Eva is trying to get fat. Niemec is trying to get fed. Oliver deploys cookies, and Paige just wants a meal. You know, business as usual in the Mess Hall.
Location: Mess Hall, Deck 8, Battlestar //Galactica//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 865
The hustle and bustle is never-ending in the mess hall, but if you are willing to venture out towards the outskirts of civilization, you can usually score an empty section of table. Which is precisely what Eva has done. She's dressed, rather sensibly, for the task ahead, in her off-duty togs, and she sits, cross-legged on the bench with an array of treats spread out along her patch of table like a smorgasbord. There's cookies and whatever those little fruity-oaty bars are they like to give you for breakfast. You know the ones, that turn to powder the moment they hit the pocket of your flight suit. There's some sort of unnamed jello like substance, because let's face it, what's cheaper than food made out of hooves and feet? Oh and pudding, there's always pudding, and a few other things that it looks like probably came from other members of the crew.
If one is willing to deal with mid-rats, they can probably find better seating. But that means things barely better than MREs left out to sit... and sit... Antonie Niemec has a desire for something more along the lines of 'fresh.' Cooking for so many people will never entail fine dining, but you can at least find things that are filling and warm. Some mornings (or 'start of shift'), that's all you need. The Raptor pilot is in duty blues and just exiting the food line. She balances her tray as she fills a mug with coffee and navigates tables with it all in tow. Settling down across from Eva, the woman seems to have not even noticed her tablemate. Not at first. That's for getting the coffee, waffle, and oatmeal off the tray and arranged before she's even gotten her ass on the bench. Then... then she looks up, coffee in hand. Ah-ha. "Thorne."
Oliver with minimal grunting hauls one of the large and heavy buffet chafing dishes from the kitchen. It's steaming and it must be hot but he's bare handing it. Face scrunched up in concentration he gives a bellow, "Make a hole." Pilots, marines, officers and enlisted all separate and make way. One final grunt sees the chafing dish is put in place under the "Monthly Special" sign. He gives it a stir and then serves himself up a bowl. A spoon is put into his mouth and he stroll-whir-thunks himself out of the way as a crowd quickly gathers to get the Sagittaron inspired special. Chunks of chicken simmered with sweet potatoes, garbanzo beans, tomatoes, and Sagittaron spices to create a hearty stew. The big tough looking guy can't help a bit of a smile around the spoon as he watches the crew dig in before he starts to look around for a place to sit and eat.
Eva looks up from her contemplation of things to come, as the Tauron sits down at her empty it of table. She isn't a hog though, and does move her bounty out of the way so that Niemec can have room, "Nice to see you, Niemec." She's almost got the pronunciation right. She's clearly been practicing. "I see you're fueling yourself for the day ahead." Eva's momentarily distracted by the big man moving in more food, her eyes lighting up. She can smell it from here. But that is for later. Eva finally reaches out, plucking up a cookie from one of her piles, "I, on the other hand, am trying to get as fat as I can, as quickly as possible." As she sees the man wandering around, she scoots her hoard a bit closer together. No need for him to eat standing up.
There's a glance to the bellowing, but Niemec doesn't move. Enough are mobbing the new offering and she's already got her meal in place. Maybe she just likes breakfast foods. The woman takes a long drink of her coffee before setting the mug aside and reaching for the oatmeal next. "Fat, mmm? Hope the tailor on board isn't too busy when you need your seams let out." She is smiling, at least a bit, in between bites. "Can't say I approve. Quite like this look you currently have going."
Oliver juts his chin a bit at Eva and he makes his way to the spot opening up. Setting down his bowl he reserves it and heads for the coffee station. Largest cup available is filled with the oldest pot that pours closer to syrup and once capped he returns to the table. "Thanks." He hoists his good leg over the bench leaving his heavier leg in the aisle and sitting sideways facing Eva and Niemec. "Enjoying the food? What's your favorite?" One tree trunk arm encircles around his bowl and he bows his head down to eat from the fortified Sagittaron Stew. "Tried the Special yet?"
"I like to think of it as storing up for the winter, like animals do before hibernation. Gives me incentive to burn it off." She flashes a grin, "No, actually, honestly, I just have a sweet tooth, and I've never even seen most of these before." She bites into the cookie, taking her time with it, before she gives the other woman a serious look, "But, you know, you can help me work it back off." At the question, Eva turns to their newest tablemate, who seems to be the other type of cookie, as he settles into his stew, "I had these little ground beef rollup things yesterday, they were fantastic. Although I wasn't too keen on that melted cheese business you were supposed to dip them in. Gummed my mouth right up." She finishes the cookie, before she offers, "Eva Thorne."
