Watching Gregory trying to maintain control of their briefing was almost laughable. Rick might have found it funny if it weren't for the ever-mounting feeling of dread it caused; if the man was this bad at leading - and if he had such little respect from "his" men - Rick couldn't see how this mission could possibly go well. Before he even began speaking, Deanna had to quiet the men down, most of them rowdy and chattering until her hushed words forced them quiet.

"Good morning, marines." Gregory looked somewhat anxious, but he kept his voice somewhat steady. "I'm sorry we didn't have time to brief you people..." Rick thought he sensed a bristling in the ranks at that phrase, but no one spoke out. "...before we left Hilltop-"

Merle raised his hand, interrupting. "Hold up, hold up, sir." Even the term of respect held a critical edge, and a few smiles of anticipation threatened to break through the other marines' professionalism. Even his brother - seated, unconventionally, on top of a crate at the back, right beside Merle - looked amused, though Rick had to marvel at how blank he kept his face.

Gregory sighed, his voice annoyed as he asked, "Yes, Daryl?"

Merle looked over at his brother - he was lighting a cigarette, blue eyes holding a subtle mix of amusement and mocking even as his face stayed a mask - before looking back up front, his face nowhere near as shuttered as Dixon's, his incredulity mixing with a jeer as he said, "Merle, sir. He's Daryl."

Gregory at least looked embarrassed, but he didn't address the mistake. "What's the question?"

Merle snorted, then asked, "This gonna be a stand-up fight, sir, or another pansy-ass bug hunt?"

"All we know is that there's still no contact with the colony... and that a xenomorph may be involved." Rick watched as the man tried to posture, his use of the jargon a mix of an attempt to intimidate the marines and an unwillingness to bend to what they needed to know.

Deanna frowned, confusion in her face as she asked, "A what?"

Most of the marines were outright smirking, now, with Merle's wild grin taking the lead. Surprisingly, though, it was Dixon who spoke, muttering, "Bug hunt." Smoke, drifting lazily about his head, dissipated slightly as he turned back to face the front. Expecting the man to address Gregory, Rick was surprised to see him fix his eyes on Rick himself, blue eyes boring into him as though he knew that Rick had the answer to his question. "What're we dealing with?"

Sure enough, he looked unsurprised when Gregory turned to Rick, muttering, "Go ahead, Rich."

Rick rolled his eyes as Gregory once again messed up his name - the number of "Rich"es and "Ricky"s he'd heard in the last few days was increasing rapidly - but stepped forward, composing himself to address the marines. "I'll tell you what I know." He broke off; he used to rather enjoy public speaking, but this topic of conversation was making things… difficult. "We set down on LV-426. My crewmember - Leon - was brought onboard with something attached to his face… some… some kind of parasite. We tried to get it off; it wouldn't come off. Later, it seemed to come off by itself and die." He was struggling to continue, then, but he tried to fight through it, aware of the skeptical looks the marines had on their faces. "Leon seemed fine. We were all having dinner, and it must have laid something inside of his throat, some kind of embryo. He started, um, he…"

Rosita interjected, then, her smirk cocky as she said, "Look, man, I only need to know one thing. Where they are." She fired a finger gun and a chorus of laughter and joking comments - "Kick ass, Rosita." from Abraham and her response of "Anytime, anywhere." - filled the room. That sense of dread squeezed Rick's gut again, their seeming incomprehension of the gravity of the situation unnerving him.

Out of the entire group, most were smiling and laughing, though Maggie and Deanna, at least, were more serious. Dixon's face, too, seemed to mirror some of Rick's own annoyance, shaking his head with exasperation as he continued to smoke his cigarette, looking away from the other marines and staring into the distance in contemplation as he ignored his team members.

Merle broke into the conversation. "Somebody said alien; sugartits thought they said illegal alien and signed up."

Rosita glared - this time, at least, Rick could see the affection behind it - and flipped him off without turning around. "Fuck you, man."

Merle's voice turned to a mix of salacious and jeering. "Anytime, anywhere, sweetheart."

Rick actually FELT his patience snap. "You done?" The marines sensed something in his tone, then, some of them literally straightening. Dixon turned back, refocusing on Rick, while Merle's face actually sobered slightly. When he spoke again, Rick was addressing Rosita. "I hope you're right. I really do." Nor was he lying; he prayed it'd be that easy. He just also knew it wouldn't be. Gregory tried to step in, then, his voice weak as he tried to take control again, tried to tell his men about the briefing being recorded, but Rick couldn't stop. "Because one - just one - of those things wiped out my crew in less than twenty-four hours."

The look on Deanna's face almost made Rick regret his words, but Merle and Rosita at least had the decency to look somewhat chastened. Dixon's expression took on an approving quality, but remained as serious and shuttered as it had been, though he looked away when Gregory tried to commandeer the conversation again. "Anyway, we have the report on disk. Any questions?" Merle raised his hand again, and Rick noticed Dixon give a slight huff at the sight, but Gregory obviously didn't notice. "Yes, Private?"

Merle grinned wildly. "How do I get outta this chickenshit outfit, asshole?"

Deanna frowned, interjecting before Gregory could. "You watch yourself, Merle."

Gregory nodded, his expression a strangled mix of disappointment and frustration as he once again tried to take control. "Alright, listen up. I want this to go smooth and by-the-numbers. I want DCS and tactical database assimilation by 0830." Dixon checked his watch, nodding once as his fellow marines let out a collection of groans. "Ordinance loading, weapons strip, and dropship prep details will have seven hours. Move it, people!" No one moved, even as Gregory walked away.

Deanna stepped forward, her tone brooking no argument as she said, "You heard him, you know the drill. Merle, get over here. Get over here now."