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[Sosoku234]

True. Solution to this problemo as follows.

Spoiler: If you aren't a player, don't do anything stated within this (click to show/hide)

If you vote for Walter, quote this.

If you vote Rodrigo, quote this.

I'll tally up the votes once I'm sure everyone has voted.

[Powder Miner]

((>no respect for glorious peruvian pilot. I'll vote for Walter.))

[Tiruin]

Being the only objective member of this thread, I'd say that the captain should be either Walter or Rodrigo. What say the rest of you guys.

((Harsh judgement much, dude. :v Some of us players haven't had the time to post yet--as well as much of the details of...pretty much everyone not being fairly known. Just first impressions...and I'd not like leadership being based on first impressions.

We can easily RP out that kind of leadership-thing, in my opinion that's a ton better than throwing up a poll or OOC decisions. I've been waiting, in part, for the RP to flourish too, because that will sorely add to this setting, than focusing on fighting and stuff with hamfisted remarks But my writing is messy [and/or my self-esteem is speaking]))

Jean pushed her drink away, ready for the canteen staff to clear.

"I'm not the best speaker here," she said addressing those around, "but everyone looks up and ready for the night. Our young cadet is being escorted out, and the only people left are from the Green Squad. I've been newly assigned here, and I'm very nervous to be here. So...I'd really like to know all of you more, than knowing my drink. We're going to need a flight leader in the least, and I'm not the best for tactical movements--supposedly someone who can understand us all, and help us understand each other."

She looked around at the various nationalities banded together for a common cause and grinned. "In the least, we all speak English."

[Cheesecake]

Rodrigo got to his feet, downing the dregs of his drink. "Should be me," he slurred, the drink finally getting to him. He wiped the sweat off his brow. He was in a harsh temper, and he felt as if he was drowning in the stale air.

((Shouldn't we be assigned a leader by the generals or our higher-ups or something?))

[O.Wilde]

Walter scoffed. "You really think you're in any shape to be leading? The engines don't run on alcohol you know. Just wait till tomorrow, and you'll have a hangover so big you'll wish you were as far as possible from those rackety fuckin' engines. Fuckin' alcoholic bleeder."

[Cheesecake]

"You wanna go, puta?" Now he'd done it; Rodrigo hadn't even gotten off the ground and he would already get kicked off the squad. He rolled up a sleeve. "I'll show you who bleeds, bleeder."

[Tiruin]

((Shouldn't we be assigned a leader by the generals or our higher-ups or something?))

((This can work, as our indecision here can me relegated to drunkenness and nerves however that position is usually given to one of higher rank or experience, and as far as I read into this, we're all equal. Unless we've an NPC who isn't here, we've to RP this out! ))

Jean bit her lower lip in tension--her worldliness nudged her hard when people began using colloquialisms. She wondered if anyone else knew Spanish...

"Everyone can tolerate alcohol differently, let's not forget we're all on the same team here. It's the alcohol speaking over there," she said, pointing at Rodrigo while eyeing Walter. "When it happens, it happens. We've until tomorrow to settle this."

[Powder Miner]

Oscar smoothly stepped between the two men, or at least as smoothly as a moderately drunk man can.
"Gentlemen, gentlemennn, if you really wannnna fight, you cannafter we fight the giant plandmass. Big old world destroying thing'sa bid more impordand for now, and we don't want anyone off a' their best condition for the upcoming battle, yeh? It'd be bad for all of us, considerinnn' we gotta got eachother's backs, syeah?"

He turned to Walter first. "None of ussare really all that par-tic-u-lar-ly ready to lead right now but that ain'd whad really matters. If hangovers were thad much offfan issue, they wouldn'ta given us this bar in the first place. Id'll all clear up tomorrow."

He turned to Rodrigo and spoke in Spanish, with his characteristic slow voice being far more fluid in his native language. "<Friend, I'm personally hopin' that the one tha' bleeds is the Blight n' all. We're here to shoot the thing to oblivion after all, yeah? Fists can go aflyin later, and we can sure as hell keep together better and keep alive better when we ain't distracted by anything bleeding.>"

[Cheesecake]

Rodrigo took a deep breath, counting to ten. He nodded at Oscar and Jean. "<Right,>" he said to them. He turned to face Walter, with a hint of resentment in his eyes, though genuinely trying to be humble.

"Sorry." Rodrigo then left the bar for his cot, eager to sleep the anger and alcohol off.

[Dustan Hache]

dalton would be nowhere to be seen. He's still outside, and still sober supposedly.

[WillowLuman]

(Alright, now that the grind of midterms is over, I'm feeling like moving things forward. I'll give this a poke with the suggestion that people RP their mission leader choice within the next few days.)

[Tiruin]

(Alright, now that the grind of midterms is over, I'm feeling like moving things forward. I'll give this a poke with the suggestion that people RP their mission leader choice within the next few days.)

((My character is a willing and strongheaded person, but given the time and her uncertainty, she won't suggest herself as of this moment! She is alright with everyone else though!))

[Cheesecake]

((Rodrigo, from an OOC perspective, should logically not be picked as leader :p Too brash and reckless. Although, IC, he will of course try to get the spot.))

[Powder Miner]

((do Oscar he just broke up a fight V: :V :V V:))

[O.Wilde]

Walter watched the pilot go, and sighed. A twinge went through him as he took a step, the ripped and burned flesh of his legs protesting. He walked to the hangar, and after a few muttered words to one of the mechanics, reemerged with an empty ammunition box. He strolled back into the bar, produced paper and a pencil from his pocket, and slammed the box down onto a table.
"Votes go in here," He grunted to anyone still in the bar, "Sign them."
He scribbled his own name, signed it with a flourish and dropped it into the box. Leaving the pencil and paper, he limped out of the bar, and headed for his tent.