2236-11-10 - Not Lost

Harrison is not lost. Except he kind of is. Calliope is helpful! Except she's kind of not.

Date: 2236-11-10

Location: Deck 7 Landing

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 869

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Harrison is lost. He clearly refuses to admit he's lost, from the stubborn set of his jaw, but he has his military duffel slung over his shoulders in his duty khakis, and he's glaring at the notice on the wall declaring this to be Deck 7 as if that will make it reveal whether this is the deck he wants.

Calliope looks lost as well, but less stubborn about it. And less concerned. She has no duffel bag. She's dressed down in off-duty greens with water splotches on them. Hair also wet, towel draped around her neck. She found the showers at some point, at least. She's wandering in the direction of the stairwell when she passes Harrison. His glare at the wall gets a knowing little smile. "Hi. New?" Her accent is very Caprican.

"No," comes rather reflexively. Harrison's gaze snaps to her, his expression lined with a frown. "Yes." Whatever can be heard of an accent on two words, his is very clearly Tauron. And from the particular tension of his frown, it's possible he recognized her accent, too.

Calliope is tall with a tendency to slouch, though the tension in Harrison's frown makes her stand up a little straighter. A very little. "No /and/ yes?" Does she sound amused? Maybe. But she stays friendly, and even seems to warm when Harrison sorta kinda admits to being new. "But. Yeah. I know, right? This ship is frakking huge. It's like a whole city. I just got here official-like this morning and it is intense. It took me like an hour this morning to find the bathroom. Or head. I have zero frakking idea why they call it that."

"Yes," Harrison admits more emphatically -- and with less patience. He listens to her speak with considerably less warmth than she displays. "Yes," he finally says. "It's -- big."

"It's bizarre to think of someone flying this frakking thing." Calliope chatters on with a pleasantness that's a little nervous, underneath. "But, obviously it can. If it was going to fall out of the atmosphere, they'd have figured that out in testing, right?" She laughs at her own joke. "So what's your job here? Post?" Whatever jobs are called. More chipperly, she adds, "I'm a pilot. I fly Raptors. Or, I will eventually, once they're done processing my paperwork."

Harrison's jaw tightens when she mentions her post, and his gaze slowly sweeps over her. "Ah," he says. A /pilot/. He's quiet for a moment, like maybe he's not even going to reveal his own post at all, before he finally says, "Marine technician."

"Yep." Callipe sounds quite pleased with herself, in that piping syllable. "Marine tech?" She does not immediately know what to make of that, though she manages a, "Cool. So you fix..." Pause. She might not have really known where she was going with that. So she eventually tacks on, "...rifles?"

Harrison gives her all the space to flail for an end to that sentence. He looks vaguely unimpressed by what she comes up with. "Weapons, vehicles. Pretty much anything that can be fixed."

"Oh. Vehicles. That makes sense." More sense than rifles. "So were you, like, a garage mechanic on Tauron before...everything?" The whole robot uprising. Thing. Calliope probably means. "I was in civilian transport, but this seemed like the thing to do." She gestures to the battlestar bulkhead, as if it represents the war effort.

"Yes," Harrison says, his gaze narrowing just slightly on her as if sensing potential judgment there in her words. "Before that, a decade in Tauron's military." It's like a clear conversational line that he draws dividing the two of them. On one side, the military veteran. On the other, the grass-green newbie.

Calliope is aware enough to sense there is a line, but only mildly cognizant of where it's drawn. She is, very much, a newbie. "Oh, cool! So you kind of know what you're doing, then." Pause again, as she continues to try and make conversation with Harrison, for whatever reason. "There are a lot of Taurons aboard, yeah? I mean, that's cool. I'm cool with that. One of my officers is Tauron, and I went through flight school with one." She stops short of saying they are some of her best friends. But only just.

"Yes, I know what I'm doing." Harrison firmly scrubs out that 'kind of' qualifier. Again, his gaze narrows on her. "I've got no idea how many Taurons are on board. And I'm sure you knew plenty of them back where you're from." There's a very particular weight in the words.

"Uh. Yeah. A few. I'm from Caprica." As if it needed to be said. Calliope adds, "I grew up in Cap City. Go Bucks!" She does a little fist-pump for her home sports team. Then very quickly moves on. "I saw quite a few of the worlds when I was working, though. I didn't have any routes that took me to Tauron, but I logged a lot of hours on Leonis. And Picon and Virgon. Even Scorpia. If you've got any leave time left, I can recommend some good bars. Some of the beach places are sweet, even now." In case you need partying advice from her.

"I can tell," Harrison says flatly when she shares her home colony. "I don't have any intention of visiting Caprica if I can help it." His hand tightens a bit on the strap of his bag.


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