Being recommended to go to the Interplanetary Combatives Training, or ICT, was definitely a reward in itself. Rio de Janeiro was a beautiful place, muggy and quite warm most of the time, plus often filled with tourists and a great deal of activity. An Alliance hub now that spaceflight had been developed, the ICT had been set up there, a gathering place for exceptional soldiers to get intense extra training. To even be invited to the school was an honor. To be invited back was eve more so.
"N-school" was someplace for the best of the best. People respected anyone who attended. Knowing that, he really should have been a lot more grateful towards the whole ordeal than he was feeling right now. Trying to keep that at the top of his mind, Jay found himself failing to see it in such a favorable light at the moment. Four hours of sleep a day wasn't his idea of a good time. In fact, he really did almost feel drunk, a side effect he heard could happen to people who did not sleep. Yeah. This was the worst way to get drunk.
2nd Lieutenant Jay Morin was not in a very good state after the three week training program. He had been leading groups of men through multiple different exercises. Runs through the rainforest, long instances out at sea, and sometimes even flights out to the Andes. They hadn't even stopped by Machu Pichu, much to the soldiers resentment. Instead they had visited the Salinas Grandes, the pale salt flat in Argentina. A much more difficult proposition.
Thankfully they were back in the city, back in civilization for a break and an end to the regiment. They'd get a chance to recover, while waiting for the results to come in. Jay knew he wasn't the only one who had been getting tested, though he hadn't met the other candidates yet. They had been kept intentionally separate, probably so they couldn't compare notes just yet.
Jay hadn't had the chance to sleep yet. In fact, he was sure that he probably looked like hell frozen over. He had forgone shaving after the first week or so, so he was definitely thicker on the face than he liked to keep, and his usually neatly trimmed hair was getting a bit... fluffy. He also knew that the bags under his eyes were likely rather dark and sharp against his skin, but he was trying to eat something. Three weeks of limited rations meant that he hadn't eaten that well. Now that he could eat as he pleased, he almost just felt too tired to participate in the action of eating. The full plate before him was just sitting there, letting off steam and the blue gaze of his tired eyes stared sightless-ly past them.