Junior officers congregate in their newly-opened berthing.
Location: Officers' Berthing, Deck 7, Battlestar //Galactica//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 859
At long last! The officer berthings are finally being revealed for their new occupants. Many of whom have never been in a brand new berthing. Long used to ancient bunks, mattresses barely thicker than the pad brought on ground ops. For those that had been stalking Deck 7 waiting for the news goes the prime choice of which bunk they'll select. Antonie Niemec just so happens to be one such individual. The Raptor pilot is one of those that has been sleeping in the rec room, but she left the room very shortly after waking. Mostly due to a pair of Capricans strutting about as being the 'leaders' due to Caprica leading the unification movement. Thus, the woman -- rather than risk her pips -- left, grabbed a coffee, and waited in the stairwell until a worker told her that she could move in.
That mug now sits on the table in the center of the berthing hall she's found herself in and the woman herself has her duffel plunked on a lower bunk by the hatch, unpacking and loading things either onto the narrow shelves or into the locker.
Van has found somewhere besides the rec room to spend his time, although he left his duffel there under the care of an Argonaut pilot. So he's a little later in arriving at the newly-opened berthing. He's also changed into his duty greens at some point. Sniffing a little warily as he steps into the room, he nods, "Only smells a little like the inside of a machine shop." And then he starts working his way down the aisle, careful of the duffel slung over his shoulder -- and actually referencing a slip of paper in his hands for his bunk assignment, rather than just picking one that catches his eye like most of the pilots. He gives a nod to Niemec, "Glad we've got a place to actually store our gear -- and ourselves -- sir." There it is... the top bunk two thirds of the way back down the room. Van's duffel is hoisted up onto the bunk with a grunt, and then he pops open the locker door.
"Why in the world would you /choose/ a bunk next to the hatch?" Darcy asks curiously, getting her corner lower bunk set up. She'd been splitting her time between the rec room and the mess hall, impatient with the disorganization.
Whether Niemec was assigned the bunk she's setting up at or simply claimed it is unknown. There's no slip lying out that shows it. Perhaps she's banking on her place as a Captain in 'rank rights.' Or maybe she was just fortunate enough to pull a lower bunk. Mind, it's likely the lower bunks at the rear of the hall that are the most preferred. Those most outside a Major or higher's line of sight should they pass through. The brunette is in greens, herself, hair pulled back loosely in an elastic. She glances towards Van and grunts a sort of agreement as she hangs up her flight suit. 'Niemec' across the breast, with a smaller tag bearing her callsign beneath: 'Squeak.' Most of the woman's tattoos are obscured by her uniform, but there are still some visible.
A glance is cast towards Darcy, Antonie flashing a quick smile in the woman's direction. Just a flash of teeth, no more. "Because I'm an old lady who doesn't like to walk too far when she wakes up in the middle of the night to pee." It might be a joke. So it very well could have been assigned to her.
"Quicker to and from duty," Van answers, even though Darcy wasn't asking him. "Habit for some people. Especially if you've been staying in places that might get a mortar shell at any moment." Opening up his duffel, he gets distracted with looking at the locker, "Huh. Mirrors inside. Nice. Roomy too. I guess that's the benefit of a beast of a ship." And then he starts to pull out items, starting with his blues, and put them away. "Oh... I found our birds. Or a..." his hesitation is almost imperceptible before he settles on, "friend showed them to me. Deck crew just finished up painting the last one. I was helping out with software cold-boots. They're just off the assembly line, just like the Galactica."
"Frak that. I'd rather die well-rested than sleep next to the hatch," Darcy retorts, hanging up her flight suit. The tags read, "SPADINA" and, smaller, "Pockets". She turns to look at Van. "No shit? They tested?"
"I didn't think they'd saddle us with older birds," Niemec muses, glancing over her shoulder towards Van. "Not on a brand new ship. The whole of the colonies are gonna be glued to their screens when they do the final tour. This thing's supposed to be the savior of the unification. Or whatever. If they showed something like we had on Tauron?" She snorts, closing her locket once everything is secured away before sinking to sit in the bunk itself and begin arranging things on the shelves. Books, mostly. "I plan to talk to our CAG once I can get his ear and ask about doing some test runs, just to get used to them." The woman pauses, a few books -- historical and philosophical things mixed with some fantasy novels -- in her lap. Dark eyes shift to study Darcy. "Seen much combat yet? You learn to sleep pretty much anywhere."
"You learn to sleep through it, sir." Van agrees with Niemec on that. "Provided you wake up in the morning." His words are dour as he adds his dress shoes to the bottom of the locker, then several thick paperback books with titles about software engineering and design (and the latest book in the Game of Dragons fantasy series) go onto the shelf at the head of the bunk, and he responds, "As far as I can tell, they haven't ever touched the sky." Only then does his own flight suit, reading 'NEWTON' and 'Milkman,' come out to be hung up. Nodding to Niemec, he adds, "The Mark IIs are great, sir. Hotter than hell." Of course Picon has all the best toys. "Not as tough as a Raptor, of course, but tougher than the Mark Is."
"Yes, I have," Darcy replies tartly. "I served on Tauron, too." That's all she has to say on the matter. She finishes putting the sheets and blankets on her mattress and flops onto her bunk, keeping her feet on the floor. "I envy you folks who learn to sleep on command. I never picked up that trick."
"Have fun in your Vipers. I need to be sure I can handle extracts." Niemec sifts through the books and begins placing them upon the shelves in an arrangement only she knows. There is a look towards Darcy, but the Raptor pilot's expression just steels a measure. She doesn't respond, just goes back to her arranging. A few things are moved around. "From the sounds of it, we may actually make that departure mark they're calling for. I'd like to know where the frak they're sending us."
Van shrugs a little helplessly at Darcy, "Good to have as many vets as possible, sir." There's a nagging curiosity about the others' callsigns, perhaps given away by glances at their lockers where the suits are hanging, but if he asks, then he has to explain his, so he smothers his curiosity in the cradle, several cartons of cigarettes following clothes into the locker, "And it wasn't something I was born being able to do. I just got tired enough, and I slept." Niemec gets a nod, "And we'll all be thankful if we need a pickup, sir. And I'll be almost as thankful when we can get out there and start punching toasters again."