"It's food." Niemec has barely dug into hers just yet, so she hasn't got much of an opinion overall. The comment, however, isn't cruel. It's just offered to fill the space. She does glance towards the special, then back to her plate. The large waffle is gestured at with her spoon. "Maybe later?" The woman does look up to Eva, flashing an amused smile. "I might be able to do that. I'll probably have to work off some of these carbs myself." Oh, military life. Anywhere else, Antonie would be considered a wee thing. Here, she's probably regularly pressured to work out more and eat more protein. "I love melted cheese," she adds as an aside. Since the other pilot offers an introduction, well, she does the same after a long sip of coffee. "Antonie Niemec."
Oliver washes his stew down with a sip of the mud he calls coffee. "The cheese is the best part. Good for you too." He grins a sharkish like toothy thing and nods to Niemec. He doesn't seem to take (much) offense to the simple fact that his precious recipes are just food to Niemec and a good many other people on this ship. "If you're interested." He addresses both of them, "You should consider getting it while you can. The Special is served three times a day every day and you've only got a month to time things right. Either of you know any Sagittaron on crew? Would like their opinion on if it could use more chickpeas or not."
The messhall is crowded, as per usual, the buffet a bit clogged as people are trying to get a bowl and a ladle of whatever it is that's in that big pot at the end. Must be new, and as nobody's screaming, probably edible. The tables closest to the buffet and center of the room are pretty packed, but there's room at the outskirts. One table has a small clump of bodies. A redhead who seems to have made herself a treasure hoard of cakes, cookies and candies, a brunette in duty blues eating a waffle the size of her head (though that should not be taken as a slight against the size of her head), and a big bear (and that's no exaggeration) of a man double-fisting a soup spoon and a coffee mug. "Don't worry. I'll keep a water bottle on me to pass to you every time I see you hoofing it up and down the stairs." The redhead looks down, pondering her collection, and then leans back, pulling a box out from under her bench, and starting to pile almost everything in her hoard back into it. "I don't think I've met anyone from that colony yet. But that's a kind of nut, isn't it?"
"I... don't know if I do." Niemec is too recently aboard to remember peoples' colonies! Accents help, but the Tauran woman is coming up blank. She finishes her oatmeal and nudges the bowl aside, starting on the waffle proper. It's been doused thoroughly in syrup and butter. As is proper. "I'd almost rather a cookie," the brunette jests, glancing up to Eva. There's a slight upturn of her lips. "But at this rate, you'll be right there alongside me on those stairs."
Oliver tilts his head enough to spy through the edge of the lens of his glasses, watching Eva pack away her things. "I think I'm going to call you Squirrel." Sagenod followed by another lowering of his head to shovel another bite into his mouth. His arm still protectively encircling his bowl. "Well if you find one, have them report to me would you please? And that's an almond. Do you like coffee?" One hand expertly unclips his breast pocket quick clip of his Duty Greens and he pulls out a cigar tube. But when he opens it and tips it a biscotti cookie comes sliding out onto a clean napkin instead of a stoggie. "Try that." Another tube is pulled from his pocket and that one is offered over to Niemec. "Ask and you shall receive. Oliver by the way. Oliver Brown." He finally responds to the introductions now that he's less geared toward food consumption.
Captain Paige "Princess" Graystone comes walking into the mess hall, the Raptor ECO still wearing her jumpsuit from her shift. She's a recent arrival to Galatica, and is still getting situated with her quarters. She gets in line, doesn't look left or right as she moves through the line just like everyone else. A few folks do double takes at her name that's plain as day on her suit, identifying her as some relative to the creator of the Cylons, the enemy that they're all currently fighting. Paige is used to getting this reaction at this point so she ignores the stares and whispers. She's just here to get her food.
