Niemec and Ramsay bond... awkwardly... over their Tauran roots.
Location: Observation Deck
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 938
Ramsay strides in with a purposeful gait. His eyes scan over the array of loveseats. He alters his course a bit and stands in a relaxed stance as close as he can get to the center of the wide viewport.
On one of this loves eats sits Niemec. The Captain is in off-duties, sitting at the edge of the cushion. She's leaning forward, forearms braced against her knees as she stares out the viewport. Her hair is down and falls around her shoulders. The sleeveless dual-tanks reveal more of the tattoo work on her arms. And along the right side of her neck. In this state, she doesn't look quite the respectable pilot. At least not what some colonies would paint as a 'proper' officer and pilot. Her reverie is broken by someone moving into view and Antonie sits up a bit straighter. "Never had a view quite like this. You don't think about it behind the stick."
"The stars aren't in the right place. It's.. disconcerting." Ramsay offers a polite smile to the pilot. "Things you know 'rationally'. But still have to see to believe."
"Mmm." Niemec makes a thoughtful sound before pushing herself to her feet, moving across to stand before the viewport herself. "I was on Caprica for a handful of months before I found myself shipped out here." She glances over to Ramsay before looking back ahead. To the stars. To what of the shipyards can be seen while they're docked. "Began adapting to it while there. But as a pilot, you learn the locations of specific ones based on others, like-" she reaches past him to point to a corner. "Pleiades."
Ramsay follows the line of your fingers with his eyes. "I will make a point to brush up on my stellar recognition guide." Pregnant pause. "So, welcome to humanity's next great adventure." He motions with an arm to indicate the great Battlestar, the shipyards, and the fleet. "Caprica. Leading us into the golden age." He snorts.
"Might be for the best. If only to know which way to look for home." And, to be helpful, Niemec does point out the star that hosts Tauron and its surrounding planets. She leans back on her heels, snorting faintly. Her tone shifts, then, into Tauran. More harsh on the tongue, perhaps, but it flows easily from the pilot. "Funny, isn't it? Unification and yet, surprise surprise, they're in charge."
"Pfeh. I want to believe they really have everyone's best interest at heart" The Tauran tongue flows naturally from Ramsay as well. "That, in the face of a universal threat to all the colonies they would set old fights aside. But I've been in The Game for too long." He chuckles. "And, listen to me. It's pretty obvious I haven't set anything aside. Which just seems to further cement that neither have they."
The woman seems more comfortable speaking Tauran. Maybe the Caprican Standard wears thin. Or, more likely, it's a small taste of home. Niemec gives a quiet snort of amusement. "No one has yet. We're not even two years into this. The unification is still so new. Everyone's holding their breath, unsure of where it will go." She glances over to him, thoughtful. "How did you end up here?
Ramsay says, "Every fighting force needs knowledge of the enemy." He taps the temple next to his eyepatch before continuing. "I'm good with patterns and numbers. I see things."
Ramsay continues after a brief paus. "I don't know if I'm here to get me out of Tauran Intelligence's hair, or to keep tabs on the Unification." He shrugs. "Maybe a little of both."
"One of those sent rather than a volunteer." Niemec snorts, faintly but it's again in an amused fashion. "Not sure if I was crazy to volunteer, but-" she shrugs, looking from Ramsay to the view once more. "The cylons don't give a frak if the people they hit are military or civilian. If I can be on the front lines and prevent more civilian deaths? It's worth it, to me."
Ramsay says, "It is worth it. I don't know if I would have volunteered, in time. But I'm here. Doing my part for the cause." He smiles a genuinely content smile. "And make no mistake, sticking it to the Cylons is a worthy cause."
"Good to have fellow Taurans alongside," Niemec adds, lips twitching up a bit at one side. "I admit, I was a bit afraid that I'd found myself on the Galactica as some perverse award for being a volunteer." She twists a bit, turning more to face the man. She leans her shoulder to the view port; cold upon the flesh as it is. "We'll probably see some strife in that regard, by the way. Some of the others seem to think it makes them superior if they volunteered or even if their colony has sent more volunteers."
"Thanks for the heads up. I'm no stranger to strife, but always good to know where to expect it from." Arms fold across his chest. "Truth is, some of the Colonies are lucky to be able to send anyone. Warfare is not what we're all good at."
There's a bit of a laugh from Niemec, but it's a wry one. "I think few Taurans are strangers to it, let's be honest." She crosses her arms, drawing in a deep breath. "Some of the colonies have barely been hit. Of course they can send volunteers. But places like Tauron? Frak's sake, we had just as many of the damn things as Caprica. Volunteering, for some, means leaving family behind not knowing if you'll see them again. It's a frakkin' sacrifice, not some noble deed that'll get you laid on leave."
Ramsay says, "Sure, they have people to send. That doesn't mean they have skills the Cee Eff needs." He shifts his stance uncomfortably from left foot to right. "Tell me about your family?""
"Just another thing for people to bitch about and throw fits over," Niemec offers, in a dry tone. "And I'd better not see another ECO or pilot come into the barracks bloodied." She shakes her head a bit, but glances up to the man at the query. There's a furrow of her brow and a slightly guarded expression comes over her. "They're..." She exhales in a slow sigh. "I haven't spoken to them in about a year."
Ramsay says, "I'm sorry." A moment of silence as h e considers his next words. "My father and brother work in agri. Keeping us all in food. My Mom and sister didn't make it." Another pause. "Lots of brawling between crew?""
With his admission, Niemec knocks knuckles lightly against the viewport. She looks out to the stars. To the one that marks their home. Her lips twist, wry, before she offers in a quiet voice: "My husband and son. In one of the first major bombings on Tauron. That's when I volunteered. I needed..." She shrugs, looking downward. "away." The change of topic is accepted wit a slow intake of breath. "Don't know about a lot. Enough. Colonial conflicts. Folks disused to being in closed quarters."
Ramsay says, "What'd you do before?"
"Much of the same." Niemec squares her shoulders, pushing off the rest. "I wanted to study philosophy on Libran, but... there were issues in the family. I still wanted school, but it was harder to find programs I wanted back home. The naval academy was my best bet. Realized I enjoy helping people. Did a lot of SAR and medical flights." She lifts her chin, squinting at him. Just a bit. "What about you?"
Ramsay says, "I graduated from the school of hard knocks. Good with Numbers. I have a Doctorate in Statistics and Analytics. Paid for by the People's Democratic Republic of Tauron." He chuckles. "And a Bachelor's in bashing Cylons."
This does earn a quiet laugh from Antonie. She does smile, at least a bit. "I didn't have it so bad. Just... beholden somewhat to the Ha'La'Tha. Still am, I suppose. Just-" she nods her head towards the arm of the space yards visible. "Serving here instead. What's good for Tauron... and the cylons ain't." She glances back to the man, to the eyepatch. "That curtesy of the metal heads?"
Ramsay nods. "They didn't like my can opener. Brought down an entire building on top of me. I could get a prosthetic, but, honestly, Having only one eye helps me see things from the Cylon perspective. Which is important if we're going to beat them."
Ramsay sighs as his chrono alarm sounds. "Time's up." He looks at Niemec. "Early briefing." He extends a hand. "Iosif Ramsay. Nice to meet you. I look forward to speaking again."
"Antonie Niemec," the woman answers, pushing away from the window. Likely to go back to her sat. "Gotta love those briefings." She does start to move for that sofa, indeed. "See you 'round, Ramsay."
Ramsay says, "Yeah. You will."