"I admit, I have cabin fever. Sitting around for two days just has me all..." Darcy wiggles her shoulders with pent-up energy,t hen sighs. "I just want to get back out there and do my job."
"I just keep reminding myself that at the moment, this is my job." Niemec seems rather calm about it. Modulated. Emotions are just a switch and control, same as any cockpit. "Maybe they're hoping we'll be so stir-crazy that we get out there with even more gusto." Because it's better than 'we shipped you up extra early to sit on your hands.' The woman finally gets the last of her things put away and shifts to sit, feet planted on the floor, and forearms braced against knees as she leans forward. "In a month or two, we'll all be looking back fondly on this break from the fighting we got."
Van pauses in his tucking away of belongings, nodding to Darcy, "I came straight from a year of rehab to this. I absolutely know what you mean, sir." He's down to the socks, undershirts, and unmentionables portion of his duffel, everything folded carefully and tucked away in turn. "Toasters might be a relief from watching people try desperately not to punch each other. They also might be the only thing that keeps people from punching each other."
"I'm not sure if punching or frakking causes more drama," Darcy muses, closing her eyes and drifting off.
"Good time to get out of rehab," Niemec offers to Van, glancing up towards the man. "As for frakking versus punching-" Darcy may be dozing off, but hey. The viper jock brought it up. "I'd say frakking causes more drama. Usually you get the fight out of your system and that's the end of that." Spend enough time in the service, especially as a Tauran, and you see quite a bit of that. Tempers can run quite high. "I wonder if the shipyards have any simulators. Might be a good way to get folks used to one another."
Van nods to Niemec, rubbing at his right thigh, "Any time is a good time to get out of rehab, sir." His duffel is nearly empty by now, and he pulls out the last couple of items, including another couple of thin books, a bootblack tin and brush, and a couple of small idols. They go up on the shelf by his top bunk, "I'm not aiming for either frakking or fighting personally," the duffel is folded up neatly and tucked into the bottom of his locker, "But I'm concerned about anything that might make one wingman not trust another, no matter the cause." Running a hand over his bristly hair, he shrugs a little helplessly, "Simulators might be a good idea. If they're hard-wired, they should be safe from infiltration."
There's still a few things in Niemec's own duffel, as the thing hasn't been wadded up and shoved into a corner of her locker or the storage space beneath the bunk itself. Still, she's in no rush for those things. Not just yet. The woman pushes to her feet and crosses to the table at the center of the room, picking up her coffee. Cold, but still fairly caffeinated. She drinks deep, glancing towards Van. "You're talking about folks not trusting one another on a ship where most folks were assigned here, against their will. There's gonna be a lot of strife." And that goes beyond the usual colonial disagreements. "Mmm. I don't think the Galactica has any on board, but the shipyard might. Gotta have some networking for simulators, I think. At least if you want to be able to work as a group, rather than just solo missions."
It's been a bit of a logjam most of the day, as the officers have been piling into the berthings, wanting, most likely to both escape their temporary bunkspaces and secure the best spots in the place. Eva must have lugged her duffel at least three times, before she gave up on trying to breast the tide and decided to just come back. Finally, there's enough of a lull, that she manages to make it over the lip of the hatch and inside. The duffel, fairly bursting at the seams, clear signs of a woman determined to never bring more than one bag anywhere, is foot rolled along the path of least resistance. She does just manage to catch Niemec walking away from her bunk, "Looks like I won't get a chance to have you in my bunk after all." She flashes a smile, as she nudge-rolls her duffel further along the floor, keeping and eye out for a free spot. Maybe over by that thin, squirrelly guy unloading jamming his now empty duffel into a locker.
Van leans into his bunk as he adjusts the books, idols, brush, a small spread of photographs, and a small glass jar with a small chunk of metal in it on the shelf above his bunk, although Niemec's words draw him out quickly, a puzzled frown on his face, "There are people who don't want to be here? I'm pretty sure all the Picon contingent are volunteers. Did the Tauran do things differently?" Before he can even wait for her to respond to those questions, however, he puts in, "How about holobands? Local-only. Hell, we could even play on a private Seas of Fire server, just to work on teamwork." It must be a Picon thing, a multiplayer game where everyone plays actual ships. Like, nautical ships. Eva gets a polite nod as she steps in, although her words cause him to blink in surprise and even chuckle just a little, but he doesn't butt into that matter.
There's a glance, sidelong, to Eva as the woman arrives and seeks out her bunk. Niemec smiles, briefly, before setting down the emptied mug. "All you have to do is ask nicely." She, gracefully, doesn't wink, but just returns to her own. It's a lower bunk, near the hatch. Not immediately next to it, but the next one down. She finally pulls the remaining items from her bag. A couple of idols, a few photos, and a holoband case. The latter is just left on the bed itself, by her hip, while she starts arranging the rest on the shelves. "A lot of colonies that aren't so fond of unification or Caprica at its helm have had a hard time finding volunteers. I got some flak from my old squadron when I signed on for it." Tauron, especially, is likely fairly lacking in volunteers.
The band case is lifted, a bit, to his final suggestion. "I was thinking along those same lines," Antonie offers, before setting it back down. "Don't know if everyone has one, but if we put a word in the right ear before departure, we might be able to get some for the ship for training purposes."
There are no such things as private conversations in the berthings, at least that's always been Eva's experience, so she just slots herself in once she catches the drift of the conversation, "The last batch that Virgon sent over was nearly all volunteers. Hibernians were climbing over each other trying to get a spot on the roster. Command couldn't get the names down fast enough." Her accent, mellow, but unmistakable, is distinctly Celtan. She manages to secure a top bunk two down from Niemec. She's tall enough that having to climb up won't be a problem and start unloading, clothes first, into her assigned locker. She just throws it out there, to be polite, in Van's direction, "Eva Thorne."
Van spreads his hands a little at his sides, trying to turn the worry into a little bit of a joke, "I keep telling people they should have put a Picon in charge. Everybody likes Picons." Except when they say things like that. At least he sounds like he's still joking, even if it's a pretty weak comedic sally. Stepping away from his bunk, he moves over to the central table with his ever-so-slight limp, settling down into a chair. "I had a copy of the game on my old 'band, but... it's still in Hyperion." So, under rubble or in Cylon hands. He nods to Eva, standing up to offer out his hand, "Van Newton. Picon, if that wasn't obvious." And his duty greens make it clear that he's a Lieutenant J.G.