Eva grins at Niemec, "I'm twice your size," not true at all, they're barely two inches different in size, though Niemec is much more slender. Whereas Eva has some meat on her bones. "Anything's better than Cherry." Eva actually seems rather tickled to have a new nickname. She accepts the cookie, looking about to take a bite, "I do like coffee, as a matter of fact," before she gestures with it, as if it were a baton, "Wait, no, it will come to me." Eva has a moment of real, deep thought, "Oh. Almonds, I've had those. Chickpeas are...no, I'm thinking of macadamia nuts. I saw those on a cooking show once. But they sort of look the same, right? Sort of round and knobbly, like a brain?" She leans over, getting far too close to Oliver's stew, trying to spy the unfamiliar legume, "Am I allowed to call you Cookie, Oliver Brown?" The commotion Paige causes with her arrival doesn't go unnoticed, and a frown darkens Eva's formerly jovial expression, "Possible extraction imminent."
Tube?! Niemec squints at the thing before she realizes that it, too, is a cookie. The woman accepts it and pockets it gently with a "Thanks." There's an additional nod to the introduction as she drains more of her coffee. "Appreciate it." Most folks aboard at the moment are new. Fresh ship. The floors still shine in places. It means there's few pockets of people. No gangs or cliques yet. For the most part. Largely people settling in with fellow bunkmates, squad mates, or just 'their' crew based upon job or rank. The Raptor pilot sets aside the coffee and gets to work on her waffle properly. She eats quickly, but not so fast she'd risk hiccups. Someone used to sitting Alert. There is a snort for Eva's words. "That'll change if you achieve your goal of getting fat." There is a glance towards Paige, but Antonie doesn't move just yet.
Oliver steers clear of the ladies talk about weight and sizes. The brother of many sisters knows when to completely ignore a topic and girls and weight/size is high on that list, right next to age. "You are allowed." He bows his head rather regally as he bestows the honor. A quick wink is given when his head is upright again. "Oh the Chickpea, yes, sorry, I thought you were asking about that cookie you just Squirreled away. That had an almond on it." When Eva leans in, instinctively there's a tightening of the arm around the bowl and a shift in how he holds the spoon. Going from typical loose eating position to a position one might connect to a marine holding a knife out the back side of his fist that (comparing sizes now) is almost as big as Eva's head. But while his eyes are wary on her, his tone is more friendly. "Would you like to try one?" Further Marine instincts kick in and his blue eyes begin to dart about when an extraction is mentioned. They easily find the source of the possible mission and he nods. "Don't clog the line." Is bellowed at the crew that's busy hassling the Captain. "What's their problem?" Is an aside to Eva and Niemec, he's not put together the reason why Paige is faced with the ridicule she is. But his Mess Hall is Sanctuary and he's all for educating those who violate that. Everyone is new, so the education needs to be swift and clear.
Paige takes her time going through the line, picking out the items she's interested in eating at her leisure. Once she has her tray loaded, she turns with tray in hand, studying the crowd. There's no empty tables at the moment so then she narrows her search for one with Air Wing members sitting. She's starting to look their way and then Oliver calls out to folks not to clog the line, which means, stop staring at the new Captain that's just trying to get her damn food and find a seat. She heads over in that direction, figuring it's friendlier than those tables closer to the line. One smartass Marine sticks out if his foot all casual but Paige is used to that one and just avoids the minor obstacle telling the kid as she passes, "Better luck next time." She keeps on moving, eyes straight ahead. She's cool, calm and doesn't seem to give a shit about the attention she gets.
"Nothing better than being fat and happy. Especially if you're not up the family way." Eva tilts her head, catching the man's defensive stance, "No worries, Cookie, I would never steal a man's stew. I would, however, be happy to try a chickpea." The most cosmopolitan of colonials Eva is not. Once a country bumpkin, always a country bumpkin, "That's my trading stash. You know, it's easy to get what you want now, but you wait until we're in space in the middle of duty. Those things will be like gold. Possibly stale gold, but I never knew someone to turn down a stale cookie or slice of cake." A finger goes into her ear, wiggling it around as Oliver bellows right into it, before Eva looks back to the damsel, er, woman possibly in need of rescue, "No idea, never seen her before. Looks like she's one of ours though." And squadrons protect their own. Even the ones they don't know. She budges over herself, to make room for the damsel now heading their way.
"No clue," Niemec answers Olivier's request. There's another glance towards Paige, but the woman ultimately goes back to her waffle. She seems rather intent on getting her meal devoured. Maybe she has somewhere to be? Or perhaps the mess is just too crowded. "We'll still get supply visits, I'm sure. It's not like we're going so far they can't bring us our mail and some candy bars." The woman has a strong Tauran accent, if the tattoos weren't telltale enough. "But depending on what you've got... Might be good for a trade."
