Hey everyone. Here's another drabble, completely separate from the last one. Two quick things: first, in terms of timeline, this story takes place in 2549 (by the UNSC calendar) aboard a frigate. The second thing is purely a stylistic note; I felt like mentioning that one of the characters in this piece has an accent-specifically a modern-day US-Southerner's accent. I choose not to 'write out' accents, at least not totally, as it can give characters an overly-comedic sense. The character is, at least in this piece, somewhat serious, so writing out his accent would make him seem 'funnier' than he is supposed to be. There is still a bit of the accent in the writing style, though, but-for example-instead of seeing:

"Is there a reason fer me to be drinkin' this late? Naw, there ain't."

I'd write:

"Is there a reason for me to be drinking this late? No, there ain't."

Just as a comment. Anyway, long author's note; sorry. Here goes.

"Mo?"

Every UNSC ship, even small frigates like the Ramses II, had a mess hall. They weren't luxurious; a cafeteria was defined by a good deal of tables and a counter being together in the same walled-in area. It was the middle of the night, and the mess hall was entirely empty in these late hours, save for one person—well, two people, now. Gabe hated big rooms when they weren't filled up; they were cavernous and unsettling. He was a people-person anyway.

When he called out—which was weird, since normally you didn't do much 'calling out' in the mess hall and expect to be heard over the general din—Mo turned his head and his head only. He was seated on a bench at one of the far tables, hunching a bit. He glanced over his broad shoulder at Gabe's frame in the corner of the room. "Oh. Evening, Gabe."

Gabe's family, like many families, clung onto its initial Earth-roots even after leaving the planet. His father had always told him, 'before you were from Reach, you were from Puerto Rico', and Gabe had understood the logic. Mo's family placed similar importance upon heritage, and Mo often talked about how his grandfather would always ramble about the greatness South Carolina in North America. Several generations and light-years after and the Montgomery family still had a distinctive accent from the region back home; Mo's evening sounded like evenin'. The accent was unmistakable, and Mo had a very thick one, to say the least.

Gabe began making his way towards his friend's table. "How are you doing?"

"I'm all right, Gabe." Mo said, but this time he didn't look over his shoulder. Gabe continued to walk up behind him.

"No, seriously," Gabe said, a little more softly. "How are you doing?"

Mo didn't respond for a few seconds, and finally motioned to the bench. "I suppose you'll be needing a seat if you want to talk for a spell."

Gabe smiled and adjusted his glasses; it was late and he'd already taken out his contacts, so for now he was using his specs. "Thanks."

"Not a problem." Gabe sat down to Mo's right and looked at him. Mo wasn't returning the look; he was staring at the surface is his muddy-brown drink. One big, meaty palm was wrapped around a small glass on the table, and it was filled with some sort of beverage. Gabe would have jokingly asked if the drink was mint julep, or sweet tea, but he knew it wasn't the time.

Mo raised the glass towards his lips. Alcohol wasn't permitted in large quantities aboard UNSC vessels, except potentially for captains, but it wasn't too hard to get it. Mo was far from an alcoholic; he was the sort of person who enjoyed a cold drink with friends, but he probably wouldn't drink by himself, which made this very abnormal behavior.

"So," Mo said before taking a swig of the drink. He lowered the glass again, and it clinked against the table. "You're up mighty late." It was more of a question than a comment.

"I heard someone walking around," Gabe said. "You're a big guy. Heavy footsteps."

Mo smiled weakly. "That's fair enough." Mo couldn't deny his size; at six-five and bulging with muscle, he was easily the largest man in his-and-Gabe's platoon, Despite his large size and muscular stature, he had a very boyish face; altogether he wasn't at all a bad-looking guy. One of his most distinguishing features was his wide and infectious smile; it was a unique grin that was almost always painting his face, so seeing a meek, toothless smile now was bizarre, and said volumes about how Mo was feeling.

Gabe cleared his throat. "And you?"

Mo's small smile faded, giving way to a more serious expression. "Just thinking," He said.

"Huh." Gabe waited a few more seconds to see if Mo would add anything onto his comment before continuing. "Its Paris IV, isn't it?"

Mo let out a low humming sound and glanced up at Gabe for an instant. "Yeah. …Yeah, it is." He stared back at his drink.

There was a momentary silence. "How's your sister?" Gabe finally asked. "Have you talked to her?"

Mo sat up a bit straighter. "Yeah, I talked to her yesterday, just a couple hours after they told me."

"She okay?"