"The problem is that Tauron is fighting this thing almost as hard as Caprica. We need bodies there. More than its military can support. So not only did they want us to put ourselves under Caprica rule," hey, Taurans sometimes see just about anyone but their own in charge as a 'bad thing.' "But it's taking needed men and women away from the fight back home." Niemec speaks in a flat sort of tone. Almost empty. The voice of someone who has been fighting in ways that go beyond the cylon uprising. "I'm sure someone has the game. Big ship. And we're still connected to the 'yards. Just start asking around. I can even lend you my band to get it downloaded, if you want."
"I've never met a Pican I haven't liked." A beat, her face classically "straight man". "But then, I haven't met many Picans." Eva accepts the hand, the shake firm, not one of those girly, limp-wristed gestures, "Do you refer Van, or Newton?" Unlike the first time she met Niemec, she doesn't need to repeat Van's name to get the sound down. She manages it easily enough. She releases the hand, and goes back to unpacking, "I'm afraid I haven't any gear to add to the cause. I've never even used a holoband." She nods towards Niemec, acknowledging her breakdown of the situation on Tauron, "Some places, sending forces isn't as much of a sacrifice. Others, every body is dear."
"Lots of colonies are fighting the Cylons right now." Van's voice hardens a little, sharp edges peeking through the usually-light tenor, "I don't think any of us want to get into a 'whose home has been hurt worse' contest, sir. The toasters still hold my capital." He shakes Eva's hand readily enough, some of the tension from his response to the Tauran bleeding out with Eva's joke, "I'll answer to either one. In fact, I'll usually answer to 'Hey You.' too. And give it some time, I'm sure there's a Picon who's unlikable. Somewhere."
"Never said it was a contest of who hurts more." There's an edge to Niemec's own voice. "Just that there's a reason Taurans aren't lining up to volunteer." She starts to say more, but manages to check herself. The woman takes a long breath and lifts her hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose. The two are given their space for introductions while she just retreats into her bunk, grabbing one of the books off the shelf as she leans back against the interior wall.
Keeping in mind that this is coming as it is from someone who comes from a colony that's been, all things considered, less hard hit than most, Eva offers, her voice as even as she can make it -- if there's one thing she's learned, it's how to try to keep the peace -- "However we all got here, it's what we do now that really matters, isn't it? We're all on the same boat, literally. Best we can hope for, is that we can do together what we might not be able to do alone. Like getting you back to Hyperion." That to Van, "Van it is then." She climbs into her bunk, to make it easier to reach her locker, her voice taking on that familiar, slightly echo-y tone, "Would either of you have seen any red dye lying around, ink, anything? A marker, anything?"
Van rolls his shoulders, letting out a hiss of breath as his own snappish words cause a snappish response from Niemec, "Sorry, sir. I guess my nerves are a little more raw than I thought. I apologize for the comment." The words are a little stilted, but then again, the first and last are pretty much straight out of The Book. As he starts to pat down his pockets in response to Eva's question, he adds, "I'd appreciate the loan of the 'band, if I can find Seas or something like it." He finds a pair of ballpoint pens and pulls them out, one red and the other black, "Not a marker, but it's something. And yes, we're definitely going to have to work together to stop the toasters."
There's quiet, still, from Niemec's bunk. It passes, slowly, like the minute hand on a clock when you're sitting in biology on a nice spring day. The woman finally lets out a slow sigh, lowering the book she'd opened. One of her booted feet is easily visible; the other knee drawn up and now supporting one of her arms as she leans in. "No marker or dye. We could probably find some. And working together is why I'm trying to figure out simulators or at least doing a few formation flights in the new birds."
Eva peeks her head back out of the bunk, one hands grasping the top bar of the bunk, as she leans herself out into midair, reaching out to accept the pen, or just to pluck it from Van's fingers, giving it a deliberate once over, "I'm not sure this would work," she finally decides, offering it back to Van. "Had a deep conversation with the CAG yesterday." Her tone says, 'not really', "But he did give me the okay for pink underwear." She touches her fingers to her heart and then gestures up to the ceiling, a sort of 'I swear to god I'm telling the truth' gesture. "But, as they don't come from the PX that way." A shrug, as she pulls herself back into the bunk. A girl's gotta make due. "I've been wondering about that, actually meaning to ask the CAG, there's got to be some designated airspace for us to shake down these new ships. Work out the kinks. You can't just take a Viper out cold." And that pretty much cements both that she's a pilot and what sort of pilot she is.
Van allows Eva to investigate the pen, then takes it back and tucks it and its black fellow back into his pocket. "Deck Crew would be most likely to have dye, I think. CIC for a marker?" He nods to Niemec -- even if she can't see the gesture -- at her words, then looks back to Eva, his brows lofting high on his forehead for a moment. "Pink... underwear..." Shaking that off, he tries to catch back up to the conversation, "I'm sure there is, as soon as they deck crew has given them the once-over. Oh, you weren't here yet. I was just helping them do the software installs and pre-pre-flights. They just finished painting the last one this morning."
"Why not just order some? I'm sure we'll still get mail delivered once we're under way." No reason not to, right? Some little mail carrier Raptor, blinking about the galaxy, delivering messages and packages. Niemec finally moves free of her bunk, lifting it to shove her duffel -- and a photo album -- into the space underneath. "But yeah, deck probably has some sort of dye." The brunette straightens and moves to her locker instead. Her hair is pulled free of the tie and she sets to putting it in a rough sort of braid. "So it really comes down to talking to the CAG and finding out what the plan is."
"Plausible Deniability," is Eva's reply from inside the bunk, as she stows the last of her gear. Interestingly enough, or not, she doesn't have any sort of personal items, be they pictures, or idols or what have you. She does pull out a small lockbox, which she tucks into the bottom of the locker, before she puts the duffel on top, "Also, being as it isn't strictly regulation, I don't want to have to lie about why exactly I need it. That's never a good way to start a new duty assignment. I much prefer, "Oops, how did those get like that, and of course I didn't just get rid of them, we can't afford to waste in the middle of a war." Eva hops down from her bunk, heading over towards the main table and the free seats scattered around.