Oliver buffs his spoon clean with his napkin before he scoops up one chickpea and offers it over to Eva. "You saying your Cookie isn't a smark one?" His tone playful in the accusation. "Ears." is more quietly warned to Eva before he is getting bellowy again, "Oi!" He spotted the attempt at a trip. "The only person in my Mess Hall that get's to get "loungey" with their legs poking out from under the table, is me." He lifts and clangs the metal foot that is indeed right out in the aisle twice pointedly in punctuation. There's not much room to scoot behind him but he does scootch as much as he can. He is still holding his spoon like it was a k-bar while he points his index and middle fingers at his eyes behind their lenses and then to the foot loose marine then back at his eyes before he is letting it go so long as he's obeyed and gets back to eating.
Paige sees Eva make room for her and smiles, destination acquired. She makes the rest of the way to the table without an incident, after Oliver calls out the other Marine who quickly pulls his leg back in, and then sets her tray down and takes a seat. She gives a polite smile to everyone at the table and makes introductions, "Hi...I'm Paige." She doesn't bother to add her last name because it's right there on her suit, "Thank you for the invitation. I just got here and haven't been assigned a bunk yet so I'm still getting settled in." Her voice is cultured, identifying her as Caprican.
"You'll receive your bunk assignment soon, I'm sure." It's a rather curt statement from the Tauran at the table. Niemec has finished up her meal and begins gathering things up. "Places to be, things to do..." She balances the tray, but keeps her coffee separate. That will get a refill. "And you-" a glance to Eva, brow arched. "We get some leave before heading out, we're getting drinks." And then she's off for, yes, that refill and to dump her dishes in the bin with the rest.
Eva look scandalized at Oliver's accusation, "I would never." Clearly unconcerned with cooties, she takes the chickpea, chewing as she claps her hands over her ears in time to avoid Oliver's next bellow. "It's not..bad." She unclamps a hand from her head, "It's sort of beany, isn't it?" Clearly, Eva is not a fan of bean like textures. "I think I will get my own bowl though. A woman cannot live on refined sugars alone." She rises just as Paige is settling in, turning just enough to see Paige's namepatch, "That's unfortunate." Completely deadpan, with just a hint of dismissiveness. As Hibernians, which she clearly is, given her accent, have generally spent their lives being hated for their heritage, she is not the one to hold it against anyone else. "I'm Eva, that's Antonie," she indicates the woman hoovering up a waffle, "And that's Oliver. Welcome to Galactica." She flashes Niemec a smile and a thumbs up, as the woman pops up and pops out, "Correction, that was Antonie."
Oliver uses his fingers to pick out another chickpea and he kisses it clean of spice and stew with his lips quickly to hold it up on display for Eva, he taps the pointy bit, "See, the Beak, get it? Chick. It is beany or in this case, Pea like. Soooo... chickpea." He's not entirely condescending. And no matter how much someone promises that old cultural animosities are in the past and it's now Unified Colonies against the machines. The Virgon in him just can't help a tiny bit of a tone rather like a father teaching a child their first word with his new Hibernian friend. Ironic that, his first social encounter stars a Hibernian. And now co-staring a Caprican! It's his lucky day! The salty Cookie peeks over at the footsie Marine again to make sure he has corrected his trip-tastic posture. "I'll get you a bowl. I need seconds." He stands up with that and does as promised. If the "Srgt. Tripper" is still testing Oliver's warning, well he's going to find his poked out foot stepped on, by Oli's Cylon foot.
"Nice to meet you," Paige tells her, giving her a genuine smile rather than her polite one that she wears more often than not these days. She gives a little laugh, "Yes...it is a set of unfortunate circumstances, isn't it." She gives a shrug of her shoulders, "But it is what it is. They'll get used to me eventually." She leans down to take a taste of the soup. Her manners are refined, she holds her silverware like she's at a formal dinner, her back straight and there is a sense of refinement that has been trained into her, another thing that makes her stand out, "And may I say you are the first welcome of the day so once again, thank you."
Srgt. Tripper is now sitting with his buddies, doing his best to stay out of Oliver's radar since he's of lower rank. It's all fine and good when you're picking on a lone female from a hated family but he does not want to mess with the big Marine.