"She's fine." Mo raised towards his lips again. "She's got her boyfriend there for her, to support her. I'm glad for that." Gabe couldn't tell if Mo was trying to change the subject. "He's a nice fella."

Gabe nodded understandingly, staring at the table. "That's good."

There was another silence before Mo shifted his gargantuan form again. Compared to Gabe, who was scrawny and less than six feet, he looked like an elephant. "I'm just glad she went off-world for college."

Gabe nodded again. "Was there…?"

"No. Nobody else." Mo was either giving his drink or his reflection in the drink a very somber look. "Even after dad sold most of our property, he stuck around. Mom too." He was quiet.

"I'm sorry, Mo."

Mo didn't respond for a short time. "I always felt like this was one of those things that happened to other folks," He said honestly. "But not to you. Like a robbery. You're used to seeing it, but…"

"Yeah, I understand," Gabe said with a few more nods. Mo glanced up at Gabe and for a minute the smaller man was worried Mo would ask 'really? How's that?' but he didn't even blink. Even if Mo had an irate personality, which he didn't, he was clearly not in a very aggressive mood at the moment. Gabe wasn't sure he was the right person to give support; his family was still alive and safe on Reach. "Hardship sucks like that. That's how I felt back in my old platoon, before I transferred." He spoke of his old platoon somewhat disdainfully.

"Powerful shame that you had to put up with all that junk in the first place," Mo said. "Real idiocy on their part. Homophobia is ancient history. Like…Zeus, or something." Mo took another swig. The glass was almost empty now.

Gabe nodded, appreciating Mo's comment, and adjusted his glasses. "Anyway, shit happens; that's all behind me now. And it's not important." He coughed to clear his throat again. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

"I appreciate it." Mo squinted at the remains of his drink but set it down on the table, shrugging slightly. His massive shoulders moved slowly as he did so. "I just sort of wish I'd been there." Gabe opened his mouth to say something, but Mo continued, almost expecting Gabe to do such a thing. "I know it wouldn't have changed anything, but it just…that's what it feels like, anyway."

"You have no way of controlling where and when the Covenant attack," Gabe said, trying to alleviate what sounded like guilt. "Nobody does."

Mo smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, I bet my dad gave the aliens a good licking before they glassed everything." He chuckled, lost in memory, and Gabe chuckled too out of sensitive politeness.

"Sounds like it runs in the family," He said with a grin.

Mo chuckled at the comment, but his expression quickly returned to the grave one of the past few minutes. "I'd still like some closure."

"That's only human." Gabe said. "It's a lot to take in."

Mo nodded and then abruptly said, "My sister wants me to leave the Army. To go stay with her and her boyfriend."

Gabe was shocked. "Why?"

"I'd imagine she probably just doesn't want to lose anybody else," Mo said. "And I understand how she feels."

"Oh. I see." Nervously, Gabe asked, "Well, are you going to?"

"No." Mo stared down at his drink. "Paris IV's in my head, but, so's Ballast. Remember Ballast?" Gabe nodded. "I learned a lot that day. The Covenant's not unstoppable, and all that. I know Em would like to see me back home, where its safe, but I'd rather be here. I'd rather keep trying to protect Em, and Earth, instead of just staying there and waiting for the aliens to find it."

"That makes a lot of sense."

"Well, I hope so. I'm no genius, but that's how I see it." Mo raised the glass to his lips and quickly drank its remains down in a single go. "That's how I see it," He repeated.

Gabe patted him on the back. His hand was dwarfed against Mo's massive frame. "You want some time alone?"

Mo grunted. "No. I'm good. Better get some sleep anyhow." He stood up. Gabe stood up next to him. "Thank you kindly, Gabe."

"For what?"

"Just, you know, for talking."

Gabe smiled. "No worries, man." He turned to leave. A few seconds later, Mo followed after. He still looked very thoughtful, and he was so distracted he left his empty glass out on the table.

Hopefully the characters of both Gabe and Mo were clear. This piece was supposed to center largely around Mo, with Gabe as a sort of 'cameraman' character, but I like writing about both of them. I hope they were interesting to read about; if you like them, go ahead and tell me, and I'll feature one, or another, or both, in the future. Who knows? Red (by which I mean Richard, the character from the first little drabble) may return if people like him enough. How did this and the first story compare? I'm curious. Tell me what you think if you feel inclined. I'm all ears. Again, thanks for reading! I'll try to get another posting up soon. Reviews are awesome! Thanks for reading!