Van blinks as he digs back into his pocket, pulling out a clip-cornered picture of two women about his age that has clearly been oft-folded. Rising back up to his feet, he walks back to his bunk, snags something from within his locker, and uses it to stick the picture on the bulkhead just above his bunk. The young man touches two fingers to his lips, then to the picture, and then turns back to the conversation, his voice now rough. "Probably could. But by then, we'll probably have Vipers to play with, sir." He shrugs a little at Eva's explanation, accepting it without further comment. Apparently, it is not his business what color underwear anyone is wearing, no matter the regs.
"You... need...?" Niemec shakes her head, arms dropping as she finishes the braid. "You know what? I'm not sure I want to know." She closes her locker, tugging at the sleeves of her greens before rolling them up to just below her elbows. It reveals some of the ink work on her right arm. "I know there's a lot going on and we'll be busy soon enough, but it makes me antsy to feel like we're flying blind right now. I'd at least like to know what the immediate plans are once we leave dock."
"See?" Eva gestures to Niemec, as the woman comments, "Plausible deniability." She flashes a smile, before she settles into a chair. She has no triad deck, or other social engagement tool, so she'll just take up space that isn't her bunk, "Would it be rude of me to ask if I may look at that," Eva indicates Neimac's arm and the tattooing that it reveals. "We don't have anything like that on Hibernia. Of course there are a lot of scrollworks and other symbols people do get tattooed on, but nothing like that." Her tone is polite, but easy enough that she wouldn't be offended if the woman said no, "It's been a long time, I think, since any of us had nothing to do but kick around a new ship," she offers, in answer to Neimec's comment about being antsy, "I don't think the CAG would mind a visit, he seemed fairly open to it when I saw him earlier."
Van nods to Niemec, gathering himself up again after posting the picture, and digs into a pocket for a battered pack of cigarettes and a box of matches, "I'd like to know what the plans are too, sir. I hear you on that." He lifts the smokes slightly, "Anyone mind? Anyone want one?" The commentary on the tattooing he leaves off for now, letting the two women discuss it.
"Uhm-" there's a glance down at her arm as Niemec studies the ink there. The lines on her forearm are a bit newer than the stylized sun etched on the back of her right hand. The hand's ink is just slightly faded. But it's all done in black; stark lines standing out on her skin. "Sure." A coin appears in her left hand. Perhaps from her pocket. Sh moves over towards Eva, offering her arm towards the other pilot. The coin is moved between her fingers. Index to pinky and back. "I've never been posted to a ship. Any would have been new for me."
Eva remains in her seat, allowing Niemec to move towards her. It's obvious from her posture that she understands that she's asked to be allowed to see something personal. Of course, given that they share a berthing and showers are communal, it's likely she would have seen then anyway, but this is different. She's asking to be allowed a bit farther into the woman's world. Once Neimec is close enough, Evan leans in. She does not, at any point, actually touch the other woman. For all the banter they've exchanges since they met, some privacy and personal space is to be respected. "This is really fine work, so precise," is her immediate comment, before she replies to the next, "I've spent most of my career on LCVs, with the exception of three years I was assigned to the flight school. To be honest, I can't get too comfortable on the ground anymore."
Van nods at Neimec, "All ground-based assignments for me too. I mean, I've done takeoffs and landings on carriers -- on sea and in space -- in both Raptors and Vipers, but I've never been billeted on a ship." When no one complains about the coffin nails, he shakes out a cigarette, tucks it into his mouth, puts the pack back away, and strikes up a match. "So what should we know about," talking while trying to light the cigarette isn't working, so he goes silent while he draws it alight, then blows out the match and finishes, "living on a ship?"
"I was SAR. Most of our work is in-atmo. Especially once the uprising began." Niemec holds her arm still, but angles it so that Eva can get a closer look. Other than the marks on her hand and arm, the only ones really visible in her uniform are those on the right side of her neck. Those, however, aren't especially uncommon among Taurans. Not all have it, but some certainly do. Markers of their rank and time in service. "It's nice, having everything closer-" and not having to run through inclement weather to get to, say, the mess. "But it's almost too cramped sometimes. And it's strange... not knowing when the sun is up."
Eva offers a soft thank you, as Niemec turns her arm to allow her a better view, taking her time, at least as long as Niemec doesn't get tired of standing around, to study what she can see, "For me, the biggest hurdle was getting used to the idea that there is no where to go. Even when you're stuck on base, with no hope of a day of leave in your future the whole world is still "out there". You can get somewhere, because there IS somewhere beyond where you are. Being on a ship, especially one in space," she nods to Van, her meaning clear -- as opposed to the true naval fleet Picon also has, "the world becomes very small. It can be easy to feel like a rat in a cage. No matter how far you run, you're still stuck." She rises, stepping in, still politely to study the marking on Niemec's neck, clearly never having seen these sorts of things up close, "The only way to save yourself, is to try to start looking for ways to see the ship in different ways. I used to do a lot of urban climbing, for example. Over the years I've gotten really good at monkeying up along decks and hulls to pass the time." She looks back at Van, "And being with your bunkmates, it's like being married. You kno what they say? Don't go to bed mad? As close as you get to the people you live with...you don't make it a point to clear the air, you're going to end up letting a lot of resentment fester and that gets corrosive. Especially if you happen to be bunked with people who would rather sit at you than look at you." Like most Virgons in regards Hibernians.
"I'm just happy it'll take more than a few mortar shells to turn my berth into rubble." Van's lips quirk into a faint grin, but it fades as he takes another draw of his cigarette and blows the smoke up toward the recycling units at the ceiling. "There's something reassuring about being assigned to a beast like this. Not even our carriers are this big." He flashes another tight grin at Eva at her reference to the mention of the real navy that Picon still has. "Guess I'll have to find myself a holoband then. Even local VR helps pass the time. The rest of it though... sounds pretty much like any Naval Air Base. Hell, the barracks on Sagitarron weren't any bigger than this."
The Raptor pilot tilts her head. She doesn't seem to mind, terribly. Some Taurans tell their life through their tattoos. Marks of pride, in most cases. Niemec may very well be one of those. She at least bears them in the traditional fashion. No tramp stamps here! No color, either. Just black lines against pale skin. "Seems almost cruel to pilots. We can fly just about anywhere, but until we do... trapped here." The coin still flows through the fingers in her left hand. "Have you got a tablet? I noticed they're stocking the library pretty well with videos and all. I plan to order one in before we ship out. I don't want to be beholden to whoever controls the screens in the rec room."