If Oliver's tone is acknowledged, it isn't by Eva. Like Paige, she's spent, in her case, years living with that Virgon tone of voice. And she genuinely seems to like the bear of a cook, or at least enjoys his company, so 'water off a duck's back'. Once again, she's genuinely interested in something that comes from, well, anywhere that's not where she's from, even if it is just a legume. "Do you ever wonder what people were thinking, the first time they tried some strange looking thing to see if it was edible." She unknots herself from where she was sitting at the bench, actually settling in more comfortably, "Or we'll make them get used to you." Sometimes a girl has to put her foot down, "A foot up a few asses works wonders." She flashes a smile in Oliver's direction, "Thank you. You're very kind." And as a Virgon, he most certainly doesn't have to. Especially seeing as how Eva is, quite literally that red-headed stepchild nobody really likes. She looks back at Paige, her expression more serious, "We all have a story. And given the circumstances, it doesn't matter who we were or how we got here. We're all riding the same ride now." She holds out her hands, accepting the bowl as Oliver carries it back to the table, setting it down, but waiting for him to seat himself, before she'll start eating.
Oliver doesn't really mean to be condescending, he's just an unfortunate product of his culture. Green and Gold Virgon Blooded! There is a lot of guilt when it comes to all things Hibernian vs Virgon and it also fuels that hint of talking down to the Mooner. But it also contributes a great deal more to the as she named it 'kindness' towards her. He watches her take the first bite, keen to examine her very first expression in tasting his food. The rest of the buffet is his food too, but the Monthly Specials, those are his pride and joys. "Weeeeeeell?"
"No, I can't say that I have. Actually, my mother enjoyed new experiences so we'd have an epicurean night where we'd sample a new dish from one of the other twelve colonies." She gives a half smile at the memory, "It did not always go as planned. And there were a few times we'd have to go out for dinner afterwards." She looks to see if Eva likes Oliver's choice.
At the mention of making people get used to Paige, she shakes her head, "Let them feel what they feel. Yes, you're right. Our pasts should not matter." She pauses and then because Eva is being so friendly, she mentions, "I never was involved with the family business. I joined the academy at nineteen and never looked back. And by the time those bots were in production, I was already deployed." So no Graystone shop of horror stories for her to tell, "But...the name has connotations. And in the end, they will either choose to live in ignorance or judge me on my own flaws and merits." She gives a laugh, "I have many...flaws. And plenty of material to irritate and annoy. So we'll see. I'm willing to let bygones be bygones for now."
Eva takes as much time and gives as much attention to taking her first bite of the Sagittaron stew as she did to tasting a Leonese almond cookie. She holds up a finger on her free hand, as if to say, 'Give me a second,' and takes a second bite. "It's delicious, Oliver. I've never had anything like it." She raises a hand, coughing slightly, that 'pepper in your throat cough'. And the stew isn't all that spicy either she's just...from a land off normally quite bland food. Miners not spending much money on spicing things up. Literally, "I really do like it." A true multi-tasker, she's happy to keep up both ends of the conversation, looking back to Paige, "I can believe that." She replies, at the mention of having to go get something to eat...after you eat, "But it's a bit like...we have these sea snails we eat in the summer, but who was the first person to say to themselves, 'Hey, those slimy things don't look too bad, let me throw them in a pot and then dig them out of that shell with a stick." She purses her lips, considering, "Well, I can certainly see you being judged for your family name, but it's not really about that, so much as, at least in the squadrons I've been in, we don't take kindly to people messing with us. Lord knows we get enough flask from the Marines." A beat, "Also, I do like a good scrap now and then."
Oliver goes a bit from serious and salty to an almost boyish giddy little bounce. Three bounces in total as he basks in Eva's enjoyment of his food. But then he's all salt again. "Good, you better, it's the only variety you're going to get for years to come." Ignore the little smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Ignore! He is salty and bearish and rarr! Fear the Master of the Mess Hall! mew. "At one time they weren't all bad." Is his comment about Paige's family and it comes with the tapping of his cylon right toes on the metal mess hall floor. "Weren't for some level of invention, I'd be banging around on a wooden peg!" He just wishes the inventing stopped before it got out of hand and made him have to get a new leg in the first place. But with the little bit of smile around his spoon, it's hopefully at least clear that he's not going to hold another person with the same last name's misdeeds against the pilot sitting on the other side of his favorite red headed step child. "Hunger Squirrel. That's what makes them slugs and snails and black tar like stuff clinging to a red desert rock on the ass end of a blasted moon look like something that might just keep you alive." Words ringing with actual experience he gives a wink to Eva again before shoveling more of his stew into his gob.
