360 degree fireplace. From anywhere in her apartment, she can see the tarmac where her bird sits.
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on May 29, 2011 0:44:18 GMT -5
Maggie tossed her bag on the couch and then threw herself down next to it. She drug her left hand through her hair, pulling her bangs out of her eyes. She used her left foot to kick off her right boot and then yanked off her right boot. It flew across the room and landed near the wall. She wiggled her toes and then laid down on the couch.
Just 3 days ago, she was still on the USS Mount Whitney, helping the marines pick up survivors and sending in BSAA teams to clear out Panama City. Then she was called back yesterday and flew her Blackhawk back to the BSAA base, just 50 miles northwest of Jacksonville. After landing the craft and locking it down, she went to her apartment. Now, she was just waiting to check in with HQ.
Maggie rolled off her couch and onto the floor. She pushed herself up onto her knees and then stood up. Her stomach was grumbling, indicating that she had ignored it for far too long. Walking over to the kitchen, she found popcorn. It wasn't a steak, but it would help until she headed out to Jill's bar.
Speaking of which, she smelled like jet fuel, sweat and grease. It was time to hit the showers. Grabbing the popcorn, she made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes along the way. Maggie didn't live with anyone, so she didn't care where she left her clothes. When it got too messy, she'd clean it up.
Turning on the water, she started the shower and ate more popcorn while the water heated up.
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Feb 10, 2012 18:50:01 GMT -5
Maggie stepped inside her door of her apartment and waited until it closed. Then she slumped against it. Anger welled up in her and she slammed her fist into the door over and over again, until the pain could be felt in her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes against the tears that fought to escape her.
Their mission, the first one that she had been chosen to lead, had been a complete and utter failure. They had lost the chinook, a blackhawk, the crew of the helo, and the crates. The only thing that helped them was that they learned the Tricell was there. Even now, the BSAA had dispatched 8 armed squads along with standard military to seize the area.
Maggie had known that it was too little too late. She wasn't even asked to join the group... even as a consultant. So here she was, back at her place, a failure.
Opening her eyes, she walked toward the bathroom. Inside, she turned on the tub and started a bath. Then she went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a cigar. Then she headed back to the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes and getting in. It would be a night that she would forget and the alcohol would help her...
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Feb 24, 2012 14:53:18 GMT -5
It seemed like a week later when Maggie had stepped out of the shower. In all likelihood, it was just over an hour, but it was long enough for her water to start to lose its heat. So she turned off the shower, sitting down in the shower, letting the steam wash over her.
She couldn't even begin to comprehend the loss of her crew. Jai had been with her for the last couple of months and though he had constantly goaded her and picked at her, he had become something of a brother to her.
Tears ran down her face. Here in the privacy of her own apartment, she didn't have to keep up her facade of toughness, so the tears flowed unchecked. She closed her eyes and felt a wave of tiredness hit her like a shotgun blast.
Knowing that she had to get some sleep, she crawled out of the shower and straight into bed, forgoing the alcohol and clothes for sleep. She pulled the sheet over her body and was asleep before her head hit the pillow...
== The Next Morning ==
Maggie opened her eyes as her phone continued to ring. She reached over and grabbed it, opening it and putting it to her ear, all without opening her eyes.
"Yes?", she asked in a groggy voice.
"Captain Sanders, this is James down at the tarmac. Your new bird has arrived and new crew is here with it. At 0800 today, you have been scheduled to meet with them and take them out on an easy recon mission."
Maggie opened one eye and looked over at the clock on the side table. It read 0600. That left her 2 hours to get ready, eat and get down to the tarmac for her flight. "Fine", was all she said, before hanging up. Growling, she hung up the phone and rolled off the bed. She walked to her dresser and began to pull out clothes, simple green pants with a black tank top... her flightsuit was in briefing room. "Great, time to meet the next people that I get killed", she thought as she pulled on her clothes.
|
|
|
Post by Rhinn on Oct 20, 2013 19:08:01 GMT -5
The door shut behind Maggie and she sagged down into the nearest chair, "wallowing" over the edge more than sitting in it. Using her feet, she kicked off her shoes, letting them drop to the ground. Rubbing her face with her hands, she let out a sigh that held most of her energy in it. It had been a long and torturous route to get back home after the last mission... which had ended in disaster for her.
That seemed to be the status quo for her missions... ending in disaster.
Something was digging into her back and she sat up just enough to pull her 1911 from its holster. She had lost her other weapons on the last trip when her helo had gone down. Luckily, the sidearm her parents had given her had remained with her. Rubbing off the dirt, she saw that it was crudded up pretty good.
Much like herself.
Sighing, she pushed herself to her feet. She headed to the bathroom, by way of the kitchen. There she stopped to pick up a bottle of wine and proceed to her bath.
She'd spend the next two hours recovering from the mission and then head down to the range to clean her weapons and see if she could get some replacement weapons.
All in a days work, she supposed, shucking off her clothes and starting her bath.
|
|