Eva finally steps back, settling a respectful distance from Niemec. "I don't know if they're meant to be beautiful, I've only heard rumours about Tauran tattooing, and I'm sure most of it is pure conjecture, but they are, beautiful." Her tone indicates that she honestly isn't sure if she's meant to compliment a Tauron on their work. "Thank you for allowing me to see them." She settles back into her seat, "Give it a few weeks, and then get back to me. It takes a while before you're bouncing off of the walls." She answers Niemec's question, as it wasn't clear which of the other two she was addressing, "I'll have to see what I can get my Da to order for me, if he can manage it. Might be nice to have something to carry around." She offers by way of explanation, "He gets all of my pay."
Van shrugs at Niemec, drawing down on his cigarette again, "I don't know, sir. It seems to me like we might be the only ones who manage to get out and about, unless the Marines deploy. I'd had to be a cannon-cocker who sits in one room and just feeds the big guns." Another suck on the coffin nail, and he coughs, clearing his throat and stepping over to his locker to dig out an ash tray, "And no, I don't have a tablet or 'band. All of my gear was at Triton, and I never got around to replacing it. Too busy with PT." He nods to Eva, "I'm sure you're right though. Looks like I'll definitely need to get one from home." Stubbing out the still-viable cigarette, he shakes his head, "I promised the deck crew I'd give them some more time working on the computers. Excuse me." He leaves the 'No. 169 Squadron Redtails' ashtray on the table as he rises and moves to depart.
The barracks are fresh, shiny, new, and it's only fleeting as the officers begin moving in. So far, this particular berthing seems dominated by Air Wing types. Some have already moved in, others have just lobbed their things onto their chosen (or assigned) bunk. "They're... well, beautiful is a term used. I can't say that's their purpose, but it's acceptable." Eva and Niemec are by the table in the center of the hall; the former sitting while the latter stands in duty greens, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. In her left hand, she's playing with a coin. Just sliding it between her fingers. "I always found having something distracting was nice for those lengthy recons. Or sitting on alert." She moves back to her chosen bunk and settles back to sit on the edge of it. She's got one by the hatch, lower. Not directly by the entrance, but the next line down. "Some folks may like that," she offers to Van, shrugging. "I'd say go ahead and get what you can. Sounds like we may need the entertainment, y'know?"
"I would ask if you would explain them to me, but I imagine that's going a bit far," Eva smiles, briefly, as Niemec heads back to her bunk, before she settles back into the chair at the main table, scooting it over so that she can tip it back on its rear legs, with the chairback resting on the bulkhead. "I know the feeling. I like to collect scraps and make them into little bits and bob I can trade with. I'm always amazed at the things people throw out."
"Maybe someday," Antonie offers to Eva as she settles into her bunk. Likely getting a feel of it. Maybe debating whether she might make a last minute move before every berthing is claimed. "Perhaps after I prove or disprove the existence of that third nipple." There's a flashed smile for the other pilot, teasing. "Never had to do much trading. That common on ships like this? Guess it's another perk of always serving on bases. Stores conveniently nearby. No delivery fees."
"What if it's actually four, would that be any better?" She laughs, one of those wonky laughs that could turn into a snort at any moment. Clearly, she cracks herself up. Once she calms herself back down, she gives the question honest consideration, "On a ship like this? I honestly don't know. Most of the ships I was stationed on were older, and not very well supplied. One ship I was on, the Lykos, I think I spent more time fixing my Viper than actually flying it. They barely gave us a full deck crew. Most of us, the miner's kids, elect to send our pay home to our families, so we don't have a lot of throw around money. I don't mind though, makes me happy to know my Da can get what he needs a bit easier. I think it also gave us something to do, like you said, something to take your mind off of the monotony of ship living."
"Four would be a new one on me. I don't think I can make a decision until I see it." Niemec leans forward, bracing forearms on legs again. Her gaze drops to watch the coin. She performs a few others sleights of hand with it. "Pretty familiar with that. Knew a few folks from Minos back at the academy. They tended to send their wages home, too. I think my mother would have my hide if I tried something like that. My family was never very well off, but well enough. I think she preferred the idea that I..." The woman pauses, snatching the coin up in her hand. She takes in a deep breath. "Well, either way. My money's mine and I'm thinking I ought to spend some of it before we ship out."
"That you had the freedom to cut loose?" Eva doesn't push further into what seems to be a very painful subject. Despite her occasional tendency to overshare, she's alert enough to other people's moods to know when to shut her pie hole. "I'm actually wondering if we'd be allowed off the ship and into the yards. I'd love to see what Scorpia looks like, we barely got a glimpse of it when we were shuttled in." Eva leans forward, her chair settling onto the deck with a loud thunk, before she pops up and heads over to her bunk, reaching into her locker for that box she stowed away earlier. A bit of digging and she pulls out what she was looking for, tossing it over towards Niemec. It's a coin, Virgon, a good weight, with the face of the Virgon king. "Might be nice for a change."
The hatch cranks open to the sound of scuffling out in the hall, followed by not one, but two pilots careening into the room. One of them, a stocky viper stick; the other, a wiry little thing with half her head inked, and the other half sporting unruly dark hair. "Frakking scrawny bitch," growls the viper, giving Julia one last, irritated shove before adjusting his duty greens and stalking back out. "Piece of shit," mutters the civvies-clad girl, wiping some blood off her cheek and reaching for her overstuffed duffle. "Hey, is this pilot country by chance?"
"Worst that could happen is you try to leave and someone tells you no. That whole better to ask forgiveness-" Niemec leans out and grabs the coin from the air. She turns it in her fingers a few times, making a thoughtful sound before tucking the more standardized oblong chip away in her pocket. The Virgon chit is turned a few times in her fingers and there's a grateful look to Eva. "It's got a nice heft to it." The hatch opening draws Antonie's attention towards the new entrants. The viper jock gets a raised brow and the Raptor pilot is even halfway to her feet before he's gone. "What the frak was that?" It's a defensive tone before her features soften, just a bit, to regard Julia. "Pilot and everyone in-between. Officers one and all."