Paige gives a chuckle, "Oh the Marines aren't so bad. Really, we're all on the same side so rivalries should be left on the table till we take care of business and then we can go back to hating each other." She makes a face because the whole thing is just pointless to Paige and that shows on her face, "And I try to keep my sparring to the mat in the gym. Less changes of getting into trouble." And clearly the woman isn't looking for trouble, "Really at the end of the day, just want to do my part and have an impact." She smiles at Oliver when he mentions that some of the Graystones weren't all bad.
"As long as you're running the mess," and really, is there any doubt. Even if he might be outranked, he's obviously put the fear of the gods into the crew. His and the ones coming in to eat. Her conversation slows, as she tucks into her meal, nowhere near as dainty and refined as Paige, just...you know, eating. Eva waves a hand, in a sort of 'Oh, go on then' gesture, to Oliver, "You sly dog, you have eaten on Hibernia." Depending on where you go, Oliver's description of the natural victuals isn't that far off. Not everyone on the moon is lush and green, especially where it's been stripmined for Tylium. "Sadly, I am no wrestler. I'm more of a shoot you in the facer, and then a kicker and a biter when the bullets run out."
Oliver's broad and thick shoulders lift and fall in a silent chuckle when Eva teases him. "Girl after my own heart." He says over dreamily to tease her right back. "Yeah, the Marine's aren't that bad." He chimes after Paige while giving Eva a nudge with his shoulder. "Your favorite person in the whole universe was a Marine you know." There's that sharkish and oddly boyish grin at Eva again.
Paige finishes up her meal in record time because she was hungry and the food was good. She gives a smile to Oliver, "My compliments to the chef but I do must be going. I still have to get things with my room sorted out." She gives Eva a look, "I hope to see you on the flight deck." And then Oliver gets a respectful nod, "And it was a pleasure meeting you too." Then she starts to gather her things to head out.
"The closer I am to you, the closer I am to the pie." never let it be said that she's not up front about why she's using a man. As for the Marine, "Well, you'd have had to have been, I've never seen a navy man your size." A beat, "To be fair, I haven't seen many men your size." She nods to Paige, setting aside her spoon out of politeness as she gets up, "I'm sure you will. We're over in Berthing A, Antoine and I, there's still a few bunks left." Once the woman has departed, she sits back down to tuck back into her stew.
Oliver piffs a high squeaky sound of shocked exasperation out from between his lips when she tells him what she's using him for. "A guy gives a girl his favorite cookie, and all she can think about is pie. Can't even win in the Apocalypse." He gives a mock forlorn sigh, overdrama at its finest. "So you and Antoine... ... ... sharing a berth ... ... ... cozy." He eats a spoonful in every long pause.
"Can't I have your cookie and your pie?" Eva stops her spoon in mid movement, a snort of laughter (actually a snort, she has one of those laughs), making her entire body shake, and it takes her a minute to get herself under control, "Me, Antoine and the other two dozen or so bodies they crammed into the berthing. It's like a puppy pile with way more elbows and cold feet."
Oliver lofts both eyebrows high and tilts his head down so that he is looking over the rims of his glasses at her. "Greedy." He affectionately tsks at her and then barks out a bit of a laugh when she snorts! It makes him giggle. Quickly taking up his coffee to try to keep from laughing at her too too much. But then he almost snarfs his coffee when he laughs again at the cold feet comment. "You want to talk cold feet?" He very pointedly looks down to his right foot, metal toes clicking on metal floor.
"Well, Seems as if I need to get in on the ground floor. Pretty soon I'll be fighting them off with a stick." Which is jokingly said, but so true. On any ship, getting in good with the cooking staff can make or break a tour. She looks down at the prosthetic, actually skirting the table and settling on Oliver's side, so she can give the cylon tech a good stare, "Is the use of cylon tech for limb replacement still an ongoing thing? There's no concern that the parts could be sabotaged?" She looks up then, "Want me to knit you a sock? You'll never have to worry about cold feet again." She shakes her head, "We never learned about anything this sophisticated in systems engineering."
