Cate and Van have a somber catching-up after Triton.
Location: Rec Room, Deck 8, Battlestar //Galactica//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 866
It's mid-evening, and there are a few folks hanging out in the Rec Room. Chatting, making new friends. A card game is going on, and a couple folks are watching a popular old war movie vid. Sitting at one of the tables by herself is Cate. Dressed in her off duty sweats and sweatshirt jacket, she's sipping from a cup of coffee and glancing now and again to the vid screen.
Van has a box with several holobands gathered in it tucked under his arm as he makes his way into the Rec Room. His glance about lingers on the vid for a minute, then sweeps around the unfamiliar faces. Spotting a familiar one by herself, the pilot heads in that direction, offering a nod of greeting, "Doc. Do you mind if I sit down, or would you rather some space?"
Cate glances over a little distractedly when she hears her 'name', but then offers a faint smile. "Hey. Oh, no, sit down. Nice to see a familiar face." She gazes curiously at the box under his arm for a moment. "Making a delivery?" she wonders aloud.
Van sets the box down on the table and settles into a chair opposite the Marine, "Pick-up, actually." He gives a little shrug, "Borrowed a few personal 'bands. The official ones in the Ready Room are great, but myself and some of the other Wolfpack fliers are looking for some unofficial team-building exercises too."
"That's cool." Cate smirks a little. "So you're a wolf now, huh?" Then, more seriously, she asks, "Run into any other fliers from Picon here?" What she really means is from Triton, but somehow can't bring herself to ask directly.
Van shrugs a little helplessly, "Technically I'm still a Redtail too," the Picon squadron that he was assigned to after convalescence. "And I'm always going to be a Sea Knight." Even if the squadron hasn't been reconstituted yet, and may never be. The question causes Van's lips to tighten a little, and he shakes his head, "There are another half dozen or so of us in the Air Wing." He pauses, and the answers the question she was really asking, "None of the old gang that I know of. Any ground-pounders I might know?"
A sad nod acknowledges the comment about the Sea Knights. "Thought it was kinda ironic that they have an Argonauts squadron here too." Cate shakes her head to his question. "No, haven't seen anyone in the marines." There's a beat, and she sips from her coffee, and then she asks, "Convalescence? This from that shrapnel you mentioned?"
"Yes... it really is." About the Argonauts. "I have to say," the words are directed down toward the tabletop, where he studies his fingers as they toy with a stray cord, "I'm glad that I wasn't assigned there." He nods a little at the mention of the lack of marines from Triton onboard, then tucks the cord away and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook. The pack is offered out to Cate, and he responds, "Yes. A year of recovery and PT for my leg." The pilot bounces his right leg to indicate which one, "Apparently I really frakked it up in the crash, and flying a Raptor on it afterwards didn't help matters. You come out okay?"
"Yeah, that would've been rough," Cate agrees. She waves off the cigarettes with a shake of her head. After taking another sip of her coffee, looking like she wished it were something stronger, she offers him a wan smile. "I don't think anyone came out of there okay." She almost leaves it at that, but after a moment adds more somberly, "Close call with one of the bombs in that last airstrike, got pretty banged up." She lets out a slow sigh. "How's the leg now?"
Van shakes out a cigarette for himself, starting a little as a crackle of explosions ripples up from the war movie. He doesn't -- quite -- lose the cigarette, but he does have to lean down to scoop up the matchbox again. The pack goes back into his pocket, and he tucks the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, "You're right. Even the ones who were already crazy," he could have been included in that list by some accounts, "just got crazier." On the outside, he got saner, but that's only really at first glance. Before he can light the cigarette, he rubs at his right thigh, "It's alright. I'm pretty sure that my chance at the Panthers is over," there was never a chance, and by his wan smile, he knows it, "but I can fly, and that's what matters."
There's a twitch in Cate's face as well at the TV, though not quite as pronounced. She gives him a sympathetic look, but doesn't comment on the reaction. "Well, we can't all be stars on the pyramid team. Thank the Gods for flying though, or you'd really be crazy, huh?" Her finger traces idly along the rim of her coffee cup, and she asks tentatively. "Did you see Lieutenant Taras or Padlock on the way out?" A marine officer and Viper jock, both from Picon, both men, who got married during the siege.
Van strikes a match, drawing the cigarette alight and shaking the match out. The smoke is blown up toward the ceiling, where it can be collected by vents. "Loony-bin crazy," he confirms. The question draws a grimace and he lowers the cigarette, frowning in thought, "Padlock... I heard the callsign on the comms during the fight, before I put my Viper down." 'Crashed' would be more accurate, really. "But I don't know if he made it down or out. Taras..." he grimaces, "All I can tell you for sure is that neither of them was on my Raptor on the way out, sorry."