"Now you're just giving me ideas. Especially if I could get a few people to come with me. A nice little band of merry men." Eva snorts, that wonky laugh again, "Yes, that's what they say about old Kaeso." That would be the king on that coin. Though his visage, his royal portrait, looks much younger than he actually is, if you keep up with such things. He's been going to seed a bit in his latter years. Her head turns, as she sees a woman being dumped into the berthing, and she steps forward. Just instinct to get scrappy, "This is everybody's country, pilots, grunt, everyone. Which are you?"
"Nothin' important," mumbles Julia in response to Niemec's question, shouldering her duffle and scanning the various bunks for signs of occupancy - or lack thereof. "Bear," she tells Eva, amber gaze shifting to the woman for a brief, critical study. "How 'bout you? Pilot or grunt?"
"I'd go along. I've never been on a station." Not that the docks are a true, enjoyable-type space station, but close enough! "Nor Scorpia. We should get the chance before we ship out, right?" Some have moved into the barracks, so various bunks here and there have been taken. Niemec stands by a bunk, a Virgon coin in her left hand. Eva is by the table. The Raptor pilot is in greens, but the sleeves have been rolled up; revealing the ink on her lower arm. What's on her hand and neck is generally visible, however. "Frak that," she's saying to Julia, looking towards the hatch. "Especially if you're a backseater. Anyone's giving you trouble, let me know." Not that Niemec seems to remotely have the build to be intimidating.
"Viper." She offers, in answer to the new woman's question, "Eva Thorne. Welcome home, if you're staying." I mean, you never know. "Grab a spot while you can though, the herd's thinning out, but there's still some dogfighting over the best bunks." She looks back to Niemec, "Let me see if I can get a little bit of intel on the shuttle schedules. I'm sure I can get something worked out. "I guess that makes you a raptor stick." Somehow Eva never got around to asking Niemec that, but that sort of mother bear attitude is sort of...part and parcel to working a raptor.
Julia eyes the Virgan-by-proxy somewhat suspiciously, looking put off by something about the woman. Her heritage, possibly, or the fact that she's a viper jock. Back to Niemec and her ink, she gives the bus driver a small smirk. "No offense, lady, but you look like a stiff breeze'd blow you over." She seeks out a bunk at the end of a row, with as few neighbours as possible, and tosses her duffle atop it. Followed by herself, in a weary flop.
Isolde is in IT Department Mode, which means she is about as innocuous as a fly on the wall. She steps in, head down and steps in autopilot. There was some complaint that the environmental systems of the recently fumigated berthings. She is trying to head straight for the control panel without being disruptive -- a skill gained by every IT person in the history if IT: I'm supposed to be here, but don't worry, I'm not staying.
"Raptor, aye. Figured I'd contribute more if I didn't move on to the Viper pipeline." Maybe she just didn't have the ego for it. Niemec's attention shifts back to Julia and the corner of her mouth pulls up in something close to a smirk. "Maybe, but I don't like the idea of anyone bullying an ECO. That's a piss poor thing to do and it can lead to-" but someone's entering, so whatever threats she may have uttered about said bullies are bit back. The tech gets a glance and the pilot sort of sidesteps out of the way. "Antonie Niemec," she offers, to Julia, by way of a belated introduction.
It's not that Eva doesn't notice the stink-eye she gets from the newly arrived ECO, it's just, well, it's so much a part of her normal operating procedures that she doesn't take offense to it. By her accent Julia's not from Virgon, so that's something. "It's the small, scrappy ones you've got to watch out for. You go into a fight thinking they're going to punch you in the face and they kick you in the balls." She heads back to her bunk, pulling her locker open and rooting inside for her water bottle. "Eva Thorne." Mght as well get the introduction out of the way, "That's what I thought too," she offers to Niemec, "I went to flight school to fly raptors, big ships. Got stuck down the other track. Not much call for that after you retire." She reaches out with a foot, pushing a chair out of the way, so that the tech can make a clear beeline for, well, wherever she's going, "Watch it start raining in here."
Hard to say which was the bully, and which the bullied in this particular instance. The ECO, in her ratty hoodie depicting a cutesy cat baring its fangs, and skin-tight jeans riddled with gashes that may or may not be strategic, looks like a troublemaker. And if it looks like trouble, it probably is. "Better not," she says into her pillow, referring to Eva's comment most likely. Then, after she rolls over onto her back, "Julia Beatriz del Flores." The name rolls off her tongue with a Canceronian lilt; and by lilt, it's actually fairly ghetto. Refined, she is not.
"Only if requested," Isolde says to Eva on passing, her own Tauron accent a bit lighter than that of the Captain's. "Don't worry. I'm just trying to figure out why the temperature controls are fluctuating a bit. Shouldn't take me long." She waves her hand, trying to dismiss the officers that this girl in her issued greens will be in and out before they know it. She swings her bag around to her front, and digs out one of the previous few tablets issued onboard and a handful of connector cables.
"I prefer it when it doesn't rain on the place I sleep. Had that a few too many times already." Niemec moves back to her own bunk, sinking to sit in it. Her own accent is fairly strong, but not so much so that it makes her (too) difficult to understand. The coin is back to shifting between her fingers. Either from knuckle to knuckle or a few sleight of hand moves. It seems largely subconscious. "I almost envy the Vipers sometimes. You're more... detached from the meat of things."
"Not a problem, take all the time you need." She's more than happy to let the tech get her work done, "However, if you do take requests, we might be able to come to an arrangement. Eva hops back up into her bunk, stretching out with an audible popping of her knees. She's no young whipper snapper anymore, "Nice to meet you, del Flores. Or do you prefer Julia?" She rolls over onto her stomach, to make it easier to look out into the berthing, "There is a lot of detachment. I don't have to see the face of the person I'm shooting down." Like most of the people in the berthing most likely, she's seen more warfare than just the cylon uprising. "But I don't know that it's a good thing. I've been at this fourteen years. It shouldn't get easier to kill people. But it has. Maybe it's better to be on a raptor crew. You can't forget that it's not just nameless "enemies" you're gunning down."
Julia is watching Eva curiously while she speaks, though her brows pinch together slightly when the viper addresses her. "Julia's fine." She has nothing to add to the conversation, it seems, and so pulls her curtain half closed and begins the awkward task of undressing in relative privacy.
"Just want to make things comfortable for you," Isolde says in a wry note to Niemec. She starts to plug into the control panel, and begins to run a diagnostics, the tablet screen filling with various strings of code. She looks over at the mention of the Vipers, and her head tilts. "You Viper pilots?" She knows that's not actually true, but she's using it as a launch pad to find out who is who.