Oliver's shoulder give another shake with a silent but outwardly amused chuckle. "I don't mind it. It actually warms up surprising fast. As for the other questions. It was a matter of life and availability. We were in an agg drainage pipe, the ones under roads. It heard one of the kids crying and so I...well like you said... I filled up the pipe as much as I could. Got into a grapple with It, it aimed for the kids, I put my thigh on the barrel while my hands were busy ripping it in half across wise at the belly, it's the thinnest part of them, mostly just spine. Long story short, I drag my ass into a safe zone, with the lower half of a cylon as a crutch with cables from the spine round the top of what was left of my leg. Passed out, woke up with the crutch for a leg... One of the doctors had skillz and a fracked up sense of humor." His sharkish grin now sardonic. "Don't know about the sabotage yet. But I think I could win a million if I bet that I'm probably the last human to get cylon parts."
Eva looks up, expression thoughtful, "I suppose bootie would be very unmanly, not to mention slippery on the deck." So no cozy knitted sock for you. Yet. "That must have been a terrible choice to make." Of course, its the choice every soldier makes, in the air or on the ground, "It's easy to imagine the sacrifice as some vague 'one of these days...maybe' things, harder to actually do it." She pointedly does not ask him about the kids. That's the sort of thing that never ends well, "For now. If this war keeps on, who knows what we'll have to do to keep soldiers in fighting form." She reaches out, almost touching it, but then seeming to remember her manners. It isn't, after all just a thing anymore, it literally is part of a person. "Can you actually feel with it? When you're walking, for example? Or do you just sense the cessation of motion?"
Oliver tilts his head in the way that gives permission for her to continue her hands halted trajectory and touch it. His pants only come up to what would be mid-calf on the right side, because of the second backwards knee / calf joint, longer pant legs gum up the works of that joint and any tapered fitted leg on a pant just won't fit over it right either. "This at that tugs on the bone, muscle and nerves it's attached to up here." He grip pinch-squishes high on his right thigh. "You're probably going to laugh." He's not sure because he's never actually spoken about this to anyone but the original doctor before. "But the sound and yes, the vibration and cessation, they all sort of work together and even though I can't feel with it, I well - I can." Still a bit sardonic he chuckles grimly. "Sorry, Mum would box my ears. Not exactly proper table talk. Finish your stew before it gets cold. No sneaking it into that box either."
Eva is all about getting comfortable when she's trying to learn something, and she promptly plunks herself down on the ground, once she has your permission. Thankfully, the floors are both new and well maintained. She's careful, as she allows her fingers to explore the prosthetic, the touches as delicate as they might be if she were touching real flesh. It is a part of another person, now, even if it is a strange, slightly unsettling part. She doesn't look up, being far too engrossed in what she's doing, but she does answer, "No, I don't think it's funny at all. We all learn natural cues that help us to know what our bodies are doing, you've simply had to relearn those cues to compensate for the change in your body, "My Da would say that it's at the table you can talk about the things that really matter." She rises, though, unfolding herself from the ground, and wiping her hands before she settles in to do as she's told and finish eating, "I would never. The box is strictly for things I want to trade away."
Oliver jokingly gets indignant again, "You saying that a stale hunk of cookie is worth gold, but a tepid perhaps moldy bowl of Sagittaron Stew made my the Cookie, Oliver Brown, isn't worth anything in a trade?" Sucking in an insulted gasp he places a hand over his heart and looks like he just might faint away like some Victorian Damsel. But in the next instant he's back to the regular Cookie and he shovels the last three slurpy bites out of his bowl and into his mouth. It is then, because already the lower ranked galley cook knows not to interrupt chow time. "Sir? There's some temperature trou--" Oliver's already standing up and only lingers long enough to give a farewell, "Duty calls. See you soon Squirrel."
"I can pawn off a stale cookie, especially the kind that get softer the staler they get. Even my wondrous marketing skills cannot hide traces of mold." She finishes only a few bites after you do, "I am not that good of a salesman. Yet." She reaches over, taking your bowl and spoon and setting into hers, "Besides, if I just took all your goods now, I'd miss the chance to see you again." She tips a chin in the direction of your minion. Because Cookie has Minions. "I'll clean up. Thank you for dinner, Cookie." Once the dishes are put away, she'll head out herself, box of not for resale but we'll do it anyway items tucked under her arm.