Alvarez was short, five foot 7, of some Hispanic origin... it didn't really matter.
He was a Coalition Captain, he commanded the Trotsky, and he had his place in SCRA command. The years of earning that place had left him a rather cynical man, some claimed he was far too rash in the brutal supression of counter-revolutionaries on JiangXi, or for his persecution of Bretonian Armed Forces. Or, perhaps, for his love of getting a job done.
He nodded at Commissar-Gonzales, glancing into the room where the Commodore and Commander Broch were dealing with a few miscreants...
He shrugged. "Eh, Che, Ragazzo," he pointed towards Williamson. "I wanna have a word with you, eh?"
He brushed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, as he pushed back the black Militsiya-style leather coat to show the rather large bored Automatic pistol that had ended many a person's life who had mistakenly gotten on Alvarez's bad side.
Gonzales gave her usual look of disdain, "Ricardo..." she warned.
"Ah, no worries," he said waving a hand. "You can come with, si? There will be no problems... Ragazzo here will be in good hands."
He motioned for Williamson to lead the way, telling him when and where to turn, until the trio walked out into the main hangar deck of the brand new Kirov class Light Cruiser.
Before them was a Coalition Storm, the Social Credit, set on the deck surrounded by a wing of brand new XKR fighters.
Alvarez smirked as he shrugged off his jacket, walking to the edge of the ramp and tossing it over a support brace.
"I like you Ragazzo, you have a cocky mouth, good smile..." he brushed his nose again with the back of his hand, bouncing on his toes as he turned. "You got something to maybe back that **** up Homes? See, I think you're just all talk, esse... no... how they say in English Vicenta?"
Gonzales was leaning against the fuselage of a fighter, rolling her eyes, as various other technicians and such moved forward to get a better look at what was going on.
Alvarez's goatee twitched, looking amused.
"Si, I know gringos like you, many of them come through here, thinking they hot ****... takes an Officer to put them back in their place... or give them a chance to show that they are actually... as they say, Ragazzo..."
Alvarez took off his gunbelt and handed it to a techie.
"So, how you wanna do this?" He offered, gesturing to a rather surly looking marine, far too tall, far too ugly. A large Coalition tattoo on his biceps, carrying what looked like a cricket bat, 'cept it was covered with ducttape, and had a few nails through it. "You wanna me, or you want my homie Boris over there?"
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