"Sometimes I wish I didn't see their faces." But that's likely true of anyone who has seen combat. Faces of foes. Faces of compatriots gunned down. Niemec pulls a book off the shelf in her own bunk, settling back to open it. As of yet, things are rather calm for their ilk. The pilots will be busy soon enough. For now? Relaxing. She does lean out a bit as Isolde poses her query. "Raptor, actually." But close enough!
"I am," Eva responds, to Isolde's question. Out of respect for Julia's privacy, once she sees the curtain get pulled across, she looks away, focusing in Niemec's direction instead. As in most things, it's the perception of privacy and respect for personal space that matters. "So why do you do it?" It's a genuine, not a flippant question, if her tone is any indication. "You're what...in your late twenties at least? More than enough time to have done your required service and gotten out. I could think of a dozen industries that would pay good money for an experienced pilot." She looks back over to Isolde, "You with engineering, or are you up from the shipyard?"
There's some shuffling and thumping from Julia's bunk, and a flash of bare legs and socked feet before she tugs on her sweats. The curtain skitters across the railing again as she clambers out, pulling a fleet-issue tank top on. No bra, not like she needs one. Bare feet on cold deck plating, though it doesn't seem to bother her much. "Can't believe we're already in a pissing contest for who's more grizzled'n who," she mutters on her way past the two pilots, looking about for something resembling a coffee pot.
"I've flown my share of Raptors," Isolde offers conversationally as she looks over the flood of diagnostic information. Something draws a frown on her lips, but it is a thoughtful one rather than a concerned one. She listens to the talk of getting out and being mid-twenties and she almost sighs. She almost mutters something about fathers and blood oaths under her breath, but then she's being drawn back into conversation again. "Oh, well... little of column A, little of column B... I was assigned to the shipyards a few months ago as part of this whole Colonial cooperation, and now I'm here to keep Galactica's computer systems up and running. I'm with maintenance." Not to be confused for being with janitorial, but who knows how many moonlighting shifts she gets. She notes the thump, and the flash of leg, and she grins. "You obviously have not been hanging around the Marines yet, ma'am."
"I'm over thirty, but thank you," Niemec offers to Eva with a slight upturn of lips in amusement. "I do it because..." Her lips twist a bit as she ponders that. The book isn't opened, but she has her fingers marking the page she will end up on. "I realized I like helping people. SAR has its place even outside of war. When the Cylons-" The woman shakes her head a bit, "Just figured I was doing my best work by staying put." She does lean out a bit to glance over towards Julia. There's a bit of a snort. "It's all we've got until we start marking up Galactica's kill board."
Julia is distracted mid-prowl, as pilot types often are, by something ostensibly more interesting than coffee: a diagnostic tablet. She changes course in order to creep closer to Isolde, and peer over her shoulder once she's near enough to read the screen, if she may. "Oh, sweetheart," she tells Niemec with a saccharine smile that almost - almost - softens the shaved-head look she's got going on. "I'm gonna leave you both in my dust."
Van wasn't gone all that long, but he returns just in time for a flash of leg to catch his eye. Lucky bastard. Still, he tears his eyes away and announces, "Too many chefs in that kitchen. I think someone heard how bored the pilots were and got the entire deck crew out working on the birds. I hope they're not too annoyed with us." And then he blinks at the decidedly un-pilotly presence, offers a faint little smile and a nod, "Asa. You found the officer's berthings pretty fast after they were finally opened." Looking over to Niemec and Julia, he chuckles softly, "Putting kill-counts on the table already?"
Eva's eye track Julia as she wanders past, her tone not at all put out, "I wasn't intending to have a pissing contest, I actually want to know. First time I've had a chance to really ever talk to a pilot who wasn't from Virgon or Hibernia. It's one thing to intellectually know how other militaries operate, it's not the same as knowing how a real member of another unit thinks about the job they do." She turns her head, over in Isolde's direction, "That must be a real treat." And now she IS being sarcastic. Maintenance has been putting out more fires than a firefighter in a drought. She takes a moment, considering Niemec's answer, "I'll give you points for altruism. I'm afraid I don't have as noble a reason. I just don't want to end up in a tylium mine." Her lips curl in a smirk at Julia's comment, and she looks over at Niemec, "Is she challenging us?" And another change of focus, as Van wanders back in, "Can I just say, I don't give a frak if the deck crew is pissed. We're fraking pilots...and ECOs, what do they expect us to want to do, besides get in the air? It'd be like going to the mess hall and the cookies getting mad because you ate all the food they cooked."
"Are you trying to suggest something, Newton?" Isolde's wry response to the pilot is punctuated by the catch of her hand at her hip and a small smirk on her lips. She is still holding the tablet wtih her other hand, waiting for the diagnostics to finish. "You realize that I sleep with the grunts." She looks down as the tablet gives a small beep, and she starts to scroll through the data. She glances over to the looming Julia, not shy at all for the woman to take a look at the streams of code. "Looks like there was just a code loop that was causing the system not to switch from nighttime temperatures to daytime temperatures. Should be an easy fix." Eva's sarcastic comment draws a smirk from the Tauron nerd. "Galactica is my bedfellow, and she's a fabulous cuddler." She doesn't say anything about the deck crew comments, though her mouth does twitch slightly. She starts going about the steps to break the code loop.
"Considering how rarely I actually get to fire the guns, I'm fairly sure you might, Julia. Most of my backs eaters haven't been too keen on giving up the controls." Because everyone likes firing big guns. Niemec shifts to face out from her bunk, tossing the novel aside as she gets to her feet. "I don't blame you," she answers Eva, expression sobering. "Don't know what it's like on Hibernia, but I've known enough off Minos. Military's better than mines any day of the week." The woman tucks her hands into her pockets, angling towards the hatch, herself. "I say we slide in a second board. Us bus drivers need a count, too. Can't be all about the gunslingers."
Julia doesn't really loom, unfortunately, due to her height (or lack thereof). But she does seem awfully nosy for a pilot. "Should be an easy-" Isolde comes to the same conclusion a little quicker, and the officer backs off to let her do her job. Back to looking for coffee, she notes Van's entrance with a critical flick of her eyes, down and then up to take his measure. Then a clean mug's secured, and the machine is prodded at until she finds the 'on' button.