A pinched smile and a nod acknowledges his response. "Too much to hope, I guess." That they would've been safe on his boat. "Dub and Mute got me and some other folks out on their Raptor, but we crashed just outside of the city. Got separated from them not too long after that." Cate lets out a sigh, a sad frown settling on her face. Abruptly, she changes the subject. "You volunteer for the CF or did you guys draw straws or something?"
Van seems to have forgotten about the cigarette between his fingers, for all that his eyes drift over to the rising smoke, staring through it. He nods once, "Yes, I stayed low and slow, mostly because that was all I could handle. Picked my way through the streets." The change of subject is embraced with relish, the pilot sitting up, "I volunteered. I want home as safe as the next guy, but if we can't stop the Cylons everywhere, we can't stop them anywhere. You?"
Cate nods slightly, not commenting further on the escape. Too sore a subject for both of them, she can tell from his expression. "Same," she says. "Hibernians aren't exactly everyone's favorite people in the royal marines, so... it seemed like a good chance to get out. And I wouldn't mind working with guys from Picon again, after Triton."
Van nods, "I've noticed that there are a lot of Hibernians aboard. And Taurons. It seemed like an odd mixture for a ship with a Caprican commander." The cigarette continues to smolder in his fingers unattended, "But yes, you can stitch me up any time, Doc. And I've made it very clear to the other Picons I've spoken to that you're good people."
Cate bobs her head. "There aren't a ton of us or anything, but, well, more than one or two would probably seem like a lot." When you consider the percentage they make up of the populace. The mention of other Hibernians causes a troubled crease to her brow, but she shakes it off and continues, "The Taurons are a bit surprising, yeah, given the Commander. But I dunno - I guess maybe they didn't want everyone to think it was, like, the Caprican ship or anything." She smiles faintly at the last. "Thanks. Hopefully you won't be needing any more of my services this time around."
"Well, it seems like every second person I meet is Hibernian or Tauron. Tattoos everywhere. Not that I'm complaining." A faint smile curls the corners of Van's lips at the last, and then he looks down in surprise as heat from his cigarette starts to touch his fingers, bringing it up to knock a good half inch of ash into an ashtray. "I think they should have just put the XO in command. No one hates a Picon."
Cate tilts her head at that. "Who else have you met who's Hibernian?" Though the question causes the corners of her mouth to twitch downward. "I haven't seen too many Taurons. Just Asa." Every time she says the name now she has to pause, as if second-guessing if she's got it right. "Oh, and our platoon lieutenant." She smirks weakly at the last. "I could go with that. Long as it's not a Virgon."
"Several of the pilots in the Wolfpack. " Van smiles faintly, shifting a little in his seat at the mention of the Specialist, "I'm sure that I'm just noticing trends that aren't there. I honestly haven't talked to too many people for more than ten or fifteen minutes yet." That wipes away the smile, causing him to frown a little instead, "That... does not bode well for the ship, does it? Or maybe I'm more broken than I thought." Still, he gestures across the table, suddenly remembering the cigarette, and bringing it back to take a draw and breathe the smoke up toward the ceiling, "Like I said. Everyone likes a Picon."
"Oh," Cate says, when Van mentions the pilots. But then she looks curious. "What doesn't bode well? The fact that our platoon leader's a Tauron?" She chuckles softly at the last remark. "There was a second there where I actually looked to see if there was any way to join the Pican army, after we got picked up by your fleet."
Van shakes his head at her question, "No, the fact that I've only had a few conversations longer than ten or fifteen minutes. I wonder if we will create the necessary ties before we come under fire." The comment about the Picon military causes him to chuckle, however, "Should have gone Navy. You would have gotten a lot of references."
"Aah. Yeah, I haven't really talked to a lot of folks either," Cate admits with a slight shrug. "Suppose that's not great." She smirks. "Navy docs spend all their time in sickbay." More seriously then. "I can do more good in the field. I saw that at Triton."
Van nods his acceptance, "Yes. I suppose so. Then again, I might be a little biased, since if I get wounded again, I'll be headed for a Navy doc. How is medical here, by the way? Have you had any chance to interact with them yet?"
"And I get to shoot Toasters," Cate adds, a hard edge in her voice. "Beats being on the receiving end." His question snaps her out of those thoughts and she says, "A bit. They've got a nice hospital here." But the thoughts of Hyperion seem to have taken a tool and she says, "I'm actually kind of beat. Think I'm going to turn in early. Was good chatting with you. Don't be a stranger, huh?"
Van stubs out his cigarette with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary at her mention of shooting Toasters, "Frak yes. Best reason to be on this ship." Drawing in a breath, he gathers up his box of borrowed holobands and pushes himself to his feet, "You too, Doc. I'll try to make sure I only see you socially. Good hunting."