"Just that you show an appropriate amount of concern for the wellbeing of your shipmates, Asa." Van looks back to Eva, "Back in Flight School at Triton, they taught us that a happy deck crew is a motivated deck crew. I'd like them motivated and rested so they don't make any mistakes, personally." He took starts down the length of the compartment, angling in for a look at Isolde's tablet, tossing over his shoulder at the Tauron Captain, "That's what missiles are for, right sir? Fewer of them than KEW rounds, so you've got to make them count. Maybe 'Viper jockeys picked up out of space' for your scoreboard?" He adds in to Isolde, "What language is she coded in, anyhow?" As he approaches Julia and Isolde, he offers a hand to Julia, "Van Newton."
Eva's attention goes back to Van as he addresses the tech, 'Asa', if she heard that right. She even mouths his words to herself. Now she's the one giving the stink-eye. 'Care about the well-being of your shipmates.' Colour her completely baffled. Oh well, she'll just politely step out of that conversation, "That might be a good ideas for a raptor board. Many a shift has started out well, and ended with me on the wrong end of a tow line."
"Don't be shy about nerding around me, ma'am," Isolde says as Julia moves off. She looks up at Van as he offers his own nerdy questions, and she smiles with amusement. "I'm sorry, sir... your clearance isn't high enough." She flashes him a toothy grin before she goes back to finishing fixing the loop. She then kicks the systems back in, and the heaters come on to give the rooms a bit more warmth. She starts to unplug. "Actually, we couldn't agree on what base to use when we coded her systems, so we went with something that was a nod to the intercolonial efforts." There's a beat, almost uncomfortable pause. "Plus, we thought if we went with something unfamiliar, it would lessen the chance of her being hacked." She wraps up the cords, and starts to pack them away with her tablet. She catches the last moments of the stink-eye from Eva, and her brows arch high above her eyes, a silent question there.
"Admittedly," Niemec says, from near the hatch, "I'm stingy in my use of missiles. Hate the idea of using the last one, only to have a bigger guy come along." Like saving your best ammo in a video game just in case. Sure, it makes the earlier battles more difficult, but when you get to that big boss... Damn is it nice to have those exploding rounds on hand. "I'd rather not haul your asses in, but maybe it could serve two purposes. Let us Raptors have a track of our own and so y'all can shame whoever has to be rescued the most." She hovers, before stepping out, to look back towards the others. There's a hint of a question, but the woman leaves it. Instead, she rolls down her sleeves to proper regs and ducks out into the hall beyond.
Julia squints a bit at the 'ma'am', but appears to have better things to do than chew the technician out for it. Also, there's a viper stick shoving a hand in her direction, and she glances at it briefly like she's considering what to do with it. A hesitant grasp presages a firm shake; ink from her shoulder to her knuckles of her right hand, a piece that looks to have been added to in stages. "Julia," she offers simply. Niemec's shot a glance as she departs, the ECO's expression thoughtful.
Van nods at Niemec, apparently agreeing with her stinginess with missiles. Isolde's teasing causes him to scoff, "Hey! I've got..." and then she's continuing, and he nods slowly, "Ahh, new language entirely. Good idea. Color me fascinated." When the tablet is turned off, he steps back, stopping his unintentional looming and then gesturing to Niemec, "That's it. Exactly. Double purpose." Shaking Julia's hand briefly, he nods at the counter introduction.
"I think I'm going to like that girl." Eva gives Niemec a flick of a hand, as close to a wave as she can manage lying on her stomach. She does not comment on the puzzled looks she gets from various and sundry. "I'd be interested to see the breakdown on that code, might be interesting to see how it stands up to the stress tests we put in place when we were re-engineering the automated mining facilities." A hand rises, mostly, to mask a yawn, "But not today. For now, I think I'll bid you all a good night. And thanks for getting the berthing up and running." With that, Eva scoots back into her bunk, a hand pulling the curtain across to block out some of the light, earplugs will have to do for the rest.
Isolde looks quite confused as she stands around the officers. She seems a bit out of her element now. She clears her throat a bit. "Well, I should get my ass moving... there's other environmental control loops to fix, and it requires hands-on." Limited computer networking, after all. She gives Julia a light nod of her chin and quick smile. The sight of the tattoos get an appreciating look, though her ink is well hidden under her own uniform. She starts to step awaya, headed for the exit. "Oh yeah, Newton," Asa calls over her shoulder as she makes her way to the hatch, "I keep meaning to say... I liked your hair better back on Picon." She flashes him a quick, and hopefully disarming smile before she turns her steps toward the exit, swinging her bag back into place at her hip. The innocuous Tauron nerd falls into line to make her exit.
Meanwhile, the coffee machine is signaling its readiness with a steady bleeping. Julia grabs her mug and slots it in in what she hopes is the correct spot, and jabs a button to begin dispensing the caffeine. She's going to need it in order to stay awake throughout the inevitable briefings to come. "Anyone know if squad leaders've been named yet?" she asks nobody in particular, shooting Isolde a cautious smile on her way out. Eva, she pretty much ignores for the most part.
Van nods to Eva, "Night." As Isolde heads toward the door, Van heads for his bunk, where a well-worn picture of two smiling women is stuck to the bulkhead. Her parting comment causes him to blink and reach up to run a hand over his short-buzzed hair. It takes him a moment to respond, and by then she's gone, so he's left there with his mouth open. Grumbling to himself, he notes, "It's easier to take care of this way." Looking over to Julia, he shrugs slightly, "I haven't heard." One hand gestures toward the door, "I know Captain Niemac's a Captain, so I'd assume she's in line for a flight. I'm just a J.G. though, I'll be riding someone's wing, and I'm alright with that."
Julia nods slightly, and takes a cautious sip of the brew. Her face says it's not too bad. "She seems okay," is her sole opinion on the captain in question, followed by her padding barefoot back toward her bunk with coffee in hand. "Anyway, see you at briefing in the morning." She digs a book out of her as-yet-not-unpacked duffle, fully intending to climb into her bunk and read for a while like the nerd she is.
"Seems like it," Van agrees. He clambers up the ladder to his top bunk, kisses two fingers, presses them to the picture on the outside of the bunk, then hauls himself into the bunk proper, "Always in the morning. I wonder if they play reveille in here."